I feel like everyone moved on but I’m still into the geisha-verse and I’m pissed netflixes cancelled another show I started getting attached to but like always let’s take that and make it dark Jonsa hahaha. Idk maybe Sansa being the sun summoner and darling as Jon idk or you can caste them as part of the six of crows since I can totally see the stark kids forming a band of misfits.
that or Jonsa half siblings or even full siblings, if we want sinful let’s go all out! Idk how comfortable you are with darker themed romance but I’m thinking Jon practically babied Sansa growing up because she’s so different from the rest of their siblings, growing up spoiled by Jonny boy she pretty much Idepends on him and low key develops and good girl kink for Jon and Jon doesn’t realize it till but his somber and need for dominance stemmed from his good girl Sansa being so obedient and attached to him
A bad seed kills the garden (jonsa bookverse /4k words)
Hiii dear anon! Tysm for your request!! <3 I took the second idea bc I didn't read Six of Crows sorry :c but I hope you like the fic (half-siblings), set during the War of the Five Kings with the wolves in their dreams and the godswood defiled by them… (warnings in the notes)
Jon and Sansa stand side-by-side on the train platform, fingers tangled together. Sansa bounces on her toes watching the train approach, chewing her lower lip. Jon stands stoic beside her, toque pulled down low over his ears, a scarf covering the lower half of his face.
His hand is clammy in hers.
She squeezes his fingers, smiling up at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners in return.
"So this is him," a voice drawls from their right.
They both startle and Sansa turns with a grin. She pulls Arya into a hug that she only barely returns, pulling back looking disgruntled. Her eyes are sharp turning to Jon as Sansa pulls him forward.
"This is Jon," Sansa says, fingers tight on his bicep, "Jon, this is Arya."
"Nice to meet you," Jon says, offering a smile under his scarf and holding out a hand to shake.
Arya eyes it for a moment before slipping her hand into his, grabbing his hand firmly.
They shake.
"You too," she says, a bit belatedly.
Sansa rolls her eyes.
"C'mon," she encourages them, "it's cold."
Arya continues shooting glances at Jon as they make their way to the car, her overnight bag over her shoulder. She keeps a step behind Sansa and Jon, watching. Watching their tangled hands swing, watching their shoulders bump, the way they're pulled back toward each other again and again. She watches Jon open the passenger door for Sansa, the way she slides into her seat with a quiet 'thank you' like he does it all the time. He moves to pass Arya, to round the car and get in the driver's side, when she stops him with an arched brow.
"What?" Arya says, "no chivalry for me?"
Jon blinks at her. His ears turn red.
"Sansa said you wouldn't like it," he says.
Arya narrows her eyes at him, studying his half-covered face.
Jaime Lannister still had a place in his anger. Jon saw the golden hair, the hand resting on the hilt of a sword, and the ease with which the man had stood beside Sansa as though he had always belonged there. He had gone for her in the Vale when no one else had. He had rescued her, protected her, and earned her gratitude. Gratitude, Sansa had said. Not love. The Kingslayer might have stepped from one of her songs, but he was not the man Sansa had pulled back.
That certainty pulled the teeth from Jon's worst doubt. For days, the mere sight of Jaime near her had been enough to fill his mouth with the taste of anger. The Lannister knew parts of Sansa's life that Jon had only heard of afterward, kept memories of the road that Jon would never share, and had been there when she needed a sword. None of that had won him what Jon had just received.
Harry could offer the knights of the Vale, Petyr could weave all the promises he pleased, and Jaime could cross the Seven Kingdoms with a sword in hand. None of them would have her.
Blood still stood between Jon and Sansa, a problem that would have to be faced, but he would not surrender to another man the woman who had chosen him while he searched for a way through it. If any of them came to claim her, they would find Jon in their path.
I’ll post another prompt tomorrow, but it’s very different from what I usually do 😳
I took the prompt and adapted it freely since no specific setting was requested... Thanks to everyone who analyzes the books and the Jonsa dynamic!! I want to kiss your brains, you’re my inspiration! 💗
“You can tell me anything you want to tell me,” he finally says.
Her throat feels strange and her eyes feel hot.
“Because we’re friends?”
The question embarrasses her as soon as she asks it. It’s too vulnerable, but there is no taking it back and maybe that is the point of all this. Maybe the cost of honesty is discomfort.
It's still Wednesday somewhere, lol. Header from @jonsafics
You know when a fic plays in your head exactly like a movie? Yeah that's what happened to me with the Ready or Not AU I mentioned the other day. I'm following the general beats from the film but made some plot adjustments for jonsa reasons. My guess is it'll be around 5K? We'll see. A brief summary for those who are not familiar with the movie:
Sansa marries into the powerful Targaryen family of the Targaryen Family Game Company. On her wedding night, she's asked to participate in a seemingly innocent game night that soon turns deadly.
