Years of being a Trauma Surgeon showed him that anything could turn into an accident. The tiniest thing, the most insignificant of moments--those things could easily tip the balance between life and death.
Needless to say, almost nothing fazed him anymore.
And with that, there were even fewer things that could terrify him.
But as he finished extracting the ABG from one patient (with great difficulty at that what with the added protocol of using double gloves), he couldn't help but step back and take a look at the scene before him.
He had come to Eastwatch By The Sea Veterans Memorial Medical Center to help do an E-vac of a suspected patient who was also a complicated trauma patient and bring him to New Castle Presbyterian for better care, but seeing the bedlam, he couldn't help but do the final bloodwork himself and re-stabilize the patient prior to moving him.
In front of him, a sea of white blurs and red angry monitors beeping away, his colleagues, armed in heavy, uncomfortable, layers of protection - it was like seeing a badly done space opera.
If the astronauts are here, this isn't the planet we know anymore.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
***just a preview of the fic I’m working on. Season 8 AU where Drogon is dead, and Cersei has both Sansa and Daenerys captured.
She caught herself from sighing once more as her…companion stood up and started pacing around the room much too restlessly and terribly furious.
“You’ll just tire yourself out, Daenerys,” she started, all formalities dropped by the third day of their captivity.
She watched as the former Dragon queen (Euron saw to that when he shot the black beast with the scorpion) stilled, hands on her hips and groaning in frustration, before finally walking over and taking the seat next to hers.
Three days of captivity and Daenerys’ face and armor were still covered in soot, her violet eyes volatile, sparking and dulling—fury and frustration, yet boring into hers—almost pleading.
“How are you so calm?” she demanded.
Sansa almost laughed at that, almost bitterly even, but instead offered a shrug, while stroking the end of her needle necklace. “You forget, Daenerys, that I’ve been here before.”
She knew without looking up that Daenerys would have a cross of guilt and pity in her look, and she really rather not have either. Sansa knew that despite it all, this woman had a soft spot for mistreated girls.
Silence stretched as it had between them, the tension they had since Winterfell still lingered.
“How did you survive?”
Sansa looked at her then and saw Daenerys looking, for the first time since they’ve met—defeated and she, for the first time, had no words to offer.
Daenerys grabbed her hand then, forcing her out of her reverie. “You were always the clever one. Tyrion always said so.”
She sniffed then and allowed a corner of her mouth to twitch, “That’s what they might see now, but really, like what I told someone before, I’m a slow learner. It’s true.”
She looked her straight in the eye, “But I learn.” She pulled her hand away.
Something like respect but still laced with suspicion glinted in Daenerys’ eyes. She was about to add that it doesn’t matter if they thought her clever or not since she’s here.
A prisoner once more.
“So what’s the plan then.”
Sansa tilted her head. “Plan?”
“How are we getting out?”
Sansa almost gave her a sympathetic smile. They had no dragons now. Their army is scattered. Both what’s left of the dragon queen’s army and the Northerners won’t move recklessly, not when Cersei has Daenerys and herself as her prisoners.
And not one of Cersei’s prisoners were alive.
“I lie awake at night thinking of ways of killing my enemies.”
“Sansa.”
What can she say?
“We’re not getting out, are we?”
Sansa sighed. “You’ve parleyed with Cersei before.”
Sansa watched the silver haired woman’s eyes grow tight and almost teary, probably remembering the day Cersei had her beloved friend and adviser beheaded in front of her.
“It can’t end that way. My men are still out there. Jon—
At that her chest ached and then she suddenly she knew.
It must’ve shown on her face because Daenerys stopped talking and looked at her expectantly.
Sansa swallowed. “Jon.” She swallowed again. “She’ll make Jon choose,” she barely whispered, and looked away, feeling suddenly small and defeated herself.
Daenerys paled.
And then suddenly it was all too clear, so very clear, she didn’t bother to stop the tears that came as she watched the same realization in her co-captive’s eyes, as tears were threatening to pour from them as well.
Just a little drabble from this cute prompt I saw. :D
Jon didn’t think.
Didn’t even as much as hesitate.
The moment he saw Myranda point her wand in Sansa’s direction, her mouth framing what he was sure was an “Evanseco” he dropped his books, dove and got on all fours just barely catching Sansa from falling.
Sansa almost dropped her books as she tried to steady herself on her suddenly unsteady seat. Bloody hell. Not again. She sighed and prepared herself to raise her brow at Myranda and her vapid friends, who, for some reason, had it in their life mission to humiliate her as much as possible ever since she rejected joining their group...among other silly things.
