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angmarwitch · 5 years ago

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tonbo (dragonfly)

Jon x Sansa Kimetsu no Yaiba (Demon Slayer) AU

Summary: "In the end, she was a pillar..."

A/N: First of all, happy, happy birthday to my dearest friend @fromtheboundlesssea. I’m truly grateful to have you as a friend. Thank you so much for expanding the What If fics that I really want to write (but I can’t cause honestly, my writing sucks these days and I can’t simply finish a multi-chap fic) and for the times when I can’t check your work on time because I am always busy. Also, thank you for being there. <3 I know you’re unfamiliar with this anime but I hope you’ll still enjoy (even if the ending is a bit angsty).

For the readers, this is probably the first jonsa fic I’ve written in months. I’m still feeling bummed about Season 8 and my disappointment is hindering me from writing. I’m really sorry. I don’t know if any of you are familiar with KNY but I tried to make it as understandable as possible.

For the fans of the series, this is inspired by Giyuu and Shinobu (I love their relationship & dynamics). But be warned, this contains spoilers from the manga.

Enjoy!

Warning: Angst, Character Death, Spoilers from the Manga

There was no rule, spoken or written, that prohibits them from falling in love. Some of the Pillars (basically generals) from the previous generations, even retire to settle down and start a family of their own, shedding off the burden of being in the front lines to protect the innocent people that the demons feasted upon. However, from all the tragedy that had befallen the Lady of the Dragonfly Estate, she had learned to bar her heart from ever feeling such kind of emotion.

Despite the joy and seemingly carefree facade she puts up each day, there was no trace of happiness in her heart. The moment that her sister, the last remnant of her biological family, died, all the joy that she once felt slowly dissipated, leaving her heart void of any emotions except for anger. And the giddy persona that she had put up was her mask, her way of keeping the fury at bay. Of course, she wasn’t entirely incapable of feeling other emotions, she can still sympathize with others and understand what they are going through, it’s just that she can’t simply grasp the idea of being happy and falling in love after all that she went through.

But, in the end, she realized that she was just human.

She was clueless as to how or when it happened. But it did.

Someone had managed to thaw the ice that had frozen Sansa Stark’s heart and weaved away inside.

“Oh, darling,” Margaery had crooned so sweetly when Sansa confessed the burden that had weighed her mind for a while now, “it is not wrong to love.”

Naturally, Margaery would be the only person who would comprehend Sansa’s predicament, she was the Love Pillar after all. But her being so perceptive about love was not why Sansa approached her in the first place. Their comrades will never get it, them being male, and she could not tell them lest the secret comes out. Jeyne, her chosen successor, was still too young to grasp the concept and she does want to bother the Master with such trivial matters. Margaery could keep a secret and she was the only thing close to a sister and a motherly figure to Sansa.

“But we are pillars…” in the end it’s either we survive or die.

Margaery’s gaze softened, her delicate hand reached out to Sansa’s own and squeezed it gently.

“All the more reasons why you should act on what you feel. Our lives are fleeting, and we never know when or where we will die. Do you truly want to accept death without ever knowing how it feels to love and to be loved?”

“I…” Sansa paused, unaware of how to respond. She had spent all her life fighting, finding a way to avenge the family and the sister she lost to the Night King and Littlefinger, and she had never once considered this possibility. Her eyes dropped down and the feeling of sadness assaulted her senses. She hated that she had become emotional because of love. But she can’t deny the fact that she was also craving for what it has to offer, both the bliss and pain.

Nevertheless…

“Tell him, Sansa,” Margaery urged, “ Jon deserves to know that you return his affections.”

The packet looked innocent and harmless to humans but one dose was enough to incapacitate a demon, ten was required to kill one. A year’s supply, however, was what it takes to take down one of the Upper Generals of the White Walker demons.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lady Melisandre implored, “there are other ways in which you can defeat Littlefinger and they won’t cost you your life.”

Sansa eyed the vial warily before swallowing all of its contents. For humans, wisteria does not pose any dangers or risks, and the poisonous compound that she had just ingested was almost similar to eating a powdered sugar. It was sweet. So very sweet…

“I have made up my mind long ago,” Sansa responded indifferently. She knows her biggest foe by heart. Littlefinger had always been so obsessed to get her and being the only Pillar who can’t decapitate a demon, this was the only way she can defeat him. She had altered her own body and changed her physiology to contain a huge amount of wisteria. This was what she had worked all her life and nothing could ever change her mind.

The victory will be hers and the death of her family will finally be avenged.

“I understand,” Melisandre conceded giving her a look of understanding and pity. Sansa does not need it. Yes, all of them may have suffered under the hands of the Night King and his demons but they will never get what she had gone through. All those nightmares, the pain, and the suffering that plagued her for years.

She gave their new ally a bow before standing up to leave. She was about to reach the door when Melisandre spoke up again, this time with a question she was not expecting.

“And what about the Water Pillar? Is his love not a reason for you to live?”

The memory of the event that happened ten months prior to replayed in her mind. Two different scenarios with two different women she had come to admire.

Yet, in the end, the response is the same.

Slowly, Sansa lifted her head and when their eyes met, Margaery could see tears unshed.

From the window of his house, Jon could see the incoming crow and there was something about its approach that bothered the young pillar. He had been recovering from his injuries from the injuries he had sustained from his last mission when he sensed its approach. So despite his body’s protest for him to continue laying down, he went and opened a window to watch the bird enter his vicinity.

Dark wings, dark words, were the words his Master would always say whenever a crow is sent out. Their crow familiars had always been the harbinger of news, both the good and the bad.

Today’s message was either summons from the new head of the Bloodravens, the family that leads their organization, or it may be news from the North about his comrades. He had not heard from them while he was recovering so he braced himself for the worst.

He waited for the crow to announce the news it brought as it flew in the sky, instead, the crow took a plunge towards him. Jon was taken aback with surprise and alarm. It was very unusual for their messengers to do that when delivering the word. When the crow finally reached him, Jon felt dread creep in his heart as he saw the parchment tied on one of its legs. It must be very serious that it needed to be written. With shaking hands, he removed it and slowly unfurled the paper to see its contents.

He immediately recognized Margaery’s flowery script.

She loved you, Jon. I’m sorry, it read. His eyes ran over the text several times, not fully discerning what it meant. His heartbeat increased tenfold the longer he stared at it.

I don’t understand.

“Dead,” the crow cawed suddenly, jolting him from his daze. There was something heart-wrenching about the way it spoke the words. It was then that he noticed the red ribbon with the dragonfly print strapped on its neck. His eyes widened and the parchment fell from his grasp when the realization had sunk in.

“No,” he gasped, fervently shaking his head as he backed away from the window. He covered his ears, refusing to hear any more of what the crow has to say.

No…

“Dead,” it cried again, ascending higher into the night sky, “Sansa Stark is dead.”

#jon x sansa #jonsa #kny au #got fic #jon snow x sansa stark #fromtheboundlesssea #angst #tw: character death #please don't hate me #i'm kinda proud that i was able to write #my first fic in months #jon x sansa fanfiction #jonxsansaff #jonxsansafanfiction #demon slayer au

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jonsansadaily · 5 years ago

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Chapter 2

Sober (5897 words) by Sansa_Stark_Snow Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Joffrey Baratheon, Margaery Tyrell Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Mild Smut Summary:

Sansa's busy drowning her sorrows over her failed relationship until Jon Snow shows up and takes her mind off it.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsansaff #jonxsansafanfiction #jon snow #sansa stark #jonsa au #jonsansasource #au #modern setting

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geekprincess26 · 8 years ago

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Sansa Did Not

Just a little bit of trash fic I wrote for the Day 1 Jon x Sansa Fanfiction’s 15 Days of Valentine’s challenge…

Sansa did not kiss Jon when they were in elementary school.

She was eight years old and still believed boys had cooties in their mouths when Robb brought his new friend home for dinner one autumn night. He and Jon had been assigned desks next to each other in Mr. Cassel’s fourth-grade class at Northern Wintertown Elementary School and had become fast friends. Jon was very shy and barely said a word to anybody other than Robb, except for when he thanked Sansa’s parents for having him. When he came around for dinner again the next week, Arya somehow got him to laugh, and the week after that, he showed Bran how to shoot a squirt gun. He didn’t say anything to Sansa, though, for over a month, until the day when Mrs. Cerwyn sent her to the principal’s office for arguing with Elia Sand during art class. Sansa had tried to tell Mrs. Cerwyn that Elia had snapped at her for trying to explain the rules of their painting project, but Mrs. Cerwyn would hear none of it. Sansa cried all the way to the office and back and held the pink slip she received as though it was burning a hole through her hand. Mother reprimanded Sansa very sharply when saw the slip, and when Father got home from work he told Sansa how disappointed he was, and then Robb looked at the painting on which she had spent hours and said it had too much pink in it. Sansa was about to start crying all over again when Jon told her the painting was pretty. His face turned as pink as the roses in it when he said so, but he smiled a little bit when Sansa thanked him.

Sansa did not kiss Jon when they were in middle school.

She was thirteen years old, and it was a cold Friday evening, and she and Jeyne Poole were spending the night at Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly’s house. Wynafryd and Wylla’s parents went out to have a few hours to themselves and left the girls to enjoy pizza and movies in the basement. Wallace, the Manderly girls’ older brother, was seventeen and technically in charge. Sansa thought he would stay in his room upstairs, but instead he got some of his friends to come over, and at some point a number of them started a game of spin-the-bottle. Sansa did not want to play, but Jeyne pressured her, and, not wanting to be rude, Sansa gave in. She was both surprised and relieved to see Robb among the players, although both he and Jon, who sat silently next to him as usual, looked like they would rather be anywhere else. Sansa had a suspicion that Robb was only playing to impress Jeyne Westerling, and she supposed Jon must be there for moral support. After all, Jon barely looked at, let alone talked to, any girls that Sansa knew of except for Arya, who barely counted as a girl at all. Jon still hardly ever talked to Sansa, which made her all the more mortified when he spun the bottle and it pointed squarely at her. For a few moments she could only gape in horror. Then Theon Greyjoy nudged a furiously blushing Jon toward Sansa and wished him good luck on not getting his lip caught in Sansa’s braces while kissing her. A tear ran down one of Sansa’s cheeks as Jon shuffled forward awkwardly, and she squeezed her eyes shut partly to stop herself from crying and partly to avoid facing the mortification of what would surely happen next. Instead of feeling his lips smeared against her own, though, she felt Jon’s arms encircling her body. She buried her face in his shoulder for a several moments, unable to face the others, and inhaled the smell of sweat and laundry detergent and something soft and piney. The other players were jeering and laughing at them, but Robb told them to shut up, and eventually, after Jon’s lips brushed so lightly against the top of Sansa’s head that they barely touched her at all, he patted her back and shuffled away, and the jeers subsided and the whoops began. Sansa shoved the bottle at Jeyne Poole, turned around, and fled straight past Jon down to the basement.