“Is that it?” she asked with confusion.
“Yes,” Rhaegar finally announced, breaking the silence. “The rules are simple. You can hide anywhere in the house as we look for you, and you must remain hidden until dawn. If you’re not found, you win.”
Sansa laughed nervously. “I’m afraid you have a bit of home advantage. I don’t know this place.” She turned around to look at Aegon. “Shouldn’t you be on my team?”
“Let her pick another card,” Jon said abruptly. He looked fully furious now.
“You know the rules, Jaehaerys. She was the one to pick the card, after all,” replied Daenerys acidly.
“It’s fine,” she said, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s just hide and seek, right?”
The other fic I'm going to start writing soon now that I have an outline, is a vampire story I want to have ready for Halloween. I've tried to keep my most recent fics with chapters between 2k-3k since it's a reasonable length and it has helped me not get stuck trying to stretch things, but I'm gonna aim for longer chapters this time and I'm estimating some right chapters (as of today, things might change when I actually sit down to write)
In a Victorian inspired Westeros, Jon, Robb and Theon are a three men coven trying to put a stop to the killing rampage in the North led by Ramsay Bolton. When Bolton attacks Sansa Stark in a dark alleyway and leaves her for dead, Jon instinctively turns her into a vampire to stop her from a certain death. Now the four of them journey south to join the ancient Hightower coven for protection and ask for help to stop Ramsay's chaos and cruelty. What awaits them on their journey?
I've had this idea for some time, and I'm so excited to start writing it! I really hope it fulfills the expectations I set for myself and you guys enjoy it.
E | Jon Snow/Sansa Stark | Modern AU | Hockey Player Jon | Strangers to Lovers | Fast Burn | Secret Relationship | Discussion of Past Abuse | Stumbling Blindly Into D/s Dynamics
A03 | Chapter 1
Sansa lets him fly her out.
She feels a little ridiculous sitting in first class on the plane at 10 in the morning, waiting for the quick twenty minute flight to take off.
There's not even enough time to watch a full movie.
Part of her thinks she should've taken the train, but she doesn't think she'd have survived the anticipation. Her stomach is already tight and eager and he's less than an hour away. She fidgets in her seat, playing Bubble Pop! on her phone. They take to the air and she rolls her window screen up to watch Winterfell fall away beneath them.
The flight attendants announce their descent in no time at all and Sansa is back to feeling a little ridiculous about not taking the train.
It's just that she's missed him so much.
She sighs.
She de-planes with her bag and heads directly to arrivals. She stands on the wide sidewalk, head on a swivel as she keeps an eyes out for Jon's SUV.
"Sansa!" She hears and snaps her head around.
He's there, standing by the passenger side door of his car, a wide grin on his face. She breaks out in a smile and hurries over toward him, dropping her bag to the cement as she approaches and throwing herself into his arms. He catches her with a laugh, squeezing her tight.
"Hey," he murmurs into her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"Hi," she says, pulling back with a grin.
They smile stupidly at each other for a long moment.
Sansa bites her lower lip and Jon's eyes follow the movement.
"If I kiss you now it'll be indecent," he says lowly.
Sansa giggles, face going pink. She takes a half-step back from him, nodding.
"Yeah," she breathes.
Jon bends down to grab her bag by it's strap and turns to open the car door for her. She slips into the passenger seat, grateful for the heat blasting from the vents. Jon tosses her bag in the backseat then rounds the car to climb into the driver's side, rubbing his hands together and buckling in before putting the car in drive.
"How was the flight?" He asks as he pulls out into airport traffic.
Sansa snorts.
"It's barely a flight, Jon," she says.
He shrugs.
"So it was fine then."
"Yeah, quick," she hesitates then reaches out to put a hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze, before pulling it back to her lap, "I'm glad I'm here.'
Jon shoots her a quick smile.
"Me too."
Jon lays his hand, palm up, on the center console. Sansa doesn't hesitate to tangle their fingers together, sliding her delicate fingers between his rough ones. He gives her hand a squeeze, brushing the side of her hand with his thumb.
"When did you get home?" she asks him.
Jon hums to himself, pulling out onto the interstate proper.
"Like three hours ago."
"Did you sleep?"
He shakes his head.
Sansa sighs.
"Jon," she says.
"We can nap together," he says easily, "I know you got up earlier than you like."
Sansa rolls her eyes. A smile tugs at her lips.
"You should've napped," she scolds.
"How could I nap knowing you'd be here soon?"
Sansa flushes. She sighs through her nose, shaking her head.
"You're hopeless," she mutters.
