#the hag's propmts

[reginarubie]

Jon and Sansa do end up together, but— actually Jon's POV

Because I've heard by mistake a song and I was inspired, so fight me, this is how it went.

This also features a bit of everyone, a little snippet of Joffrey and Cersei as well... and well really, everyone. With a side dish of Arya being blunt as always, Jon and Robb friendship begging, the first time Jon and Sansa met and several other things.

Also... if you were wondering what that “something like that” Jon had said to Podrick last installment of the story... here you learn what that something has been.

Inspired by Surrender by Natalie Taylor, and also, can be found in my ao3 archive of prompts and ficlets (here).

Can we surrender? [Whenever you are ready]

Jon ~

He gazes at the roof, her warm body nestled against his, her head resting against his shoulder, her arms and legs wrapped around him, milky white and pale against the sheets. 

His hand drifts from her shoulder to her waist and up again. The caress so featherlike she doesn’t even wake. He’s grateful for it.

He knows she’s had trouble sleeping. 

The fact that her sleep is undisturbed when she lays beside him fills him with both pride and boundless love. 

He lays there, feeling her breath against his neck, and her lashes brush against his skin. Her hands are warm, they keep at bay the chilling cold of the night.

He remembers perfectly the first time he saw Sansa. 

Robb had always been the kid everyone wanted to be friends with, intelligent, of good family with a brilliant future ahead of him, with the right connection to pursue any dream he might ever have. Even at five Jon had been very aware of all the differences between them. 

He was the son of a single mother, no father to speak of — his mother would not even speak his name and frankly, after one night she had admitted to him that his father had basically groomed her when she was a teenager and that his father had already a wife and children — his mother had to work double hours to just ensure that Jon’s clothes were of good quality and that his homework did not slack due him feeling different. 

Even back then Jon had known Robb Stark was and would have everything Jon ever wanted. Still, he could not bear the boy any ill, he was older than him by half a year and he was just so… kind, when he wasn’t impersonating his own father and bossing people around. 

He was fun to be around too. 

In the beginning they had antagonized each other, but the Starks relentless kindness is something that wins them the heart of all those around them. 

Jon had been six and Robb had been six and half and Jon was a little shit, okay?, he disliked the way most kids in his school paraded around their daddy’s money and often they would bully him because he had no daddy. No dad to come to his soccer practice and to cheer him on when his mom was working.

Jon was alone.

He was an easy victim, not that he staid that way for long. He had started throwing punches long before his mother learned of it, halfway through the first year of school.

Still, it was october and the cold was so intense that it didn’t snow, it just frosted the snow that had fallen the week before when the temperature had been warmer.

A couple of kids had stolen his lunch money — which fine, he would scrape something at home — but then they had started their usual mantra of how he should go tell daddy, oh, no you don’t have a father.

Little shits.

Jon had thrown the first punch when they had called him bastard and his mother a whore. And the second. Maybe even the third before they had overpowered him, kicked him in the tummy and left out of the classroom in the icy wind.

Bastard, they had called him.

Now Jon is old enough to know they weren’t aware of half the words they were using, still it had stung.

Robb Stark had been the one to found him, he had lent him his jacket — warm and furlined — and shared with him his homemade meal. Jon had bitched about that too. Called him names, but Robb had just smiled and shared his lunch with him.

“Your name is Jon, nah?” he had asked. 

Jon had grunted some reply that Robb had miraculously understood and they had eaten together. 

Jon had called him stupid, told him that he didn’t want his pity. 

But, when Jon had finally manage to overpower the leader of the bullies in april of that year, and the others had ganged up on him, Robb had been there. One of his teeth had been knocked out and Jon still remembered Robb standing tall — taller than him — with his mouth bloody, grinning with a missing tooth and giving him the thumbs up.

He had become his brother in all but blood then.

Still, when Robb had brought him to Winterfell Manor Jon had been cautious. It had been lord Eddard Stark who had come to the principal that day when his mother had discovered of his problems at school and his punching tendencies. 

He had been quiet, and seemed the kind of man who never raised his voice, but the face of disappointment he had bestowed on them when he had been told they had been the ones to throw the first punch had almost made Jon shrink down a size.