Sansa did not kiss Jon when they were in high school.

She was sixteen years old and had earned terrible grades on her first two geometry exams for the term. If she got one more bad exam grade, she would miss the honor roll for the first time since she had first been old enough to qualify for it. Her parents and teacher all suggested she see one of the senior students for tutoring, and although Sansa had never needed tutoring before, she skipped out on a Starbucks session with Jeyne Poole and her other friends one day to meet with Lancel Lannister. After an hour, Sansa was as confused as ever, but she met with him several more times until he declared she could learn nothing from him. Mortified, Sansa gathered her courage and texted Wynafryd Manderly, who put Sansa in touch with her friend Alys Karstark. Alys came to Sansa’s house the next day, but Sansa quickly realized Alys only wanted an excuse to flirt with Robb, not a tutoring session with his little sister. Robb, instead of being a loyal big brother, flirted right back, and he only ended it when Jon stopped by. Sansa, who had barely spoken to Jon in the three years since the spin-the-bottle incident, felt her last nerve snap and began screaming in frustration at Robb. He rolled his eyes and told her to calm down, which of course only made her angrier. At last Mother intervened, but not without berating Sansa and asking what had gotten into her. When Sansa explained, she became more sympathetic, and for a moment Sansa thought they would have one of the deep, wonderful talks they had not had in far too long. But then Rickon and Bran began fighting, and Mother had to pull them apart. Sansa did not see her again until dinner, when she only forced herself to eat because of the concerned looks Father kept giving her. She even excused herself before Mother brought out the lemon cake. When she heard a soft knock at her door, she was not entirely surprised and expected that Mother, Father, or maybe even Robb had come to see why she had not eaten any of her favorite dessert. To her shock she found Jon there. He rubbed the stubble on his face for a few awkward seconds before asking her if she wanted him to review her geometry textbook with her when he came over the next day after school – but only if she wanted him to, of course. Sansa was so surprised she did not know what to say, and Jon had turned and begun to walk away before she finally found her voice and admitted that she would be glad to have him look at the book with her. It only occurred to her just before she dropped off to sleep that night that Jon had not once said she needed help. It was nice of him, she thought, to at least act like he did not think she was stupid at math.

Sansa did not kiss Jon when they were in college.

She was twenty years old, and Joffrey Baratheon had just broken her heart. “Books over boys” had been her motto until she had met him in Psychology 101 during their sophomore year. He had been tall, handsome, charming, clever, witty, and a gentleman – in short, irresistible. He had asked her out a month after they had met, and Sansa had fallen hard and fast for him. Over the next several months, though, his shining armor had shattered. His wittiness had turned into bitter sarcasm, his cleverness into manipulation, and his gentlemanliness into cutting remarks about how she really should know how to put out better by now. She had almost dumped him after that remark. He had dumped her instead the next week by informing her he had found a more adventurous woman in her roommate, Myranda Royce, when she had caught them together in Myranda’s bed. Sansa kept her head down as much as possible while trudging around campus for weeks afterward so that she could avoid the whispers and the giggles and even the sympathetic looks. Especially the sympathetic looks. So when she opened her door to a soft knock one evening and found Jon on the other side, she snapped at him and told him that he didn’t need to bother looking after her or feeling bad for her, seeing as the whole university had that covered, and he needn’t tell her he’d told her so, since she knew he’d never liked Joffrey. Jon only raised his eyebrows and said he’d been a bit worried when she hadn’t shown up that day for one of the lunches they occasionally shared at the Panera Bread just across the street from the fine arts building. Then his face reddened right along with Sansa’s and he scratched the back of his head and confessed that he had an ulterior motive for checking up on her, anyway. He was struggling in the English Literature 101 class he’d put off until his senior year, and he needed a better tutor than the ones he’d encountered in the school’s writing and learning center. And everybody on campus knew Sansa Stark never got a grade lower than an A minus on a paper, not even from Professor Qyburn. Sansa regarded him with suspicion for a moment, but she reminded herself that Jon, unlike Joffrey, had never lied to her. And if everybody on campus knew that Sansa Stark could write a terrific paper, they also knew that Jon Snow knew absolutely nothing about any kind of literature, English or otherwise.

Sansa did not kiss Jon even once when they lived in the same New York apartment complex for a year.

She was twenty-five years old and had landed a job as an English teacher in a Manhattan charter school. He was working his way up the ranks at a prestigious engineering firm. He spent most of that year dating Ygritte, a feisty young police officer. Sansa spent most of it either buried in lesson plans or going on dead-end first dates. On occasion, she accompanied Jon to a museum or a Broadway show when Ygritte, who did not care for that sort of thing and even thanked Sansa for taking her place a couple of times, had to work a double shift. Jon and Ygritte even went on a few couples’ dates with Sansa and some of her duds, and Ygritte never failed to come up with hilarious insults about them afterwards. Near the end of the year, though, she broke up with Jon. Sansa had never seen him quite so distressed or disheveled. She took to bringing him half of the cookies she always baked on Saturday afternoons, and more often than not they were oatmeal cookies, his favorite kind. After a few weeks, she noticed that the corners of his mouth would turn up when she did. One weekend, she talked him into attending the local Cinema 15 for a performance by Rifftrax, a comedy trio who produced very rude and very funny running commentaries on the worst sci-fi films known to mankind. Half an hour into the show, Jon was laughing so hard Sansa could feel him shaking in the red plush seat next to hers. The next month, they went to a speed dating event together purely in order to laugh like that again afterwards. But they did not laugh, because Sansa met a gorgeous young lawyer named Harry Hardyng there.

Sansa did not kiss Jon when they went to Arya and Gendry’s wedding together.

She was twenty-nine years old, and every five minutes between the end of the ceremony and the commencement of the chicken dance, somebody was asking why that gorgeous, intelligent maid of honor hadn’t found a Prince Charming of her own yet, since even her tomboyish, man-hating younger sister had managed to settle down. Furthermore, a disproportionate number of the askers were older wedding guests who raised their voices loudly enough for half the reception hall to hear. Sansa wanted to shout at them that it was because she wasn’t gorgeous enough, or intelligent enough, or anything enough to keep even a piece of work like Joffrey Baratheon around, let alone a decent guy like Harry. After all, it hadn’t been Harry’s fault that his dream job had popped up on the West Coast just a week before the vehicle carrying Robb, Bran, and Sansa’s mother had been hit by a drunk driver. Harry had been no more willing to pass up on the best opportunity of his life than Sansa had been to let her father and Arya take care of the others on their own, and so they had parted ways. Thinking about it made Sansa gag on her chicken cordon bleu, and she barely made it through her father’s dance with Arya before she headed to the restrooms to cry. When she emerged, though, Jon was there with her favorite drink and an offer to dance. They spent much of the night arguing about which sci-fi movies were the most depressing and doing shots whenever somebody tried to make the deejay play “YMCA.” Sansa was well on her way to the other side of tipsy when Jon escorted her to her hotel room, and later she decided that she would have kissed Jon if he had given her any encouragement, but he only stayed long enough to ensure that she was safely deposited onto her bed before he left.

Sansa decided to kiss Jon when he and the entire Stark family spent a week in the Poconos the summer after Arya’s wedding.

She was thirty years old and using the summer to apply for a new teaching position. The principal at her former job had not taken her very seriously when she had filed a sexual harassment claim during the autumn term against a creepy fellow teacher named Ramsay Bolton. She had endured the odd stares and the even odder coincidental meetings outside of work – everywhere from the gym to the grocery store – for longer than she should have. Eventually, Jon and Margaery Tyrell, her best friend, had worn her down – she never had quite found the nerve to confess the extent of it to her family – and she had initiated a long, tedious process that resulted in a slap on the wrist for him and a lot of whispered rumors for her. Leaving her job was easy, but polishing her resume and applying for another position was more difficult, and Sansa had never been more in need of a week away from life than she was when she pulled her blue Toyota Corolla into the driveway of the sprawling vacation home the Starks rented every summer. And never had a vacation delivered more when she had needed it. She spent her mornings reading and drinking coffee and talking with Jon on the porch, her days cannonballing off the dock into Lake Pinecrest with far more enthusiasm than she had as a child, and the evenings out with her family at one local restaurant after another. Sansa always found herself seated next to or across from Jon at those restaurants, and she always enjoyed his company. It was not until the day before she left for New York that she realized not a night had gone by without somebody, whether a waitress or another patron whom Robb and Talisa had roped into taking a family photo of the Starks, had mistaken Jon for her husband or boyfriend. And not a morning had gone by, she realized as Jon approached her with two steaming mugs of coffee, when he had not taken it upon himself to deliver her coffee on the porch every morning, with just the right amount of cream and sugar stirred into it. She was unusually quiet that day, and when Jon approached her and asked if she was all right and whether she’d had any further trouble from Ramsay Bolton, she had answered with little more than quiet yeses and nos. When he rose from his chair on the porch, where they’d been watching the sunset, and rested his hand on her shoulder before wishing her good night, she could feel herself blushing furiously and thanked the gods that it was dark. Sansa used the entire drive home berating herself for trying to please Joffrey and Harry and so many other men when Jon had been hiding in plain view of her idiotic eyes for practically her whole life. When she got home, she decided that she would kiss Jon the following month, when she was due to visit his home city of Raleigh for a conference. They had already planned to have dinner with some friends the night before the conference started, but Jon had offered to pick her up at the airport before that. She tapped her foot against the floor of the coach-class cabin for nearly the entire flight in her eagerness to jump out of the plane and into Jon’s arms. Only when she got to the curb, where his car was waiting, did she see the blonde woman in the passenger seat. Jon introduced her as his new girlfriend, Val, whom he had picked up at work after she’d had car trouble that afternoon. Sansa stared at him for a good ten seconds before pasting a smile onto her face and putting out her hand to shake Val’s.