Jon smiles out the windshield, squeezing her hand again.
*
Ghost dances in front of them when they enter Jon's home, nails tapping against the wood floor as they take off their winter-wear. He doesn't jump on Sansa, eventually sitting on his haunches. He waits patiently for her to coo at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth. She scratches between his ears and under his chin, beaming at him and patting his flanks until Jon says enough and sends him to lay down.
Sansa laughs, straightening.
"Jealous?" She teases.
Jon rolls his eyes, grumbling. He grabs her hand and tugs her further into the house, leading her toward the bedroom.
"You had breakfast?" He asks as they pass the kitchen.
Sansa nods.
"Good," Jon says.
Sansa suppresses a smile.
She lets herself be towed.
Jon lets her go only after they've crossed the threshold into the bedroom, reaching immediately for the fly of his jeans. He pushes them down his legs and kicks them aside, tugging his hoodie off over his head, leaving him in black briefs and a t-shirt with a faded Night's Watch logo on it. He crawls immediately into the unmade bed. His head hits the pillow and he closes his eyes.
Sansa just watches him for a moment, amused.
She slowly shimmies out of her own fleece-lined leggings, bouncing on her toes at the sudden cold on her legs. She pulls off her sweater and sets it on top of Jon's dresser, leaving her in her panties and an ice blue camisole. She sets her phone on his nightstand and slides under the blankets opposite Jon, pulling them up over him and scooting close. He lifts an arm, making space for her, and she snuggles in, cold feet on his shins. He hisses through his teeth at the touch, flinching away, and Sansa whines, chasing his warmth.
"You're a furnace," she mutters.
He grunts.
He lets her warm her feet on his legs.
She falls asleep quickly, completely, Jon's warm breath ghosting across her neck.
She wakes up before him, blinking her eyes open and yawning in the afternoon sun. She stretches against him, trying not to wake him up. She resettles in his arms.
Sansa bites her lip, watching Jon sleep. His eyes move restlessly under their lids, his arm heavy around her waist. She cards her fingers through his hair and he leans into the touch even unconscious.
She smiles.
She closes her eyes.
Jon rolls her onto her back and she laughs, giggling and opening her eyes. He slides easily between her soft thighs, knees parted around his hips. She looks up at him hovering over her, bleary and warm.
"Morning," he mumbles.
"Afternoon," she corrects, amused.
"Hm."
Sansa smiles at him.
"How was your nap?" She asks.
He answers her with a kiss, warm and slow.
She hums into his mouth, looping her arms around his neck.
He kisses her cheek, her chin, noses at her jaw. She tilts her head back and he presses a kiss to her neck.
She laughs. She hums low in her throat.
"Try and keep it below the neck line, handsome."
Jon huffs against her throat, pressing another light kiss to her skin before trailing his mouth lower. He sucks at her collarbone, leaving his mark before kissing his way back up to her lips. He licks at her lower lip and she parts them obediently, curling her fingers into his hair. Jon licks at the backs of her teeth, the roof of her mouth, a slow, methodical exploration, baring her down against the bed. She can feel herself getting wet, whimpering into his mouth. She bucks her hips up against him when he strokes her tongue with his own, his half-hard cock pressed to her.
Sansa breaks the kiss to breathe, head tilted back. She gasps out his name, whining when he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the line of her throat. He grinds his hips against her, cock slowly hardening. He fumbles a hand between their bodies, reaching into his briefs to fist his shaft. He strokes himself, groaning against her neck.
"Jon," Sansa pleads.
"Yeah," he sighs.
He pulls himself out of his briefs and tugs her panties aside, sliding in slow. Sansa's toe curl as he presses inside her, moaning softly. She clings to his shoulders, panting up at the ceiling. Jon moans open-mouthed against her skin as he bottoms out and Sansa tightens up around him. He presses his forehead into the crook of her neck, groaning against her collarbone.
"Missed you," he mumbles.
Sansa squeezes his hips with her thighs.
"Missed you too," she sighs, "missed you so much."
Jon kisses her mouth, rolling his hips into her. She moans and sighs, holding him close.
It's quiet in Jon's room, just the sound of skin on skin, soft moans, and labored breathing. Sansa rolls her head against the pillow under her, whimpering. She clutches at Jon's hair, his shoulders. He hikes one of her legs up higher around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh, cock sliding deeper inside her.
She moans. She meets each thrust, lifting and rolling her hips. They move against each other in perfect sync, gasping in each others mouths. Jon comes with a strangled groan, kissing Sansa's mouth. He reaches between their bodies to thumb at her clit, rubbing tight circles into the little bud until she goes taut beneath him, crying out her pleasure.