Even when Ned and Lyanna had learned of the bullying they had been very displeased Jon and Robb had resorted to throw punches instead of involving the adults, though Jon had gained a pat on the shoulder and the head by Ned Stark.

“What do I tell you, always?,” Lyanna had been berating and Jon had been reciting her usual teachings “Walk a mile to avoid a fight—”

“My father used to say something very similar,” Ned Stark had interjected “though he used to say, do not fight—” he said “but if you have to fight, win.”

Lyanna had been exasperated at that “That’s not what I meant at all—”

“No, but the bullies would not have stopped unless he showed them they are weaker than him,” he said “I don’t approve of you throwing punches, boys, so next time avoid it” he had mussed Jon’s hair up and watching him and Robb walk away, Robb waving at him excitedly and Jon had never missed a father more in his life.

And whilst Ned Stark had proved amiable, still, the matriarch of the Stark family was without any doubt not very impressed with Jon having somehow managed to get her son involved in some punch fight. 

She had grounded Robb for five weeks, and coach had put them both on the bench for five matches. 

“Hello Mrs. Stark” 

The woman had been feeding a toddler who seemed to have no intention of ever eat, and kept spitting out everything the mother tried to get her to eat. 

“So, you’re Jon—” she had greeted him “my son tells me you’re a good sort, try not to involve him in another fistfight and we’ll be alright, understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“You can call me Catelyn, darling— are you…ARYA!”

And Mrs Stark was growing increasingly more frustrated with her, the toddler had lusterless brown hair and the grey eyes of her father and a toothy grin that reminded Jon of Robb’s bloodied one.

At one point Mrs Stark got up from her seat to lean against the counter, Jon and Robb had been doing homework.

“Mommy have you seen my pink sweater—?” Jon had not paid much attention to the voice, though Mrs Stark had turned to her eldest daughter, all ready for ballet practice and had sighed. 

“Robb,” she had called “Help your sister lace up her shoes” she had commanded and Robb had mimicked her.

“What do we say?”

“Please, son of mine,” Catelyn Stark had sounded impressively annoyed by her son’s antics “help your sister lace up her shoes”

“I can do it alone, mommy!” said sister had chirped and Robb had shrugged as if to say to his mother see?, but Catelyn Stark’s glare was impressive — it still is — and Robb had jumped down the chair to collect his sisters shoes, whilst said sister sat, bouncing her legs on the chair Robb had just vacated. 

Toddler Arya had been playing with her food. 

Jon had stood up then, awkward to share the kitchen with a girl he barely knew. Sansa Stark, was her name, was Robb’s little sister, she had red hair held in a braided bun held by a dragonfly pin, she was wearing a stupidly frilly skirt and no shoes. 

Her eyes were big and blue.

Very blue.

They were impressively blue. 

To busy himself in any way possible he had found his way to toddler Arya, still playing with his food, and more out of boredom than any other reason he had taken up the spoon and tried to feed her. Imagine his surprise when Arya had eaten willingly and demanding more with her dirty, chubby hands.

“Wow,” little Sansa had commented “look at how well she behaves! You’re so good with her!” 

Jon had blushed at that, though he was too embarrassed to speak and had not looked at her, not as Robb helped her lace up her shoes, nor as she demanded he carried her backpack for her to the car.

Though he had watched her leave.

Toddler Arya had babbled incoherently and Jon had felt almost accused, though he did not know of what.

Jon had watched her go, and as she had skipped the way to the gates she had turned around and smiled at him, the greenery of the courtyard making her look like some kind of fairytale princess.

***

For years, after that, Sansa had been at the periphery of his life, but never truly a central character of it. They run in different circles and Jon was okay with that, what more, your best friend’s sister is virtually untouchable, so…better off this way.

Still, Jon was almost always at Winterfell Manor, and often times overnight, especially when they had found out Lyanna’s cancer. Ned Stark had pulled several strings and in the end Lyanna had been transferred to Harrenhal Hospital, one of the best for this kind of things, and Jon had moved permanently, until Lyanna had recovered that is, in the Stark home. 

Life was different with so many people around, Jon was used to it being just him and his mother, and all the chaos the Stark siblings brought around did not lessen her absence. 

