// she/her // i've been on tumblr for well over a decade, kids // 18+ only // racists, terfs, homophobes, & minors DNI // icon art by deniz maznev // side blog: @paaaartieeeeees
Summary: “Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?”
Jon snaps his head up at Sansa’s question. Her eyes are brimming and hot and he can suddenly see this is not the argument he thought they were having. This is something else. Something deeper and much more intimate.
OR
The missing scene we deserved in 8x01
Author's Note: I first published this one shot on AO3 in 2019 and then a few years later I wrote a sequel that just sat in my google docs collecting digital dust. I may turn it into a series if there's enough interest so please let me know by liking, commenting, and reblogging if you want more.
Disclaimer: 18+, smut, (I'm serious, if you're not over 18 then scram), cousin incest, presumed half-sibling incest.
Word Count: 1.7K
part one - part two
“Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?”
Jon snaps his head up at Sansa’s question. Her eyes are brimming and hot and he can suddenly see this is not the argument he thought they were having. This is something else. Something deeper and much more intimate.
She tries to conceal the dread in her eyes, but he knows her. This attempt to hide her heart from him makes her pain all the more transparent. He sees in her eyes that she is breaking and the sight of it breaks him too.
It cracks him wide open.
Every memory and every touch, every heated quarrel like the one they are having now, every smile and tear, and every racing heart. Every night he took himself in hand when the temptation was too intense to ignore. Every shameful, possessive, and obsessive thought he tried to bury deep has been unearthed by this moment, by this unspoken admission of hers. By the unshed tears in her pale blue eyes, and the foreboding he finds in them.
He fears he is mistaken to think that she might love him the way he has tried not to love her. But they have so little time before the dead march down their doorstep, and he has grown beyond weary of this lie.
So he treads carefully and takes a measured step forward.
“Sansa, I don’t love her.”
A heavy, shuddering breath escapes from her lips. The undeniable relief is evident in the softening of her shoulders and the smoothing of the crease between her brows. In the way the corner of her mouth lifts slightly.
It gives him a surge of hope and he realizes this may be his last chance. As hard as he will fight he knows they may very well die in this battle. He wants not for either of them to perish without Sansa knowing how desperately and deeply she is loved.
“There is only one woman who possesses my heart, Sansa,” Jon confesses, her name rolling softly off of his tongue before his voice takes on a guttural tone, “and it is not her. It has never been, and never will be her.”
Sansa’s eyes narrow and she draws in a slow breath, her chest gently heaving in what looks like defense, and he hopes more than any hope that his instinct has not deceived him.
“To whom does your heart belong?” She asks him, trepidatiously.
“You know,” Jon whispers, so quietly he thinks she may not have heard him.
But then she reaches out her trembling hand to him and he clasps it in both of his. Gazing down at the soft skin cradled between his calloused palms, a teardrop lands upon her knuckle and he brings it to his lips to kiss the cool saltiness away.
She sweeps her fingers over his forehead, pausing to gently rub her thumb across the scar above his eyebrow. His eyes slowly slide shut at the sensation of her attentive touch. And when she cups his bearded jaw he leans into it, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding since first he laid eyes on this red-haired specter at Castle Black.
Sansa steps gingerly into his space, careful and cautious as if he were an untamed animal. And maybe he is. What came back from death must have been half-beast at least. There is no other way to explain the twisted affections he has held for his father’s daughter all of these many moons.
But she is leaning into him as well. She is pressing her forehead to his, setting his heart to race, pounding wildly back to life again (and again and again). If this love makes him a beast, then wolves they both must be because she is whispering his name like a honey-sweet song. And hers are the fingers twining through the curls at his neck as she softly bumps her nose against his.
Her breath, hot upon his mouth, beckons him to open his eyes and when he does he finds the fear in her own has been replaced by a wild hunger he never imagined she would possess for him. A sudden ferocity claims him and he tempers a growl. His fists find her hips and he pulls at her skirts, tugging her body closer to his.
He breathes her name. It’s almost a groan and definitely a question. Pulling his forehead from hers, he finds the answer in her eyes, now a deeper blue than he has ever seen them. They shift swiftly from his lips to his eyes and back again. She inclines her head forward ever so slightly and it is enough to give him the courage to lift his hands to her face and take her lips softly, gently into his.
The kiss is tentative and soft at first like drifting snowflakes brushing his skin. She opens her mouth to him and he relishes the taste of her lips, committing the sweetness of her perfect mouth to memory as he sweeps his tongue across hers.
Their hands roam, slow and careful at first. Releasing her face from his gentle grasp, he runs his fingers through her hair and slides his rough palms to cradle her neck and grasp the small of her back. He clutches her tightly to him, so close he knows not where he ends and she begins. The realization of it overwhelms him and he whimpers in relief. She hums in response.
Her delicate fingers pull at the leather strap in his hair and she grabs fistfuls, tugging gently at the freshly unbound curls.
A pulsating heat spreads from the core of Jon’s belly, intensifying at the sounds of Sansa’s soft, melodic moaning. The vibration of her song emanates into the lips that she begins to bite. He snarls at the delicious throbbing her teeth creates. It is everything Jon can do to keep from curling himself into her. From grabbing the back of her thighs and wrapping them around his waist to carry her into her bedchamber. From laying her down beneath him so that he may kiss the soft skin of her thighs and the wetness between them until she is breathless and howling his name.