Jon goes boneless on top of her, face buried in her neck. She takes his weight gratefully, easily, rubbing his back and carding her fingers through his hair. Soon, he begins to snore.
Sansa keeps her eyes closed, laughing quietly to herself.
He's heavy.
"Like a weighted blanket," she mutters to herself, breathing slightly restricted, but not enough for her to push him off of her.
She stretches her arm out, feeling around the top of the nightstand until her fingers close around her phone. She drags it over, holding it up above her face, checking her notifications.
Mom: Did your flight get in safe?
Mom: Sansa?
Sansa: arrived safely!
Next.
Arya: you guys are picking me up at the train station Thursday, right
Sansa rolls her eyes.
Sansa: i told you we would
Arya: i'm not wearing a night's watch jersey
Sansa: no one expects you to
Next.
Margie: you're down horrendously
Sansa takes a picture of herself, the back of Jon's head in her neck, the tops of his bare shoulders visible in the bottom of the frame. She sends it to Margaery. She chews her lower lip then flicks over to Instagram to post it to her close friends list.
Sansa: he's worse
Margie: i don't doubt it
Next.
Robb: what are you doing this weekend?
Sansa: applying to a hundred more jobs that won't hire me
Robb: 🧍♂️
Robb: do you want to bring Rickon and his friends to my game
Sansa rolls her eyes.
Sansa: i thought they were going with dad?
Robb: he has a thing
Sansa: what thing?
Robb: i didn't ask
Sansa huffs.
Sansa: fine yes i'll chaperone
Robb: cool
Robb: dinner on me after
Sansa: obviously
Sansa tosses her phone away in the bed. She goes back to running her fingers through Jon's curls, the soft sound of his snores a soothing background to the afternoon. Not long after, Ghost pads into the room. He hops onto the bed and curls up at the foot with a soft huff.
Sansa smiles.
She closes her eyes.
*
"Jeyne is jealous of your hair," Sansa says, amused.
She's sitting on the kitchen counter in one of Jon's old shirts and nothing but a pair of panties. He keeps abandoning the vegetables he's chopping for their early dinner to kiss her.
"Jealous?"
"Mm," Sansa sips at a glass of water, phone in her other hand. She's reading him the replies to her close friends story, "apparently you look 'delicious'."
Jon huffs, ears red. He shifts his shoulders and continues cutting carrots into matchsticks.
"My face isn't even in it."
"No," Sansa agrees, a teasing edge to her voice, "but those shoulders are."
"You like my shoulders?"
"Broad enough to hook my ankles over," she says casually.
Jon sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, hesitating in his chopping. He can't help but picture it, standing at the side of his bed while she lays down, driving into her with her ankles over his shoulders. His cock twitches. He shoots a glare at her.
She smiles innocently, sipping at her water.
Jon turns away, back to the cutting board. He shakes his head.
Sansa laughs quietly, tapping her heels against the lower cabinets.
"Later," she promises, shifting where she sits.
"I'll hold you to it," Jon says, voice low.
Sansa bites her lip.
"I hope you do."
Jon sends her a look that's all heat and she shivers. He abandons the knife in his hand to crowd between her legs, pressing a kiss to her lips, broad palms on top of her thighs. His hands slide up her legs, fingertips dipping into the legs of her panties, warm in the creases of her hips. She kisses back fiercely, sliding her arms over his shoulders, phone clenched tight in her fist. Jon's hands slide around to cup her ass, pulling her tighter against him, forcing her thighs open wider. She digs her heels into his ass and he sucks on her tongue. She moans, phone clattering to the floor so she can curl her fingers in his hair.
Jon startles, but Sansa whimpers in the space between their mouths and pulls him back in.
He immediately forgets about the phone, sliding his hands under her thighs and lifting her into his arms without breaking the kiss. He takes a steady step back, away from the counter, and there's a loud crack under his heel.
He halts.
"Fuck," He mutters into her mouth.
"Noooo," Sansa whines.
"I'll buy you a new one," Jon promises, adjusting his grip on her thighs and kissing her again.
Sansa lets herself be carried to the bedroom, phone left on the kitchen floor.
*
Sansa lays sprawled across Jon's chest, blankets around her hips. She tilts her up head to press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw and his arm tightens around her.
"Can I use your phone to log into my instagram?" She asks in the quiet, "I need to tell Arya I'm temporarily out a phone."
Jon cringes, guilty. He feels around the bed for his phone and passes it to her.
"Password?"
"Uh, 1-2-3-4-5-6."
"Jon," Sansa gasps, sitting up to look down at his sheepish expression, "you're kidding."
He blushes.
"It's worked for me so far!"
"Gods," she mutters, laying back down on him, "I'm changing it."
"Sansa," he whines.