At times he was severely overwhelmed by the Starklings running around like little wildlings in the courtyard and he would rather stay cooped up inside watching some TV. It had been that way that Jon had developed an interested for the naturalistic documentaries no one wanted to watch. 

That was until one day Sansa had left her alcove in her room — her very pink and white room — a book of some fantasy story in hand and had sat on the couch beside him. 

Jon had been an inch to try and made her scurry out of what had become his safe place, but he couldn’t literally haunt away from her own home Sansa, so he had sat tight hoping the documentary might bore her enough to send her back to her daydreaming in her pink room.

Ew pink, looking back at it made Jon shake his head, especially considering the woman he is holding is wearing a soft pink nightgown, thank you very much.

When, after half an hour it had been clear she would not move, Jon had started to relax. Her presence seemed to sooth a bit the ache of his mother’s absence and it didn’t overwhelm him like the others did upon time; plus the noise of her turning the pages and her soft breathes kind of relaxed him too.

They had come closer to loose Lyanna that year and Jon had spent his first Christmas without his mother — it had happened again, on occasion, but lately they both had worked out a way to spend it together since after he had returned from the Nights Watch operative squadron — he had been so downtrodden that not even Robb’s easy smile could help him feel better, nor the several gifts he received.

“This is for you,” he remembers an eleven year old Sansa tell him handing to him a badly wrapped gift. 

His wife is good at many things, but wrapping gifts is not her forte. 

He had been so surprised she had gotten him a gift — he had not gotten her any — but he had been especially touched when the gift had turned out to be an hand-knit scarf with his favorite colors. The knit wasn’t perfect, but for Jon, to this day, it’s the most beautiful scarf in the world.

Thus his childish crush on his best-friend’s sister was born, even if he would not realize it for years, yet. 

Though he made sure to always have ready a gift for Christmas and her birthday, a thoughtful gift, because she had the capacity of making him feel less alone.

By the time he had been seventeen and Sansa fifteen Jon had been completely aware of his terribly improper crush on her, though he was determined to wait it out and do nothing about it.

Na-ah he would not act on it, not even remotely even if her new boyfriend was terribly annoying — to his great frustration taller than both him and Robb despite being younger — and the perfect picture of the kind of prince from the stories Sansa so much loved.

No.

He would wait out the year, walk away, enlist for the Nights Watch and one day he’d return and his crush on her would have disappeared without him even noticing.

It had been a good plan — Jon sneers at the sheer idiocity of it now.

That was, until that night. Jon could still recall every single minute of it, from the moment he had been in his car with Alys Karstark trying not to let the idea of Sansa with Joffrey disturb him too much to the moment he had grabbed Sansa’s hand and gotten her out of that house.

It had been 9:27 PM, he remembers starkly and his phone had blared in his backpocket. Alys had been annoyed by him replying but seeing Sansa’ name flashing on the screen had put him on edge.

“Sansa?,” but no reply had come from the other side of the phone, only sobs. He still remembers the way Alys Karstark had redone the two upper buttons of her shirt and rolled her eyes.

When Sansa had not replied still he had added “Baby, speak to me, what it is?”

Alys had left in a huff then. But Sansa had not replied still, she had only said “Jon” and her voice had trembled the way it did when she contained the tears threatening to fall off her cheeks.

This is it, he remembers thinking, “Baby, I need you to tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you”

She had exhaled, Jon likes to think in relief then. She had not been able to tell him where she was, but his phone had pinged with her position. 

Jon had just convinced his mother to lend him the car, and he was about to crash it in the attempt to get her fast enough.

The Lannister Villa had been a two hours drive from there, he didn’t even know why the Lannister had a fucking villa in the North, nor why they had transferred there with Ned Stark’s bestfriend last year, but he didn’t care. All he had cared about had been Sansa.

He had made it in twenty minutes, probably breaking every speed limit of the state, he didn’t care.

The Villa had been alight with noise and lights as Sansa had been invited to a party, he remembered watching her parade around in that stupid lilac dress all ready with her hair straightened and her lips plump and pink. 

Fuck, and he had thought he had not paid attention to her.

