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letitia-is-cross · 7 years

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Spill out my Passions upon your Feet

JONxSANSA, Modern Royalty AU, Oneshot, 6911 words, Uses all the jonsa smut week prompts in one. Read it on AO3

Summary:

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” “No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone.” Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters, already knows.

As they grew, their feelings grew, but an impossible love tangled up in the royal families of modern day Westeros is doomed to fail, no matter how much Jon may burn for Sansa, and she may ache for him.

Dedicated to Amymel86 as she is fabulous and kind and wonderful and honestly is just a wonderful part of this fandom.

"Which one is she?"

Rhaegar crouched down next to his son, looking at the official portrait of the Royal Family of the North.

"Which one do you think she is?"

A young finger smudged the glass over the face of a little girl with grey eyes and a begrudging smile.

"That one? With the dark hair like Rhaenys?"

"No, not that one."

"The red haired one then, like her Mum."

The King of the Crownlands watched his son's small face, curious for his reaction.

"Yes that's her; your future bride. What do you think?"

Thin, 12 year old shoulders shrugged.

"Pretty I guess. Do I really have to marry her though, Father?"

Big eyes looked up into his, Rhaegar sighed, they were just like the boy's mother's.

"Yes Aegon, you do."

Jon Targaryen hurtled down the palace corridor, skipping round a corner and skidding on the marble floors.

"Rhaenys! Wait! Wait for me!"

A gleeful laugh drifted back down towards the dark haired boy, and he pushed his skinny 10 year old legs all the faster.

Rounding the last corner, his dress shoes flying across the polished staircase, he slammed into the legs of his Father.

"Jon! You're late!"

"Sorry Father, I lost track of time reading and- and Rhaenys challenged me to a race, and then I had to changed my pants because I slipped-"

Seeing the upward tick of his Father's mouth, and knowing that he wouldn't face any penalties today of all days, Jon blew out the rest of his breath and took his place beside his sister.

Jon wasn't too worried, after all, whilst it was the arrival of a Royal Family, this wasn't the state greeting and there was no one to report on his tardiness in such close company.

He was glad of his timing a minute later though, when the doors opened to the drive and he and his family stepped out just before the line of Range Rovers pulled up carrying the King in the North and his family.

Excitement thrummed through him. Whilst not directly, his Mother had been the 2nd cousin twice removed or some such relation of the King of the North, and they had grown up together. Before she had passed, his Mother would tell him such wonderful stories of the North and of the king, Ned Stark. Jon could feel himself near vibrating in anticipation of meeting the man she had spoken so fondly of and his family.

The car door opened and out stepped a man with an austere brow and straight lips, followed by a beautiful lady with long dark red hair.

Their picture of elegance was soon ruined by the spilling of three children from the back of the car. A boy around his age, with his mother's hair in riotous curls, a girl around five that looked much like him but was twisting her head every which way to take in her surroundings, and a boy around four whose hair was a reddish brown and looked to be bouncing in giddiness at the sights before him.

Jon's vision was soon stolen however, by another girl stepping out, holding a boy around two by his hand, hair brighter than her mother or her siblings held back in a French braid.

She was her mother in miniature, down to the elegant way she led her little brother over to her Mother to be held by her.

Jon quickly rattled the names of the Stark children off in his head, matching them to the portrait used to teach him their names.

Robb stood next to his father now, a grin splitting his face. Next him was the second Stark princess, Arya, the one who looked like her father and like him. Bran stark stood next to his Mother, Rickon Stark in her arms.Â

Between her parents stood Sansa Stark, first Princess of the North and- Jon didn't bother to close his gaping mouth- the prettiest girl Jon had ever seen.

Sansa giggled as Jon placed a wreath of flowers on her head, brushing a fallen petal out of her eyes.

He grinned back, folding into a sweeping bow, hands flourishing at his sides.

At the ridiculously flamboyant action, Sansa couldn't help but break into peals of gasping laughter, joined a second later with Jon's soft but hearty chuckles.

"Well, Queen of Love and Beauty, what would you have of your Knight, my service is yours."

A failure of a wink accompanied his words and Sansa laughed all the harder.

"Jon- oh gosh- Jon-"

"How rude! The lady laughs at my declaration! I am wounded to the core!" Jon clasped a hand to his chest to accompany his melodramatic teasing.

Sansa fell down on the grass clutching her stomach, soundless gasps escaping her.

Soon, Jon joined her on the well manicured lawn, laughing along as they gazed up at the branches above.

Sansa turned her head to view the boy lying next to her, giggling now and then, reminded of his antics.

Sometimes she didn't know how she had thought he was rude and didn't like her, the first time they met. Although Jon hadn't been able to speak four words in a row together to her for the first three days, which had rather upset her sensibilities. He had been verbose enough with her siblings, especially Robb and Arya, who had all become thick as thieves.

It was that, really, that had changed things.

...

Sansa wasn't silly. She wasn't stupid. And they would be the only reasons to cry about stupid sisters and brothers, and princes that didn't invite her to play.

She had been having fun with Rhaenys anyway, they had become fast friends, sharing a love of all things beautiful and bonding over brother's that could be absolutely intolerable at times, although she did love hers dearly, especially Robb, who always looked after her.

So she wouldn't have been able to play knights and dragons anyway, but still. It hurt. It hurt that they didn't ask.

It was all Jon Targaryen's fault!

He was so friendly and nice to all her siblings, he even got along with Arya, and she didn't like too many people, she had asked Robb if Jon had said he didn't like her, but Robb had just said he hadn't, though-

"Don't be silly Sansa, he definitely likes you, and if he didn't he'd get in trouble from me!"

At that, he had flexed his arm in a poor imitation of the strong men at the Northern Games, and grinning cheekily.

She had forgotten her worry that afternoon after that, but it all came rushing back now.

Sansa had been nice! She had curtsied, and said hello and smiled, and she had thought he looked very nice, she had liked his pretty eyes.

But he had just stood there, gaping like a fish, until his sister had elbowed him!

She didn't understand! Aegon was nice, he talked to her properly, Sansa couldn't help but he glad he was her betrothed, even if she hadn't seen him much, and he seemed to prefer playing with his other friends than with them, and didn't have nearly as pretty eyes as-

Well. She would give Prince Jon a piece of her mind.

Tears still welling in her eyes, Sansa stomped as gracefully as possible over to the garden where Rhaenys said Jon would likely be.

Seeing him bent over some flowers, looking ever so peaceful, Sansa stopped trying to be graceful and ran over to the boy, planting herself in front of him.

"Princess Sansa!"

Sansa took in his widening eyes and flushed face happily, thinking he had finally realised his rudeness, but would not be deterred from a proper dressing down.

"Prince Jon, if you don't like me then-then that is okay, but I want to know why!" Sansa allowed herself to stomp her foot at this point, too upset to care for being ladylike.

"What- don't like- wait-"

"Don't try and say you don't! You won't talk to me when I try, but you talk to everyone else, and you play with the others and not me and- and you didn't even ask me!"

Sansa wasn't used to not being liked, especially by people she wanted to like her. She always tried to be nice, and she couldn't think of anything she'd done to Jon.

Frustrated and embarrassed about having to confront the boy before her, the tears that had been welling, started to escape.

They jumpstarted Jon out of his shocked silence.

"Oh no! Sansa, oh don't cry, please don't cry, oh gods-"

"You shouldn't say that, it's rude to the gods," Sansa managed to interject between hasty sniffles and wiping her face.

"I'm sorry, I won't, just please, please, please don't cry. Here, have this-"

Sansa took the handkerchief with slight suspicion, not sure why he was talking to her now, and even being nice!

"I'm really sorry Princess, I didn't mean to make you think that. I was just worried- I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of you."

"What?"

"Well, you're so good at being a Princess, and you're very proper, and pretty, and polite, and I didn't want to look an idiot."

Sansa considered this in between blowing her nose.

"Here, just wait, let me, let me get something, I'll be right back, don't move!"

Sansa watched as the boy ran off to the palace backwards, shouting back as he went.

Deciding to wait she sat down. Well. That was a stupid reason not to talk to her. He just went and embarrassed her.

But he had called her pretty, so he couldn't be all bad.

She might, maybe, possibly forgive him.

Brought out of her deliberations by her name being called again, she turned to see Jon running back towards her across the lawn.

"Here, I made this for you today, but I was too scared to give it to you, that's why I didn't ask you to play too."

He placed a garland of daisies, lopsided and shedding, upon the crown of her head.

Sansa didn't know what to say, but she thought, as she tackled him with a hug, that she could, probably, definitely, forgive him after all.

...

Three years later, Jon was 13 and Sansa was 11, and they were, Sansa thought, the very best of friends.

Well of course, Rhaenys was also her best friend, but she had best friends her age as well, and her and Rhaenys talked about different things than her and Jon. It was just different.

After all, no one knew how to make Sansa laugh like Jon did. Except for maybe Robb (and Arya when they were on the same side, but she wouldn't admit that under pain of death) and he never did so with the soft gentleness of Jon.

Jon was always gentle, so very, very gentle.

Smiling fondly over at her knight, lying beside her under the blue skies and warm wind, Sansa knew what she wished for.

"I want my knight to smile more, if it pleases you. After all Sir Jon, you have such a pretty grin, I would not want to waste it."

Jon grinned at her.

"As my Lady commands."

"Why does Aegon have to marry Sansa?"

Rhaenys looked over at her littlest brother, sitting on her bed, confused eyes peering up at her.

She sighed, you'd think at 15 years old, the boy would have asked such a question before, but it had never really been an issue, before this year.

"Is this about Sansa not being able to spend time with you as much this year? I know you've already had an argument with her about it, so don't lie and deny it!"

Jon's naturally brooding face grew even more brooding.

"...maybe."

Rhaenys gave an even bigger sigh, gods, why did she have to put up with such idiots, really.

"Aegon shall be king, little brother, and Sansa shall be queen. That is why they must marry. The insult and harm done to the North in the past century, partly by our grandfather, can only be mended by the sharing of power that a betrothal would achieve. The treaty was made so that it was ensured a Northerner would have say in the treatment of their homeland, sharing the throne is the only way to ensure this.

"Aegon and Sansa must marry because they are the first to fulfil the requirements of the treaty, Jon. They are, unfortunately, in this situation, the sacrificial goats."

"But-but, why not have you marry one of the Stark boys! You are eldest, and first in line to the throne!"

Rhaenys shook her head, Jon knew these facts already, knew the answers to his questions, but he refused to think it all through.

"It is how the treaty sets out the balance of power Jon, you know this. A Queen married to a King has more power than a prince consort married to a Queen, and besides, the agreement was set out before the rites of inheritance were changed. I certainly am more than glad to relinquish my rights to the crown and I also would rather not marry any man."

At this, Jon let out a begrudging chuckle, but his eyes still frowned and his lips were tinged melancholy.

"Jon, listen. Go and find Sansa, apologise to her and then run amok with her as you always have. Treasure the time you do have together, rather than mourn what you do not."

"Are you... wearing... a dress?"

"So you have spotted the change, my dear third-cousin-of-my-father's-brother's-mother-in-law!"