But when she looked at them, their faces held a look of surprise that morphed into...something that looked a cross between annoyance and wistful. Wistful? She thought to herself. Whatever fo--she gasped when she felt her seat move, causing her to reach her hand back and grab the back of her seat but when her hand was clutching something that was definitely not the expected wood of the chair and definitely something that didn’t yelp, she finally understood, to her embarrassment, why the girls would look at her that way.
Beneath her was the Gryffindor seeker, Head Boy, and not to mention, the fittest seventh year wizard Sansa’s ever seen... on all fours... smiling sheepishly at her, his cheeks red - and she was still sitting on Jon Snow’s back, her hand still holding Jon Snow’s--
Sansa immediately stood up, mortified, holding her hand out to him “Merlin’s beard! I’m so sorry Jon! Here, let me help you up.”
Jon just chuckled and grinned at her, accepting her hand and letting Sansa help him up even though he knew she didn’t really need to.
“Are you okay?” he asked, while Sansa felt his thumb stroking the back of her hand, sending shivers all over her body.
“I should be asking you the same! I mean, I sat on you and I-I,” she bit her lip to stop her from saying and I grabbed your ass. Your very nice ass.
Jon just smiled at her and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head and rubbing her hand that was still in his own. “It’s not a problem, really.” He frowned and glared at Myranda then. “I saw what they were about to do and a fall like that could really hurt your as--er, um, bum.”
Sansa blushed but before she could answer, someone spoke from behind her.
“So you made like a human chair, instead of...I don’t know, whipping out your wand...?”
Sansa turned and saw Margaery smirking at Jon while raising a brow causing Jon to slap his forehead. “Well bloody hell. I suppose. But I--I saw what they were about to do and I didn’t think. I just didn’t want Sansa to get hurt.” He glared at Myranda and her friends then, causing the former to scoff, roll her eyes and call her friends to get to their seat.
When he turned back to face Sansa, his heart raced to see her incredibly close to him and flashing him the loveliest smile he’s ever had the fortune to witness.
He felt a squeeze and realized they were still holding hands and the next thing he knew was the feel of Sansa’s soft lips on his cheek that was gone too soon.
“Thank you Jon.”
“My-my pleasure,” he barely replied.
“And don’t beat yourself off about not using magic to save me. It’s...actually, it’s really sweet, what you did. Reckless, but effective. I hope I didn’t hurt your back.”
Her smile made him braver as he shook his head. “Of course not. And I’ll glady be your very own human chair, anytime.” He winked. Or at least, thought he winked. Fuck me. I’m ruining it.
Sansa giggled then raised her brow, biting her lip again, driving Jon absolutely mad. “Anytime?” she asked.
Wait, was she?
Jon grinned and nodded. “Yes, anytime.”
Sansa looked to Margaery again who gave her an encouraging nod. And the next thing he knew he was being lead and shoved playfully on a chair with Sansa perching on his lap.
“Then...now?” she asked, her hands twining around his neck.
Fuck yes, NOW. Jon thought, his hands wrapping themselves around her waist in answer.
“My very own human chair,” Sansa giggled, her hand playing with his curls before showing her gratitude by leaning down and kissing him, with Jon kissing back at once and with fervor.
When they pulled away finally, Sansa, still holding on to Jon and panting, looked over her shoulder and called out to Myranda. “I guess I should thank you Myranda. You saved me from sitting on a very dull seat. How did you know I’d get the best seat after?”
“Oh would you just apparate in a dinky broom closet somewhere. You two are disgusting,” Myranda spat and rolled her eyes at them.
Jon raised a brow at Sansa expectantly when she looked back at him earning him a smack on the chest and another lovely blush.
“What? It was a good suggestion,” he shrugged and feeling incredibly braver, he thought to hell with it and suggested something...more. “And I could...show you my lap or back isn’t the only place you can sit on,” he whispered, delighting in the flush that crept on Sansa’s cheek and down her neck.
But before Sansa could answer, he whipped his wand out and shouted “Expeliarmus!”
The sound of a wand dropping and a gasp was heard and a thud.
Though Jon was able to disarm Myranda, Myranda’s spell still hit Jon...transfiguring him into an actual chair.
Sansa’s wand was out at once but Margaery stopped her. “I’ll handle this troll, you take care of Jon there.”
Sansa nodded gratefully before transfiguring Jon back, her hands flying to his face. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
Jon chuckled. “I’m mad but I’m also amused that she literally turned me into a chair. Not bad.”
Sansa sighed in relief before helping him up again...then tugging him out the door, Jon following eagerly.