But he refuses to test her limits, allowing her to take control and show him what she wants.
And as if sensing his intentions, she pushes herself into him until the back of his thighs bump against her desk. She grabs him by the waist and steers him to her chair. As she breaks away from their kiss she drags her hands up his chest and to his shoulders, pressing him down slowly onto the seat, all the while never taking her dark and heady eyes away from his. He gazes up at her perfect lips, swollen and reddened by his own. She is breathless and radiant and panting as heavily as he is.
And as he whispers her name, she pulls her skirts up to her knees and climbs onto his lap. He is hard beneath her and if she hadn’t noticed before she surely knows it now, and yet it doesn’t deter her from relaxing into him. She cradles his face in her hands and proceeds to kiss him deep and slow. It makes him bold enough to take hold of her hips and rub circles into the sharp bones there with his thumbs. She moves her mouth to his neck and tastes his racing pulse with her hot tongue, licking and nipping a trail up to his ear where she breathes his name on a quivering sigh.
He knows it’s wrong but the thrill that sends wave after wave of chills, and the deep-seated coiling in his gut at her ministrations, make him forget his honor. Or hers. And when she begins to arch and grind herself into his lap he can’t help but dig his fingers into the flesh of her thighs, pushing himself up to meet her movements and claim her mouth once again.
He has wanted this for too long, longer than he can even admit to himself. The feel of her softness, of her heat so close to his, sends his desire climbing so high and so fast he nearly spills right then like a green boy.
“Sansa,” he groans, reluctantly pulling away from the sweetness of her lips.
“Hmmm?”
He meant to put a stop to this most depraved entanglement, to tell her that he will not dishonor her. But as he gazes into her hooded eyes, so full of hope and desire, and remembers that soon they might both be dead, he can’t think of any reason to end a moment so deliciously akin to his shameful fantasies. And maybe the fact that he knows this is not just a reverie makes him daring enough to speak his most hidden secret into existence.
“Sansa, my heart is yours. Only ever yours.” The confession staunches the relentlessly bleeding ache in his chest and he is desperate for the relief of it.
“It has been yours since the moment I clapped eyes on you at Castle Black. It was then I knew why I was brought back from the nothingness of death. It is why I pushed myself out of that pit of men on the battlefield that day you came to save me. Why I swam to the surface of the freezing wight-infested water. It was for you. To protect you as I promised I always would. Everything I have done since then, all of it, has been to return home... to you.”
Sansa releases a tremulous breath and gently sweeps her thumbs across his cheeks. She kisses away the lingering dampness that the tears he hadn’t even realized he shed left upon his skin. With her hands on his chest, she pushes herself up and climbs away from his body. It aches from her sudden absence. And then she takes his hand in hers, pulls him up from the chair, and leads him quietly to her bedchamber.
Jon knows he should stop her. When she closes the door behind her. When her dress falls to her feet. When she undresses him and lays him down upon the furs atop her bed. But when he kisses her scars, and she kisses his, he forgets to care about all the reasons why they should stop.
And when he buries himself inside of her and draws her pleasure out, bringing silent tears from her shining eyes, he refuses to regret any love they make between them, forbidden or not.
And if they soon should die, at least for now they truly live.
Have you ever saw him this intense with anyone else ? HIS DAMN HAND!!! The way he just close his eyes ?! People don't usually close thiere eyes while hugging casually!
similar to the “wow sansa thinks about aemon & naerys the tragic incest couple a lot wonder what that sign is for” people will make the link that sansa’s namesake is kinda funny compared to all the other kids….and then not follow the thread as to why sansa is randomly named after a stark woman who married her half uncle to stave off a succession crisis lol
“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.” Arya screwed up her face. “No,” she said, “that’s Sansa.“
Myranda gave her a shrewd little smile. “Yes, she was the very soul of wisdom, that good lady.” She shifted her seat. “Why must mules be so bony and ill-tempered? Mya does not feed them enough. A nice fat mule would be more comfortable to ride. There’s a new High Septon, did you know? Oh, and the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s.”
Jon's father vetoed his wish to join the Night's Watch, but as he grew older, the loneliness in his heart only intensified... Especially on such celebratory days, he sometimes felt like a complete outsider.
I've already planned all the story boards, just haven't have time to finish them yet😭😭
Thank you for all your nice comments!! They really make my day!! ❤️❤️😘😘
Jon's father vetoed his wish to join the Night's Watch, but as he grew older, the loneliness in his heart only intensified... Especially on such celebratory days, he sometimes felt like a complete outsider.
An AU where King Robert and his royal family never came to winterfell, nothing bad had happened yet. It's just a short scene (really short, about 5 pages I think), but since I'm not sure if I'll have time to finish it, I'm posting the first page right now.
The existence of The Dreadful isn't really Jonsa validation, of course, but it feels like Jonsa validation, because it's like they're finally admitting, "Okay yeah y'all weren't crazy or just imagining it, they had INSANE chemistry and it would be a crime not to do something with it, so here we go."
every time i see this image, i obsess over the light, especially because it turned ghost's eyes orange. reminds me of the catholic paintings my grandmother had in her house.
jonsa. that’s it. that’s the whole blog. @winterwakesthewolf - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