Jon kissed Sansa when he came home after spending three months in Africa with Engineers Without Borders.

She was thirty-two years old and already becoming forgetful, apparently; she hadn’t put two and two together long enough to realize his arrival in Wintertown would coincide with her week’s vacation there until her mother had mentioned it. He’d broken up with Val several months before he’d left for his trip, or so Robb had told her over FaceTime. She’d barely acknowledged him before ending the call and returning to Amazon, where she’d been aimlessly shopping for throw pillows for her new couch before he’d called. After hanging up with Robb, she’d found herself thinking that perhaps she should restrict her search to the pillows that had some depiction of cats, since apparently she was turning into the proverbial cat lady before her own eyes. She and Jon hadn’t spoken much during his relationship with Val, but after her conversation with Robb, she e-mailed him to let him know he could always ask her if he needed anything. He had replied a week or two later and apologized for taking so long. They’d spoken more frequently after that, although it had taken some time before they’d warmed back up to each other. But warm up they had, and Jon had been the first one Sansa had told when she’d applied and been accepted to the master’s degree program in education at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. The following day, when Sansa’s favorite bakery had delivered a fresh lemon cake decorated with the word “CONGRATULATIONS,” along with the words I always believed you would, Sansa. I’m so proud of you! – Jon, written in the baker’s loopy scrawl on a cute little card, Sansa had burst into laughter, and then into tears. He’d blushed like crazy when she’d FaceTimed him to thank him, and she remembered thinking that was the reddest she’d seen him get in a while, maybe even since they’d so unwillingly played spin-the-bottle back in middle school. But now the cake was gone, and the blue arrivals screen at the airport, where she had agreed to pick up Jon, said that Jon’s red-eye flight had landed, and Sansa found herself bouncing on her toes next to a very empty baggage claim station number 13. She nearly tripped over her three-inch heels when she heard Jon calling her name behind her, although he didn’t call her name so much as breathe it out in an odd tone she’d never heard him use before. Before she’d even spun all the way around, she felt both of his arms steadying her, and by the time she’d turned the full 180 degrees he was holding her like he’d never let her go. She didn’t want him to let her go anyway, and she managed to say something like that when one of his hands traveled upward to stroke her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder. When he finally pulled back, he still had one hand on the back of her head, and the other nestled into her waist, and she grinned a stupid, loopy grin, and so did he. Then he pressed back into her and covered her grin with his lips. They tasted of warmth and salt and sunlight and Jon and joy, and Sansa stopped trying to pull away long enough to tell Jon she loved him.

They had many years of kisses to make up for first.

#jonxsansaff #@jonxsansafanfiction #@king-queeninthenorth by request #jon x sansa #jonsa fanfiction #my writing #one-shot fics #jonxsansaff valentines

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mollyraesly · 6 years ago

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Jonsa LOTR fic?

I’m thinking of writing a crossover Jonsa/LOTR fic in which Sansa is Éowyn and Jon is an Eomer/Faramir/Aragorn combo.

Any interest?

#jonsa #jon x sansa fanfiction #sansa stark #jonxsansafanfiction #jon snow

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nessataleweaver · 6 years ago

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The Strange Sanctuary of Sansa Stark: And Life is Like a Song (fanfic)

(Fusion with The Curious Creations of Christine McConnell) It's been exactly four years since Jon stumbled into Sansa's home, and four years since he claimed her as his mate. Sansa's trying to bake an elaborate cake to celebrate, but Jon has something else on his mind.

For @jonxsansafanfiction Love Songs event 2019: Day 3

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: Au – modern with magic; Muppets meets Addams family; family life; smut with feels; blue and orange morality; vague dom/sub themes; getting caught by the kids; Jon the Wolfman; implications of bestiality; Sansa just loves Jon for EVERYTHING he is, okay?

NOTES: This is actually a sequel to my Day 5 entry! (shrug) That’s the way the Muse goes, I guess. For that reason, this won’t go up on AO3 until I’ve got the first entry in the series ready to post as well.

For those who’ve actually watched Curious Creations on Netflix, Sansa fills Christine’s role (obviously), though I’ve pumped up her role to have supposedly minor magical powers. Rankle is… well, Rankle. (A mummified Cat brought back to life by Sansa, once worshipped as a God in Ancient Egypt) Lady substitutes for Rose (created out of four different species, then raised from the dead, Frankenstein-style); instead of being mainly a raccoon, Lady is mainly a Husky. Both can speak, just like the show. Jon is a combination of Edgar and Norman (without the ritual serial killer tendencies).

At last, the skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped in clover

Ever since the night I looked at you

And I found a dream that I could speak to

A dream to call my own

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill I'd never known

At Last – Etta James

It was a perfect morning.

The skies were blue with just a few fluffy white clouds to make the blue pop. The air was warm without being hot.

Sansa's fingers itched with the need to bake, to create something sweet and beautiful. There were so many things to celebrate today.

She had a beautiful yet sturdy house full of pretty and eerie things she'd created. She had a heart tree in the backyard so she could pray to the Old Gods and Bran could come visit her whenever they like. Which also provided lovely shade so the babies didn't get sunburned.

She had Rankle to chat to and toss quips back and forth with. She had Lady, her greatest creation, to cuddle and go jogging with. She had Milly living at the back of the refrigerator to hand her things, and Bernard lurking in the basement and making sure the small mystical convergence there didn't become a nasty Hellmouth.

And four years ago today, a miserable beastkin stumbled through the front door, desperately in need of a place to shelter. It was exactly four years since he claimed her as his mate, and Jon regained his human skin.

Now Sansa had a beautiful man by her side and a passionate lover in her bed, and a devoted beast to patrol her perimeters at moon-dark. She had two children almost as beautiful as their father.

Sansa tapped her fingers on the kitchen counter and wracked her mental recipe files. What could she bake, to celebrate this most special day?

Well, obviously a cake. She had several sheet cakes in both vanilla and chocolate waiting in the chiller to be sculpted and frosted... but what shape? She'd made a replica of their house for Jon's welcome party four years ago (plus monster eyes and mouth, of course) and it had been a huge hit. She didn't usually repeat her creations, but maybe today could be an exception?

Sansa was wearing her blue sundress with the flared skirt and buttons all the way down the front (Jon's favourite), but she didn't bother with an apron. The only one she had that co-ordinated with this dress was in the laundry basket, and besides, even without her powers as a Hearthwitch, her baking skills had long ago evolved beyond needing an apron.

Humming merrily, Sansa brought out two of the large sheet cakes, one chocolate and one vanilla, first cutting them both into two square cakes, then cutting each in half horizontally so she could add jam and buttercream to make them stick together properly and add to the flavours.

In the middle of setting out bowls to mix the fillings, Sansa heard a shuffled step behind her, one that she would always recognise. She turned, and her heart gave a tiny skip, the way it always did whenever she saw Jon after more than an hour apart. He was just so gorgeous. Black shoulder-length curls, well-trimmed (by her) beard, with snowy skin and smoky grey eyes. He wore his usual stretch skinny jeans and loose shirt, in case he needed to transform into his beastman form unexpectedly. It did hide his deliciously sculpted torso, but one couldn't have everything in life.

Since Jon was meant to be nocturnal, he usually wandered around the house or transformed and went hunting after she fell asleep. Then he'd join her in bed to wake her up in the nicest way, then drop off to sleep himself as she dressed. It was a good arrangement that let Jon get in his howling time and Sansa get in baking and crafting time.

"You're up early!" Sansa smiled. "It's not even lunchtime."

"But this is a special day," Jon smiled back. "I want to spend as much of it with all of you as I can." He looked over at the breakfast nook, and asked, "Where are Brandon and Brienne?"

"Playing under the Heart Tree with Lady.”

Jon looked slightly alarmed, “I’m not sure I locked up the garden shed last night.”

Sansa reassured him, “I checked before letting the twins outside. All the traps, the organic poisons, and the gardening equipment are secure. And Rankle's supervising as well."

“That’s okay then,” Jon looked relieved. “Bran isn’t here?”

“I called him yesterday – on the phone, not through the Heart Tree – and talked to Meera. He’s in the middle of some ritual, and he thought today should be just for us. He’s bringing Meera and Jojen by the day after tomorrow for a nice long visit.”

Jon came forward to meet her in the middle of the kitchen, and kissed her lingeringly. “Happy anniversary, dear heart.”

“Happy anniversary.”

“How are we celebrating?” Jon had learned early on to leave all festivities to Sansa’s expert planning and crafting.

“We’re having something special with dinner, of course, for all of us to enjoy together.” Sansa’s gaze turned sultry, “Tonight, we can have our own celebration. I’ve even made something especially for you to tear off me and rip to shreds.”

Jon grinned, and his eyes started to burn hotly. Sansa knew that look, but she had a cake to make, so she kissed him on the tip of his nose and turned back to the counter.

It occurred to her that Jon should really have some input into the cake, so she asked, "I thought I'd make a house-shaped cake, but should I do another one like our house, or-Jon?"

"Mmm?" her mate asked, nuzzling behind her ear.

His arms slid snugly around her waist, as she asked, "What are you doing?"

"Sansa," he sighed, and planted a kiss where her neck joined her shoulder. He was glad that she was wearing her hair up this morning. More access to her lovely neck.

"Jon, I can detect your pheromones."