Robb slung an arm around Jon's neck as he joined him and Arya in their corner of the ballroom.

Jon rolled his eyes exasperatedly at his fellow prince, whose commitment to his long-standing joke of giving Jon the most ridiculous relation possible was going on 6 years.

Turning back to Arya, he asked once again, "Are you actually wearing a dress? You've never worn a dress, you hate dresses, what did your Mother possibly blackmail you with to get you to wear a dress?"

And it was not as ridiculous question as it sounded. Arya's hatred of dresses had become legendary throughout all the royal families of Westeros. Not once had she worn one to a state dinner or ball. Not. Once.

But tonight, she had on a dark green, almost black creation that sat high on her neck, leaving her arms sleeveless, and was form fitting except from where it swept out from the base of her waist. In... a... skirt?

The dress looked wonderful, no doubt of that, and Jon noted absently that Prince Gendry Baratheon was making no secret of the glances he sent Arya's way every few minutes. It somehow made it look like Arya was nearing tall, or at least not short, as she admittedly was.

"Wait! Don't! I want to say it!" Arya huffed and rolled her eyes but let her older brother interject once more.

He coughed regally before saying in a voice almost too pompous to bear, "It is an 'elongating wide-legged silhouetted jumpsuit'."

"Uh. A what?"

Jon thought Arya might strain herself with the force of her eye rolling at him this time.

"It's a jumpsuit you idiot, but it's wide legged, so it looks like a skirt."

"Ahhh, I understand now. Yup, well. It looks great, where did you get it?"

At this, Arya actually smiled fondly, her lips quirking up in a soft smirk.

"Silly Sansa made it for me actually. She found out that I, well that I," and here Arya blushed, "that I wanted to look good tonight. Like a girl. Pretty. I wanted to look pretty.

"She didn't tell me, she just put it on my bed the other night and let me find it. I thought it was a dress too, almost didn't try it on. But I did, and Jon, it's so comfy! And I can still run! And there's no weird breezes, and I'm not worrying about looking stupid and it fits so well. And it's well, it's perfect."

Jon could hardly believe his ears. Arya, whose praise was usually around two syllables long on a generous day, was gushing. Gushing.

"Yup, good old Sansa, she came through for you, little sister," and with a push that had her glaring at him, Robb spurred Arya over towards the Stormlands contingent with a wink. "Go impress Prince Charming now, and thank Sansa when you do!"

Jon was mostly otherwise occupied when Robb started talking to him again after that though, sweeping his gaze around to find Sansa, wondering if she had seen their little gathering take place.

Finally he caught sight of her, and whilst he registered a brief feeling of discomfort in his stomach at seeing her in the arms of some Reach lord, he could only admire the radiant smile on her face as she watched her sister punch Gendry Baratheon on the shoulder after he whispered something in her ear as they danced.

Watching her, watching them, so kind, so sweet, so Sansa- Jon felt something within him give way.

Gods, she was just so- Sansa.

"Sansa, if you could be anything, anything but what and who we are, who would you be?"

"A florist. Or a jeweller. Maybe a fashion designer. Or a historian. But probably a florist."

Jon hummed, pushing a stray hair behind Sansa's ear as she sat before him mending a rip in his favourite sweater. Of course he could afford another one with the blink of his eye, but he could never turn down Sansa when she asked to fix something, to care for him.

"Why a florist?"

Jon could see her as one though, surrounded by beautiful, natural, flowering creatures all day. Just like her. Quickly he tucked that sort of thought away, even though admiring Sansa had been part of his makeup since he first met her.

He could hardly stop himself now.

"Flowers can mean so much. And I'm not just talking about the language of flowers, I mean, what flowers mean to the people that give them, that receive them."

Giving up on looking anywhere else, Jon lay back, resting his head on her lap whilst stretching his legs out before him on the grass.

"How so?"

Sansa finally put down his sweater and focused on him; Jon smothered the cheer that went up inside of him at having her undivided attention.

"Well a lover can give flowers because they want to romance someone, because they want to seduce someone, or they could do it merely because the flower reminded them of how beautiful their love is, to brighten their day, to just say, I love you. And flowers can be a thank you, for loving me, yes, but for caring for me, for being with me, for standing by me. And they can be a celebration, a memory or a mourning all at once."

"A memory. Like you and me, and your wreath?"

Jon held his breath, cursing at himself for suggesting such a thing, unsure if he wanted her to admit the flowers meant the same to her as they did to him.

But then Sansa smiled that gorgeous tender thing, that Jon had only ever seen in this glade, this little patch of garden that was theirs. And in that moment, he felt the restlessness that crawled along his shoulders every time he was near her lately, that had plagued him since he realised Sansa was becoming a woman, settle.

And in that moment, Jon felt at once laid open to every eye that thought to look, and as though the world was at his fingertips.

"Yes, Jon. Like you and me."

"Jon- Jon! You need to calm down. Please, calm down-"

"How, Sansa?! How am I meant to calm down when he goes and pulls shit like that! As if he doesn't know he insults you every time he-"

"Jon. Calm. Down. Now."

Sansa was pleased to see Jon snap his mouth shut at her firm tone, glad that after twelve years of friendship she still had the upper hand.

She was less glad that he proceeded to kick a chair halfway across the room.

As soon as he did it though, Sansa could see his eyes widen and him quickly turn to her, hands out placating and eyes wide and gorgeous, hoping he hadn't scared her.

"Shh, I'm fine. It's fine Jon, I'm used to it."

As soon as she said it she knew her words would have the opposite effect to her intention.

He blew up again.

"But that's it! You shouldn't have to used to it! There shouldn't be an it in the first place. He shouldn't ever even bloody look at another woman! He's got the best one bloody well promised to him since birth but the fucker still feels the need to fuck around?"

Sansa could see Jon's shoulders shaking in his fury, felt the tremble in his chest as she placed a hand over his heart. She couldn't help the swelling in her own chest at his words, stamped down the melting of her legs and the porcelain smile trying to break across her face.

"Jon you know as well as I, that what Aegon feels for me, or I for Aegon, is inconsequential. If he wishes to have his flings, why should I stop him. As long as they do not continue when we are married-"

"If he dared-" Jon snarled out his words, obviously too angry to finish.

"He will not. Do not worry for me Jon. I will be fine. I am strong."

"Aye," and finally Jon let his grimace fall to a fond stare, "that you are. You really are strong."

"Good. Now stop being jealous," Jon spluttered but couldn't get a denial out in time, "and come read to me, I'm rather cold and could do with company on the sofa, and I do so love your Mr. Darcy impression."

And as always, Jon grinned.

"As my Lady commands."

"Sansa?"

Jon could see her hastily wiping away tears, using the sleaves of her dressing gown instead of the handkerchief she always seemed to have at the ready.

She turned a bright smile over to him, trying to hide the redness of her eyes behind the brilliance of her grin.

As per usual though, it didn't work on him.

Two steps later and she was in his arms, hoisted onto his lap, safely entrenched on the padded bench placed on the private balcony.

Her sobs renewed about two seconds after that.

"Hush, sweetling, shhh, oh my sweet Sansa."

They only came harder.

Jon cradled her closer and kissed her forehead.

They didn't move for the rest of the night.

"Jon, are you a virgin?"

Jon hadn't known his face could feel so hot until that moment.

"Wh-wha-what?"

"A virgin. Are you one?"

"Sansa, I'm 24!"

"So, plenty of people, especially people like us, don't have sex until they're married still. Or just later on."

Absolutely flabbergasted, Jon stood stock still with his mouth dropped open. That still seemed to happen quite often around Sansa.

Walking up to him she closed his mouth with her fingertips on his chin and a cheeky little smirk curling on her lips and in her eyes.

"Well?"

"Why?! Why all of a sudden do you want to know?"

"Uh uh, don't try to distract me, young Jon-"

"I'm older than you!"

"-I want my answer! Come on, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Jon suddenly felt much more eager to spill the beans, if only to torture himself with the knowledge of whatever lucky bastard had claimed such a title. Absolute cunt, he was sure.

"Ygritte."

Fuck, he hadn't meant to blurt that out.

"Ygritte?! The ambassador from North of the Wall, that visited a couple of years ago?! Her?!"

Jon couldn't tell beyond his hope that her anger was driven by jealousy, but Sansa seemed rather upset by this information.

"Yeah, but it didn't last or anything. She headed back North, and I stayed here of course. It was just a fling.

"Anyway, who was yours?"

"Aegon."

An increasingly familiar boiling fever swept over Jon at his brother's name.

He loved his brother, he did. Half siblings or not, Aegon and Rhaenys would always be his true brother and sister. But there was only so much jealousy and resentment of a gift left unappreciated that one could stand before it festered.

"Really?"

Suddenly all of Sansa's bravado had disappeared, and Jon watched as she hugged her arms to herself.

"Yes. He was my first. There have been a couple others, very discreet, private things. Sandor, and Dickon. But Aegon was the first. And soon he'll be the only, the last."

And then it was quiet. Sansa sat with her arms tight around herself, eyes glued straight ahead. And Jon sat with his elbows on his knees, palms pressing into his eyes, trying desperately not to let the heat of his anger, at the world, his father, her father, and everyone before and here and now and future, overtake him.

And there they sat. Together.

"Why do you torture yourself like this?"

"No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone."

She could feel her heart breaking for her brother, not so little any more.

She stood over him, holding the ripped out front page of the Kings Landing Telegraph.

Couple of the Century, Princess Sansa and Prince Aegon once again steal the show on a series of romantic public outings.

"Please Rhaenys. Please. No one can know."

Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters, already knows.

She wondered if it was cruel of her, loving that he could not take his eyes off her.

Rejoicing in his dropped mouth and wide eyes.

Looking as he did in his black evening suit, with his hair pulled back into the most enticing man bun she had ever seen- she could only think he deserved it.

She had chosen the gown, silver and form fitting and showing enough skin to tantalise, but not enough to shock. Though he certainly looked shocked, she giggled to herself.

Tonight marked the beginning of the end after all.

Her Engagement Ball was taking place, and everyone and anyone was there to celebrate.

One year. She had one year.

Suddenly feeling too hot, too close, too fast, too soon- she stepped out onto the shadowed balcony alcove along the servant's corridor.

She had found the most effective way to deal with her upcoming marriage was to not think of it at all. But that proved rather hard when she was standing there, supposedly celebrating it.

She heard a figure slide onto the balcony behind her, and she turned with a practiced smile at the ready.

And she dropped it as soon as she saw who it was.

"Jon." And she couldn't help the smile that broke across her face at seeing him.

And then she saw something break in him.

The next moment she was back against the balcony, two arms caging her in and a solid (gods, so solid) body standing guard at her front.

"Sansa, you look. Gods- you look straight out of my dreams."

His head came forward to rest right in front of her, their eyes burning into one another. She could feel her breath growing laboured, felt the heat pouring off his body, so close but so far from hers.

He was devouring her with his eyes, more open than he had ever been before, desperate in his gaze and heavy with his breathing.

"Please, Gods please. Sansa."

He was begging, but he wasn't begging her, she knew that.

She would beg the gods too, if she felt she could talk in that moment.

Instead she felt her knees wobble beneath her silver dress, and strong hands give up their stony grip to hold her with gentle care.