"I'm changing it," she repeats, navigating to his settings before even thinking about Instagram, "there."
He peeks down at the screen.
"What is it?"
"08-12-26," she says, clipped.
He blinks. A smirk grows on his face.
"Is that the night we met?" He asks, thumb swiping along her hip.
She purses her lips, not dignifying the question with a response. She pulls up Instagram, swiping idly through his posts — boring, mostly sponsorships with occasional picture with the guys on his team — then logs him out and inputs her own information. She goes immediately to her chat logs.
Sansa hey message me here pls jon stepped on my phone and it's out of commission rip
It doesn't take long for Arya to reply.
Arya: what the hell???
Sansa: it was an accident
Arya: i don't want to know
Arya: is he buying you a new one?
Sansa's gaze flicks up to him then back to the screen.
Sansa: tomorrow
Sansa chews her lower lip, thinking. She opens Jon's camera and take a picture of them cuddled together, his head tilted back against the pillows, eyes closed, arms around her. Her head is pillowed on his firm chest, hickies visible on the swells of her breasts and collarbones, but mercifully not on her neck. She saves it to Jon's phone for him to find later then makes a copy and puts a blue emoji heart over his face and posts it to her close friends story.
Arya's reply is immediate.
Arya: disgusting
Sansa snorts and it startles Jon out of his doze, tugging her tighter against his chest.
"What is it?" he mumbles.
"Just Arya."
Jon rubs at his eyes with his free hand, squinting down at her. She pulls up the picture she took and holds it up for him to see, watching his expression closely. He smiles, sliding the phone out of her grasp to pull it closer and get a better look.
"You posted this?" he asks.
"I covered your face."
He grunts. He flips back to the camera and holds the phone out above their heads, getting a top-down view of them laying tangled together in bed and snaps a picture before pulling it back down to examine. He hums to himself then shows her. She smiles her approval.
"That one's just for me," he says quietly.
Sansa smiles. She leans up to kiss him and he meets her halfway, hand coming up to tangle in her hair. He lets the phone drop to the bed and pulls her closer. Sansa hums against his lips, stroking a hand down his chest to his stomach. She trails her fingers down along his happy trail and into the thicket of his pubes.
Jon groans, kissing her harder. She wraps her hand around the base of his half-hard cock, feeling its weight in her palm. He hardens at her touch, lengthening and thickening under her fingers.
She sighs into his mouth.
"You're so big," she mumbles.
Jon scoffs a laugh, chest rumbling under her.
She pouts.
"What?"
"Size isn't all that matters," he says.
Sansa rolls her eyes, squeezing the base of his thick cock. It twitches in her hand.
"Obviously," she says, "but it's a nice bonus when you know what you're doing," she drags her bottom lip between her teeth and continues in a low voice, "I like how well you fill me."
"Yeah?" Jon says, voice rough.
Sansa nods, stroking up his length.
Jon groans, bucking up into the touch.
"You bruised my cervix," she tells him. He blinks at her in surprise. She goes on, "I like it — it feels good; aches when I walk."
Jon sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. He kisses her again, her hand stalled on his cock.
"I want you inside me all the time," Sansa mumbles against Jon's lips, rubbing her slick thighs together, "want you to fill up, keep me full of your cum, take me in every room of this house, bend me over every surface. You make me feel crazy."
Jon groans low in his throat.
"Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands off you long enough to feed you?" He asks, "to wait to be inside you again? Sansa, fuck, you're all I think about."
She moves, sitting up and sliding over Jon's hips to straddle him. She kneels above him and he puts his hands on her hips, breath caught in his throat as she takes him in hand and slowly sinks down on his cock with a relieved sigh. She closes her eyes and just sits there, relishing in the feel of him inside her, filling her up and stretching her out.
She's hot and wet and tight around him and he has to close his eyes, feeling instead of seeing when she bends forward, not to fuck herself on his cock, but to lay down on his chest, her face in his neck. He remains buried inside her.
"Let me just stay like this for minute," she mumbles.
Jon throbs inside her but only moves to wrap his arms around her back, content to let her warm his cock. He runs his fingers through her long hair, kissing her head. He can feel her slick seeping out of her, dripping down to his balls.
After a few moments she starts squirming on top of him, growing impatient.
Jon makes a decision.
He tsks, tightening his arms around her.
"Be a good girl," he says lowly, "you can go longer."
Sansa whines against his neck, but stills her movements. Her cunt soaks him, his balls and pubic hair damp with her slick. He has to tense his thighs to keep from bucking up into her. He runs a rough palm down the center of her back.
"You're doing so well," he croons into her ear, "such a sweet girl for me, Sansa, tight and wet and hot around my cock, baby. You're perfect."