Jon had parked the car with such a violence that the wheels had hissed against the cement, then he had hopped off it and slammed the door shut, some of the guests had noticed the broody teen, all black curls and stormy expression stride inside the backyard.

“Where is she?!” he had thundered to poor Myrcella, who to her credit is not as bad as the rest of her family. 

But she had been scared, that much he remembers. 

Her voice had been squeaky “Upstairs,” she had said “in my room, but Jon—” and Jon had not cared as to why she knew his name, the insipid girl had never spoke to him once “my mother is there with her, you don’t have to worry—”

That had been reason enough to worry.

Jon had taken the stairs two by two and in the end he had found Cersei Lannister trying to open the door to the bathroom directly connected to Myrcella’ room.

“Who are you?!” she had demanded “what are you doing in my home? Thief! I’ll have you arrested for this!”

Jon had shouldered past her and her yelling and had leaned against the door 

“Sans?” he had called, but Sansa had been letting the water run, possibly to drain out all the noises Cersei Lannister kept making.

When Cersei Lannister made to grab him Jon had, had enough and simply… broke down the door?

Jon had been doing boxe, he knew he was strong, still up to today he believes it had been adrenaline more than strength that helped him slam the door open.

Sansa had been sitting on the tub, the water running and her face tear-striken, but that had not been what had sent him spiraling, no what did it, had been her bruising cheek and eye, her busted lip.

Jon wanted to kiss those lips.

Joffrey had no business even being close to them and he abused them that way? Abused her that way?, the girl Jon wanted? The girl Jon loved?

He had knelt before her and had put his hand on her thigh, she had shivered.

“You’re ice cold, baby—” and yeah, after he would have realized he had called her baby several times that evening, thankfully she was too out of it to connect the dots, he had wrapped her in his jeans jacket and had helped her up.

Though the moment he had seen Joffrey sneering at them and demanding he unhanded his girlfriend Jon had snapped.

To this day Jon cannot say how many times he punched him, the first moment of lucidity he had was when Sansa had called out, breathy and trembling his name.

That had stilled him.

He had turned in rage to look at her, and seeing her narrow shoulders wrapped in his jacket all fury had evaporated as if made of nothing but thin air.

Fuck, I’m in love with her.

He had stood up then, leaving Joffrey bloody on the carpet, before the eyes of everyone, Robert Baratheon included. He had taken Sansa’s hand then.

“You wanted to file a compliant, Mrs Baratheon,” he commented darkly “please do, I’ll happily meet your scumbag of a son in court for assault once he has faced the charges we will file against him” all in all, he thought that Catelyn Stark would be pretty proud of his speech.

Sansa had not let go of his hand, not even to let him drive and Jon had not let her go either, not until they had been inside Winterfell Manor and Sansa had fallen into her mother’s worried embrace. 

Feel my white flag,

my love where are you—?

Jon had had another run in with Joffrey, at school. He and Robb had made sure he pressed no charges and that he knew that no one touched Sansa and walked away unscathed.

It had been the first time Sansa had tended to his bruised knuckles. It had not been the last.

He had toyed with the idea of asking her to be his date to prom, maybe that would put a smile to her beautiful face, but in the end he had chickened out of it. And in the end the time for his enlistment had come and Jon had been saying goodbye to the Starks and his mother.

“You’ll be careful?”

“Stop nagging him, Sans!” Robb complained “you’re worse than his mother is, no offense meant, Ms Snow!”

Jon had wanted to take her hand then. He had been too chicken to do that too. 

“I promise, Sansa” he had told her gently “and you’ll keep doing the therapy like you promised?”

“I said I would, and I will” Sansa had nodded to him and Jon had known he had to walk away at one point.

To turn his back to her.

Foolish idiot he had been.

And, in the rear mirror he had seen his mother and Sansa watching him go, they had been his focal point, though Arya and Bran and Rickon and Robb had been there as well.

Stupid boy.

***

Surprisingly Sansa kept in touch during his first years at Castle Black and even came around, once or twice. 

That was how she had met his comrade, Waymar Royce. The lucky bastard, who had the chance Jon had butchered in its crib when he had become Robb’ best friend, but at least Waymar treated her right.

For a time.