So gentle. He was so, so gentle.

He pressed them together, temple to temple, and she could hear his heart beat, felt each ragged breath and knew hers matched. That she too could only savour, could only dream.

"Jon? Sansa?"

They didn't jump apart, they didn't even move.

She could tell they were both wondering what would happen if they just never let go.

Finally, the head and body of the King in the North came through the alcove curtain, stopping short at the sight of their embrace.

"Sansa?"

She knew in that moment that if she held on, Jon would never let go, he would hold on to her through everything.

But she also knew that everything had consequences. So many consequences, for so many that she cared for.

She let go.

"I'd be a carpenter."

"What?"

"I'd be a carpenter, or an electrician. I'd have a small business. With a few employees that were more friends than co workers."

Jon broke off another piece of lemon cake and popped it into her mouth, if only to stop her questions.

She had pulled away that night, and he understood. But he, he couldn't hide anymore. Not to her anyway. He knew that she saw the feelings that infused his every move, his every moment.

He admitted it. He wanted her to break too.

He didn't want her to hide anymore either.

"I'd go to work everyday, and I'd make sure that I had roses and daisies planted in my garden at home. Sometimes I'd get home before my wife. And then I'd stop and make her a wreath of flowers, even though, as a florist she would've been around them all day.

"When she got home I'd meet her outside the front door, put her wreath on and carry her through the doorway, just like newlyweds. Because I know I'd feel like a newlywed everyday.

He could see the tears starting to pool in Sansa's eyes and he gave her more lemon cake and continued rambling.

"I'd build her things. Shelves for her favourite books, like Austen and I'd read them to her, over and over as many times as she liked. I'd make her chairs to sit in when she was carrying our child, and a stool to put her feet on so I could rub them.

"I'd help her with her flower shop, and make sure she knew my flowers always had meaning. That they always carried memories. We'd go for a walk to the local bakery in the mornings and buy lemon cakes and apple scrolls and finish them before we got back home.

"I'd be a carpenter and I would make her tables to put vases and vases of flowers in. You could have a room for your sewing, and a garden for your shop, and we could sit in it, and make love under the stars on a blanket in our garden.

"I would make love to you every moment I could, after work, before work, during work, on the weekends, or during our daughter's naptime, when we find a moment to ourselves-"

And he knows he's crying and she's crying but now oh gods now-

Sansa's kissing him, she's kissing him and it's everything he ever dreamed it could be.

And then his hands are on her cheek and in her hair, and one of hers is grasping his shirt on his chest and one is pulling on his curls, and his tongue's in her mouth, running along the roof of her mouth, twisting against her tongue, and then she does this thing with her tongue- and he's gone, a hand on her hip now, pulling her so close he can't tell where her heat ends and his begins.

Both hands to her gods damned beautiful arse then, lifting her up and -ugh, fuck, her legs wrapped around him are where they're meant to be, always, he swears.

There's a fire raging through him but she's caught as well, and he knows that they'll fall to ash together. That's all that matters now.

But he has to taste more of her, has to, now.

Breaking away from her mouth is the hardest thing he's ever done but the taste of her throat and chest and oh gods fuck the taste of her breasts is a very good distraction. She moans above him, hips bucking and writhing, and head thrown back, gasps and glorious sounds pouring unending from her swollen lips.

He disconnects for the ten seconds it takes for them both to undress and he has her on the table now, the left over lemon cakes thrown to the floor in haste and desperation.

"Gods Sansa, so long... dreamed, so fucking long..."

"I know... me... me too... ugh-please, please Jon..."

Her begging may have just about ended him but so had the view of her glorious body, only a part of what makes her his Sansa, but still so beautiful and a part of her just as worthy of being worshiped as her dreams and her mind.

Nipples the same shade as her lips almost call to him and he's latched on before he even processes the thought, hands eagerly searching out the other place that can make her moan for him, gods but she is moaning for him.

Fingers dip into a pool of wetness and he cannot resist, it would be futile to try.

Rushing as much as he dares, because he will savour this, fuck the gods he will savour this moment to cradle to his soul for the rest of his life, he kisses his way down her stomach. He leaves marks in his wake, just as he did on her throat and breast.

Maybe he shouldn't but he needs to know that there will be proof, even if it isn't eternal, but he needs there to be some proof tomorrow that this happened.

Reaching her cunt, he pauses to breathe her in, musk and salt and arousal, before licking a stipe from the bottom of her slit to her clit, sitting swollen, pink and perfect and the crown of her mound.

Sansa lets out a breathy scream and Jon doesn't think he's been prouder in his entire life.

He sinks his tongue into her first, getting a deep and devouring taste of her, memorising it for every night, every day in the future. Nothing will ever taste as good as her in this moment.

His name has turned into moans and screams on her lips as he moves up to brush the tip of his tongue across her clit, delighting in the buck of her hips and the thrust of her cunt into his face.

Fingers now, in and out and his mouth and tongue sucking and swiping, and his name is still on her tongue but she's trembling and she's so gods damn tight he can barely breathe for the picture she makes, enraptured in her pleasure.

She comes and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Then she's clawing at his back, bring him up to lay on top of her and she says

"Please, Jon. Please. I need you."

And he could never resist her after all.

When he finally sinks into her, it's the best moment of his life, and the worst as well. Because he knows, nothing will ever, ever compare to being joined to her. To Sansa.

He had always imagined their first joining a furious burst of passion, ending gloriously but quickly with short pounding strokes.

They make love for the first time on the table on his room, forbidden and star crossed they are, he takes his time, and he will know every inch of her body by the time he is through.

He draws out slow and steady, letting her feel him, feeling her in return. She's so hot, so tight, so fucking, fucking wet they make obscene sounds every time he moves within her.

It only makes him go slower.

He loves it, loves hearing her desire, loves feeling how wet he's made her, and soon he's gently circling her clit, still moving his hips with aching slowness. But then she's coming, gasping and grasping at his shoulders and teeth biting where his neck meets his shoulder.

He wants to close his eyes, it feels so fucking good, but she's so gorgeous, coming on his cock for him, he can't bring himself to ever take them off her again.

And then he's speeding up, lifting her legs up and over his shoulders, kissing her, kissing her, fucking so bloody deep into her he can't- he can't-

He comes as she clenches around him again, her own fingers on her clit this time and still, even as his vision goes white from the feel of his come shooting into her tight, slick warmth, knowing on a primal and deeply satisfying level that she has him inside of her now, he cannot take his eyes of her gorgeous face.

Her beautiful, beautiful face.

"I love you."

His cock's still inside her, they're naked on his side table, and she's engaged to his brother.

There's never been a more perfect moment.

Her hand reaches up and cups his cheek so loving and warm, he can't help but lean in and kiss it.

"I know," and tears are in their eyes again, he sees them in hers and feels them in his, "I love you too."

And then the door slams open.

"Oh Gods!"

"Fuck, what the fuck!"

"Ah, little brother."

Jon thinks everything may have ended.

Ten minutes after the most amazing moment of her life, Sansa is wrapped in Jon's dressing gown, sitting on a bed, and wondering what will happen now.

Jon and Aegon are standing before her, and she doesn't think she's ever been as tense as she is in this moment.

"Aegon. I love Sansa, she loves me and I cannot, will not let you marry her."

Half of Sansa agrees with Jon's stance, half cannot fear what will happen, all of her loves him even more for his words.

"I know."

"I'm sorry for keeping- wait, what?"

Sansa cannot help but agree. What?

"It's not like you didn't make it obvious, you are both rather poor actors, anyone who knew you knew you were in love from the day you met. Honestly."

Aegon is at this point picking his fingernails with a shit eating grin on his face, Sansa knows her fiancé is not a bad person, she knows him, but she cannot help but fear that expression.

"Do not worry little brother dear, and my dear Sansa, I'll not say a word, but you have to promise me to do me a favour in the morning."

Jon and Sansa exchange glances, but cannot think of anything he would make them do that he could not achieve by simply telling the truth now.

"What would you have us do?" Sansa enters the conversation for the first time, ignoring the wobble in her voice.

"Ah that, you'll find out in the morning. Don't worry, you won't be able to miss it."

Morning comes, and Jon fears for his future.

It turns out that Rhaenys is the one to break the news.

Sansa is still in his room after last night, they decided if it was to be their final and only night together, they would make the most of it at least.

She bursts in, paper in hand, slippers and dressing gown still on.

She stops suddenly, taking in the picture of the two of them, Jon curled protectively around Sansa, their faces ready and braced for their penalties.

She lets out a great bellow of laughter, and is soon wiping tears from her eyes.

"That's why the great idiot decided to do it today, a month early, idiot man. Poor things, he probably had you worrying the night away,"ï¿½ she giggles, "though you were probably too busy doing other things to wile the night away."

"Rhaenys, what's going on? What do you mean?"

"Here, you lovesick idiots in love, read this, and brace yourselves, there might not be an easy ride ahead."

Jon grabs the paper out of her outstretched arm and he and Sansa sit up to read it together, headless of their nudity.

CROWN PRINCE AEGON TO ABDICATE TO MARRY SECRET LOVE, ACTRESS MARGAERY TYRELL. PRINCE JON TARGARYEN TO TAKE HIS PLACE AS KING AND BETROTHED TO PRINCESS SANSA STARK.

The headline is huge and accompanied by a photo of Aegon at what is obviously a press conference.

"We all agreed that you would rule better than Aegon anyway, he himself included, and he and Margaery really do seem to be in some sort of love. I think."

With that, she up and left the room.

Jon looked over to Sansa, feeling as though someone had just hit him upside the head with a war hammer.

But this meant- this meant-

"Will you marry me?"

Once again, his words come out before he can think them.

Her lips come up to meld with his and he feels tears upon her cheeks once more.

"Yes, my knight, I will marry you. Yes, yes, yes, yes."

Every acceptance is accompanied by a kiss and Jon is air, he is light, he is the taste of her lips and the love in her eyes.

He is Sansa's. And she is his.

And their next kiss, it is gentle.

So, so, very, very gentle.

#jonsa #jonsasmutweek #amymel86 #jonsaff #actually jonsa #modern royalty au #fluff and angst #smut #of the lovey dovey kind really

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kittensjonsa · 7 years

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For @jonsasmutweek ’s Day 1 (sorry for the late entry, real-life sucks ass)

Prompt: Trying something new/teasing

Summary: My own headcanon lol - Sansa Stark is ransomed back to her family after being held hostage by the Lannisters. Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch and her sworn guard chosen by Benjen Stark, who still lives *yeah it’s my fic so he lives* Jon has the hots for her and this prompt is just the beginning. Dark/dom Jon is in there somewhere.. stay tuned.

In Another Life

“Not sure if it works but no harm trying. Well, at least the dosage should be safe,” Sam chirped as he passed a small bowl of dark liquid to Jon. Jon winced. The pungent smell of the concoction Sam had put together was enough to make the room seem to spin. Maybe it would work after all. A good night’s sleep for the Lady, finally.

“Well, I don’t know how she would drink it. The smell, goodness. What’s in this Sam? Fermented blood and rotten fish heads?” Jon held out the bowl as far as his arms would allow him to. If he couldn’t get past coming near it, Jon couldn’t see how it would go past Lady Sansa’s lips.