She gasps against his throat, biting her lip. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons behind. She doesn't move. She can feel every involuntary twitch of the cock inside her. She keeps her eyes closed, panting against Jon's neck.
Jon's hand strokes slowly up and down her back and she melts into him with a sigh. He resists the need to fuck into her for a solid ten minutes before he shifts his hips. There's a soft squelch from her soaked cunt and he groans. Her breath shudders against his neck. She tightens up around him and she moans.
He scruffs her, hand at the back of her neck.
"I didn't tell you to move," he says lowly.
Sansa whimpers.
"Sorry," she pants.
Jon massages the sides her neck, rubbing his hand down her spine. He rolls her onto her back, cock shifting inside her, and she moans.
"Gods," Jon groans, "you're so wet."
"Just for you," Sansa promises, wrapping her arms around his neck. She's bleary-eyes and flushed, hair fanned out around her head, her knees bent around his waist, "no one's ever gotten me as wet as you do, Jon."
He kisses her fiercely, rolling his hips into her. She rocks back with every thrust, borne down into the mattress. She clings to his shoulders.
"Gods Jon," she gasps against his lips, eyes squeezed shut, "so good, please, you feel so good, baby."
Jon nearly whimpers at the endearment, fucking her harder, faster. He hooks an elbow behind one of her bent knees, pressing it up near her chest, and she chokes on a gasp, eyes rolling back in her head. She scrabbles at his shoulders, long nails scraping along his skin, up into his hair to run along his scalp.
He shivers.
He pants above her, eyes closed, hair hanging in his face, sweat making it cling to his hairline, the back of his neck.
"Fuck," he grunts.
He leans down to kiss her again, but it's uncoordinated, sloppy. His wet lips are on her chin, the corner of her mouth. She moans at the touch, turning her head to chase his mouth.
It's less a kiss, more moaning against each other's lips.
He shifts his weight and her breathing hitches, fingers tightening in his hair. Every thrust is a moan punched out of her, high-pitched and whining as her orgasm builds, winding tighter and tighter. She says his name, chanting it like a prayer as she gets closer, moaning and gasping, her fingernails leaving marks on his skin.
He struggles to peel his eyes open to look down at her, commit the look of her beneath him to memory. Her neck strains, head tossed back against the pillows, lips shining and parted, cheeks flushed. Her eyes are screwed shut tight as though in pain, chest heaving. He watches her breasts bounce as she undulates under him, snapping his hips into her cunt.
Suddenly she goes taut beneath him, crying out as her orgasm breaks over her, fingers like claws in his skin. He slows his pace, but doesn't stop, dragging it out. He watches the aftershocks wash through her, her jaw trembling around a whine. Her thighs shake at his waist, curled over his arm. Her pussy flutters violently around him and he has to force himself to keep fucking her through it, dragging it out.
She goes lax beneath him and he kisses her, finally halted inside her. He lets her leg free from the turn of his elbow and she lets it fall open to the side with a soft sigh. Her fingers slide out of his hair, arms flopping out to her sides, starfished beneath him, exhausted. He noses at her cheek, pressing a light kiss to her skin, giving her a moment.
"Keep going," she mumbles. She creaks her blue eyes open to look up at him, a soft hand coming up to rub at his shoulders, up his neck, "use me."
Jon groans, lashes fluttering. His cock twitches inside her.
He snaps his hips and the wet sound of flesh meeting fills the room again. Sansa lays there and takes it, engorged pussy gripping him tight. She whimpers and sighs, eyes closed, her fingers twisted in the blankets.
Jon drags his lips across her cheek and down her neck, licking at the salt on her skin. She trembles, taking soft, gasping breaths. She turns her head to capture his mouth, lips brushing. He slides a hand up to cradle the back of her head. She breathes into his mouth and he bites his lip, fucking her harder, faster. She tightens up around him and he moans against her cheek, toppling head first into orgasm, cock twitching as he fills her with his cum.
"Fuck!" He grunts, muscles locked tight, buried deep inside her. He forces out a long breath, gasping, "fuck."
Sansa hums, wriggling underneath him. She cards her fingers through his hair, straining her neck to lean up and pepper his face with kisses. He leans into it, lashes fluttering. She kisses the corner of his lips and he turns his face to kiss her properly, firmly, rocking into her. She gasps, brow creasing.
"Too much?" he asks.
She whimpers.
Jon kisses her again and then slowly drags his cock out of her. She whines, nose pressed to his beard. When he rolls off of her, he pulls her with him, into his arms. She snuggles close, clinging like she wants to bury herself under his skin. He wraps an arm around her back, winding a hand up into her hair. He kisses her forehead, brushes the tip of his nose along the crest of her cheek.
She settles with a soft sigh, their bodies flush.
