two seeming bodies
Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell.
408 words. PG.
Summary: Sansa had always wanted a sister like Margaery but despite their closeness Margaery never really feels like a sister.
Note: For![]()
youremyqueen!
Sorry this is soooo late, I am the actual worst. I DO NOT EVEN KNOW HOW TO WRITE THESE GIRLS SO I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.
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It’s with a heart-stopping start that Sansa is awakened, the bed dipping beside her. She can never sleep properly anymore, always waiting for her time to come, and terror clutches her heart until her mind clears enough for her to realize the body in her bed is slight and small like her, that it is only Margaery beside her.
Margaery smoothes s hand over Sansa's back, twists fingers gently in the ends of Sansa's hair and tugs. "Did I frighten you, sister?" she says. "It's only I was lonely and couldn't sleep, and I thought you might be lonely too."
Sansa relaxes a little at the touch, leaning back into the blankets. Margaery immediately snuggles close, her chin propped on Sansa's shoulder and their arms entwined. Sansa had always wanted a sister like Margaery – one to lie close in bed with, sharing secrets, to giggle with though Sansa feels very little like giggling lately – but despite their closeness Margaery never really feels like a sister.
"A little lonely, I suppose," Sansa murmurs.
Margaery tilts up to kiss her cheek, a whisper of a kiss, and her nose brushes Sansa's cheek, surprisingly cold like a little kitten's. "A little sad too, I think," she says softly.
Sansa doesn't answer, because it's not really worth answering.
Margaery pushes up on her elbow, brown curls against Sansa's red. A little troubled crease mars her forehead, twists her mouth. Sansa can easily imagine growing up side by side with Margaery, hands clasped as they darted through the trees around Winterfell – or maybe the gardens of Margaery's home, brightly colored dresses against brightly colored blooms, easy happy laughter hardly out of place there. Lying beside each other in some green field, taking bites of the same sweet fruit.
Though maybe it's not growing up Sansa imagines, just another soft dream of the little girl she no longer is, the girl she can only ever remember around Margaery, lately.
"More than a little," Margaery murmurs and leans in to press her mouth to Sansa's.
Sansa doesn't start, for Margaery sometimes kisses her and, more often than not, she finds it to be a comfort. Nothing about Margaery is unsettling or frightening; instead she's like a doll or a favorite sweet, something familiar Sansa hasn't known in years.
"Not so lonely now," Sansa says against Margaery's lips, fingers curling tentatively in the fabric of Margaery's shift.
Margaery smiles, and Sansa feels almost like laughing, almost.
Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell.
408 words. PG.
Summary: Sansa had always wanted a sister like Margaery but despite their closeness Margaery never really feels like a sister.
Note: For
youremyqueen!Sorry this is soooo late, I am the actual worst. I DO NOT EVEN KNOW HOW TO WRITE THESE GIRLS SO I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.
It’s with a heart-stopping start that Sansa is awakened, the bed dipping beside her. She can never sleep properly anymore, always waiting for her time to come, and terror clutches her heart until her mind clears enough for her to realize the body in her bed is slight and small like her, that it is only Margaery beside her.
Margaery smoothes s hand over Sansa's back, twists fingers gently in the ends of Sansa's hair and tugs. "Did I frighten you, sister?" she says. "It's only I was lonely and couldn't sleep, and I thought you might be lonely too."
Sansa relaxes a little at the touch, leaning back into the blankets. Margaery immediately snuggles close, her chin propped on Sansa's shoulder and their arms entwined. Sansa had always wanted a sister like Margaery – one to lie close in bed with, sharing secrets, to giggle with though Sansa feels very little like giggling lately – but despite their closeness Margaery never really feels like a sister.
"A little lonely, I suppose," Sansa murmurs.
Margaery tilts up to kiss her cheek, a whisper of a kiss, and her nose brushes Sansa's cheek, surprisingly cold like a little kitten's. "A little sad too, I think," she says softly.
Sansa doesn't answer, because it's not really worth answering.
Margaery pushes up on her elbow, brown curls against Sansa's red. A little troubled crease mars her forehead, twists her mouth. Sansa can easily imagine growing up side by side with Margaery, hands clasped as they darted through the trees around Winterfell – or maybe the gardens of Margaery's home, brightly colored dresses against brightly colored blooms, easy happy laughter hardly out of place there. Lying beside each other in some green field, taking bites of the same sweet fruit.
Though maybe it's not growing up Sansa imagines, just another soft dream of the little girl she no longer is, the girl she can only ever remember around Margaery, lately.
"More than a little," Margaery murmurs and leans in to press her mouth to Sansa's.
Sansa doesn't start, for Margaery sometimes kisses her and, more often than not, she finds it to be a comfort. Nothing about Margaery is unsettling or frightening; instead she's like a doll or a favorite sweet, something familiar Sansa hasn't known in years.
"Not so lonely now," Sansa says against Margaery's lips, fingers curling tentatively in the fabric of Margaery's shift.
Margaery smiles, and Sansa feels almost like laughing, almost.