“Well, no, but it goes down better with ale. At least that’s what Maester Aemon used to do. I’ve seen the effects on the wounded, Jon. How it made them sleep through the night,” Sam explained, proudly.

“Aye but the Lady isn’t wounded is she now? Well not much, I suppose. We’ve been riding for two days from King’s Landing and not a murmur,” Jon frowned, trying to recall his journey back, in escorting Lady Sansa Stark back to the North. A ransom had been secured for her return and Benjen Stark, second in command of the Night’s Watch had entrusted Jon with the duty of protecting and guarding his beloved niece whilst on her way back home to Winterfell from the Capital.

“Aye, but it isn’t a wound of the flesh, Jon. None the eye can see. This, would help that very wound. Or at least, for a night,” Sam pointed to the bowl once more. Jon nodded and made his way out with a torch in hand. He grinned as the looks of envy greeted him as he sauntered over to the guest bedchamber. It wasn’t much really but it was the brightest and warmest room they had in the whole castle.

“Come in,” a soft melodic voice called out from the other side of the door. Jon bowed his head as he entered and offered his best smile his scruffy face could muster.

“Good evening, my Lady. I hope you are feeling better today. Here, I brought you something.”

Sansa returned the smile and stood up from vanity to see what it was this time. The men have been so gracious and kind during her stay the past few weeks and if it wasn’t a bunch of flowers in the morning, it would be a book for her reading pleasure. As she came near, Sansa’s hand flew to her nose immediately.

“Goodness! What is it? Smells absolutely foul!”

Jon only gave a tight lipped smile, partly trying to keep down a bubbling laugh. Jon watched as Lady Sansa’s comely face scrunched up adorably as she turned her attention to him, her eyes questioning his.

“My Lady, I have very specific orders to make sure your stay here at Castle Black is as pleasant as possible and that also means you having a good rest. This is just something, my friend Sam, made for you. He’s learning to be a Maester you see and he has learned from Maester Aemon, something of the healing arts. I know that you’ve had trouble sleeping. Perhaps this would help.”

Sansa peered into the bowl again and sighed softly. “How did you know?”

“My lady, I don’t mean any disrespect but I have heard you crying in your sleep. And how you lay awake at night. You forget I am standing guard outside your door.”

Sansa turned away to walk back to the bed and sat down. She missed home, her parents, her little brothers and Winterfell castle. She even missed Arya.

“I am truly sorry my Lord, that you’ve had to hear that,” Sansa said quietly.

“No, no please my Lady. I am sorry that you have to stay here but I promise you it’s safe. Till it’s time to return to Winterfell, I suppose. It will be soon, my Lady. In the meantime, no one will harm you here. You have my word, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa nodded through her tears that were flowing freely now. A strange piercing went through his chest as he watched Sansa gently wipe her cheeks. He only yearned to reach out but alas, he is only a brother of the Night’s Watch and a bastard one at that. No bastard should even breathe in the presence of a highborn lady as lovely as Sansa Stark.

“You will take this then, my Lady? It’s something new, I know but if it can give you a night of peace, then it is worth a try, my Lady. Perhaps, some ale will help it go down easier. Well, not that our ale is any better,” Jon chuckled as he placed the tray on the bedside table. Jon gave a nod of encouragement to Sansa as he held out the bowl for her to take.

“Will you stay here with me then? The nightmares… What if they never stop?” Sansa gripped his wrist, almost yanking him to her, with pleading in her eyes. The pain in her voice was enough to make Jon’s own eyes teary. I’ll chase them away for you, if I could my Lady. And keep you safe here with me for as long as you let me.

“I will. I will stay right here with you. Whatever you need, my Lady, you only need to just call my name.”

“Thank you, Jon Snow. You’re a good man with a kind heart.”

The hours ticked by and it was pure torture, having to watch such a lovely sight that he could not ever touch. Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, in her shift, with her long locks of copper splayed beautifully across the pillows and her long arms laid atop the furs that only covered up to her waist. Jon sat as close as he would allow himself to, keenly eyeing the heaving bosom of alabaster skin. How his fingers would explore every inch of her, beginning from the soft skin on her neck and moving further down her body. Jon gulped and pulled at his breeches.

“Aye, seven hells. Why do the gods tease me so.. with you Lady Sansa?” Jon whispered, his hand so close to reaching out for hers but yet he would not.

One day, somehow somewhere in another life, Sansa, I will make you mine.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa smut week #jonsasmutweek #jonsa fic #jonsa gif edit #i tried okay

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amymel86 · 7 years

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Last Man Standing

Day 1 - Teasing

Jonsa Smut Week

@jonsasmutweek

“All men are not the same” Jon said with finality before taking a glug from his beer bottle. “I could last much longer than both you and Greyjoy combined.” He set his drink down on the dark wood table of the pub and picked up a beer-matt to idly fiddle with as he watched his life long best friend take aim at the dart board.

“Bollocks” Robb retorted, throwing his final dart with flair and grinning at his score.

Jon stepped up to the oche and outstretched his arm to aim his first dart “you don’t think I could last longer than Theon?” he asked incredulously as his shot made a soft 'thunk' sound as it embedded itself into the board.

“Oh yeah” Robb chuckled between swigs from his beer bottle “but that’s no mean feat, the man would hump anything with a pulse and could have a wank reading the phone book.”

Jon snorted and threw a dart.

“Who’s wanking over the phone book?” Yara asked breezily as she brought over three fresh beers and gathered their empties, artfully grasping numerous bottles and glasses in her hands.

“Your brother” both Jon and Robb replied in unison.

Yara shrugged before heading back behind the bar of the pub that she owned, calling out a nonchalant "figures" back at them over her shoulder.

The Kraken pub was not one of the classiest establishments in town, what with its beer soaked carpets, old creaky floorboards and sticky tables, but it was home - ‘home’ being the flat above the bar that Jon, Robb and Theon rented from Yara. It wasn’t much, but who could resist a fully stocked pub directly downstairs, complete with all the pool and darts one could play?

“Alright, who’s ready for a proper good hammering?!” Theon announced loudly as he practically burst out of the gent’s toilets before performing some pelvic thrust movements against a chair.

Robb shook his head and turned to Jon. “See what I mean?”

Jon snorted as Theon swaggered up to them, swiping his own darts from their table. “What?” He looked between them both “I’m gonna kick both your asses - just you watch!”

"You have a valid point Stark" Jon said, crossing his arms over his chest before tipping his head towards Theon "but Greyjoy here is particularly competitive and I reckon if he put his mind to it-"

Theon's brow creased in confusion "What are you yappin' on about Snow?"

"Stark reckons that no man could go more than a month without sex-" Theon glanced at the ceiling in contemplation of this hypethetical situation, tapping the flights of his darts to his lips before Jon finished his explanation "-or jerking off."

"He's right" Greyjoy answered instantly. "Can't be done. Biologically impossible. Could go to a week at most."

Jon sat and choked on his drink "A week?! You couldn't last longer than a week?!"

"Naaah....my balls would swell up....it would be like having a space hopper between my legs."

"That's-......you are aware that's not how it works, right?....Biologically speaking?"

Robb leant on Jon's shoulder with a pat of his hand as he sat down next to him with a smile and glint in his eye. "Alright then lads, care to make this interesting?" There was a break in the pub's background music as the tracks changed. Robb glanced around the practically empty establishment before licking his lips eagerly and leaning his forearm on the table between them all. "No sex, no tuggin' one off - first one that does, settles the ‘last man standing's’ bar tab with Yara."

Continue reading on AO3

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsasmutweek #day 1 #teasing

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jonsasmutweek · 6 years

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Jonsa Smut Week: Day 5 Prompts...

Heat Of The Night or Watching Me

For more info see here

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa smut week #prompts #jonsasmutweek

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kitten1618x · 7 years

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For @jonsasmutweek Day 1: Try something new or teasing (why not a bit of both?)

The Great War has ended, and Jon and Sansa have wed, but a marriage of convenience has evolved to so much more. As the frigid winter winds whip about outside the walls of Winterfell, Jon suggests something new to take the chill off, testing the boundaries of Sansa’s trust in him.

Sansa shivered, drawing her fur cloak more tightly around her, as Jon shuffled her into their chambers and secured the door. The servants had lit a fire while they held court in the Great Hall, but the flames had dipped so low, it appeared even the fire was shivering from the frigid temperatures and howling winds outside.

Winter was here, just as Father had always promised, and with repairs still being made to Winterfell from the damage the castle had sustained in the Great War, they couldn’t seem to keep the chill out. At least they wouldn’t starve, thanks to her careful planning and preparations prior to the battle.

Sansa sat down on the bed, rubbing vigorously at her arms, hoping the friction would return some heat to her body, as Jon stoked their fire to a roaring blaze. “Aren’t you cold?” She asked him, as he paused to shrug off his matching fur cloak she’d made him. It pleased her that he still wore it.

Jon returned the fire poker and closed the distance between them, draping his cloak at the foot of the bed. “There are other ways to get warm, wife,” his eyes raked over her suggestively.

Sansa’s cheeks stained crimson, the blush traveling down her throat and disappearing under the layers of her clothing to pool in her belly, where she felt the spark of desire stir. Before their loyal subjects they presented the marriage of convenience she offered him, but alone in their chambers -well, that had come to be an entirely different story.

“Would you like me to show you?” He persisted when she remained silent.

“If it pleases you, husband,” Sansa let the word roll off her tongue slowly, enjoying the effect the title had on Jon.

Sometimes it was still strange to her -the transformation of their relationship. How he’d gone from stranger and bastard half-brother to her closest confidant, Warden and King in the North, to her cousin, and now, her lover and Lord husband. But through all those facets, one thing had always remained unchanged … Jon was her protector, and he kept her safe, just as he’d vowed.

Reaching with nimble fingers, Jon unclasped her cloak, letting it fall down her slender shoulders, as he wove his hand around the back of her head, cradling her neck while he dipped to steal a kiss. The first touch of his lips were alwaysgentle, the slightest of brushes -a request for her permission. Jon always let her set the pace -something Sansa appreciated immensely since being introduced to what true intimacy between a husband and wife was meant to be like.

Sighing, Sansa parted her lips, granting Jon her permission, as his kiss intensified, becoming more urgent. His tongue curled around hers suggestively -eliciting a moan from deep within her and making her grateful that she was already sitting, lest her legs give out on her.

And just as quickly as he’d begun the kiss, Jon ended it, panting breathlessly as he took a knee before her, his hands already beginning to work her boots free. He slid them from her feet, pausing in between to rub some warmth into the soles of her feet.

“If I may, my Lady?” He asked, reaching for the hem of her gown.

Speechless, Sansa nodded, as Jon lifted her skirts, his fingers sliding up the length of her leg until he found the ribbon holding up her stockings, and plucked it free. His touch lingered purposefully on her upper thigh, his grey eyes caressing her face like a lover’s kiss, as he rolled the hose down her leg, then moved to the other.