And Jon had found his own dimension with the brotherhood, and surprisingly with the wildlings as well.

Ygritte had been a lapse in judgment, he had known from the beginning that they wanted different things, that they looked at life differently, but then she had laughed so easy and then she had sung before the fire and Jon had been done for.

She had been a passionate lover, she is a passionate woman. Too harsh, and she made fun of every softness she ever saw in him.

I’d like to see you in a silk dress — no, she’d look more like Sansa despite not being half as beautiful.

The thought had comforted him in the beginning.

Like those frilly silk dresses you southerners wear?, no thank you. She had replied harshly, or you’d like too that I’d scream ‘Oh, a spider! Jon Snow, save me!’

Sansa was not afraid of spiders, and he disliked Ygritte generalization that all women who wore silks were somewhat fragiler than her. 

It had been Sansa who had found Ned after his motorcycle accident, she had been the one to call the ambulance and ride with him to the hospital and offer the first help she could, she had seen her father almost being decapitated by the motorcycle he had been riding, and had seen him almost loose a leg. 

There was nothing weak in Sansa.

So that I could tear if off ye, he had said, between gritted teeth, knowing he had imagined Sansa in her stupidly flawless dress at one of the many charities dinners and how she’d look if he tore it off her. 

But Ygritte had not understood. Or perhaps she had understood way too well. She had followed Jon to Castle Black with her cousin Gilly and his sworn brother Sam, and Sansa and Arya had been there. 

He had lost track of time during his stay beyond the Wall and when he had returned he had found out it was around Arya’s sixteenth birthday and with her new car she and Sansa had drove to Castle Black to surprise him.

Jon had been touched, Ygritte less so. Especially when she had noticed the wistful way Jon had looked at Sansa and Waymar. He had never considered Ygritte especially perceptive, but she had caught on, on his crush on Sansa pretty quick.

Their breakup had been explosive, she had even punched him in the face and had threatened him with Jon’s own service gun. Thankfully she didn’t fire, but Jon had no doubt that if lord Commander Mormont had not intervened when he did, she would have done something drastic for both of them. 

He had only been thankful that word of exactly why they had broke up never got to Waymar or worse, Sansa. She’d never forgive herself, she’d probably trek to Ygritte’s hut only to convince her that she was wrong.

Waymar had seemed blissfully ignorant and that meant Sansa was too. Now, Arya…that was all another story, it had gotten to the point that when they had went out to properly celebrate her birthday and the boy she had a crush on had come with his new girlfriend Arya had moped and found him at the bar.

“Is this how you feel when you see her with beautiful-hair?” she had asked sitting on the stool beside his and frowning at that Gendry-fella.

Jon had almost spat all the beer he had in his mouth “I beg your pardon?”

“Look, you can fool Robb,” Arya had told him, mighty unimpressed, “you can fool her and Gods be good, you can fool even yourself, but you cannot fool me”

Jon had found no words to deny it then “Aye,” he had replied at her original question then and Arya had sighed “It bloody sucks doesn’t it?”

Jon had shrugged.

Silence had ensued as Sansa, social butterfly that she was managed to politely flip Gendry and his new girlfriend the bird. 

“You know, I kinda hate her at times,” Arya had confided to him “but, not really. She’s annoying, like really annoying, but I kind of see where you come from”

It had been as close to a blessing he had gotten from the Starks about his crush on Sansa. 

“Does it ever stop?” Arya had asked after a long while, and Jon had been already halfway his next pint.

“Don’t know what to tell you,” he had replied “It hasn’t stopped yet, for me”

“How do you manage not to punch him in the gut?,” Arya had demanded, when Waymar had swept Sansa in for the kiss of the century “I’m not even half in love with Gendry as you are with her, and I still want to tear all of Ly-lah stupidly pretty hair from her skull”

“He makes her happy,” he had mumbled, as if explained everything, no matter the way his heart kept breaking.

It had begun with Waymar stumbling over his words to ask Sansa out to dinner.

It had ended with their breakup. 

Jon and Waymar had shared a silent pint over it, then Jon had walked away.

In a couple of years Jon had stepped down from his operative days and he had met Val. 