“Where are we going?”
“I think as much as I’d like to bring my new chair home, I’d love to see...the whole set inside of the Head Boy’s room.”
Jon gaped at her before shifting into a winning grin, stopping them from running and preparing to side-apparate Sansa into his room.
Who knew being a damn chair would get him the girl?
Sansa closed her eyes, held her chin up, and stood firm, thinking that this wasn’t new anymore—that she did this many times over to feel differently, at least this time it would be the last.
A scorned woman and a sentence, just like before though instead of raven black hair, this one had silver almost white as the snow that was falling thickly around them, and instead of an arrow, it was fire aimed at her.
Sansa was afraid but she was braver as she waited for yet another monster’s strike on Lady Stark’s skin—at least this time her death would save, she thought while completely unaware that this time at just the right moment, her knight did come in black and grey, slaying the dragon and saving his true queen.
Send me a pairing + an AU and I’ll write a three sentence fic.
Part I & II | Part III & IV | Part V & VI | Part VII & VIII | Part IX & X
IX. The Dream
“Please don’t go,” she pleaded, “Don’t leave me again.”
He clenched his fists against the windowsill while his back remained turned to her. “You know I have no choice.”
“There’s always a choice. Or have you finally done it? You’ve chosen to let me go?”
Continue reading on AO3 or here.
He turned abruptly then and crushed her against him before cupping her face to look him in the eye. “I chose you. That’s why I’m doing this. I chose you above all. Everything I’m doing is for you. It’s the only way I know you’ll be safe.”
She closed her eyes then and let the tears flow. “What if you don’t come back?”
She felt him kiss away her tears and coax her eyes open to see him smile at her. “My love, what is it that I promised you? When you asked me where I would go?”
A faint smile graced her face at last. “You corrected me. You told me, ‘where would we go?’”
He stroked her cheek. “Aye. You carry me with you always. Just as I carry you here with me too,” he took her palm and placed it on his chest over his heart. “I came back just as I’ve said, I’ll come back again and I promise I won’t leave without you ever again.”
…
Her skin was ice cold, no matter how much he tried to warm her up while the light in her eyes was slowly fading.
How could he warm her up when he himself was frozen too?
The war had ended, the realm saved, except for her.
She was too stubborn to leave when asked that he had barely been able to see her still alive.
Not that he was any better.
He was wounded too and likely won’t live to see the morning.
“You…came back,” she said weakly and he had to fight through the pain both physically and not to crawl to her and take her hand and cheek in his palms.
“I did…I promised…” he whispered back.
She smiled. “I know…you would…that’s why…I waited…”
“You shouldn’t have,” he said almost angrily.
She gave him a look that was almost fierce if not for the blue in her lips. “We’re here...together…at last…”
He wanted to cry. “We are…”
“We’re here…before the…old gods,” she lifted her hand weakly to trace his face.
“Aye.”
They shared a look and he understood. “Do you take…this man?”
She smiled her radiant smile and nodded weakly. “I take this man.”
And there under the heart tree, they sealed their union with a frozen kiss.
Then darkness.
X. The Rooftop
Jon had just about given up when Daryn called him to say that Wylla’s guest had already left White Harbor. He was up the rooftop doing what everyone told him he did best.
Bloody brooding.
He was already wearing his uniform, stalling as much as he could in hopes of getting a glimpse of her. He was due to leave to fly his plane to Karhold in a few hours.
How could I let this pass?
She was just there with him. Too many times already she was pushed his way and they were actually talking inside the old ballroom too.
Stupid. He was stupid. And now he missed his chance.
How many chances were there?
The bus, the party…he straightened then. Could she be the same person from the plane? The red-head Val and Satin wanted him to greet?
And then he remembered the party after the fireworks. She just disappeared. And he didn’t even know who to look for because all of a sudden Wylla’s guest, the dancer was swarmed by people, causing a commotion while he searched for his mystery girl at the same time dodging being introduced to the guest—oh for fucks’ sake!
He swallowed. What if she was the guest. What if she was the dancer?
But no. It couldn’t be. The dancer had silver hair.
Hair that could’ve been just a wig—Jon Snow you truly are a bloody idiot!
If only he just followed what everyone told him to do then he would’ve met her already!
What was Wylla’s friend’s name? They already mentioned it to him and now he was regretting barely listening.
“Sansa,” he blurted out.
“Yes?”
Jon’s heart almost leapt out of his chest from shock and then realized too late that the voice that answered was familiar. His heart raced and his palms grew sweaty at the realization sinking in that he was suddenly afraid to turn around.