"Just a little." Which was true. He only wanted to tease her a little, to start her towards a lusty mood. Sansa had spoken to him seriously about how his mating scent affected her and the need to talk to her first before he fully unleashed it.

But Sansa's body was adding scent-notes entirely of her own lust, which added to her scent on this particular day was starting to make his head spin as well as making his cock hard.

"But we made love when I woke up. It's only been four hours."

"So?" Jon asked, genuinely puzzled. He and Sansa mated every morning when she woke up and before he went to sleep. They mated every night before she went to sleep. They often mated during the day as well. Jon was proud of how often and well he fulfilled his responsibility to pleasure his mate.

He kissed her neck again, over the bite mark he'd left when he'd claimed her. (She didn’t bother to disguise it unless they went out in public.) "I want to mount you again, Sansa. I want to make another baby."

Sansa's wonderful teats were heaving in their blue silk prison, (he honestly didn't understand why his mate insisted they wear all these clothes) and Jon placed his open mouth on the side of her neck, sucking hard with just a touch of teeth. He badly needed to mark her somewhere.

Jon slid his hand expertly under the knee-length skirt of her dress, and rested a hand on her belly, just above her mound. "You're ripe for breeding today, Sansa. Your scent is heavy with it. You haven't been this ripe since we made the twins."

Sansa lifted her hand off the counter to thread through Jon's curly hair. His words sparked a higher heat between her legs, and from the way he was smiling into her neck, her horny beast of a husband knew it.

She’d already made lunch and had it waiting in the refrigerator. So she had plenty of time yet to make the cake for dinner and the twin’s favourite edible spiders for afternoon tea, especially if she spelled the spoons to mix the filling for her and she air-brushed the roof instead of hand-piping. The children were still at the age where they cared more about taste than appearance, and Rankle and Lady liked edible paint better than lots of icing anyway.

Bran had foretold for her, once, that she'd have seven children. The twins were already three, and it did feel like the right time for another baby.

Sansa’s resistance was melting like butter on the stove under her husband’s ardent attentions. She could already feel her wetness on her inner thighs. Her nipples were hard and tingling, and her breasts ached with need for Jon’s touch. They had become larger and fuller from feeding the twins, but didn’t sag from the extra weight. Sansa wasn't sure if it was the healing of a Hearthwitch, or the mating bond lending her Jon's powers of physical recovery, but neither of them argued with the results.

As if hearing her body’s demands, Jon’s clever fingers swiftly undid the buttons that fastened her dress in front (which is why this was Jon's favourite dress), all the way to her waist. A light tug, and her bare breasts spilled out.

"Jon!" Sansa gasped. It was supposed to be in admonition, but even Sansa could tell she just sounded turned on. Because she was.

"You didn't cage your teats today," Jon said smugly.

"It's called a bra, Jon."

"And you didn't wear it today," he chuckled.

Sansa sighed. Who was she kidding?

She'd stopped wearing panties years ago, except for necessity five days a month. Jon found anything between him and her cunt annoying to the point of offensive, and had spent every day of their first month together methodically shredding whatever pair she was wearing. But she still always wore a bra, and told Jon if he ripped up those she'd punish him, and it wouldn't be in the way they both enjoyed so much.

But it was their anniversary today. Not of the quick courthouse ceremony that Sheriff Brienne Tarth had witnessed, that gave her the ring she wore on a chain around her neck. But of the night they'd met. The night they'd mated. The night they'd made their darling Brienne and Brandon.

Sansa knew perfectly well when she took her most easily accessible dress out of the closet this morning that Jon would be pawing at her every time she turned around today. Or else she would drag him down to the basement for punishment, in exactly the way they both enjoyed so much.

"Just let me put these cakes back in the chiller, and we'll go upstairs," she sighed.

"No."

"Jon!" Sansa squealed as his fingers dipped between her thighs, finding her pearl.

"We have two cubs like me. I want a little Hearthwitch like you this time. So we should make her in the kitchen."

Sansa started caressing her own breasts, panting with need. Her husband's logic did seem quite sound.

The two kitchen counters were built in an L shape, with one ending against the wall and the other leaving an opening next to the refrigerator. Sansa shifted her body to face the corner where they met, Jon moving with her and rutting his hardness against her bottom at the same time. Sansa slid her feet a little further apart, and leaned forward from her hips, reluctantly taking her hands off her breasts to brace one on each counter.

Jon unfastened his fly with a groan of relief, pushing his jeans down to his knees. He placed one hand on the curve of Sansa’s hip, and with the other he grasped his aching hardness and guided it to where his mate waited for him, hot and wet and welcoming.

Sansa moaned as he thrust deep as he could inside her. He’d been slow and tender with her this morning, but Jon could feel his lust burning furiously now. The craving to breed his mate was eroding his self-control, and he held her hips firmly to keep her in place as he started to fuck her hard.

Sansa gasped and sighed in appreciation, her inner muscles clutching him greedily. She was already building up to a peak, Jon could tell, and he wanted to get her there quickly, more than once, before he seeded her.

"Do you want me to put on my fur?" Jon grunted as he pounded away, his hips smacking into her arse. "Do you want me to mount you like I did the first time?"

Sansa moaned as a wave of pleasure rolled through her from head to toe. When she'd recovered from the small climax, she panted, "Not now. Tonight, in our room. I want you to take me like a beast. Make me your bitch all over again!"

Jon growled in response from deep in his belly, making his cock quiver inside her. "Yes, Sansa, I will. But first we'll make another child. Another for our pack."

As his mate panted and whined in her lust, Jon's supernatural ears heard other sounds, approaching the French doors that led into the garden from the kitchen.

"Bend over," he ordered, pushing on Sansa's shoulders. She bent double, her hair almost brushing the floor and her skirt flipping over her torso - and all signs of her disappearing beneath the kitchen counters, which blocked all sight of Jon up to his waist as he stilled his hips.

Moments later, two small humans (more or less) and two undead animals came through the doors. Rankle jumped from the floor to sit on the breakfast nook bench, with Lady sitting on the floor beside him.

"Daddy, you're up!" exclaimed Brienne. Both the twins had his hair and eye colour, but Brienne was the only one with his curls.

"Does that mean it’s lunchtime, now?" asked Brandon. "We're getting hungry."

"Not yet, little ones," Jon answered.

Lady's nose wiggled as she sniffed, and her tail wagged. Jon knew she'd already figured out what was going on. Lady had every male furry pet in the neighbourhood (and some that weren’t pets) as part of her harem, after all.

"Where's Mummy?" Brienne asked. "Ooh, is she making something?"

"Mummy's always making something," retorted Brandon.

Jon grinned. Hidden by the counter, he gently rubbed one hand along the tight curve of his mate's arse, enjoying the silken feel of her skin. Her thighs, pressed flush against his own, trembled in response. "Mummy is busy making something, actually."

"More like getting busy," Lady muttered, with a canine grin.

"Holy Hathor, don't you two ever stop?" muttered Rankle, with an eye-roll.

"I'm helping her," Jon told everyone, "But it's a surprise for dinner tonight. So why don't you go outside for-" he squinted at the clock, "another forty minutes. That'll be enough time for Mummy and I to finish the first stage and make lunch. Why don't you play pirates? Your Uncle Theon's due to be surfacing in the lake for a visit soon."

"Yay! Pirates!" the twins cheered, and headed out the door, Lady in hot pursuit. Rankle gave one more eye-roll, and followed.

The interruption had taken the most urgent edge from his lust, and as he watched them go, Jon smiled and began to concentrate hard. Sansa had always encouraged him to develop his beastkin powers and abilities, and there was something he'd been working on, just for her...

Sansa was breathing hard as she put first one hand, then another on the counter, dragging herself up to brace her forearms on top. Now bent parallel at the hips, she wiggled her bottom against Jon's groin. "Keep going," she demanded.

Later, she'd be mortified that her children had nearly discovered her in flagrante delicto, but right now she was aching to come, to feel Jon's seed spurting deep inside to give her another baby. A magical one this time, like her or even as powerful as Bran.

Jon leaned forward to press his chest against her back, and reached beneath her to happily play with her teats. He slowed his thrusts, circling his hips until he was grinding instead of thrusting.

Sansa gasped in shock. She could feel his cock swelling inside her, bulging in one particular place. But how could his knot form now, when he was fully human? Then she realised exactly where in her pussy his knot was forming, and started to whimper again. She was going to climax in less than a minute at this rate!

"Surprise!" Jon panted into her ear gleefully. "I figured out how to form my knot at will when I’m wearing my skin. Did I find your special spot okay?"

Sansa put both her hands over her mouth, to stifle a scream that would bring every creature in the house running. "Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, your knot is rubbing right there!"

“Are you going to peak now, my dear heart?” Jon growled.

“Yes, yes I’m coming!”

“Are you going to peak nice and hard for me?”

Sansa answered by letting out a muffled shriek while every inch of her pussy clamped down on his cock. It felt so good that Jon’s self-restraint shattered. All at once, he buried his face between her shoulder blades, clutched her teats hard, growled and lost control of his knot. It deflated instantly, spraying his seed like a geyser into his mate’s body.

Sansa pushed herself up gingerly, until she was almost standing upright. Jon’s body stayed tightly pressed against hers, his hands rubbing her breasts gently.

“Jon, honey, you need to pull out.”

“No,” her stubborn husband said. “Not until your womb soaks up all my seed.”

Sansa sighed, “Jon, it’s probably already… oh, alright. Let’s wait a couple of minutes.”

*****

Eventually, Sansa did get to make a lovely and delicious cake in the shape of a house. (After she'd magically cleaned herself and the kitchen, had lunch with Jon, the twins, Rankle and Lady, and sent Jon upstairs for another nap, because she was going to keep him very busy once the twins had gone to bed.) The cake didn't look like their house, but a little like a barn, with some fun additions of pointy teeth in the door-frame and glowing yellow eyes in the dormer windows. But did it turn out to look exactly like the playhouse Jon was building for the children and hadn't told her about yet.