His whole relationship with Val still broke his heart a little to think of. Val had not deserved to be the second choice and honestly Jon had believed to have outgrown, outlasted his crush on Sansa. 

And on it had went, for almost a year and half. During one of his visits to Winter Town Sansa had basically dragged him away from the raucous Winterfell mason and had taken him with her to the elderly home she often visited. 

There had been Podrick, the one she had confided to him, she had, had a crush on almost three months prior. Not even Robb had, had anything against him, which made hives rise upon his arms.

But seeing her so enamored by him? Jon could hardly take it, but it wasn’t easy telling  Sansa Stark no. Usually his wife would anyway get her way and you’d end up feeling like shit because you had tried to deny her, her wish. It always backfires, in his experience. Never get her to use her puppy eyes on you, and never have her so much in a strife she’ll use that sharp tongue of hers to make so much sense you wonder why you are even trying to tell her no.

“Sansa I don’t know if that’s—”

“Hello everyone!,” her grip on his hand, had been like a tether, and Jon had followed it like he no choice and chance “Stop being so shy! — I hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend over!”

Jon had entered everyone’s field of vision then, and Podrick Payne had been there, in the first line, gazing at Sansa and then at their clasped hands. Jon had let got of her hand then, discreetly, even thought every fiber of his being had told him to hold on tight and face straight on this boy who thought he had any business trying to get his Sansa to fall in love with him.

“Stop manhandling me,” he had told her stiffly, but Sansa had just rolled her eyes.

“Then stop being so stubborn. Jon, this is my friend Podrick, the one I told you about. Pod this is Jon”

Jon had felt his whole world crumble to dust and re-settle itself as the boy, with a taurine neck and honest eyes suddenly looking quite uncertain, Jon had schooled his expression — conceal don’t feel — and had offered him his hand. Jon might never be Sansa’s other half, but he would vet anyone who thought of even coming close to her.

“Pleased to meet you,” he had said “I am sorry Sansa sprang me on you all” he had added politely looking pointedly at Brienne. 

He thinks of Val for a moment, wondering how she’d like this place, she laments that the elderly of the Free Folk are not supported enough by the Realm which has recluded them in the reserve of Beyond the Wall.

Sansa had urged him to join her and he had followed suit, and he had discovered some unadulterated sense of peace in joining her and speaking to the old ladies and gentlemen, speaking to them about his time with the Free Folk. 

“Oh,” a woman had asked “you’ve seen many wildlings?”

“I did ma’am, thought they prefer to be called Free Folk, they’re not so different from us, after all. They’re very loud” he had added thinking back on Ygritte. His face must’ve had shown his distress because Sansa’s hand had come atop his on his lap.

He had raised his gaze and smiled up at her, knowing she could read him so well at times it was a wonder she had never learned of his crush on her, but thankful nonetheless, and a beautiful shade of pink had colored her cheek making her look even more lovely as she beamed at him “Jon,” she had said “is considered a Free Folk friend,” she had told them “they trust him”

And for a moment Jon had felt the most special man in the wide world.

He had cornered Podrick some time after that, taking a brief breath from it all, and had confronted him about his crush on her, indirectly.

“I like her as well,” he had admitted and Jon had smiled at that.

“I know,” he had said twisting around and looking at her, smiling and listening to everyone, making them feel heard and understood, asking after their children and grandchildren. Remembering little nothings they must’ve told her another time as easy as she can recall the date of the War of Five Kings or declame the names of all princess and ladies and heroes and knights from the songs.

To everyone’ detriment.

“Dance with me!” it had not been the first time Sansa wrestled him in dancing with her, and despite being a terrible dancer Jon indulges her, though soon enough they’re just swaying at a tempo not that of the music and Jon had ended up hoisting her up his chest and twirling her around like he had done when she had been a girl with a frilly ballet skirt and lucid ballerinas at her feet. 

And Sansa had laughed and Jon had let her kiss his cheek. He had went to sleep smiling that night, after they had video called, because Sansa was a fan of video calling above texting or calling.

Then for months Sansa had been a near permanent fixture near him beyond the Wall as they helped the Free Folk making their voice heard across the country and to the Senate and the king. Still he had walked around blessedly ignorant of how much beneath the surface his love for her had been brimming.