“You…called my name?” he heard her walk closer and he swore he wasn’t breathing.
He swallowed then before he lost his nerve and he’d lose yet another opportunity. So slowly, he turned.
He couldn’t help holding his breath at the sight of her truly in front of him then. His dreams did her no justice.
Her hair had a richer red hue while her eyes were bluer and softer—she was so beautiful that the whole of him ached for her.
She looked taken aback as well, her eyes wide, her full lips slightly open after letting out a quiet gasp. She looked as unbelieving as he did, both their eyes roaming over their forms.
Their eyes locked and visions swam in his mind in what felt like years but was actually just a quick moment.
Did she see them too?
Does she know?
Does she know how long he’s waited for this moment?
Her tearful answer said it all.
“Is it really you…Jon?”
And just like that, tears leaked from his eyes too as he gathered her in his arms and lifted her the same way he did, thousands of years ago when she came to him just as he was brought back.
“It’s me. Sansa, it’s me. Is it really you? Are you really here, my love?” He whispered against her shoulder.
“It’s me, Jon. I’ve waited so long,” she cried with her face pressed against his.
“I’m so sorry, Sansa. I’m sorry it took so long to find you,” he sobbed, holding her as tightly as possible.
They pulled away slightly to face each other. “We’re here now.”
Jon brushed his nose against hers and rested his forehead on hers. “Together. At last.”
Sansa smiled back at him before taking note of his uniform. “You’re the pilot.”
“Aye. And you’re the ballerina,” he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Suddenly she looked worried. “You’re leaving.”
Jon’s smile faded as well. “I thought you left for Winterfell earlier.”
“Jon…how are we going to make this work? I…I’m going on tour soon.”
Jon swallowed. Both their jobs would require them to part but he just had his Sansa back after so many years just to be deterred once more. “We’ll find a way, I promise.”
Sansa looked at him before smiling again and nodding. “We will. Together.” She rested her head on his shoulder then, her arms wrapping around his neck while his wrapped around her back.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered. “I can’t believe we found each other again.”
Jon held her tighter. “I can.”
Sansa pulled away and looked at him so lovingly that his hands traced up until he was cupping her face and neck once more.
After looking into eyes he’s only dreamt of seeing once more, he finally leant down and kissed her.
And for the first time in centuries, there was no darkness that followed.
Inspired by this quote:
“Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn
AN: Here’s the last of it. I really hope you like it @weasleyrose! I’ve had this plot for years already and I’m really happy I finally had time to write it down. So thank you for the opportunity (and the deadline haha it really helped). Merry Christmas!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Jon x Sansa maybe in a lotr crossover? Or some othe crossover of your choice? 🐺
I’m so sorry this took so long! I’ve had this forever! And I just had time to do it. Thanks for the prompt!
“Why did you follow me?” Jon spoke to her in Sindarin, frustration evident in his tone after pulling her towards the path behind the trees away from his companions.
Sansa didn’t reply, just kept her gaze straight at him until her eyes saw the glint of silver hidden inside his tunic.
He followed her sight and immediately tightened his cloak to conceal it, despite the futility of it, choosing to continue glaring at her. “You may be immortal but you could still be captured,” he continued angrily. “Why aren’t you on the ship–” His eyes widened then when he realized just what she’s done.
Jon’s hands flew to her face then, his grey eyes pleading that this wasn’t real. But her blue eyes just looked back, steady and determined. Her skin was cool and soft beneath his fingers and forehead where he pressed, trying to suppress the agony he felt.
“Tell me this is a dream, tell me this is not real. You were meant to sail to the Night Lands. You were meant to be away where there is peace,” he shut his eyes. “Tell me you did not give up your immortality for me,” he whispered. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was already resigned to die for his cause and be at peace, knowing Sansa would be safe and forever untouched with pain.
He felt her hands then, cradling his wrists as she pulled back to meet him, a sad smile on her ethereal face.
“I’ve made my choice, my love,” she said softly and plainly, while a hand slid down to trace the evenstar jewel she gave him.
Jon felt like crying then, part in mourning, part in elation as his own hand covered hers against his chest. “Sansa, while I am happy to receive your love, I can not bear - I will not bear it if anything befell you. Your father showed me your fate.”
Sansa shook her head then and brushed her nose against his. “Ada, showed us only death.”
She gently took his hand and placed it on her belly. “I have seen life,” she gave him a hopeful smile.
Jon stared at her in shock as he realized what she was saying before breaking into a smile, grabbing both her hands and kissing her knuckles one by one. Both of them sharing a smile before suddenly his faded away.