Unlike her early-bird twins, little Lyarra was born exactly nine months later; and she did turn out to be a Hearthwitch just like her Mummy.

#jonxsansafanfiction #jonxsansaff #jonxsansaff love songs

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theshipshipper · 24 days ago

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all eyes on us | part 25/?

Track the fic here or on AO3!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonxsansafanfiction #jonxsansaff #actuallyjonsa #jonxsansa #jonsa sm au #jonsa social media au #sorry for taking too long with this one lol im on job hunting mode

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captainbee89 · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfiction #jon x sansa #jonxsansaff #jonsaff #jonxsansafanfiction #jon x sansa fanfiction

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jonsansasource · 6 years ago

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Do you have any favorite JonxSansa Fanfics recommendations?

it’s been a long time since i’ve sat down and read any fanfiction at all tbh, but we all been knew this is the only fic u need [x]

#incest they call it online #god so iconic #Anonymous #(no but seriously i havent read fic since like 2016 :/// your best bet is trying jonxsansafanfiction!)

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angmarwitch · 5 years ago

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Our Crimson Paths Crossed (Jon x Sansa Fate/Stay Night:UBW AU)

A/N: I'm back again with another Anime AU. I don't know how much of the Jonsa fam are familiar with Fate/Stay Night or the Fate Series but I'll just push my luck. I hope this AU is understandable to all. It's been saved in my drafts for a long time now (probably a year or so) and I've been meaning to post this during the Jonsa Week but I wasn't able to finish it on time.

Anyways, if anyone here is a fan of the series, I'm planning to post a Sansa x Servant fic soon. I'm still not sure which servant I'll choose but Diarmuid is one of the options. Please let me know if you have suggestions.I hope you guys enjoy.

*title is taken from the English Translation of Brave Shine

The Holy Grail Wars

transcribed by Archmaester Marwyn

299AC

Before becoming an infamous deathly game for seven of the Nine Noble Families in Westeros, the original purpose of the ritual was to recover the Third Magic lost by the House Targaryen, known as the "Cup of Heaven".

In order to regain the Cup of Heaven, House Targaryen enlisted the help of Houses Lannister and Stark to create a gateway leading to Akasha. House Targaryen provided the alchemy to create and prepare the vessel for the Grail, the Starks provided the lands and artifacts that called forth the Servants, and the Lannisters assembled the magecraft to stabilize the summoning ritual and designed that Command Seals that bind the Servants to their Masters.

The original Holy Grail War took place in 200 AC, exactly 200 years after House Targaryen lost the Third Magic, but it was never meant to be anything like the Holy Grail Wars of today. It took ten years to gather the necessary energy to manifest the ritual, however, at the moment of completion, the Three Families realized that the system would only allow one person to utilize it. Despite having similar goals, in the beginning, the Three Families differ in their beliefs on how to achieve it thus leading to the collapse of their alliance. Even with the differences of their opinions, the ritual took place, but the Three Families became enemies up until now. Later on, they would be joined by the other Noble Families of Westeros thus creating the Holy Grail Wars that we know today.

"So, my Father's family and yours are enemies?" Jon asked, skimming through the text of the ancient tome that Sansa loaned him. They were currently in the Winterfell manor, the ancestral seat of House Stark. Jon was uncomfortable with the whole idea of staying there for several days. Both of them lived alone so he felt like he was invading his ally's privacy and solitude, but Sansa had insisted. And despite the awkwardness of the situation, Jon had no choice given that his house had suffered a massive damage from Joffrey Lannister's attack.

"You mean your adoptive Father," Sansa corrected as she applied another layer of the weird concoction she had rummaged from her basement to the wound above his eyebrow. Jon winced at the contact but didn't complain, her comment about Rhaegar didn't go unnoticed, but Jon chose to ignore it and concentrated on the history of the Holy Grail.

"You're going to face one of them you know," the redhead said, pausing from her task, her face dangerously close to his own. Heat rose to his cheeks and Jon tried to avoid her stare as much as he can. Her blue eyes were impossibly wide and deep, Jon feared that if he met her gaze, he’ll get lost in them.

Jon had always thought that she was pretty and had harbored a small crush for her, a secret he kept to himself and never shared with another soul even to his best friend, Samwell Tarly. Not that he does not trust Sam, but he believed that such things should be kept private and besides it’s just a simple high school crush. Perhaps in the future it might fade away.

"I, uh," he stuttered, finding it difficult to think with their current proximity. Why can't she just move away? He thought. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, wanting to escape her owlish gaze.

Gods, her hair smell so good. Wait, what the fuck. He felt her shift, opening one of his eyes, he saw her studying the bruises on his arm. He wished Saber and Archer were here to relieve the awkwardness of the situation, but the two were outside, standing guard against possible threats.

Finally gathering his wits, he sighed, "Father never talked about them. He was a silent man, always prefers to be alone. Just like you."

Sansa paused, her gaze focused down as if to avoid his scrutiny, but not too fast for Jon not to see the emotions that swirled in her eyes.

There was once a time, long ago, when Sansa Stark was not alone. Unlike him, Sansa was born into a wealthy and large family. She had loving parents and four other siblings. She had lived a comfortable life up until she was eight.

Like him, she also lost everything.

Everyone in the North knew of the tragedy that befallen House Stark ten years ago. Sansa may have not voiced it, but Jon sensed that it was connected to the previous Holy Grail War, the same one that brought him to his Father. Rumors say that Lady Catelyn and her four other children had died due to a car accident, but Jon suspected foul play, the Starks had been influential figures after all, both inside and outside the Magus Association. Sansa had been the sole survivor of that grim incident and she would have fallen into the hands of the Lannisters if not for the work of Petyr Baelish, the priest who had been overseeing this whole event.

Petyr Baelish was able to contact Sansa's Tully aunt, Lysa, who was then given guardianship over the little girl. However, Lysa mysteriously died after a few years, leaving behind the last Stark heir. It was then that Baelish stepped in and became Sansa Stark's legal guardian. Jon was wary of the priest and he does not like the way Baelish looks at Sansa as Baelish's gaze was far more predatory than fatherly. Maybe Baelish was just like that, but the younger man’s skin still crawled, reminiscing the first time he met him and saw firsthand how “touchy” the priest was with the girl whom he should consider as a daughter.

"There," Sansa said, ignoring his words. A blush formed on the young man's cheek as her fingers lightly trailed the cut that Joffrey's servant left. "You're good to go.”

"T-thanks," he spluttered, his eyes fixing on anything except on her smoldering gaze. Seven hells, he wondered how he would survive this whole ordeal. It was bad enough that he couldn't talk to her in school, now he had no choice but to interact with her due to their allegiance.

"Well then, I shall take my leave for now. Archer and I will patrol the city for other servants."

When she left, Jon finally released the breath he was holding. This was going to be a long night.

AO3 Link

#jon x sansa #jonsa #fate/stay night #jonxsansafanfiction #jon snow x sansa stark #jon x sansa fanfiction #anime au

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jeeno2 · 7 years ago

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Frigid

Written for Day 2 of @jonxsansafanfiction‘s Twelve Days of Shipping Challenge: “Keeping each other warm.”

Jon grits his teeth as he gingerly lowers himself into the steaming bath Tormund drew for him.

Under normal circumstances a warm bath is a luxury. But right now Jon does not welcome it. Just the opposite. He was so cold for so long today the water’s heat is almost unbearable, stinging and biting at his chapped skin.

He’d been outside, exposed to the elements, for more than ten hours before Tormund and Gendry found him in that cave north of here. By the time they got him back to Winterfell his body was so cold icicles were forming inside his beard.

Tormund wouldn’t allow Jon to do anything else until he promised to spend the rest of the night in a tub full of water as hot as he could stand.

As much as Jon hates the idea of soaking in a hot bath all night while there’s still so much to be done, he’d grudgingly agreed to do as she’d instructed. Tormund knows better than anyone how to keep a person alive after nearly freezing to death. Besides – as reluctant as Jon had been to agree to this, he knows his dying is the last thing anybody needs now.

Wincing against the pain in his side, Jon leans forward to grab the damp cloth Tormund draped over the opposite side of the tub before leaving.

But even that small movement is too much for him. As soon as he inches towards the cloth Jon can feel the fresh stitches in his side pulling taut against his raw flesh. He shuts his eyes against the pain and groans, easing himself gently back against the tub’s edge.

He knows he’s damn lucky to be alive. He reminds himself to focus on that as he struggles to tamp down his frustration over everything else.

But he also needs to find Sansa. Soon. She wasn’t there when they brought him back to Winterfell. He needs to let her know he’s all right. That he’s alive.

Especially given how he left things this morning.

No sooner does he think it than Sansa, as if on cue, materializes inside the doorway to his small room. She stares at him, eyes so wide it’s like she can’t believe she’s really seeing him, in the flesh, and not a ghost. Her jaw is clenched – from nerves, or worry, or anger; or maybe some combination of the three – and her lips are pressed together tightly in a thin line.

Someone must have found her and told her he was back. And then she must have come to him immediately, straight from her bedchamber, because it’s nearly midnight and she’s wearing a thin cotton nightdress and nothing else. It only goes down to her mid-thigh, and despite the fact that Jon nearly died on his stupid mission today his eyes still linger just a beat too long on her beautiful, bare legs.

By the gods, he is pathetic.

After what feels like an embarrassingly long time Jon finally manages to tear his eyes away from her body. He glances down at his hands, slowly turning into prunes in the water, and opens his mouth to say something. But then he closes it again when he realizes he has no idea what to say. Or what she even wants to hear from him.

To his relief, Sansa jumps first. Just like she always does. “You’re back,” she says simply. Her words are so quiet he almost can’t hear them over the thudding beat of his heart.

He nods. This, at least, is something he knows how to answer. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

The right corner of her mouth quirks up into a half smile. Jon decides that’s probably a good sign. Or, that at least it’s a sign she hasn’t just come here to kill him herself.

“Can I…” she begins, but then trails off. Her eyes dart to the far corner of the room. A faint blush starts to rise on her cheeks, and she fidgets with the hem of her nightdress. “Can I… um. Come in?”