A steady heat unfurling deep within her belly, Sansa finally released the breath she’d been holding in, as Jon held one of her stockings up between them. “Do you trust me, Sansa?” He asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Continue on ao3

or ffnet

#jonsasmutweek #day 1 #trying something new #teasing #jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fan art #mine #Melissa Alexander #kitten writes fic

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whitewolfofwinterfell · 7 years

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@jonsasmutweek day 6: Forbidden

Show Me

When Sansa awakes in the middle of the night from a nightmare, she asks Jon to stay with her and what starts out as innocent comfort between siblings soon develops into something more. (NSFW).

Read on AO3

Jon lies flat on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He no longer sleeps, he can’t, for every time he closes his eyes he is faced with the echoes of his brothers voices, “For the Watch,” the searing pain of blades tearing through his flesh, young Oli’s merciless stare as he delivered the final blow, piercing Jon’s heart and ending his life, followed by Ghost’s piercing howls.

Then there’s falling. Falling and falling, spiraling into a dark abyss of nothingness.

Jon’s breathing grows uneven and his fingers grasp at Ghost’s fur tightly. He had heard stories of soldiers returning from war maddened by all they had witnessed, unable to forget the harshness of death and only fragments of the men they once were. Is that what was happening to him? Is he going mad?

Jon’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of high-pitched whimpers and screams.

Sansa.

It is only seconds until Jon is on his feet on his way to Sansa, Ghost close on his heels and Longclaw in his grasp.

When he storms into the room, his eyes fall upon a trembling Sansa, sat up in the bed, her face damp with tears and in Edd’s embrace. Upon hearing Jon enter, Edd immediately jumps up and explains himself.

“Jon, I--I heard screams and I was concerned for her safety. When I entered she was still half asleep and filled with fear, she--”

“Sansa, are you alright?” Jon asks, cutting Edd off.

Sansa nods, but the stream of tears still flowing down her eyes say otherwise. “I am fine. I--It was just a nightmare. I’m sorry that I woke you, Edd.”

Jon notices the way Sansa places her hand on top of Edd’s and feels a pang of anger shoot through him.

“There is no need to apologise, my Lady. I am just glad that you’re well.”

Jon manages to keep his jealousy at bay long enough to thank Edd. After all, had there been an intruder in Sansa’s room he may have saved her life.

“I best get some rest,” Edd says, dismissing himself and leaving Jon and Sansa alone.

“He’s very sweet,” Sansa says when Jon has closed the door behind Edd.

“Sweet, yes,” Jon says under his breath, thinking that Edd is a little too sweet on Sansa.

Sansa doesn’t seem to hear him and he goes over to the bed to sits where Edd did.

“Are you truly okay?”

“Yes.”

Jon raises his eyebrows at Sansa skeptically.

“Jon, really, I am. I just feel a fool for having scared you like that.”

“All that matters is that you are okay. You should try and get some rest. I will leave Ghost with you and be across the hall should you need me.”

With that Jon gets up to leave, but Sansa’s small voice calls out his name.

“Would you-- Would you mind staying with me?”

Jon is taken aback, but doesn’t even think to deny her. “Of course, Sansa.”

He was never much of a brother to her when they were children and with their separation he was unable to protect her from the hands of monsters such as Littlefinger, Joffrey and Ramsay, but now at last he can finally be a true brother to her. He can protect her, keep her safe and whole, just as father and Robb would have wanted him to.

Jon throws some sheets and blankets on the concrete ground to make a makeshift bed and Ghost immediately curls up beside him.

The two lie in silence for countless minutes, the only sounds being their breathing, the cackling fire and Ghost’s snoring. Jon finds it is the closest he has come to peace since he was returned from death.

Sansa is the first to break the silence. “I try to forget,” she starts. “About Ramsay, about what he did to me. But every time I close my eyes I see his face. His twisted evil smile, his cold, hard eyes.” Sansa shivers. “I thought it true of Joffrey that he was a monster, but in comparison to Ramsay he was nothing but a willful child drunk on power.”

Jon listens intently as she continues.

“When father was executed, afterwards, Joffrey forced me to look upon his head on a spike. I believed that to be the worst day of my life, that nothing could possible be more terrible, but somehow I found the strength to go on. Now...I do not know that I have any strength left.”

“That’s not true. If you had no strength left you wouldn’t have escaped Winterfell and found your way to the Wall. You’re stronger than you realise. I think when we faced with the greatest hardships, we all come to realise that.”

“Did you?”

Jon sighs. “I never expected to endure what I have or for the course of my path to go in the direction it has.”

“That’s not answering the question.”

“I do not feel particularly strong at present but I’m still here nonetheless, so I suppose... yes.”

“Don’t you wonder how much we can take? How much pain we can suffer before we are broken beyond repair? Sometimes I feel I already am.”

“I do too,” Jon admits. “Since I was brought back I feel backwards, as though the pieces of me have been stitched together wrong.” It is the first time he has ever spoke of this with anyone. It’s uncomfortable and unnatural, but also liberating. As a man, he is expected to conceal all weakness but there are times when he so desperately wants to surrender to it. “I am wrong. By the law of the gods, I should not be alive. Perhaps I’m not. As of late I barely feel I am living at all, more that I am a ghost inhabiting the body of my former self.”

Jon clears his throat and apologises, feeling shame and embarrassment for speaking this way to a lady.

“Do not apologise. We are family and that means we share everything.”

It was still strange to hear Sansa refer to Jon as family, since for so long he was considered an outsider and by Sansa most out of all of his siblings.

“Perhaps I’m a fool for believing it, but I think there is still hope for us yet.”

Jon smiles. “You may be right.”

Sansa props herself on her elbow and peers over the bed down at Jon. “Jon, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“I heard-- Since I’ve been here I’ve overheard people speaking. It may be no more than gossip but, is it true you fell in love with a Wildling girl?”

Jon is not sure what he expected her to ask, but it wasn’t that. He stammers incoherently unsure of how to respond. Where to start with Ygritte? He has fought not to think of her lest speak of her since her death for the pain is still too great, but this is Sansa who is asking the question she he must tell her.

“Aye, it’s true.”

Sansa’s eyes widen in surprise. “What was her name?”

“Ygritte.”

“Ygritte,” Sansa repeats. “Where is she now?”

“Dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Jon shakes his head. “She fell in battle when the Wildlings stormed the castle, nothing could be done.”

“She--she fought against you?”

“Aye. She was Wildling to the bone, that one.” He cannot help the fond smile that comes across his face at the memory of her. As a crow, he should hate all Wildlings, but oh, how he loved her.

“And you--you broke your vows with her?”

“Aye.”

Silence falls upon the room and tension arises. Jon notices the fire is dwindling so goes to add more logs to it. As he returns to his makeshift bed he says, “It’s late, we should try to rest. When everyone rises at dawn sleep will be impossible.”

“Jon?” Sansa chimes as Jon rearranges the blankets on the floor. “I would be uncomfortable to see you sleep on the cold hard ground. There is room for both of us in the bed.”

Jon stares at her in disbelief. He has never shared a bed with any girl save Arya when they were children and knows that honorable men do not sleep beside women who are not their wives.

“Thank you, but I have slept in worse places,” Jon replies with a light laugh.

“Please,” Sansa says with conviction.

Jon hesitates for a moment more before agreeing. Sansa shifts along and pulls back the covers for him the climb in. They’re at opposite ends of the bed with Jon hanging off the end for fear of invading her space or disrespecting her. He cannot explain why, but he feels guilt as though he is doing wrong by lying in bed beside her. He reminds himself of the many times he has shared a bed with Arya, the many times Robb shared with Sansa and Bran with Arya and Sansa. It is what brothers and sisters do, it’s harmless. Yet that was when they were children and Jon and Sansa are children no longer.

“How did it feel?” Sansa asks.

“How did what feel?”

“To be with another person, to love them and have them love you in return.”

Jon remembers Sam asking him a similar question once. He found it difficult to provide him with an answer, but with Sansa it is ten fold. Though he has never been a true brother to Sansa he can sense this is not typically what brothers and sisters speak of, yet he can’t seem to stop himself indulging in it.

“It felt...different. Different than I imagined it would be.”

“Good different? I am sorry to ask but I--I know nothing of what it is to be touched by soft hands nor what it is to be loved. Ramsay took my maidenhead and he didn’t have the ability to love only hate. He couldn’t even find room in his heart to love his own wife, I was merely an object. A possession he owned and controlled, just like his horse.”

Sansa has barely spoken of what happened to her in their time apart, but each time she mentions it, it stirs a rage within him. He does not know when or how, but he will find a way to kill Ramsay, even if it is his final act before he falls.

“Ramsay Bolton is no man. He knows nothing of honour or respect. I shall kill him for what he did to you.”

“The day will come when he meets his fate,” Sansa simply replies.

Jon nods.

“All I wanted as a girl was to find love and be loved, truly loved by a gentleman both gentle and kind.”

Jon sighs softly, memories of the sweet and innocent Sansa he knew as a child returning to him.

“I thought I loved Joffrey once.” She scoffs. “I was just a stupid child. It was not Joffrey I loved, but the southern dream. The dream of marrying a prince and one day becoming a queen.”

“You were not wrong to want that.”

“Perhaps not, but if I hadn’t of insisted on going to Kings Landing all that happened wouldn’t have. I begged my mother to let me go.”

“It was not your fault. None of what you have suffered is your fault.”

“Do you know what is worst of all? Deep in my heart I still have that same dream. I still long for love, for happiness.”

“And you shall have it. All is not lost, Sansa. One day you will find a true prince, that will be utterly devoted to you and treat you with the kindness and care that you deserve.”

Jon hears Sansa inhale deeply. “What if it’s not a prince I want?”

Jon gulps and a sudden tension erupts between them. Throughout their conversation, they have been laid side by side looking up at the ceiling and when Jon turns his head to look at her, her eyes are already on him. They glisten in the fire light, a deep, beautiful ocean blue and though he’s inexperienced in the ways of love, he recognises the look in her eyes. It is the way Ygritte used to look at him. It always used to set his heart racing and it does now.

A voice inside his head screams at him to leave the room, to bid her goodnight and return to his chambers, but he cannot ignore the pull between them. It’s as though they are bound by an invisible rope that is tightening and tightening.

Jon moves closer to Sansa and leans down, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. It’s soft and brief and Jon saw Catelyn kiss her sons on the mouth many times just like this when they were children. It is a comforting kiss between family. That is all it is.

But Jon finds it is not enough and he wants more. Sansa is gazing at him, her eyes intense and Jon seems to return to his senses, abruptly moving away from her. “We should get some rest. Goodnight, Sansa.”

With that Jon rolls to the far end of the bed, his back to Sansa. His attempt to deny his desires is pitiful, for if he truly meant not to act upon them he would leave the room.

Sansa shifts closer until the heat of her body is radiating against Jon’s back. His heart leaps in his chest at feeling her so close and he knows how wrong it is, but nonetheless he turns around to face her.

She’s so close he can feel her breath on his face. He summons enough strength to get out of the bed and announces, “I think I should return to my own room.”

Ghost wakes and Jon instructs him to stay, before making a bee-line for the door. Sansa crawls across the bed and grabs his hand.

“Jon, please don’t go. I don’t think I could bear to be alone tonight.”