Sansa caressed his cheek with her nose and squeezed her hands around his. “What’s wrong, my love?”
“Now, I cannot, under any circumstance, fail,” he looked at her with both worry and determination.
Sansa took her hands and cradled his face. “You will not. I saw it in a dream.”
He kissed her then, his arms bringing her to him tightly. Jon was terrified. Completely terrified. He knew the tale of a son of man falling in love with an elf. Beren and Luthien were their names and though their love withstood the test of time, it came with no less amount of sorrow, of trials, and of pain. He would rather kill himself than watch Sansa get hurt.
Although he wanted her, he wanted this, he wanted her alive more. Hence why he tried to leave her, persuade her to take her final journey.
But she chose him.
And he’d be damned if he would do something idiotic to make her regret her choice.
Sansa smiled at him, her blue eyes glowing. “Do you remember what I asked you that night we were reunited?”
He kissed her nose then and nuzzled her cheek. “I do.”
She kissed him once, and softly, looking directly into his eyes as they held their hands up together. “Where will you go?”
He tightened his hold on her hands and leaned closer. “Where will we go?”
Summary: His fingers skim nimbly across the ebony and ivory piano keys while hers pluck and fiddle against the strings of her cello while Bach flows first vivace, then adagio, and finally allegro to fill the music room they've reserved for rehearsals. All the while, their bodies singing for a different kind of music, and Jon has had enough pining.Song they're rehearsing: Bach's Sonata in G Minor, BWV 1029
There was only so much that Jon could take.
There she was again with her long clever fingers pressing against the strings, her other hand curled elegantly on the bow as she moved it back and forth. He tried not to be jealous of a piece of wood as he stared at the large redwood cello cradled between her creamy long legs for days while her face - gods her face - her eyes were closed shut, long lashes brushed against her sharp cheeks while there was a quiver between her brows as she concentrated, her delicate mouth slightly parted as Bach flowed from her fingers like waves that crashed powerfully against you with each damn passionate note.
Gods.
What Jon would do to feel those nimble fingers dance on his skin, those long legs cradling him against her - seven hells his body would sing and chant nothing but her name.
Sansa.
Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.
Crescendo. A gradual climb then peak and sustain.
Forte. For-te. FORTE.
His mind would urge him.
Sansa. San-sa. SANSA.
And he'd swear, in turn to make her give him that same enraptured expression she always had when she plays, using his fingers, his tongue, his cock - if she'd let him, he'd make her body sing his name too.
So when the opportunity came when she needed an accompanist for her recital, Jon fought tooth and nail to make sure no one but him would get the opportunity. If that meant bribery, threats, and begging - so be it.
Read the rest on AO3 or continue reading here.
Sansa Stark was his.
Or she will be.
...If she wants to that is.
He swallows and starts his pep talk all over again.
Now was not the time to be a wuss. It was, as Theon and Tormund said, about time to just nut up and do something before someone else makes Sansa unavailable again. He's waited a whole damn year.
And here they were, on their second week of making sweet music together, his fingers on the keys of the baby grand, lending all support for her powerful playing when all he'd wanted was his fingers working somewhere else for her and together they'd sing.
Oh how sweet it would be to hear his name pour out from those lips with the same variation of Sonata in G Minor.
They've had enough of a vivace introduction if he wasn't just imagining the light flirting they've started.
This was it.
With one last deep breath, he emerged from the corner he was hiding, checked back to make sure that he locked the door, and went to walk behind her quietly and slowly. He bit his lip to keep from groaning as she was, as usual, too engrossed in her playing to notice he had come in, too focused on her perfect playing.
Slowly he sidled up behind her, almost groaning again at the peek of skin from her bared shoulder, a constellation of freckles dotting the top, he wished to trace with his tongue, while her long, silky red hair was loose and hanging over the other shoulder that his hands itched to wrap around.
He wanted to touch her but not yet. He wanted her to come to him.
He coughed once to alert his presence, chuckled when she hit a sharp from being startled and there they were - the bluest eyes he's ever seen, blinking at him in surprise before her face broke into an embarrassed grin, her cheeks turning pink as she looked at him sheepishly, rendering him speechless for a moment.
"Sorry. Were you standing there for long, Jon?"
He blinked and gathered his wits. Coughing once more to drown out the growl that almost came out from the sweet way she said his name. "No. I just got here," he lied, smiling back.
Sansa seemed to buy it as she nodded at him, waiting. And there Jon noticed something was off with her from the way her eyes looked suddenly far away, her fingers fidgeted around the bow and her cello as she hugged them to her, the tiniest pucker between her brows gave her away the most.