Jon’s stomach does an odd, but not entirely unpleasant sort of flip at her question. His eyes go wide in surprise.

“You want to come in? Here?” His voice is much squeakier than it usually is. He can’t help but cringe at the sound of it.

It isn’t that Sansa’s never seen in him in various states of undress before. It’s just that it’s been about ten years. And Sansa has certainly never seen him like this before: half-frozen, filthy and exhausted, soaking in a bathtub wearing nothing at all. Jon is completely exposed to her right now, totally vulnerable – and legitimately terrified for the first time all day.

If Sansa is half as surprised by her proposal as Jon is she doesn’t show it. She only shrugs, though she still won’t look at him. “Yeah. I thought I could… I don’t know.” She goes back to fidgeting with her nightdress. “I thought I could maybe… help you. Or something.”

Jon blinks at her. “You want to help me?” he asks. “How?”

She sniffs and looks a little offended. She still won’t meet his eyes. “They told me you were hurt,” she says, by way of explanation. “And I can smell you from here. Didn’t they clean you up when they brought you in?”

Jon looks down at his legs. They’re completely submerged in the warm water but they’re still covered with thick splatters of dried blood. And not just his. “Pretty sure their only goals were to get my body temperature up and my wounds sutured.” He chances a glance at her. “They wanted me in hot water the rest of the night and probably figured I could take care of the cleanup myself.”

She takes a tentative step into the room. And then another. There’s less than three feet of space now between where he sits and she stands. His eyes widen again.

At last, she looks at him. “Can you, though? Take care of the cleanup yourself, that is?”

Jon looks towards the damp cloth at the other end of the tub. He closes his eyes and sighs resignedly. “Um. Probably not all of it, no.”

That’s all the encouragement Sansa needs. She closes the short distance between them in two strides and kneels beside his tub. She grabs the washcloth with ease and dips it into the warm water. “Then let me help you.”

She brings the cloth to his bare legs, but he lets out an involuntary yelp before it reaches him. She freezes, hand suspended in midair less than an inch from his body. “You don’t need to do this, Sansa,” he says, his words tumbling over each other in a rush. He knows he probably sounds like he’s panicking, but in the moment he is panicking, and he’s doing it far too much to care what he sounds like. “I’m sure Tormund will be back any minute now. He… he can help me.”

Sansa sits back on her haunches and regards him carefully, one eyebrow raised. The way she’s sitting causes her nightdress to inch up dangerously, and Jon has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his eyes on her face where they belong. “Tormund is out patrolling the grounds,” she says. “With Gendry. There’s no one here but me.” Apparently deciding the matter settled, Sansa dips the cloth into the hot water again and wrings it out. “And besides. I’m better at this sort of thing than they are.”

Despite the knots of nervous tension roiling in his stomach Jon can’t help but chuckle at that. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Mmm,” she confirms. Jon suspects she’s trying to look, and sound, haughty. But she’s smiling in spite of herself. “I’m definitely better than they are.”

Without another word, Sansa presses the warm cloth in her hand to one of Jon’s legs and begins to gently scrub away the visible remnants of this horrible day.

Jon has, of course, washed his own body many thousands of times before. Until now he’s always thought of bathing as a perfunctory chore; a thing that must be done before he can get on with more important things. Never in his life has he thought of bathing as something pleasurable – but right now, as Sansa gently scrubs his legs clean with the soft washcloth and runs the palms of her small, calloused hands over his highly sensitized skin, he has to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from groaning aloud.

She is thorough and methodical with him, and yet gentle, leaving no part of his legs untouched. As her palms brush over the skin behind his knees with the washcloth it feels like every single nerve ending in his body is centered beneath her fingertips.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says quietly, but no less forcefully for that as she slides the warm cloth up, skipping over his torso completely and finding his forearm.

She doesn’t clarify what she’s talking about. But there’s no need. He closes his eyes as she works and moves over him, the dual conflicting sensations of physical pleasure and guilt over his earlier actions tangling together unpleasantly in his gut.

“Sansa…” he begins, weakly.

“Just… don’t,” she says again. More sharply this time. “All right?”

He’d left Winterfell this morning like a coward, not even bothering to find her to tell her he was going on this dangerous mission. Not even bothering to say goodbye, even though he knew there was a chance he would never come back.

Doing this sort of thing – leaving before anyone who might care he was leaving woke up and discovered him gone – was a common enough thing for him to do before he came back to Winterfell and everything changed.

But everything is different now, somehow, with Sansa here, though they’ve never discussed it. The way he acted this morning was a strange, new kind of betrayal, and he knows that. It terrifies him, if he’s being honest, the way Sansa’s somehow wormed her way into his life, into his heart, without either of them ever planning on it happening. She’s gotten by every one of his defenses just by being herself, and he’s never been more scared of anything in his life.

It was this fear that led him to slip out of Winterfell before dawn this morning, before he’d have to risk seeing her and saying goodbye.

But how can he explain any of this to her when he hardly understands it himself?

So he doesn’t try.

“I won’t do it again,” he says instead. Resigned to it now, though the thought of having this inexplicable connection to Sansa worries him no less now than it did this morning. “I promise.”

Sansa’s hand pauses briefly on its journey across his clavicle, but that is the only sign she gives that she understands the significance and weight of his words. She recovers quickly, and continues to run the damp cloth over his neck, across his shoulders. Down his back. The water is still very warm but the press of her hand to his skin causes a trail of gooseflesh to rise up on his arms all the same.

“Good,” she says, nodding, as she continues to move. “I promise I won’t either.”

As she pours a cup full of warm water over his head, and threads her dexterous fingers through his dust-matted hair, he decides that for now, it’s enough.

#jonxsansafanfiction #jon x sansa #jonsa #actuallyjonsa #gotdrabble #this will probably be my only contribution for this week but yay! I did one!

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geekprincess26 · 8 years ago

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Bless Me, Father

Written for Day 3 of Jon x Sansa Fanfiction’s 15 Days of Valentine’s challenge.

Father Samwell Tarly was having a difficult day.

He’d been told by Professor Targaryen on his first day at seminary that a priest’s work would never end or lack for challenges, and that had certainly proven true. As with every other parish he had served during his relatively short tenure in the clergy, Wintertown had its share of illness, poverty, and various other forms of human misery. On some days, he would visit half a dozen homes of people who were bedridden or depressed or otherwise in need of advice and prayer, and after that just as many rooms at the county hospital. On almost as many, he would fall asleep at the dinner table without so much as having taken off his collar for the evening.

But Wintertown, more than any other parish he had served, had also given him unexpected joys. His parishioners had initially been more suspicious of and less friendly toward him than had those to whom he had ministered in his two prior postings, but once he had won their trust, they had welcomed him warmly. The library at the parsonage put the collections at his prior parsonages to shame. And to his unexpected delight, Wintertown’s congregation was teeming with young families. The parents were not so stubborn or set on having things done just as their prior pastor had as were some of the older parishioners Sam had encountered, and the children, to his great surprise, almost all took to him from the start – especially, for some reason, little rascals like Rickon Stark, who much to his older sister’s horror had first greeted Father Sam by tackling him into the mud and roaring ferociously because, he said, he was trying to greet the new priest like a proper northern direwolf.

No, Wintertown was by far Father Sam’s favorite parish so far, and most days there gave him more than enough joy, or at least assurance that he had entered the right profession. Today, however, was not one of those days. It was the day of the week that he always had set aside to listen to the confessions of any parishioner willing to give them. This was not always a bad thing, for Wintertown was small, and sometimes the young priest would spend an hour or more reading one of the many volumes in his library while waiting for his next visitor. Today, though, he had a head cold and had awakened later than usual, and then only to the jangling of his telephone. Old Mrs. Mordane’s husband was dying, and so Father Sam had no chance to so much as brush his teeth before he threw on his clothes and headed out the door. While at the hospital, he had encountered the Mormont family, whose youngest daughter, Lyanna, had just fallen from a tree and been brought into the emergency room badly injured. Naturally, Father Sam had stopped to pray with them. He was running over an hour late for his confessions by the time he left the hospital, but then his faithful old Ford Model B had finally given out a mile from the church, and he had had to huff and puff all the way there in the rain. When he finally arrived, it seemed that almost half the town had turned up for confession.

Father Sam spent the next several hours huddled miserably but faithfully in the confessional booth. By the time Miss Sansa Stark, none other than the previously horrified older sister of young Rickon, arrived to make her confession, he was hungry and thirsty, and irritated to boot. His irritation was increased, strangely enough, by the fact that he knew her confession would be boring, for Miss Stark was not much of a sinner. She taught the second grade at Wintertown’s sole school, and students and parents alike loved her, for she was gentle and kind and always had a smile even for her most mischievous students. She had raised her three younger siblings singlehandedly after the deaths of their parents and elder brother in a terrible automobile accident, and by all accounts she did a wonderful job, Rickon’s shenanigans notwithstanding. She even baked cookies for catechism class. And yet Miss Stark felt herself a rather sinful person, for every week without fail for the past year and a half, she had confessed that she struggled with lustful thoughts toward Dr. Jon Snow, the other half of Father Sam’s biggest dilemma – and also Father Sam’s only remaining parishioner still waiting to have his confession heard.

Father Sam had long suspected that most of the young ladies of Wintertown, had they been as sensitive as Miss Stark, would have confessed that they too had lustful thoughts toward the handsome young physician. His black curls, piercing brown eyes, and brooding demeanor gave him the aura of a hero straight out of one of the historical novels that were all the rage among young ladies these days. However, he had never encouraged any of the young ladies in their affections; in fact, he had seemed more or less oblivious to their intentions. The only young lady of whom he had ever taken any real notice was Miss Stark. Father Sam was more keenly aware of this even than the most sharp-eyed of his parishioners, although it was obvious to more than half the congregation at this point, even if nobody spoke of it openly. It would not take a sharp pair of eyes, after all, to see the way Dr. Snow shifted that brooding gaze toward Miss Stark while singing a hymn, or to notice the way that gaze softened whenever he did so. Nor did it take too much intelligence to see the pink tint that spread across Miss Stark’s porcelain face when Dr. Snow helped her into his automobile, which he used to transport the four Starks to and from church every Sunday, or when he let Rickon climb all over him and cover his nice clothes in dirt for the hundredth time and tell an abashed Miss Stark that really, it was no trouble at all. And anyone who could see out of one eye could also see the smile that lit up Dr. Snow’s face every week when he helped Father Sam prepare for catechism class and saw Miss Stark walk into the room with her cookies.