“Ghost will protect you more than I or anyone else could.”

“He will, but I still want you to stay.”

“Then we will sleep.”

Sansa nods and Jon relents, climbing back under the covers. Sansa rolls until her back is to him and Jon closes his eyes willing sleep to take him.

Beneath the covers Sansa’s hand finds his and she brings it to her waist. It catches him off-guard and his breathing ceases.

“I want you to touch me,” Sansa whispers.

For a moment Jon is certain he has fallen asleep and this is his twisted mind dreaming up dark fantasies. But when she turns around to face him, he realises he’s not dreaming and this is reality.

Jon removes his hand from her quickly.

“Sansa, you need to stop this. You don’t know what you are saying. You are afraid and confused and exhausted. You need to rest and--”

“I know what I want,” she insists, her tone firm.

“It’s wrong. I am your brother, it is my duty to honor and respect you.”

“I don’t care that it is wrong, I want this. I need this.”

Jon can see how serious she is but still cannot comprehend how she can be asking this of him.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to feel. I want to be touched. I want to feel desired and loved.”

All night Sansa has spoke of her longing for love, and as much wants her to have the love and devotion she’s asking for more than anything, as her brother he knows he cannot be the one to provide it.

“And as I said, you will be, but not by me.”

Sansa shakes her head and tears fill her eyes as she pulls away from him.

“It’s not because you’re not beautiful, because you are. Sansa, you are...” When her gaze returns to him all words leave him. She really is beautiful. In fact, he cannot recall ever having seen a woman so beautiful.

Sansa kisses him and though it is as brief as the first, it stirs inexplicable emotions in Jon.

“I do not think I could forgive myself,” Jon breathes, it taking every bit of strength he has to resist her.

“There would be nothing to forgive. I am a woman grown, Jon. I am no longer a girl.”

Jon knows that to be true. He has noticed her blossoming womanhood since her arrival at Castle Black, much as he’s tried not to. He cannot fail to notice it now even more so with her laid so close to him, only the thin layer of her nightdress covering her naked flesh. He can see her erect nipples poking through and is overwhelmed with a desire to lick them and suck them.

Should Catelyn Stark be looking down upon him right now she would strike him where he lay, as would their father.

Sansa strokes Jon’s face tenderly and he closes his eyes, sinking into her soft touch. “You do not know what you ask of me,” Jon whispers, tortured.

“Nobody need ever know, only you and I.”

Jon breathes in deeply, an internal battle waging within him.

“Do you--do you want to touch me?” Sansa asks.

The question causes a lump to form in Sansa’s throat, as she anxiously awaits his response. She notices his dark eyes lustfully and longingly sweeping over her body and when he meets her gaze she says, “You do,” she says. “I can see it in your eyes.”

She traces her hand up his arm and leans closer, until the smell of lavendar and sweetness is filling him.

“Show me Jon. Show me how it feels to be touched by gentle and kind hands, to be kissed by a true gentleman. Show me what it is to be loved.”

They regard each other silently for a couple of minutes, their eyes searching each other.

“I trust you.” Sansa brings Jon’s hand to her breast and he can no longer ignore the hardness in his trousers or his body’s deepest desires. He kisses her, hard and fast, causing them both to let out a moan of elation.

It lasts only a moment until Jon pulls away again, his conscience returning to him.

“Do not stop. Never stop,” Sansa says pulling him back to her breathlessly.

All of Jon’s resolve and morality leaves him in an instant and all he cares for is to show her every ounce of passion and desire he has for her. He kisses her slowly and fervidly, his mouth soft against hers and his tongue only lightly tracing across hers.

Sansa has never felt anything like it before. She’s seen many lords husbands kiss their lady wives, but she had never expected it to feel this way. Her entire face is tingling and her body reacts to the feel of his hot tongue and scratch of his beard on her skin.

She takes his hand and slides it underneath her nightdress and up to her bare breast.

Jon’s eyes fly wide open in shock. “Sansa...” he breathes, panic in his eyes.

Sansa holds his hand against her and nods eagerly until Jon begins to massage them gently in his hands.

“That feels good,” Sansa tells him, making Jon feel a sense of pride. “I want more, show me more,” she breathes, sitting up and taking off her nightdress.

Jon looks down upon her doubtfully.

“Jon. I am not made of glass. I give you leave to do whatever pleases you.”

“You will say if you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

Jon lies down on top of her and kisses her briefly, before sucking her ear lobes, kissing and sucking her neck and making a gradual trail down her body. Sansa is afraid Jon will be disgusted by the ugly scars left by Ramsay’s cruelty, but feels him place feather-like kisses on each of them, melting the pain of each one into dust.

She cannot believe a mouth against her skin feels so good. Ramsay never took the time to use his mouth. He never took the time to do anything. He entered her and with a few violent and hard thrusts would spill into her, before leaving her curled up in a ball trembling and in pain.

In this moment there is not a single ounce of pain. Her entire body is radiating warmth and she keeps her eyes closed, soaking in every single sensation that Jon’s tongue and mouth evoke.

Sansa’s skin is pale and soft and clean and sweet and Jon’s cock pulsates in his trousers as being able to feel her beneath him in this way. He plays with her breasts which she seems to enjoy immensely and still he cannot believe this is happening.

Sansa feels a strange sensation at her center that she has never felt before. A tingling sensation paired with an occasional throb, and the closer Jon moves south, the more intense it becomes. She doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, but she can’t stop herself from winding her fingers into Jon’s hair and pushing his head further down.

The second she feels Jon’s mouth make contact with her through her underwear she lets out a gasp. Jon jerks his head up to look at her.

“Are you okay?”

She nods. She’s more than okay, she just never expected to have a man’s head between her legs, least of all Jon’s.

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure.”

Jon bows his head back down and reaches for the waistline of Sansa’s underwear, all the while, his eyes on hers. She watches as her underwear slides down her legs and Jon discards it on the floor.

Jon’s eyes fall to her center, the red patch of hair curly with wetness and her folds glistening with juices.

Sansa feels a flush of embarrassment take her over at Jon seeing her so close, of smelling her so close and her insecurity makes her want to close her legs. However, there’s an overriding need that she cannot ignore that and she allows Jon push her legs farther apart and sink between them, until his mouth is on her.

Jon makes one slow lick through her folds and Sansa’s body jerks, a gasp of surprise leaving her. He looks back up to her face to ensure this is still what she wants and she nods at him enthusiastically. Never in a million years did he ever imagine he would be able to have Sansa in this way nor did he realise just how desperately he’d been craving it. The tension that has been built between them in the days since they were reunited seem to have all led to this moment and Jon feels as though his body and soul are singing.

Jon kisses her tenderly, his tongue probing her gently and swirling around her folds. Sansa still feels a sense of embarassment and defensiveness to have Jon’s face pressed into her wetness, but as his tongue grows firmer her legs fall open and her body sinks into the mattress.

Ygritte sung her praises for the way Jon ravaged her with his tongue and mouth, but with Sansa he wants to give her even more. He wants to ensure that she gets all that she deserves. He wants to ease the pain and memories of endless nights of cruel and harsh hands and words. He wants her to know love, just as she dreamed of.

He still knows he should not be the one to be showing her, but now that he is, he realises he wants and needs this every bit as much as Sansa seems to. The broken pieces of his soul seem to be falling back into place and it feels life is returning to him once more.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers between licks.

Sansa bucks her hips in response to his words and slowly all her doubts, insecurities and fears melt away. He thinks she’s beautiful. Sansa did not realise how much she needed to hear that until he said it.

As her confidence begins to grow, Sansa moves against Jon’s face, wanting to feel the friction of him and the scratch of his beard.

“More,” she breathes. “Show me more.”

Jon hears her request and licks the erect nub at her center more fiercely, remembering how Ygritte loved that.

Though it embarrasses him to ask, Jon doesn’t want to do anything against Sansa’s will and asks, “Can I put a finger inside you?”

Sansa is surprised by so lost in pleasure that she nods without hesitation. Jon slowly slides his index finger inside her.

“Oh!” Sansa calls out.

Jon worries he has hurt her but then she adds, “Good, good.”

He puts his mouth back to her and cautiously begins to slide his finger in and out of her, careful to be as gentle as possible.

Sansa has never felt another man’s finger inside her and it feels just as odd and incredible as his mouth. When she asked Jon to show her what he knew, she hadn’t expected that he knew so much.

She’s so wet that Jon’s finger slides about clumsily and her insides seem to bloom as though they are craving for more.

“More,” Sansa asks again.

“What would you like?”

“Another finger.”

Jon obliges and slides another finger in with ease. Sansa bites her lip hard and nods frantically. “Yes, yes,” she gasps approvingly.

With his fingers inside her and his tongue on her, Sansa is overwhelmed with feelings the likes of which she never believed possible. She cannot comprehend how other-worldly she is feeling right now with her half-brother between her legs, her juices all over his mouth. It is wrong, it is forbidden, yet it is the most right thing she has ever felt.

Jon senses a change in her body as she begins to move with more urgency and groan more audibly. He worries that he will not be able to give her what she wants, what she deserves, but as he focuses his tongue on her sensitive nub and begins to pump his fingers into her, he feels her walls contract around his digits.

Sansa could not predict nor imagine what happens next as her entire being shoots into the stars, her core exploding and tightening around Jon’s fingers, as her entire body writhes uncontrollably. There is no room for shame or embarrassment as she cries out Jon’s name relentlessly, still crying, “More, more, more!”

Jon obliges and continues to pump in and out of her, until she suddenly contracts around him again, this time so intensely that he has to remove his fingers. The moment he does a gush of liquid flows out of her and onto his face. Jon’s eyes sting and he coughs and sputters, having been completely unprepared.

He looks up at Sansa, completely bewildered and stares on at her as she spasms on the bed, uncontrollable and inhuman moans coming from her. It is something he has never witnessed before, but it causes him immeasurable pleasure and joy.

When at last some semblance of consciousness returns to her, Sansa stares up at Jon who is on his knees hovering above her.

“What in Seven Hells was that?” Sansa breathes.

“I don’t know. I have never seen such a thing.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologies, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment at her un-womanly conduct and the liquid that flowed out of her.

“I have never-- I-- I cannot--” Sansa stammers unable to articulate her thoughts. “I did not think it was possible to feel that.”

Jon feels his heart burst with joy. Since the day he set eyes upon Sansa again all he has wanted to do is take her pain away and provide her with the happiness and love she so deserves, though he never expected to give it to her in this way.

“I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed for the way she lost her grace and spilled all over Jon’s face. “It was-- I was very un-ladylike.”

Jon laughs. “There is nothing un-ladylike about you, Sansa. There never could be. I meant what I said before. You are always beautiful to me.”

Sansa pulls him down to her mouth and kisses him passionately. More brave now than before, she massages her tongue against his firmly. She can taste herself on his mouth as she kisses him, and though she would have expected to be disgusted by such a thing, she finds she enjoys it.

"Thank you, Jon.”

“You need not thank me.”

Jon cannot help the solemn expression that comes across his face.

“You do not feel guilt or shame for what we have done, do you?” Sansa asks.