"What's wrong?"
She blinked, caught herself before she laughed nervously, a lock of her hair falling from her ear that she quickly tucked back in before he could even offer to do so himself. "The recital is so near, I just realized. I'm a little nervous," she bit her lip and Jon had never seen a more endearing sight.
He took one of the stools and sat in front of her, taking one of her hands in his, giving it a squeeze when she didn't protest. "You have no reason to be. Seven hells, I'm the one who should be nervous. I don't want to ruin this for you."
She shook her head furiously and squeezed his hand back, the actions making his heart do things. "You're wonderful."
He sucked in a breath and colored then colored some more when her own cheeks started flushing prettily as she caught her words. "I mean, you're an excellent partner."
He smiled slowly and took a deep breath before speaking. "You make it easy to blend my music with yours," he looked at her, half hoping, half shaking.
She ducked her chin and looked away then, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "The credit goes to you. You seem to know how best to support my playing. You make me play more confidently," she confessed in an almost whisper. "Thank you for agreeing to be my accompanist. I'm glad it's you."
His heart almost stopped then before it pounded quickly just as soon. He moved closer then, held her gaze as he reached out to take her face in his hand, the corners of his lips quirked up whens she let him.
"No. The pleasure is all mine," he might've said a little more gruffly than intended, making her gasp - the sound going like a bolt through his hyper aware body.
He caressed her face twith his thumb and he felt her lashes as she leant closer to his touch and shivered.
She wants this too.
"Sansa."
Her eyes fluttered open in question.
"May I kiss you?"
Another wave of heat on his face as she nodded demurely, her face tilting up slightly and Jon could hardly believe this was happening. He closed their distance, cradling her face as he kissed her at last. A gasp and a groan escaping them as they pulled away in shock before fusing their mouths together once more.
Gods.
It was better than he'd imagined.
She was soft everywhere.
He wanted more.
But he would take his time.
Adagio. Like the second variation of their song. Never mind that his body was thrumming to move faster and harder after a year of watching her from afar. He forced himself to remember that this was always about her and not his base needs. Slowly and gently he touched, senses trained to her every reaction.
Just as he'd imagined, she started soft and shy, pianissimo like the perfect lady she was. She's trying to control herself but it only drove Jon to be bolder.
He'd give her so much pleasure, she won't be able to control herself. This was a promise.
But first.
Slowly he pulled away to look at her, make sure this was something far more than just lust.
He wants her, yes.
But not just for a moment, a day, a week.
He wanted her always.
All of her.
"Sansa," he whispered, almost groaned, when he caught how her eyes were half-lidded and glazed, her face leaning the slightest bit forward as if chasing him.
"Jon," she breathed out.
"Sansa I--"
"Jon I have to--"
"No you go first."
"No, go ahead!"
They both laughed then, both of them smiling tenderly but the heat was still there.
"Jon?" she tilted her head and searched his eyes.
He swallowed and waited.
Her smile vanished while she looked at him intensely that he almost panicked at the look that resembled regret in her eyes.
She bit her lip then, ducking her head as she placed a hand on his chest. "I had seriously hoped you'd accompany me. I'd have chosen you no matter who else tried."
Jon swore his heart stopped while his mouth hung.
When he didn't say anything - he couldn't, half-convinced this was just a dream, her eyes lifted back at him. "I chose that piece so someone would play with me...play the piano specifically because you play that and...just..." she said carefully. "I wanted it to be you. If there was the smallest chance you'd--"
Jon crashed his lips against hers then and brought her impossibly closer, words pouring out in between kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her nose, her throat. "You could've just asked. I had to beat a lot of hopefuls--"
She kissed him back just as fervently, her hands clutching at his shirt as she panted her answers. "I didn't think you'd be interested. You never said anything. You never talk to me."
He shook his head against her neck. "I didn't know how."
He felt her laugh then and he couldn't help but smile against her skin. "I was interested since last year, you have know idea."
She gasped. "But--"
He sighed. "I know. I'm shite at this."
She laughed again. "Well... we're here now."
He pulled away to look at her, his hands cupping her face. "Aye, we're here now."
They grinned at each other for a beat until they felt the spark between them once more.
He tilted his head.
She nodded.
Pages of sheet music flew, the sound of objects crashing on the floor, as Jon backed Sansa up against the baby grand, knocking everything down as they made out against the piano.
With one hand, Jon pulled the top board prop, the lid snapped loudly as it fell shut, another loud thump as he easily lifted Sansa's body up against the now closed lid, her heeled foot dropping on the keys causing dissonant chords that made her eyes fly open in panic, her hands on his shoulders ready to push him away.