Even if Father Sam had seen none of this, he heard plain evidence of it. For one thing, two of Miss Stark’s three siblings, Miss Arya Stark and Master Brandon Stark, were old enough for the confessional booth themselves, and more than once each of them had confessed to wanting to smack their older sister over the head for being not only oblivious to Dr. Snow’s affections, but also idiotic enough to believe she did not deserve such a fine man. Furthermore, every week like clockwork Dr. Snow entered the confessional booth and admitted to having lustful thoughts for Miss Stark. Father Sam would shake his head behind the curtain, for Dr. Snow was always quick to say he would take such thoughts to his grave rather than bother Miss Stark with unwanted attentions, even if those attentions were to take the honorable form of a request for courtship, or even a marriage proposal. In fact, when Father Sam would mildly mention that the kindnesses the young doctor bestowed on Miss Stark were evidence of care and generosity, not depravity, and even suggest that Dr. Snow might find his conscience relieved if he were to ask Miss Stark for a chance to show just how honorable his intentions were, Dr. Snow would only shake his head in that brooding way of his and remark about how much better Miss Stark deserved.

It was at those moments that Father Sam experienced some of his least priestly inclinations, for he wished then to smack some sense into the other man, or at least give him a fine scolding. On occasion, he had had the most wicked temptation to open his mouth when one of them was in the confessional and reveal the other’s exact feelings. But that, of course, would be a violation of one of his most sacred duties, which was to keep his parishioners’ confessions in the strictest confidence. Not even a judge or man of the law, even during the investigation of a crime, could be required to force Father Sam to speak of what Dr. Snow, Miss Stark, or indeed anybody else told him once seated in that consecrated booth.

This matter, however, was not a criminal one nor even a case of a mortal sin, and Father Sam had begun to wonder of late whether it would also be a sin to deny two people like Dr. Snow and Miss Stark their chance at finding happiness and love, which, after all, were two of God’s greatest gifts to the human race. So when Miss Stark entered his confessional on that wet and miserable night and Father Sam heard the sound of tears creeping into her voice, his irritation fell away in a heartbeat, and in between the sniffles, he felt an idea begin to form at the back of his mind. By the time he had finished hearing Dr. Snow’s weekly bout of sighing and self-loathing, it had become a plan.

A few weeks later, Miss Stark brought her usual batch of chocolate chip cookies to catechism class. Father Sam announced to his young students that this week they would be studying the subject of love. As Miss Stark and Dr. Snow, whom Father Sam had politely requested assist her, quietly set out the cookies at the back of the classroom, he asked his students to discuss instances of people around them showing love to each other. Young Rickon Stark immediately raised his hand, and Father Sam was only too happy to call on him.

Rickon rose to his feet and stood next to his desk. “My sister Sansa loves my brother and sister and me,” he said, “because she cooks dinner for us and talks me and Arya out of fighting and takes us to see Dr. Snow when we get sick.” Oblivious to the blush rising in his sister’s cheeks, he continued. “And she loves Dr. Snow because she lets him read the books she borrows from the library and helps him smile when she brings us in to see him.” Ignoring the identical flush that had swept across Dr. Snow’s face, he said, “And Dr. Snow loves her. He opens doors for her, like a gentleman does, and says nobody is as intelli-intellectual and kind and pretty as she is. He offers to drive her home from school when the weather’s bad. And he smiles at her when she’s not looking. And I think he ought to marry her.”

He sat back down, and Father Sam had to hand it to the boy for not grinning like a Cheshire cat at his sister and the doctor, who had each flushed a bright shade of scarlet. After perhaps five seconds, which seemed to stretch on for five years, Dr. Snow turned not just his eyes, but his whole head toward Miss Stark. Not one moment later, she mirrored his action. She quickly looked down at the floor, but a few seconds later Dr. Snow whispered something unintelligible, and Miss Stark looked shyly back up at him. He said something else, and she nodded and followed him out of the room.

Father Sam beamed at Rickon Stark and took out his Bible to begin the rest of the class. It opened to the spot he had bookmarked the previous night, and his eyes fell on the beginning of Psalm 8:2: “Out of the mouths of babes…”.

One year later, Father Sam looked at that passage again and smiled. It was one of the Scripture verses they had chosen for him to read at their wedding.

#@jonxsansafanfiction #jonxsansaff #jonxsansaff valentines #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #my writing #one-shot fics #1950s-ish au #jon snow #sansa stark #samwell tarly

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cycling-lane · 7 years ago

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Hit The Brakes

@jonxsansafanfiction Twelve Days of Shipping, Day One. Road Trip AU / Seemingly Unrequited Pining Trope

Sansa Stark has lost almost everything. But as the rain pelts down on the roof of Jon Snow’s car, she realises that it doesn’t have to stay that way.

Rated T

This is wrong.

Sansa stands at the edge of the cliff, looking down. It’s a long drop.

Briefly she wonders how long it would take, if she were to jump right now, until she hits the sea below. Maybe she won’t even fall in the water. There are rugged rocks that break its surface, and she might be skewered by one of them instead.

It’s a scary place, but beautiful.

Rickon would have loved it. He would have been exhilarated by height of the cliff, the wind in his hair, the sound of crashing waves below. But he would have also been disappointed. Disappointed by the lovely weather; the quiet breeze and the calm sun. He always preferred mud and lightning storms.

Sansa steps back from the edge. Her hands clutch the black urn anxiously, refusing to let go. This is wrong, she tells herself again. She will not scatter her baby brother’s ashes here. Not today.

She will hold on to him a little longer.

It takes Jon two months to come and find her.

Almost three weeks have passed by the time he hears about little Rickon Stark’s death. He is in the gritty, grimy debts of Afghanistan at the time, fully immersed in a top-secret, high-ops military operation.

His first thought is of Sansa. Lovely, soft-spoken Sansa, whose fiery red hair blazes even brighter than the hot Afghan sun, and who is now all alone. He nearly gets sick at the thought of it. He needs to go see her -be there for her, as she plans her brother’s funeral and undoubtedly cries through the nights.

But Captain Baratheon refuses. “I need you here, boy,” he says. “You’re the only one who can pull this off.”

Although Jon has never hated Stannis more, he does as he is told. He stays. Finishes the mission. Kills so many men he loses count and retrieves whatever information his government so desperately wants.

Then he boards a plane, races to her doorstep, and vows to never look back.

“She won’t come, y’know,” he tells her one night, as they lie side by side in the dark.

Her breathing hasn’t yet slowed down, his skin is still slick with their sweat. The world is a cruel, harsh place, and they are both a little broken, but here -in this tiny house they call their home- they have managed to create something close to heaven.

And now Jon has taken a figurative sledgehammer in his hands and threatens to undo it all. “Arya, I mean. She-” He takes a deep breath, and pushes on. “She’s been missing for so long, it’s-”

“I know.”

They are quiet for a long time.

When Sansa speaks up again, her voice is soft. “I just… I’d always hoped that she was still out there, somewhere. Alive. That she’d heard of Rickon’s death. That it would be enough to bring her home.”

Jon feels himself tense up, but she just cuddles closer.

“Not for me,” she whispers. “For Bran.”

A silent tear rolls down his face. He holds his entire world in his arms right now: she is the beginning and the end of it, both its beauty and its tragedy, just like he is hers. There is no one else. Arya and Ned never came home from their respective military tours. Cat and Robb were killed by the same car crash that turned Bran into a vegetable.

Jon will never tell her, but even if Arya had come back -even if she had visited Bran in the care home, he wouldn’t have noticed she was there.

But then again, Jon doesn’t have to tell her. Sansa already knows.

“We are going on a road trip.”

Jon looks from Sansa to the window and back again, giving her a questioning look. It’s pissing cats and dogs outside. The skies are a threatening shade of grey, and thunder rumbles in the distance.

“Now?” He asks.

She nods. “Now.”

That’s when he notices the small black urn in her hands.

This time, it is exactly right.

Sansa stands at the edge of the cliff, eyes closed and chin tilted up. Rain drenches her clothes, chilling her to the bone, but she couldn’t care less. In the back of her head, her mother scolds her. Her brothers are laughing, running around and tackling each other into the mud. Even Arya is there, playing rugby with Bran.

And there -there is her father. He is tall and proud, walking down the drive in his ridiculously yellow raincoat, Rickon perched on his shoulders. Her baby brother smiles. His ginger hair is plastered to his face, his cheeks are radiant. They are northern. Bad weather is what warms their blood.

Thunder shakes the earth. Sansa opens her eyes just in time to see a flash of lightning shoot across the skies.

“He would have loved this,” Jon says. He stands behind her, his warmth radiating through their clothes and calming down her racing heart.

She waits for a particularly strong gust of wind, swears she can her the laughter of her family on it, and opens the urn.

It’s warm in the car. Their own little, safe cocoon, even as the rain pelts down on the roof and drowns out the radio.

“Where to?” Jon asks, as he nevertheless fiddles with the frequency -all to make sure it’s on a radio station that she likes. “Home?”

He is her kind, gentle and strong -the love of her life. Her entire world. Her home, more so than any pile of bricks could ever be. And in that moment, Sansa knows that she can tackle the entire world for as long as he is by her side.

She grins. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re going on a road trip.”

“You mean this wasn’t it?” He looks slightly confused, but starts up the engine anyway and puts the car in first gear. When they pull onto the motorway, Sansa takes hold of his hand and squeezes it tight.

She may not be alright yet, but she will be. Both of them will.

“We are just getting started.”