It had taken Sansa and Val being abducted for his instincts to kick in once again and prove to him that he was most certainly not over her.

Can we, can we surrender?

Jon could not recall being so scared, not even when she had called to him that one time with Joff. Jon knew he could take on Joff.

He had not slept, not eaten, the anxiousness eating at him at the very idea of Sansa and Val both in peril, and when finally he had found them…Sansa had, had blood on her face — someone had cut her cheek and she had turned her head to look away from the sheer violence of the fight that ensued to save them — and his entire body had deflated.

Can we, can we surrender?

Jon had kissed Val, feeling relief flooding his senses, as Sansa finally blinked up at him.

“Jon..?”

“It’s alright baby,” he had murmured against her forehead as he kissed her head reverently. 

It had been his fault, Jon had been distracted by her presence again, by his duties and he had not seen the abduction coming “I’ve got you,” he had hoisted her up his chest and they had walked out of it.

They had, had a fight too, the day before they got abducted. Sansa had wanted to remain even as winter was starting to snow the wildling villages in, with the danger she’d have to spend the entirety of the season beyond the Wall. And Jon had been half an inch from bending her over the fucking table and kiss her silly until she just fucking stopped talking.

He had hovered like a dark shadow around her as the paramedic had looked over her injury and Sansa had been none too impressed with it. 

“Jon stop looking at me like your pet has died,” Sansa had muttered exasperated “I promise I am fine,” 

“If you just had listened to me nothing of this would’ve happened,” he had recriminated and Sansa had smiled sweetly at the paramedic who had finished with her and had started to try and look over his own excoriations.

“I can take it from here,” Sansa had dismissed the paramedic.

“But his—” the man had started to point out, but Sansa had gingerly took his cotton and disinfectant from his hands.

“I’ve got this, it’s not the first time I tend to his bruised knuckles, I promise”

“It’s not the first time I bruise them to protect you either,” Jon had quipped unhelpfully. Sansa’ glare had shut him up real quick.

“You’re so stupid,” Sansa had accused him “I know you were scared and now you’re taking that frustration out on me”

Maybe I should kiss you stupid, may it be that it’d make you listen to me for once.

“Sorry” but then the words had died on his tongue when Sansa had leaned close studying his eyes. There had been nothing sexual about it, and yet Jon had felt himself stir at her vicinity.

“Stu-pid!” she had said then, breaking the spell and leaning back, whacking him behind the head “you look like you haven’t slept in days, go to Val, and sleep”

And only at that point Jon had been reminded of his own girlfriend, and he had felt like the worst scum at the bottom of the earth. He had went to her, but he had been so ashamed, so fearful… that he had wanted to hide from the entirety of the world, the world that had always hung to a shrivel of his will to stay away from Sansa.

The same world that collapsed and imploded on himself with four simple words.

“YOU SAID HER NAME!” Val had only murmured it, but it had been as strong as if she had screamed. 

Sansa had been so close too, that his first instinct had been to turn to her, to see if she had noticed the commotion, but blessedly she had been busy with the interviewer to care. Beautiful, brave and lovely, she was shining so bright that for a moment he had been blind to anything but her.

How, how had he ever thought to be over her?

Val’s heart had broke at that, he knew, and to this day Jon knows that, that broken heart is his cross to bear. He caused that. 

His wife stirs gently beside him “Honey,” she mumbles half asleep “what time it is?”

Jon doesn’t let her twist in his hold “It’s early,” he tells her “get back to sleep”

His wife, bless her soul, has never liked being bossed around “Are you alright?” she asks, settling back against his chest and snuggling closer. 

“I am” he promises. 

When he and Val had broken up Jon had promised himself. Enough was enough, he either worked himself out of his love for Sansa or merely surrendered to the inevitable truth that he was forever meant to be in love with her. No matter the odds.

It had been during one of his visits to the local school of Mole Town that everything had changed. 

The motion for the independence of the North and the Freedom of the Free Folk was being spoken about in Senate, he and Sansa had videocalled the morning, before he had begun his speech to the first class, and she had prep-talked to him, made sure he felt confident. 