Jon swallows hard.
Gods, he thinks, I want to keep her forever.
*
Jon pulls his shirt off in the locker room to change into practice gear and someone wolf whistles behind him. He turns his head to find Tormund grinning at him from his locker across the way and Jon furrows his brow in confusion.
Tormund laughs.
"Your little lady is in town?" The big man asks.
Jon blinks. He parts his lips to ask, but Tormund continues before he can.
"She did a number on you," Tormund says, grinning, gesturing toward Jon's back.
He flushes, the memory of Sansa's nails on his skin flashing through his mind. He can imagine what his back looks like. Warmth curls in his chest and he finds himself grinning, turning back away from Tormund to hide the smile on his face. He finishes getting ready, first on the ice even if he hadn't been the first in the building today. He's focused throughout practice, sharp, but there's no denying his smile is quicker than usual, a looseness to his shoulders.
No one comments on it, but they notice, Tormund especially shooting him little grins that make Jon flush and roll his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Jon speeds through his shower when practice ends and fidgets through watching game tape. He doesn't leave any earlier than he usually would, doesn't even consider slacking off, but his knee bounces, eyes flickering to the clock on the wall more than usual.
He's one of the first to leave, pushing out into the cold afternoon and bee-lining for his car. He waves good-bye to a few of the others in the lot then hurries home.
To Sansa.
He honks when he pulls into the driveway and waits, watching her come out his front door, bundled up against the cold. She climbs into the passenger seat beside him and buckles in, holding her palms out toward the heat vents.
"Ready?" He asks.
She smiles and nods, leaning across the center console to kiss his cheek.
"How was practice?" She asks as they pull out of the drive.
Jon shrugs.
"Practice," he says.
Sansa huffs and rolls her eyes, settling back in her seat.
"Are you ready for the game tomorrow?"
"Oh yeah," Jon nods, fingers flexing on the steering wheel, "we've got Stannis's number."
Sansa smiles.
"You sound very sure."
"He runs like three plays," Jon says.
"Just don't get over-confident."
"Me?" Jon says, flicking a smile her way, "never. We'll work as hard as we always do to shut them down."
Sansa hums, she offers her hand, palm up, and Jon slides his right hand from the steering wheel to lace his fingers through hers.
He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, adjusting his grip on the wheel. She blinks over at him, curious.
"What is it?"
Jon briefly removes his left hand from the steering wheel to scratch at his beard before replacing it. He opens his mouth then closes it.
Sansa frowns. She squeezes his right hand in hers.
"Jon?"
"I want to be exclusive," he says, gaze flicking to her and then quickly away, "It doesn't have to be public," he rushes to add, knuckles white on the steering wheel, "but I don't want anyone else."
"Jon," Sansa breathes, eyes a little wide. She shakes her head, squeezing his hand again, "I don't—" he tenses, "it never occurred to me we could be anything but exclusive."
He relaxes in his seat, closing his eyes for a second before refocusing on the road.
"Good," he says.
Sansa rolls her eyes, a smile on her face. She pulls their clasped hands closer to her body, resting them on her thigh.
"You're ridiculous," she says, "you think I'd let just anyone come in me?"
"No," he says tightly, jaw ticking at the thought. He sighs, "I needed to hear you say it."
She lifts their hands to press a kiss to his scarred knuckles.
"Anytime," she murmurs.
*
They get Sansa's new phone and head back to Jon's where she spends an hour at the kitchen table setting it up how she wants. She snags his wrist as he's walking past her toward the fridge, pulling him over. He makes a curious noise and she smiles at him.
"Come take a picture," she says sweetly.
Jon frowns, but steps up behind her, hooking his chin over her shoulder, an arm around her waist. She grins and holds the phone up, their faces on the screen.
Jon softens at the sight of her smile, lips curling up automatically. Sansa snaps a photo then presses her lips to his cheek and takes another.
Jon huffs. He turns his head to kiss her lips, but they're both smiling too much and their teeth click together. Sansa laughs. She sets her new phone down on the table so she can cup Jon's face in both hands, kissing him again.
Her phone begins vibrating insistently on the table and she pulls back from Jon with a pout, peeking at the screen and sighing when she sees "Mom" on the screen. She grabs the phone.
"Hello?"
"Sansa, sweetheart, I just wanted to check on you — I haven't heard from you since yesterday."
Jon wanders toward the fridge, getting a glass of water and heading back toward the living room.
"Ah, sorry, mama, my phone was kind of out of commission. I thought Arya would tell you."
"Out of commission?"
Sansa blushes.
"It got busted," she says.
"But it's fixed now?"
Sansa hesitates.
"I had to get a new one," she admits.
"Your father didn't tell me you got a new phone," Sansa can hear Catelyn's confusion over the phone.
