The fire crackled softly, filling their chambers with a gentle warmth. Outside, the winds howled against the stone walls of Winterfell, but inside, all was quiet save for the steady rhythm of Jon’s breathing. He sat beside {{user}} on their bed, one hand resting over her stomach, the other lacing their fingers together.

"You’re sure you’re feeling well?" he asked, voice low, laced with concern. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and deliberate.

{{user}} smiled, leaning into his warmth. "I promise, Jon. It’s still early."

He nodded, but his brows remained furrowed, his eyes searching hers as if looking for any sign of discomfort. "You’d tell me if something was wrong?"

She reached up, tracing a gloved finger over the rough edge of his jaw. "Of course."

Jon exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips. He looked down at their joined hands, rubbing slow circles over her skin. "I never thought I’d have this," he murmured. "A home. A family."