Then, out of the blue, Jon had turned as he had been explaining how the Free Folk claimed descent from the First Men and how they viewed and treated the land they considered their own, and she had been there, looking down and smiling at a little girl who had noticed her — the only one who had thus far — her red hair falling across her shoulders and framing her lovely face.

And Jon had known it.

Surrender it is.

“And you, miss Stark,” he had called, bringing his hands behind his back and smiling at her looking at him as if he were her math teacher hell-bent on calling her to the slate for a surprise exam “what can you tell us of the Free Folk?”

And all the children had turned and awed. Sansa, as all the Starks had been well known even back then, the natural heir to her lord father and as beautiful and elegant as Jenny of Oldstones must’ve been — or so, some claimed. He thought no matter how beautiful Jenny might’ve been, Sansa was bound to be twice as beautiful, though he supposed Duncan prince of Dragonflies would possibly debate against it.

He had smirked at her good-naturedly and Sansa had seemed to consider something, she cocked her head to the side and then she had spoken, weaving tale after tale of how strong and beautiful and spiritual the people Beyond the Wall were. 

The children had been enchanted by it. And Jon too to be honest, he had no doubt Sansa would gain whatever she wanted from the Senate if they only let her speak publicly about it.

By the time the doorbell rang for the lunch the children didn’t want to leave her behind “I’ll be right behind you,” she had told a girl who had been brave enough to take her hand and start to tug “I just have to ask mr Snow a thing” she had said pointing at him with a wave of hand. Her voice hiding mirth but outlined almost stiffly.

“Oh, mr Snow” the girl had exclaimed “you’re in trouble, you are!” before skipping out of class with her friend trailing behind her.

As soon as the door closed behind them Jon neared to her, suddenly preoccupied. Was there a reason why she had sought him out?, something with Ned? Or Aunt Catelyn?

“Everything okay, Sans?” he had asked, unable to help himself and Sansa had looked completely downtrodden, which had made him cage in one her, he had not even realized he had done it until she had grabbed him by his blue shirt, inclined her head and pressed her lips across his.

It had been nothing but the brush of her lips against his, but Jon had felt his entire world and being flare up as he had looked down on her surprise coloring his features.

“So,” Sansa had commented, walking around him — still gaping like an idiot, but his brain had not been working yet, thank you very much — and making her way almost to the door “for tonight at dinner, the Queensgate pub or—”

Only then had Jon’ brain started to compute again “Yes” he had breathed, almost stumbling around his suddenly very ungraceful limbs to reach her “Yes”

Amusement had sparked in Sansa’s eyes “Yes to what..? You’ll have to be more specific—”

Jon had cupped her cheeks then and fucking kissed her, okay? He had smooched her silly like he had wanted for the better part of the last at least fifteen years, pressed his lips against her and finally tasted the heaven inside her lips. 

Sansa had let him kiss her, but then she had wrapped her hands around his wrists and leaned back from his lips “I’m not joking,—” she had said “I’m deadly serious, which one do you..?—”

Jon had narrowed his eyes in fond annoyance then, pecking her lips “Baby,” he had drawled “I love you, I really do, but if you don’t shut up now I’ll really snog every coherent thought from this really pretty head of yours” and his hands had been across her waist and Sansa had arched a brow at him “until it’s all me and empty of all the rest”.

She had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck “You’re still talking? For sure you talk big for someone—”

Needless to say Jon had snogged her a good deal, also crumpling her beautiful skirt and shirt —oops, — before they had gone for lunch, and even then Jon had eaten more of her lunch than his, with all the kissing.

“You’re thinking something silly again” Sansa tells him, her eyes are closed, her smile distended and Jon kisses her lips.

“I am not”

“Yes, you are” she says, her voice sure “I know you.” she adds a for half a minute there's silence “Honey?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I know it’s difficult, since you’re silly,” she says “but your silliness is disrupting my beauty sleep”

“Oh,” Jon smirks as her hand starts to draw patterns across his lower abdomen “However will I make it up to you?”

Sansa’s beam is unrepentant then, and joyous, and what can Jon says? He loves this woman.

I surrender.

Fin

Here it is!, hope you enjoyed! As always sending all my love ~G.