"Daddy didn't buy it."
Catelyn is quiet on the other end of the line. Sansa curls her free hand into a tight fist, waiting.
"Jon?" Catelyn asks. She sounds disapproving.
Sansa winces.
"Well, he's the one who stepped on the old one," she explains, "he thought it was only fair."
Catelyn lets out a soft sigh.
"That's a good amount of money, Sansa," she says quietly.
Sansa looks around furtively as though Jon could hear their conversation from the living room.
"He's good for it."
Catelyn clicks her tongue.
"That's not the point," she says sharply, "your father would have sent you the money."
"Mom—"
"You shouldn't owe him anything," Catelyn says.
Sansa sucks in a sharp breath.
"I don't," she says quietly, "mama, I promise I don't; Jon's not like that."
"You barely know this man," Catelyn argues.
"Well enough to know he doesn't scare me," Sansa says, "he cares about me, mom. He's good."
Catelyn maintains her silence.
"Please trust me," Sansa whispers.
She hears Catelyn inhale softly.
"Okay."
"Thank you," Sansa hesitates. She decides to throw her mother a bone, "Arya's coming to meet him tomorrow."
She hears the relieved sigh on Catelyn's end, a soft exhale.
"When do we get to meet him?"
Sansa swallows hard.
"I don't know," she shrugs, "it's. . .complicated."
Catelyn makes a little noise in the back of her throat.
"Complicated how?"
Sansa takes a deep breath.
"He's a public figure," she says.
"And he wants it to be a secret?"
"No," Sansa says quickly, "I don't— I'm nervous. It makes me nervous. Jon understands."
"But you like him?"
"So much," Sansa breathes. She squeezes her shut. She admits, "I feel a little crazy. I've never— mom, I've never liked anyone this much."
"Does he make you happy?"
"Yes, gods, so much."
"Okay," Catelyn says, "I'm glad."
Sansa smiles weakly, letting out a relieved sigh.
"Thank you."
When they hang up, Sansa leaves her phone on the table and makes her way to the living room where Jon has been watching a documentary on ancestral swords of Westeros.
Sansa presses her lips together against a smile. She passes the open space on the sofa to sit in his lap, looping her arms around his neck. He smiles automatically, hands on her waist. She sinks into him, face in his neck. He wraps his arms around her back, chin hooked over her shoulder so he can continue watching his show.
"What'd your mom want?" He murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down Sansa's back.
"Just checking on me," she shrugs, "I thought Arya would tell her I couldn't reply to messages yesterday but she didn't."
"Ah."
"So which is your favourite?" Sansa asks, lips tickling his neck.
He jerks a little but keeps holding her.
"My favourite what?" He says, eyes glued to the TV.
Sansa huffs, amused.
"Your favourite sword," she says.
"Longclaw," Jon says immediately.
Sansa grins, pressing her front teeth to his skin.
"Not Ice?" she teases.
"Yours can be Ice, Miss Stark. Mine is Longclaw."
Sansa hums, an amused sound.
"I suppose it wouldn't do for us to have the same favourite," she says idly, "a sword can only be wielded by one person at a time."
Jon huffs.
"You're making fun of me," he says.
"No," Sansa says, "I like that you have interests outside of hockey."
"Mm," Jon sits back against the sofa so he can look at her, a smirk on his face, "Northern history and you."
Sansa laughs. She strokes her knuckles against his beard, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
"You're ridiculous," she says.
He turns his head to press a kiss to the backs of her fingers.
Sansa hums, she offers her hand, palm up, and Jon slides his right hand from the steering wheel to lace his fingers through hers.
He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, adjusting his grip on the wheel. She blinks over at him, curious.
"What is it?"
Jon briefly removes his left hand from the steering wheel to scratch at his beard before replacing it. He opens his mouth then closes it.
Sansa frowns. She squeezes his right hand in hers.
"Jon?"
"I want to be exclusive," he says, gaze flicking to her and then quickly away, "It doesn't have to be public," he rushes to add, knuckles white on the steering wheel, "but I don't want anyone else."
"<i>Jon,</i>" Sansa breathes, eyes a little wide. She shakes her head, squeezing his hand again, "I don't—" he tenses, "it never occurred to me we could be anything but exclusive."
He relaxes in his seat, closing his eyes for a second before refocusing on the road.
"Good," he says.
Sansa rolls her eyes, a smile on her face. She pulls their clasped hands closer to her body, resting them on her thigh.
"You're ridiculous," she says, "you think I'd let just anyone come in me?"
"No," he says tightly, jaw ticking at the thought. He sighs, "I needed to hear you say it."
She lifts their hands to press a kiss to his scarred knuckles.
