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When Sansa asks Jon for their first babe; she’s nervous. She fiddles her thumbs and picks at non-existent flaws upon her gown. She’s no stranger to their marriage bed and she adores the time spent there, but she can always sense the invisible line Jon has drawn between them. He always tells her that it’s fine, that she’s his lady wife and their time together is well spent. But she knows there’s a part of him deep down that can’t get past the fact he considered her his sister for so long.
“It’s been nearly two years, Jon. I think it’s well past time we started actually trying.”
Jon grumbles something into his ale but Sansa doesn’t bother asking what he’s said. “Please, Jon. I want to be a mother. And you’ll be a wonderful father.”
Jon glances at his wife only a moment before he smiles that beautiful half-grin of his. “Alright,” he says, “Perhaps you’re right.”
xxx
It doesn’t take long for Sansa to fall pregnant, her feet barely touching the ground as she realizes. She beams when she tells Jon, no longer nervous, but excited. Jon smiles but she can still feel his hesitation; to which she smooths out with gentle kisses and quiet whispers of what she wants when they retire to bed that evening.
Jon touches her growing belly everyday, carefully, like he might break her if he caresses the bump too hard or for too long. Sansa loves these moments when she feels her husband’s hands on her in the middle of the night, sneaking beneath her night shift to feel her skin. She pretends not to hear what he says.
The babe comes in the spring, a little boy with Jon’s black curls and startling Targaryen violet eyes. Sansa is surprised, but loves him no less, cradling the baby under her chin and humming a soft lullaby. He’s a fine weight, Sam says, completely healthy with rosy cheeks and a set of lungs a grown man would be jealous of.
Sansa beckons Jon into their rooms, making room for him on the bed before she hands him their son.
“What do we call him?” She asks, stroking the baby’s chin and holding one of Jon’s arms. “I thought I’d leave that up to you.”
“Oh,” he says, gazing quietly at his son before looking at Sansa with silent tears in his eyes. “I’d like to call him Robb.”
Sansa smiles. “A fine name,” she agrees. “Little Robb.”
“I thought he’d have your eyes,” Jon says, stroking his fingers over the baby’s cheeks. “I don’t know why.”
“Well,” Sansa laughs, “There can be no denying he is your son.”
“Our son,” Jon corrects, kissing his wife.
xxx
Robb grows into a fiery toddler, rough and rugged, always crashing into things and sneaking into his parents’ bed when he’s not supposed to. Neither of them have the heart to turn him away.
On Robb’s third name-day, after the festivities and everyone in the castle sleeps, Sansa lets down her hair and climbs into bed next to her husband. “Another one,” she says.
“Yes,” Jon replies, grinning as he rolls Sansa underneath him. He kisses her neck, trailing his lips to hers as he nods. He runs his hands along her legs, pulling one around his hip as he kisses her once more.
Sansa’s pliable in his hands as he works her shift over her head, lips grazing her breasts and her stomach, his hands tracing everywhere his lips can’t reach. She arches into him as he mouths at her cunt, tracing circles and moaning at how good she tastes and how much he loves to do this. She falls apart in minutes, hands in his hair and yanking Jon up by the curls as soon as she’s come down.
She flips them easily, sliding off his small clothes before she teases herself over his cock. She’s warm and wet and everything Jon’s ever dreamed of when she finally sinks down over him. She intertwines their hands as she moves up and down, slowly, so she can keep her eyes locked on his. They’ve only fucked like this a few times; but this moment is different. The wall that Jon built between them falls as soon as she lifts her hips; Their first son has made them bold and a different kind of love has grown.
Jon keeps her steady with their fingers locked, eyes half closed with pure pleasure as he feels his wife clench around him. “No, Jon, look at me,” Sansa pleads, swiveling her hips.
He smiles as he sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing his hips up to meet hers every time she falls back down. It’s slow and sensual, perfect really, Sansa whining in the back of her throat and Jon mumbling against her chest.
Sansa catches Jon by the jaw, looking into his eyes before she kisses him, nipping his bottom lip. “Come, Jon, give me another babe.”
He’s only half-sorry that he follows her command without giving her pleasure once more before he spills inside her.
***
Jon’s with Sansa as she gives birth. It’s harder this time; the babe gets stuck half way through labor and Sansa curses every god she can think of before it’s over. Jon loses his temper with Sam, commanding him to fix it, to do something, but by the end, a baby girl comes quietly into the world.
She’s not loud like her brother, but no less healthy or beautiful. She has Sansa’s burnt auburn hair and those Tully blue eyes Jon loves so much. The little babe settles easily against her mother’s chest as Jon cradles Sansa in his arms.
“What would you like to call her?” He asks, gently touching the babe’s full head of hair.
“Lyanna,” Sansa says. “For your mother.” She smiles as she looks at him, searching his face for any signs of doubt, but she finds none. She finds nothing but kind eyes and love.
And as Jon looks at his daughter and hears his son rumbling up Winterfell’s stairs, he knows their will always be more children and he’ll never regret marrying Sansa Stark.