“No. That’s why I hang my head. I feel no guilt nor shame any more.”

“Nor do I.”

“But I should,” Jon says.

“No, you shouldn’t. You should not feel any shame for what I have asked of you. You have done no wrong. You haven’t violated me nor done anything against my wishes.”

“I did not do what I did merely because you asked it of me.”

“You didn’t?” Sansa asks.

Jon shakes his head. “I did it because I... because of the love I bear you.”

Sansa parts her lips and wraps her hands around Jon’s neck. “You mean to say you love me?”

“Aye and it is not the love a brother should bear for his sister. It is against the natural law, the law of the gods.”

“Fuck it,” Sansa calls out with a gesutre of her hand.

Jon stares up at her, surprised to hear her curse in such a manner.

“Fuck what the law says or the gods, they cannot tell us what is pure and true in our hearts. You do not love where it is not wanted for I also love you.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Sansa nods, tracing her fingers across Jon’s cheek.

It was strange to say aloud the feelings they’ve held in their hearts but could not even admit to themselves.

The emotional intimacy of the moment seems to evoke stirrings in Jon and Sansa feels his hardness press against her stomach. She stares down at it and Jon covers his hands over his bulge as though he is ashamed.

“I’m sorry.”

Sansa shakes her head and brings his face to hers, until their eyes are locked. “Do not be sorry. For this is what lovers do.”

Sansa takes his hand away from his crotch and pulls his pants down until he’s free. Sansa has to suppress a gasp as she is greeted with Jon’s engorged cock that is bigger than she knew it was possible for a manhood to be.

Her nervousness returns to her as she realises how inexperienced and inadequate she is, but then she remembers that she is with Jon. With Jon she is safe and she is loved, and there is nothing for her to fear.

Looking him square in the eye she says, “Show me how you make love. I want you to make love to me, Jon Snow. I want you to make love to me gentle and slow and long until the sun rises.”

Jon does not need to be asked twice and lies Sansa gently down onto the mattress before filling her. It is in that moment they come to realise all of the hurts of their past have been healed, for in each other they are completely whole.

#jonsasmutweek #jonsasmut17 #actuallyjonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #jon x sansa #mine #my writing

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wendynerdwrites · 7 years

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Jonsa Smut Week Day One: Performance

For @jonsasmutweek Day 1: Try something new or teasing.

Late 19th Century Western AU. Sansa’s a burlesque-ish ingenue, Jon’s her bodyguard/bounty hunter. For his birthday, Sansa decides to make Jon part of the show.

Jon’s witnessed Sansa’s show at least a hundred times by now, used his fists during a few as well. The life of a “bodyguard”. Never his Colt 45’s, of course. He’s a bounty hunter, not an outlaw, and he can’t scare off her audience, especially if they’re ever going to draw out their mark. But it’s always good to keep them visible enough so lads remember to behave, keep their hands to themselves. Sometimes, someone had just one too many and forgot this little rule, and Jon had to step in.

Well, punch in, really. Sansa was sometimes the one who “stepped in”, quite literally. She has a total of seven costumes, and each one comes with a matching pair of steel stiletto heels that Mya sharpens regularly. The first time he saw them in action was in Harroway’s Tower, Arizona. A fresh young soldier boy took a twirl about the neck of her boa as an invitation to grab her by the waist and yank her into his lap. He had a pair of heavy duty, brand new army issue boots, built to withstand the worst of the desert. Sansa shoved it right through the top of his boot. The soldier went red faced and rigid, and when she pulled her heel out, a bit of blood leaked out of the hole. She’s used the giant pins for her head dresses too.

Granted, there’s only so much footwear and hat pins can do if you’re in the really rough sort of place where the other patrons will join in harassing a lady. Sansa’s got sharp accessories and an even sharper mind, but Jon was a State Trooper, an army captain, and was personally taught to box by Jeor “The Old Bear” Mormont. As a bounty hunter especially, he’s built up a reputation for himself, and he always makes a point of being seen entering a town with Ghost by his side. He’s as known for being a tough customer as Sansa is for her show, and he’s got the training and the muscles to back it up.

He’s on edge tonight. Not because the crowd is unsavory --- she’s playing the San Francisco Stage Port tonight, a proper, city, high-end establishment with a real stage, paneled walls, a full band, and all the patrons are expected to don their Sunday best. Her biggest show yet. The sort of venue that would never host a show like hers back East. Thank God for the West Coast, where the heat, open air, and less rigid society made everyone a little more… permissive.

The sort of place folks go to dine, even the wives come along and enjoy the show, laughing and playfully swatting at their husbands for drinking in the performers, pretending not to admire the ostrich feather fans. The audience watches from candle-lit tables with white linen cloths or from a lacquered paneled bar at the back. Sansa has a real dressing room and doesn’t have to change in a coach or tent behind the building, Mya has broken out the scenery for the stage, while Myranda got to distribute the sheet music to the band.

Jon’s on edge tonight for a pretty stupid reason --- it’s his birthday, and no one has said a word. It’s nonsense, really. He’s thirty-three years old and his last eight birthdays have gone uncelebrated. Bounty hunting isn’t the sort of trade that often lets a man settle down long enough for any sort of occasion, let alone keep track of the date. Five times in the past eight years he’s gone his birthday not even realizing the date passed until he stopped over into a town with a well-watched calendar a week later.

He doesn’t even know when Myranda or Mya’s birthdays are. For all he knows, theirs have passed uncelebrated since he joined them. Maybe it’s just not the girls’ way these days.

But it’s a pity, if so. Jon remembers growing up with Sansa at Winterfell Estate, the cakes and parties they’d had whenever someone gained another year. Sansa always made a fuss. She loved planning parties, like the perfect debutante-to-be she was. Growing up, Jon would sometimes get mocked by the boys at school for being the bastard son of a ruined woman, not having a father and carrying his ruined Mother’s name. But it was his birthdays that gave him the strength to brush that sort of thing off, because Stark birthdays proved over and over that he had a proper family, no matter what anyone said.

Of course, that’s ancient history now, isn’t it? That was back before the family was ruined, before Mr. and Mrs. Stark, Mama, Robb, and Rickon were lost. Before Jon’s no-good Father burst into his life and tried to drag him off to be a proper Targaryen heir. Before the army. Before Littlefinger. Jon looks back on those days with fondness, but maybe for Sansa, it’s just pain she feels. Jon left the Stark house and became a railroad heir and ran off by choice, master of his own fate. Sansa? She lost everything, ended up in the house of her mad aunt and her new, crooked, foul husband who trapped Sansa, hid her away, and made her into Alayne Stone, his bordello star. Her journey here was less “make my own way” and more “escape.”

So he hasn’t said a word. If it hurts her to relive those springtime picnics with the steamers hanging from the branches of the weirwood and those pretty cakes Mrs. Mordane used to bake, he’s not going to prompt it.

It’s just that… There’s so much they’ve shared, and so much that has gone unspoken. The way they sometimes act, you’d think they’d met the very day Jon joined her tour.

While he has no interest in a party, or cake, or gifts, or any sort of fuss, a mention might have been nice. Just to know she remembered.

But then, she’s been preoccupied, of course. They’ve had some leads tracking down Baelish, and this is a major gig. It’s the opening night of her week-long engagement here.

So Jon says nothing. He keeps his post near the corner of where the grandstand and the audience area meets, and he keeps to himself as the girls fuss over the show. There are to be spotlights, and Mya’s designed all new background screens and arranged for special props and furniture. Sansa’s been rehearsing since ten o’clock this morning, though not all of it on the stage. Myranda has been adamant that Jon keep his distance so preparation goes swimmingly. “You make the musicians nervous.”

They should be nervous, Jon thinks. He’s witnessed a few rehearsals and seen how some of those players ogled his girl. One trumpet player broke tempo to wolf-whistle, earning him a look from Jon that made him try to huddle under his starched collar, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

Jon likes Sansa’s show on its own. Indeed, on its own, he likes it far more than any gentleman should. Her proper lady’s education included music and poetry, and Sansa always sang like a bird and wrote dainty little verses when she was small. As a future high society wife, it would be her duty to charm suitors and entertain her husband’s guests. She definitely entertains now, still sings, and writes verses, though the way she’s employed those skills are hardly what her mother had in mind. Sansa’s always been good with words, and that extends to making clean words sound as risky as anything with four letters. She and Myranda hammer out the tunes on local saloon pianos or, when on the road, on guitar and harmonica, during the off hours. They’re nice, catchy, flirty little ditties, but clever enough to be classy. You kept an even enough tone and didn’t belt the lyrics too loud, you could get away with singing a Sansa Stark tune in public without blushing.

Mya has a real talent with tools, too, honed from years of driving wagons, carts, and carriages cross-country. She and Sansa are real artists (A proper Lady’s education also included charcoal sketching, pen drawing, water colors and oil paints), and make some nifty foldable screens. Sansa and Myranda made pretty clothes and drapes and such and with a few pieces of borrowed furniture, the girls regularly turned piss-and-whiskey-soaked saloon platforms into palace boudoirs and fairy forests.

And, of course, there is the dancing and the costumes. The girls spent a year cleaning houses, working textile mills, delivering goods, and teaching pioneers their letters to save up and spend it all on Sansa’s first costume and proper horses and carriage so they could transport the clothes as carefully and securely as possible. All of Sansa’s things, as her show wardrobe expanded, have been stored in carefully padlocked, silk-lined cases with tissue paper wrapped around the garments. A few pieces even had to go in boxes with air holes in them, like they were puppies or bunny rabbits. Everything Sansa wore on stage always required a lot of fuss, but not always a lot of actual fabric.

Sansa wasn’t the sort of performer to show her bare backside to the audience, but more than one of her costumes allowed her fans to know the exact shape of it. Jon still isn’t sure what witchcraft the girls use that keeps her bosoms contained within her bodice just enough to keep her nipples from making their public debut. Especially given how she moves, shaking, leaning over, stretching, leaning…

As a girl, Sansa begged her mother to let her learn ballet. Catelyn had reservations, viewing it as rather risque and unladylike, but then Sansa went to her father with her quivering pout and big blue eyes, and so she got four years of instruction. She isn’t just one of those bordello, rough-trade so-called tavern wenches who just shook their fringe and thrust their chests over into a patron’s face. Sansa definitely did some shaking and bending and teasing, but she was graceful, tasteful. Sin personified, sure, but the sort of sexy nymph that did more than make a drunk fool hoot and tent his trousers. The sort that the ladies enjoyed just as much, stylish and fine enough to make the women see a glamorized reflection, a risky inspiration, and feminine standards that matched their own instead of a threat or pathetic attention-seeker.

It did help that she isn’t technically a full burlesque performer. Sure, she wasn’t above feather fans and boas, but she never wore less than her stocking, bloomers, and corsets and garters. She did have one number that involved the removal of garments, but it was her play-acting a sort of scene that was more “melodically preparing for cotillion” than “peep show.” The bits where she removed garments consisted of her dropping a robe behind a semi-translucent dress screen, and she ended the bit in a gown, technically in more clothing than she started the number in. And she didn’t just dance and sing, she told jokes, proper jokes, good ones, not just the odd suggestive comment.