#jonxsansafanfiction #jonxsansaff 12 days of shipping #actuallyjonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #sansa stark #jon snow #game of thrones #jonsa #jonsaedit #road trip au #modern au #more angsty than i had planned...#oh well

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mollyraesly · 6 years ago

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Time with Wolves -- Chapter 3

The next week when Jon opened the car door for Sansa, his help was actually necessary because her hands were busy carrying a giant tupperware container. “What’s that for?” he asked. “Umm...it’s for you.”

She fidgeted with the container, frozen in front of the empty car. Sansa could not look at him. She had spent several nights the past week fretting about what she could give Jon to thank him for driving her back and forth. She knew he wouldn’t take any money, and she couldn’t trade chores with him like she did with Robb and Arya. She didn’t know enough about Jon’s hobbies; besides playing hockey and going to visit the wolf-reservation, he always seemed busy with school and his part-time job working for the park rangers. Jon never asked for anything. But he did like to eat, even if he often shrugged off dinner invites. Sansa had seen him more often than not sheepishly fill his plate with second helpings or reach for a third or fourth cookie. His favorite seemed to be gingersnaps. She’d seen him wolf down over ten of those one night two Christmases ago.

She peeled off the container lid to show him the rows of cookies she’d neatly arranged. She had to bake over four batches of cookies yesterday so she could blame the baking on wanting to try out a new recipe and not arouse suspicion that she was baking for someone in particular. She had put only the most symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing cookies in the container for Jon. “They’re gingersnaps.” “For me?” She nodded. “I know school barely started, and it’s more of a winter cookie, but I just thought—I hope you don’t mind—“ “Gingersnaps are my favorite.” He gave her a soft smile. “You made these for me?” She nodded again. “Thank you, Sansa.” She smiled and handed him the container before getting into his car. Jon closed the door after her, and by the time he sat down behind the wheel, he was finishing the last bite of a gingersnap. “What do you think?” “Best cookie I’ve ever had.” She glowed. The cookies became part of their routine, along with the door-opening, Ghost belly rubs, and The Cure. Sansa looked forward to their time together more than anything; it was her favorite part of the week, second to baking a different batch of cookies, imagining what Jon would say about them. He’d enjoyed all of her creations, but gingersnaps were still his favorite. Ghost was growing more and more each week. He could no longer really be called a pup, but Sansa insisted on cooing over him still. After Jon would race Ghost and teach him simple commands, Sansa would comb out the knots of his hair with her fingers and sing to the mute wolf. Ghost made her miss Lady at the same time she felt that hole in her heart start to heal by his presence. One week, after Halloween, Sansa, to her dismay, found she had no cookies to give Jon. Rickon had been wild since going Trick-or-Treating without their parents for the first time. Arya and Bran did very little to supervise him. He ate his pillowcase full of candy within just three days and had been devouring anything with sugar to keep the high. He and his friends ate all the cookies Sansa made while she was out buying fabric and yarn at the craft store with her mom. Catelyn had gotten angry and told Rickon that this eating pattern had to stop before he lost all his teeth. She made him sit down that night and eat every vegetable she put on his plate. Sansa had been upset with him but could not tell him why without blowing her cover. Rickon, like everyone else in her family, thought she was just trying different recipes. So she could not get mad at him, especially when he wrapped his arms around her waist and told her the peanut butter ones were his favorite and the recipe was perfect. There had been time to make more cookies but no butter and no way to get more without making them all wonder what she was really up to in making new batches of cookies each week. So Sansa greeted Jon with nothing in hand, feeling terribly guilty and anxious. “What’s wrong?” Jon asked as soon as he got behind the wheel and noticed her empty hands fidgeting in her lap. Sansa explained as much as felt appropriate. She did not want Jon to realize that her baking for him was a secret. But she didn’t want him to think she was ungrateful, either. “I’m sorry,” she said to end her practiced speech. Jon sighed. “Sansa, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” “But—now I’ve got nothing to thank you—“ “You don’t need to thank me.” “But the ride—gas money—and—“ Jon pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and turned in his seat. “Sansa, stop apologizing. I love everything you bake—especially your gingersnaps. But you don’t have to give me anything. I’d still come pick you up each week.” “Why?” Sansa asked, voicing a question that had been on her mind for weeks. “Why what?” “Why do you give up your Friday nights to take me to the wolf reservation?” It seemed silly to say it aloud, but she had to know. She wasn’t the favorite of any of her siblings. Margaery seemed to be a friend whenever it was convenient for her. Mya and Myranda were best friends with each other before they were with her. Sansa was quiet and a little prudish. She liked romance novels, baking, and knitting. She wore dresses more than pants and spent hours brushing her hair. She was too tall and too pale. She liked to please adults and had never gotten in trouble. She had never had more than a few sips of alcohol and had never even been offered drugs. And she was still only fifteen. Why would Jon—who’d be eighteen just before Christmas—want to waste his Friday nights with her? Especially when Jon was so handsome. Jon brought a hand to rest on the seat behind her shoulder. “Sansa, I’m the one who asked you to come with me, remember? I like spending time with you.” “You do? But Arya always says if I saw a good time dancing naked in front of me I’d make it sit down and force it to drink tea until it calmed down.” Jon laughed and shook his head, his curls jostling from the movement. “That sounds like something Arya would say.” Then his voice turned soft as his gray eyes studied her. “She’s not right, though. I always have a good time when I’m with you, Sansa. You’re good with words and manners and people—much better than me. You bring out the best in everyone. You always find a way to show people you care...even in the little things.” Jon’s ears grew pink. “And Ghost would bite my hand off if I showed up without you now.” Sansa’s eyes had grown a bit wet, but she laughed at his last words. “Well, we can’t have that.” Jon’s fingers dipped as though they were going to reach out and touch her hair, but a moment later his hands were back on the steering wheel and they were on the road again. They were both quieter than usual when they first got to the wolf reservation. Sansa, because she kept repeating Jon’s words over and over in her head and trying to figure out what he meant by them. She could not stay lost in her own thoughts for long, though; Ghost was in a particularly playful mood. Mr. Mormont was working on getting Ghost to perform more complicated commands and was feeding him a small piece of moose meat each time he did something correct. Each time Jon and Mr. Mormont gave Ghost a piece of meat, he’d bring it over to Sansa to show it to her, as though it were a trophy. His preening made Sansa laugh, but she kept fussing over him so that he’d continue the cycle.

By the time they had to leave, Sansa’s face was warm from all the smiling and laughter. She turned to Jon as they made their way to the passenger door. “Ghost was so happy today.”

“He should be. He ate half a moose!” His stomach let out a loud rumble as he took his seat behind the wheel.

“Hungry?” she asked with a chuckle.

He looked sheepish. “I skipped lunch. Mr. Mikken needed help with some broken desks in his classroom.”

Sansa smiled. “You’re such a do-gooder, Jon Snow. What have we done to deserve you?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer—or rather, awkwardly shrug away her praise. “Pull into that drive-through on your next right!”

“Huh?” Jon asked but did as she said. “What is this place?”

“The Ice Shack!” Sansa exclaimed. “They have the best milkshakes! Turn into that lane!”

Jon pulled up to the speaker, which was shaped like a penguin, and went wide-eyed when a voice asked them what he wanted.

“Two double cheeseburgers, everything on them, one large fry, and two strawberry milkshakes,” Sansa answered promptly. “Oh! And extra ketchup packets!”

The voice on the speaker told them their total. As Jon coasted up to the next window, Sansa dug into her purse and pulled out her wallet. “I am paying, and I don’t want to hear anything about it. I know I don’t have to. I want to.” She reached over Jon and handed the cashier a twenty dollar bill. When she settled back in her chair, Jon was shaking his head.

“You Starks,” he murmured.

“What about us Starks?”

He did not have to answer because the cashier was back with their food. Jon handed the milkshakes and grease-laden bag to Sansa and then found a spot in the parking lot and turned off the car.

As soon as his hands were free, Sansa started shoving food in his direction. Jon groaned as he started shoving fries into his mouth. He ripped the burger out of its wrapper and took a giant bite. “God, that’s good.”

Sansa giggled. “Ketchup?”

“Thanks.” Jon took a long sip of his milkshake. “How’d you know I like strawberry?”

“Because strawberry is the best,” she replied with a smile. That was something her dad always said whenever he ordered milkshakes. And then he’d wink at her mom, a private joke Sansa had never fully understood.

Jon finished drinking and quickly wiped his mouth, his ears growing pink. “Sorry, I’m being a pig.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mind.” Impossibly, Sansa made eating a burger in a car seem dainty. She’d arranged the wrapper like a napkin on her lap and was holding her burger carefully with both hands.

“Yeah, but—”

“But what?”

Jon looked away. “Downing junk food in the car. It just seems…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, not like something you normally do.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Jon, I basically forced you to pull over.”

“Well, it’s just that this isn’t very dignified—”

Sansa laughed. “You do realize I only watch movies about medieval princesses and I’m not actually one of them, right? Robb’s my older brother; I’ve eaten food in a car before.”

Jon chortled under his breath. “I know! It’s silly. Of course you have. It’s just, you’re so proper! Even now, you’re being so neat, and I’m a mess. I have mustard in my hair.”

Sansa leaned over and wiped the mustard out of his curls with her napkin. “You are a little bit of a mess, yes,” she said, giggling. “But no worse than Rickon most days.”

“Oh, so I’m comparable to a seven-year-old.”

“A very hungry one.” She’d not told Jon that Rickon at all his cookies, but she was quite glad he did. If Jon had eaten a few cookies earlier, they probably would not be sharing the last few fries in an abandoned parking lot.

She smiled and continued to eat her burger, grinning as she saw Jon try and fail to be neater. A piece of lettuce covered in ketchup fell into his hair.

She giggled.

“Oh, just toss me some more napkins, Princess Sansa!”

Grinning, she obliged.

#jonsa fanfiction #jonsa #jonsa fic #jon snow #Sansa Stark #jonxsansafanfiction #jon x sansa fanfiction #jonxsansaff #mollyraesly

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