#jonx sansa

[jonsa-creatives]

For fic back Friday – Castle Black Bar by kit_kat21 ❤

Hello! I'm day late but hey never too late for a fic rec!

Thanks for that and yes that is awesome fic by the amazing kit_kat21. Do check out her other jonsa fics too, they're so good.

Check em out fam!

Great weekend to you and all. Stay safe.

Elle xx

[christinapotter09]

reading the handmaid’s tale

and thinking of an au one shot where Dany is the ultimate crazy after destroying King’s Landing but Jon keeps here there and they rule “together” but they need an Heir... with both Stark and Targaryen blood... and the only one fertile to produce that child of royal blood is Sansa Stark... in exchange of keeping the North from fire and blood..... and Jon loves Sansa but he knows that since he didn’t kill Dany no one gets to choose.... Sansa reaches King’s Landing, otherwise her people will suffer :(

dark jonsa, dark dany, lots of angst and tears and handmaid’s tale situation and  I don’t know even if I can make it :’( 

[bulletandsophia]

Jon x Sansa Fic: 

 Baby, It’s You | @templeton21

She has thought – more than once – what it would have been like if Brandon was Jon’s son. Maybe Brandon’s curly hair would be black instead of auburn. Jon would be there to help with bath time and potty-training and trying to get Brandon to take a nap when it’s the absolute last thing he wants to do. Jon would have been with her through everything. They would have been a team. Maybe… maybe they would be married and maybe, now that Brandon is almost three, they’d be planning on or even already trying for a second.

Sansa wants to hate Jon for so many things, but she can never seem to be able to bring herself to.

for @qinaliel :)

[jonsa-creatives]

Hello :) I might have started to write again - like decades since last time - and was wondering : how one goes now to get a beta reader for some Jonsa fic/drabbles/etc/ in this lonely world ?

Hello maybefrench!

Yay to you picking up the writing habit again! Double yay for jonsa inspiring you to do so!

Let me put the ol’ feelers out for a beta reader for you!…

*cups hands around mouth to yell into the fandom* Yo! Jonsa Fam! Anyone willing to help a writer out??

I hope you find what you’re looking for! Please tag us in any of your jonsa works you decide to post - we’d love to read ‘em!

~ Amy 

[misshoneywheeler]

Could you write a show-based fic where Sansa proposes a political marriage to Jon after they find out that they aren't siblings? I'd love it if she had to convince him a little at first. Feel free to ignore me if you don't take requests.

I don’t usually take requests (mostly because my muse is harsh, fickle, and lazy), but your prompt intrigued me, nonny! I don’t think this is quite what you had in mind (because I have started, as I so often do, in fuckia res), but it’s what sparked.

*

To call it a plan would be generous. It’s moreof a notion. An impulse. The mild articulation of a deeply held desire.

“Perhaps we should marry.”

Jon is nearly asleep when she says it, on hisstomach at her side, cheek pillowed on his crossed forearms. It’s too warm inher chamber for linens, especially after the hours he just spent making hernearly weep with pleasure, and Sansa has been looking upon him idly for some time,appreciating the sweep of his back, usually so pale but tinged bronze now inthe firelight, the dip of his spine and the rise of his arse. It’s rare to seehim in such repose; if their days are not filled in preparation for the comingbattle, they’re filled in preparation for the deepening Winter. Jon has neverbeen one to lay idle, even under far more leisurely conditions.

“Marry,” he echoes now in a mumble, and for amoment she thinks this will be easier than she’d imagined. Then he opens hiseyes to look at her, a familiar frown creasing his brow. “What do you mean?”

Sansa sighs, fighting the urge to roll hereyes. Really, he can be so very…him. “How many meanings ofthe word ‘marry’ do you know, Jon?”

“Each other?”

“Well I’m hardly asking on Davos’s behalf. Muchto his dismay, I’m sure.”

