Jon/Sansa. “In my dreams I kiss your cunt, your sweet, wet cunt. In my thoughts I make love to you all day.”
Her flat was empty. Margaery had long ago showered and dressed and flitted away to whatever party she was gracing with her presence and Dany would be at the library until after midnight, cramming for her exam on Dothraki. Sansa settled for a cold pint and an old movie, tucking herself neatly on her bed with her blankets drawn around herself to stave off the chill of winter. It was growing later and later and her flatmates were nowhere to be found.
At once her phone buzzed on her night table and she reached for it absently, expecting a text from Dany telling her that she was going to be later than she thought or Margaery telling her she wouldn’t be home that night. Sansa’s brow knitted, blinking down at the screen of the phone, finding it was from Jon.
I cannot stop thinking about you, it said.