But Jon just laughed against her shoulder and kept her still but gently. "Don't worry about it. If we destroy it, I'll have my father replace it. It's the least Rhaegar could do for me." He rolled his eyes at the thought of his asshole father.
She still looked unsure as she bit her lip, looking enticing once more that Jon had to kiss her again.
So he did.
More dissonant chords bounced off the acoustic walls mixed with broken breaths and escaped moans as Jon, standing in between her legs, pulled her closer, one leg wrapped around his torso while the other still dangled over the keys, her heel bouncing as they both ground their hips together while their lips explored every sliver of skin exposed.
A loud thud followed by the steady clicking of the fallen pedometer at 150bpm that made both of them pause for a moment before they both grinned wickedly at each other as they hastened their actions, clothes flying everywhere while hips thrusted in tempo with the fast swinging pendulum.
"Jon."
She sang.
"Jo-o-n," she sang some more.
"San-sa," he sang in reply.
"Oh Jon," she moaned and Jon never heard a more beautiful sound that he redoubled his efforts, her lovely arpeggios climbing octaves he's never heard before turning into staccatos as he moved faster.
"J-Jon, Jon, Jon..."
His answering groan of her name was just as loud and broken.
And then he saw it.
That same face she has when she's in one of her trance like state when she's nearing the end of her performance. One of complete rapture that he swears at any moment the room shall be filled with applause from yet another-
"Oh Gods."
-yet another
"Ungh."
Standing.
"Jon!"
"Sansa!"
Ovation.
A beat.
And only the sound of the still clicking metronome was heard over their heavy breathing as they collapsed into each other sated on top of the baby grand that was now displaced shockingly near the wall from its true place in the center.
Jon pulled back and looked down at her, waiting until she opened her eyes and met his gaze. He brushed her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her forehead, earning him a shy smile as she twined her arms behind his neck.
"Wow," was all he could say.
Sansa giggled but suddenly shy again she ducked her head against the crook of his neck. "Oh Gods. That happened."
Jon chuckled, kissed her bare shoulder and stood up, pulling his pants up before helping Sansa down.
He caught her before she tripped, her knees still wobbly that Jon couldn't hide the proud look on his face only to feel Sansa slightly shove him. "Don't be too smug."
Jon chuckled and nuzzled her neck. "Sorry, well, not really."
Sansa tugged at his hair from the nape of his neck then from where her hands were twined.
That only made him kiss her again.
When he pulled away, he cradled her face and smiled when she sighed, shook her head, and smiled brightly at him. She looked away briefly and gasped when she saw the state of the room.
Jon followed her gaze and started laughing, earning a slap on his chest.
Aside from the displaced piano, sheet music was everywhere, his shirt was on top of her cello while the metronome was still clicking on its side, with Sansa's tiny lacy blue underwear swinging with the pendulum back and forth.
"Oh Gods!"
Sansa practically shoved him to grab it but he was too fast, grabbed it first and pocketed it. "Ah, I'll be keeping this. Thanks." He winked at her.
She rolled her eyes before shaking her head as she continued surveying the room.
He walked over to the piano and checked it. Aside from a few scratches, it was fine. He couldn't help but smirk when he started pushing the piano back to the center and snapping the lid back up.
"I wonder if Rhaegar would let me keep this one," he muttered aloud.
Sansa's head snapped to him then, looking scandalized that he had to laugh. "Or lets just keep it here. Every time we see other people using it, I'll just imagine the best music played on it."
"The best music? Really?"
Jon skimmed the keys. "The best," he repeated, replaying the sounds he made Sansa make in his head.
"Hmm... then I should find out if my cello played its best too. Don't you think?"
"Wha-" But Jon didn't get to finish his question. The moment he turned around his jaw fell to the floor as his eyes bulged from seeing Sansa naked with only her cello covering her as she looked at him challengingly.
"We only have half an hour of rehearsal time left, Jon Snow. I suggest you accompany me now."
Jon didn't need to be told twice, his mind already racing with a hundred more ways to make Sansa Stark sing for him.
can you write a lyanna x arthur christmas fic please? not necesarly modern-au (even if I like mistletoe's kisses) but with snow and cold -that Arthur hates. if you don't want, it's okay! I love your work :D
Aww thank you! I actually don’t know how I end up with many Arthur x Lyanna requests. lol. (that I haven’t gotten around to do. I suck I know sorry!) I actually ship Elia x Arthur more. :) But because it’s Christmas, I’m willing to write one more Arthur x Lyanna story. :)
Lyanna’s hand stopped midway from the door knob when he heard a round of sneezing behind it.