Jon flushes. He’s never quite adjusted to Davos’sdevoted fealty. Understandable, given that he’d spent years thinking he’d haveno more than a bastard in the world could expect. He’d never thought to be Lord Commander, let alone any sort of a King. “How can we marry? We’re…”

“Siblings?” she provides. “That’s hardlystopped us from fucking.”

“Sansa!” His tone is one of shock, but sheknows he secretly enjoys the salty edge of her tongue.

“And we’re not siblings anymore,” she continuesas if he hadn’t spoken. “You know that as well as I.” They’d received a ravenconfirming it only this week. It should make it better, that they’ve beensharing a bed as cousins rather than brother and sister. Sansa can hardly evenadmit to herself the truth of it; that she comes hardest and longest when shethinks of him as her brother. Perhaps he is not the only one who is somethingof a Targaryen inside.

Jon rolls to his back, turning his face awayfrom her as if it will end the conversation. “We’ve far too many importantthings to deal with to waste time on weddings.” Sansa tugs his face towards herwith a none too gentle hand.

“More proposals come every day. For youand for me. Soon it will become an insult that you continueto refuse them with no good reason.”

“Battling White Walkers isn’t good reason?” heasks heatedly as he rolls onto his side to face her, his scowl turningthunderous. “Dealing with Winter isn’t good reason?” If he thinks to put heroff the topic, he’s failing. Few things make Sansa’s body heat and throb theway his passion does, whether it’s in the service of lust or anger.

“Not to those who think more of tomorrow thanthey do of the day after it. A wife is a reason not to accept a proposal, not aWhite Walker. This is how things are done, you know that as well as I. Alliancedoesn’t wait for victory. And we may lose many of ours if you turn down everyoffer and stay unmarried.”

He sees the sense of her words. She can see itin his eyes, hear it in his voice when he says, “You said you’d never marryagain. You said no man would ever have that power over you.”

She softens, flowing over him like melted wax,willing him to understand her heart with the feel of her lips on his, herbreasts pushed against her chest, her thigh thrown over his hip and her hand onhis already hard cock, helping it to slip and notch and slide home inside her.

“You are no mere man,” she says into his mouth.“You’re Jon, my Jon.”

With a groan, he abandons himself to her,hooking his elbow under her knee and tugging it high on his side as he movesinside her. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, opens her mouth againsthis, clings to him in a way far more desperate than she’d ever allow herselfanywhere but here in her bed with him. His tongue is soft and warm in hermouth, his cock hard and hot in her cunt. She wants him so very badly, wants toopen herself up and pull him inside her to never let go. He is the only measure of joy she’s found in so long, the only way she knows sometimes that Ramsay did not break her completely.

“I wanted to protect you,” he rasps as heabandons her mouth and contorts himself to reach her breasts, laving each peakin turn with the wetness of his tongue.

“You do,” she gasps. “You can. I’ll be safe asyour wife.”

“I wanted to protect you from me.”The words sound as if they’ve been wrenched from his chest. “I wanted you toknow you were free, no matter what, never beholden to anyone.”

Sansa laughs, filling her bedchamber with thegay, joyous sound of it. “Oh Jon, you make no sense at all.”

He finds her mouth with his again as he pushesher to her back and follows to lie atop her for a moment, still and motionlessbut for his kiss. When he moves again, it’s slow, so slow, she could go madfrom it. She nearly does by the time he drops his hand between them to touchher, and it takes only seconds for him to make her peak so strongly that hertoes curl against his calves. He follows suit, spilling within her until hecollapses atop her, cheek pillowed on her breast.

For a long time, neither of them speaks. Hishair is soft and cool between her fingertips as she toys with it idly, like sheonce did with Lady’s fur on quiet evenings. Then Jon heaves a sigh. He kissesthe soft inner curve of her breast, his beard a dull bristle on the fine skin,before rolling to his side and pulling her close to him, his implicit signalthat it’s time to sleep.

“We’ll speak on it in the morning.” She canfeel the words in his chest where she’s pressed against him. Sansa allowsherself a small smile. In anyone else, it would be nothing like a yes. In Jon,Sansa knows this battle is already half won.