secrets i have held in my heart,
are harder to hide than i thought,
maybe i just wanna be yours
- wanna be yours, artic monkeys
Sansa cannot remember the last time someone tried to comfort her without an ulterior motive and lets herself collapse in Daenerys’s arms, just for a moment.
“Gods, I love you,” Daenerys whispers, and only Sansa grins against her skin, moves her lips down Daenerys’ neck.
Daenerys had thought anything she could call soft had died on the Dothraki sea, but Sansa proves her wrong.
Sansa still has scars from beating from Joffery and worse, Daenerys still has scars from things she won’t let herself remember - they mirror one another, in some ways.
Sansa eats less and less as The Long Night seems unending, and Daenerys saves more than half her potatoes for her so she doesn’t pass out from exhaustion alone.
It starts raining as Sansa presses Daenerys against a tree in the godswood, but neither care.
Daenerys hasn’t had chocolate since the house in Braavos, and Sansa makes her mission to order it as soon as she can, along with the lemon cakes.
“I never imagined I’d be happy,” Sansa confesses and Daenerys is almost grateful for everything that has happened to her, if only because it brought them together.
They exchange ravens, updating one another about battles both won and lost, and Sansa’s just grateful Daenerys is still alive.
The cold turns Sansa’s ears red, it’s one of the first things Daenerys notices about her.
“You have a lot of names,” Sansa remarks and pulls out a ring from her pocket in her gown, “Would you like one more?”
Sansa moves her mouth between Daenerys’ thighs and Drogo was never this good, or gentle.
“I lost my dragon, you lost your direwolf - perhaps we could help each-other heal.”
Sansa didn’t imagine she’d ever enjoy sex until she met Daenerys.
The first time Daenerys ever touches her is the first time they meet, shaking her hand without gloves, and she can only think that Daenerys’ beauty is the only thing Lord Baelish was ever correct about.
“Love is not weakness,” Sansa reminds her, “You will always be my strength.”
“No one will ever marry me for love,” Sansa explains sincerely and Daenerys’ almost wants to cry.
When Drogon returns to her without Daenerys, Sansa climbs on his back immediately and they take off before she can even think of saying goodbye to her family.
Daenerys watches the wind fly through Sansa’s hair as they ride Drogon around Winterfell, her hands wrapped around Sansa’s waist.
They buy the house in Braavos, where they hold the second wedding, and Daenerys thinks she may finally be free.
“I hope I will love you until the day I die,” Sansa whispers as Daenerys falls asleep beside her.
“I’m so happy you’ve found love,” Sansa tells Jon; but lying comes far too easy to her now.
They can hardly keep their hands off each other, as though both of them are terrified if they let go for even a second this will all have been a lovely dream.
Sansa’s lips taste like lemon cakes, it reminds Daenerys of the lemon tree from the only place she had ever truly called home.
The fanatics who follow Seven can’t hold a candle to the devotion they have to one another.
Sansa knows better than to believe that anyone will truly love her eternally, but she can always hope.
There’s blood on her face, after the last battle - and a myriad of other injuries that could have, should have, killed her - but she lets Sansa press a warm cloth to her face and wonders if will finally find peace.
“I’ll be alright,” Daenerys tries to assure her as Sansa worriedly brings her a bowl of chicken soup that rather resembles dirty river water, “Fire cannot kill a dragon and neither can the common cold.”
The words of the songs Sansa had loved so much still came easy to her, and Daenerys so loved to hear her sing.
They lie beside a large window, holding hands, whilst Sansa finds heroes from her songs in the night sky and points them out to her excitedly, giddy with the promise of honest love.
Before she arrives at Winterfell, Sansa’s paints the door to Daenerys’s chambers red.
“So, nobody has ever truly loved you the way you should be loved?” Sansa can only nod, her eyes cast down to her shoes, and Daenerys understands her better than anyone else.
“You’re not going to die,” Sansa swallows back her own grief, terror, and she is as strong as her mother.
“I was born during a storm,” Daenerys tells her as the sky flashes above them, and Sansa grins because it fits her entirely.
"I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”
The closest thing to a market in Winterfell is tiny - though Daenerys is grateful for the significant lack of assassination attempts - and Sansa pulls her towards different stalls, her red hair glinting in the summer sun.
“Your friend Tyrion made me a seat so I could still ride horses,” Bran informs her, slightly more emotional. “I am glad he keeps good company, someone who will make my sister truly happy.”
Sansa’s’ first gift to her is a handkerchief sewn with her dragons, orange thread surrounding them to represent fire.
Daenerys says something in a language Sansa can’t understand - only Sansa notices Tyrion choking on his wine - but she doesn’t Daenerys smile at her.
Her innocence died with her first marriage, but she falls back into it when Sansa playfully throws a snowball at her.
“Cersei’s dead,” Sansa’s voice is full of relief, “We won.”
The summer clouds make shapes Daenerys can’t quite make out at first, but she lies beside Sansa and she sees it perfectly.
“We flew so high we could barely see the ground,” Sansa says excitedly and Daenerys is happy her dragons have taken a liking to her.
The night of their wedding, Sansa whispers that she’s convinced she is dead,that this life of theirs must be heaven.
“I’ll go to hell and back for her,” Daenerys tells him and Jon only nods.
The summer sun remains with Sansa’s smile.
Daenerys’s’ hair is the colour of moonlight.
Sansa’s time travelling to Braavos with Daenerys is perhaps the only time she has ever enjoyed being on a boat.
Daenerys brushes a hand through Sansa’s hair, plants a kiss on her cheek - to say goodbye.
“I love you, and I -“ Sansa stops herself for just a second, embarrassed, before she kisses Daenerys once because she may never get another chance.