Poor Arthur.
She was overjoyed when he agreed to come home North with her for the holidays but it seems that Arthur wasn’t used to the cold, much more, snow. They had just arrived from King’s Landing and Lyanna just wanted to check up on him.
Slowly, she pushed their door open and she couldn’t help but smile at the sight that greeted her.
Even miserable looking, Arthur was damn adorable. He was wearing so many layers, including the Stark sweater her mother knitted for him, one hand holding a box of tissues, the other rubbing his arm while his nose was completely red, his purple eyes watery.
When he saw Lyanna enter, he gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I’ll get used to it eventually. Don’t worry about me. Can I help your parents or your brothers in any way?” She knew he was just trying to be discreet about it but she could tell he hated the cold.
Lyanna smirked as she walked over to him. She dragged a finger up his arm before she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Not a thing until the morning. Mother insisted.”
Arthur wrapped an arm around her waist but still looked at her embarrassed. Lyanna knew how nervous he was, coming here. But Lyanna made sure to shout at her brothers not to give him a hard time after also talking to her parents. “Are you sure?”
Lyanna nodded. “Besides, everyone heard you sneeze a hundred times. They’ll let you off the hook for now,” she winked.
Arthur sighed. “I wish I’d gone North before. This cold is completely new to me. Never thought I’d miss the sun so much.”
She gave him a look then that made his own eyes darken in response. “Well, then we just have to find ways to keep you warm,” she pressed her body against his.
Both arms wrapped around her then. “Oh?” He grinned knowingly.
Lyanna nodded and leant closer. “Mmhm. Can’t have you die from freezing. We know many ways.”
His eyes glinted with interest but before he leant down to kiss her, he had to move his face away at the last minute to start a sneezing fit once again.
Lyanna couldn’t help but giggle as she took the box of tissues he dropped, pulled one, and handed it to him.
After he had blown his nose and took deep breaths, he sighed again, his cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and from the fit. “Sorry.”
She was about to reassure him when a deep booming voice made them jump apart.
“Lyanna? How is he? Is he dead?”
Lyanna rolled her eyes while Arthur chuckled. “Go away Brandon!”
Her door was suddenly pushed open enough to allow her older brother’s head to stick in, his face breaking into his annoying grin as he took them in. “Well, at least he’s sick enough not to defile my baby sister tonight. You look like shit man.”
Lyanna chucked a pillow at him that he dodged with the door, his laugh made her even more annoyed.
“Maybe Benjen should sleep with you guys,” and before Lyanna could chuck another pillow at him, her younger brother was pushed inside with a shocked look on his face. “Keep your sister from attacking her poor boyfriend, Ben.”
That’s it.
Brandon used Benjen as a shield, laughing as Lyanna stalked over them, ready to give Brandon a piece of her mind when suddenly her other brother Ned went inside and quietly pulled Brandon outside, smiling apologetically at Arthur.
“Ahh Ned, you’re no fun,” Brandon grumbled but let himself be pulled away by Ned eventhough they all knew he could easily overpower him. Before he was out the door, he made a I’m watching you gesture to Arthur who gulped.
“Trust me, that was more for me, than you,” Lyanna snickered and expected Arthur to follow but he was quiet. It was only then that she realized Benjen was still inside and was giving Arthur an odd look.
“Oh for crying out loud, not you too Ben!”
Benjen broke into a grin then. “Ah, I was just about to warn Arthur about you but,” he looked at Arthur anyway and gave a salute. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”
Lyanna chucked a pillow at him then that he caught and threw back, almost hitting her in the face if it wasn’t for Arthur’s quick reflexes.
She grinned up at him then. “My hero.”
“Ugh. Marry him,” Benjen grumbled before finally leaving, closing the door behind him.
Lyanna rolled her eyes again. “Brothers.”
Arthur chuckled. “So…should I be worried?”
She blinked. “About them? No way.”
He laughed again and shook his head. “No, I meant. Should I be worried about the…battles to come? Because your brother is right… I’m much too cold to fight back.”
She smirked at the implication. “How cold are you?”
He faked a shiver but his arms were already going around hers. “Very.”
Lyanna pulled away from him and pushed him towards the bed, then straddled him.
“Well if you give me your complete surrender now, I promise to…warm you up in exchange.”
Arthur’s eyes bulged before he maneuvered himself to be able to grab a tissue from the discarded box on the floor and waved it in front of her, grinning.
“Excellent choice. Now let me give you a proper Northern welcome.”