Still sexy beyond belief, though. And she knew how to shake as well she knew how to arabesque.

Jon bloody loves Sansa’s show, really.

Except for the part where it’s a show with an audience. The show would be perfect without an audience.

Sure, there’s sometimes a strange surge of pride Jon feels when Sansa first comes out on stage and the jaws start to drop. It gives him a bit of a thrill to know she’s so admired, because she’s his. He has the woman every man in the room wants. They can only stare.

But after a couple seconds, the thrill drops. And it’s more like he’s surrounded by threats, men who would probably kill to have her. He fears for her, surrounded by so many strangers aching to touch, hold, and do unspeakable things to her. No one touches Sansa. Except Mya, Myranda, and him, and that’s only because she says so. She’s already had far, far too much experience with the unwanted grasps of men. And it’s hardly lost on him that it was the worst of them that started her at this career.

There are too many men in this world who refuse to accept that a smile, a friendly word, a bat of the eyelashes, or a skimpy costume onstage was license for them to take whatever they wish.

Even with the more genteel folks, like the “gentlemen” she’d be entertaining tonight, the sort who knew better than to lay a hand on her, Jon didn’t like them, either. They didn’t care about Sansa, they didn’t love her. They loved flesh, giggles, silk corsetry, a woman being there to please them and nothing more. They love a fantasy. They grin at the high-pitched, childlike giggles she gives off when she glances over her shoulder. They have no idea that when something is actually funny to her, she either throws her head back to release a full, round laugh, or makes a small, hard-edged little snicker. They probably wouldn’t care to hear those. They wanted a woman who made girlish giggles and beckoning eyes at them as if they’d done something witty without actually having to be witty. They want to see her move only in a way designed to please them. She might as well be a prized thoroughbred or one of those talking birds. They know nothing of her, have no thoughts of her beyond the carnal, no interest. Most of these “fine gentlemen” would probably sneak off to the local brothel at some point this week to patronize the redheads. Hell, there’d likely be at least a couple “invitations” from some especially rich, married gentlemen seeking to make her into a conquest and/or mistress.

Jon could watch Sansa perform all day and night, if not for all the strangers watching with him.

And it’s not like that initial bolt of pride lasted long. A far as anyone and everyone knows, he’s her bodyguard. Unattached fellows who see her show are often happy (if nervous) to send her messages, flowers, invitations, and such. Some outright proposition her. There are the ones who considered themselves romantic gentlemen, the ones who, after a single show, come to her lodgings with their hair combed back and flowers clutched to their chest, fall to one knee and ask her to flee her hard, fast-paced, tawdry life to be their bride. Sure, all they know of her is seeing her sway her hips in a satin corset for an hour onstage, but they tell themselves they’re in love, that she’ll fall to their feet because they mentioned a church and surely she wants to give up her whole life to be the Mrs. of a man she just met. Everyone who watches her sees her as for the taking to some degree.

Jon just wants these fools to stop thinking they can have her. Not just because they’re together. Even if they weren’t, even if he saw her as a sister the way he still sees Arya. But because she’s not to be taken, or had. No could have her. They could only be chosen by her. And these men did not understand that. They thought to possess her, if only for an hour or so. Like she’s a thing.

Sansa’s not a thing. Jon doesn’t possess her. She’s chosen him. And it’s a grand thing. Jon wishes they knew that. Because often, the only thing that will keep a man from thinking he can have a lady is if she already “belongs” to another man. Sure, Sansa doesn’t belong to him, but he is her fellow, and if some of these louts knew that, they’d set some true boundaries. There’d be no “dinner invitations” and unsolicited parcels of chocolate or jewelry that were really just intended unofficial payments for a “private show” she’s never offered. Not if they knew the ManHunter with the Wolf was her beau.

There’s some selfishness to it, too. Sansa pours so much of herself into her show. It’s her life. It’s her art. Her livelihood. It’s the thing Littlefinger pushed her into to try and make her his pawn that she turned into independence and expression. She has so much love and passion for her performances. And Jon can’t help but wish that some of that could be for him, not for a bunch of ignorant voyeurs.

It’s not that he doubts her love for him, of course. Gods, what they have is exquisite. Despite the artistry Sansa devotes to her work, it’s still artifice, still a show. But with him, she’s given her true self, and all the courage required for it. She gives him something that she’s given no one.

She’d never seek out Baelish to bring him to justice with anyone else. Only Jon. She’d never whisper her greatest fears, the reasons she’s so afraid to do so, to anyone but him. She’d never throw herself into an embrace so fearlessly and joyfully for anyone but him. And the way she knows him so well. Sometimes, it’s like she can read his mind. Sansa fears connecting with anyone, after everything that has happened. Men especially. She would fear knowing someone so well, getting attached enough to learn so much. But she puts that fear aside to know him.

Still, though…

Jon watches as the patrons settle themselves in, perusing the leather-bound menus and uttering hushed orders to white-vested waiters. The time is nearing. Laden plates and full glasses start coming out. Jon observes with some interest as waiters mount stepladders and start dimming the candles and lamps. This place really is top-rate. Meanwhile, lights go up on the closed plum curtain. As the lights dim, so does the chatter. The band strikes up a rendition of… something. Jon doesn’t recognize it. Something new? When had the girls composed a new song?

It’s very grand, though, almost like one of those operas Mrs. Stark used to drag them to.

Sansa deserves it.

Finally, the curtains part, and the audience gives an initial pause. The stage is made up to look like a lady’s boudoir, but it’s not the usual set they use. That one is all red velvet-esque, with an oriental dress screen. But this… This is all powder blue, dove-grey and white. There is a dressing table, and a couple of comfortable-looking arm chairs. There’s a dress screen, but, like the background and the coverings on the prop furniture it resembles…

...Winterfell. It looks like one of the grand family chambers at Winterfell.

They’d really brought out all the stops for the San Francisco Stage Port.

The first glimpse they get of the star are her fingertips, appearing around the edge of the white dress screen. She utters a high note. “Ooooh….”

She turns the corner and reveals herself. “I’m not a girl to stay put/Some say I’ve lost my home/I said the same myself/But then I didn’t know.”

The costume isn’t entirely new, just reworked. It’s a satin bustle gown of satin that used to be red, but had been dyed blue. It’s a high-formal number that she usually dons at the end of her “getting ready for the ball” number, with a wide neckline and short sleeves. She’s got long, white satin gloves and a matching wrap about her shoulders. Her hair is piled high atop her head, woven with white roses. She looks like an angel.

“When I set out on my own/I swear I never knew/that home could be a someone….” She trails off and turns. The music stills. Jon watches, amazed and a little nervous. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was facing towards him.

“And that someone---” She points, towards him, but not at him, surely, “Is---” Why was there a light glaring down on him all of a sudden? “You!”

The band kicks up again, but while their tempo is suddenly rambunctious, their volume is low enough for Sansa to cry out over them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, forgive me, but this is a very special night, you see!” A spotlight follows her as she moves to the far end of the stage and start descending the staircase there. She comes towards him. She takes his hand, then clutches his cheek, whispers ‘Happy Birthday’, then starts dragging him up on stage.

Jon suddenly finds himself in front of what seem like an infinite number of very elegant people who had not asked him to be there.

“My friends,” Sansa announces, beaming, “I’d like you all to meet someone very, very special, my wonderful husband, Captain Jon Stark Targaryen!”

Jon looks at her, suddenly feeling a bit dazed. Husband? They aren’t married. Not that he’s opposed to the arrangement. It’s just that her constant deflections whenever he proposed such a thing had given him the impression that she was.

There is some muffled confusion, but the audience does cheer, especially the ladies. Jon takes an awkward bow.

“You’ll have to forgive my old ball and chain. He’s not used to the spotlight.” The first big laugh of the night.

“And forgive me for hiding him away from the world like I have. But be honest, ladies,” she says with an arched brow and a display gesture, “If this was your man, wouldn’t you want to keep him all to yourself?”

There are cheers of approval, the sort one would never, ever expect from respectable, high-society wives.

“But I had to bring him onstage, as I wanted to give him a very special present on his birthday. His first since we got married. You see, Jon and I have known each other our whole lives. We grew up together. But, misfortune befell my family, we lost everything, including the house I was born and raised in, and our lives pulled us apart for many, many years.”

Jon looks at Sansa curiously. This is all true.

“As a performer, my work requires me to wander, never settle down. I was fine with that, because after losing everything, I figured I’d never have a home again, so I might as well not even try. But, against all odds, one day this rugged, kind-eyed, callous-handed bounty hunter walked back into my life and not only did I find him again, but I found home again, too. Our work keeps us on the road, always, but home isn’t a place. It’s a way of life. It’s love, safety, and happiness. So while I’ll probably never see my mother’s garden or my father’s study again, I’m home, riding through the American West, traveling from place to place with my wonderful, darling Jon.”

She turns to him and cups his cheek. She kisses him, and the audience applauds. Jon’s heart beats a million times a second. He tries to blink back tears as he embraces his… well, his bride, he supposes. They’ll have to get in and out of the church discreetly, perhaps, but they’ll manage.

When she pulls back, he thinks that’s the end of it. But the music gets louder and faster, Sansa grabs his arms and smirks. First at him, then at the audience.

She starts pushing him upstage. Jon finds himself falling backward into an armchair. Sansa dances about the chair, getting behind him and massaging his shoulders.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that with the show, I haven’t had time to give my man a proper celebration. We’re busy folk, see. Me drawing in the respectable, him rustling up the guilty. And sometimes, well, I feel my man gets a little cheated. You all get to see me in all my under-Sunday Best, but when the curtain closes and we come together for married life, well, let’s just say in private, I go more for comfort than glamor. But for his birthday, I’d like to delight my man in all my glory. At my most beautiful. Now, don’t get too shocked,” she assures them all, including him, “I’m not about to give the sheriff a reason to come calling, or scandalize any of you good people… too much… Even for a showgirl like me, there are some aspects of private life and duty that stays private. Most of my wifely duties stay behind the curtain. But I’m sure family folk like yourselves won’t begrudge us a little preamble. Indeed, I’d say that after my darling here, this show tonight is for the ladies in the audience.” She winks. “Give you some ideas to try out yourselves. Show those husbands of yours you at your most beautiful--- even if they don’t deserve it, they’ll make themselves worthy.”

She spins around the chair again and plops into his lap. He swallows.

“You don’t mind, do you, Handsome?”

He breathes. Sansa looms over him, practically glowing. The lights are really bright and the audience is so dark and seems so far away. Like they’re not even there. But they are there. The men in the audience… There’s a real boundary now. They’re fading away beyond the glow, beyond her. They know. She’s just a performer on a stage, not to be had. Not even performing for them so much as performing for their wives and… for him. Because he’s her Fella, her one and only. The only one she’ll have. No one touches her. No one but him.

That fleeting tremor of pride hits him, but this time, it’s not fleeting. It burns within him. He grins. All this. She’s done all this for him. Claimed him before her greatest audience ever.

Every yearning he’s harbored in secret, she’s satisfying all at once without him saying a word. She just knew. She always knows.

Still… There is… One concern. He clasps the sides of her waist and pulls her back towards him. She squeals. The audience laughs.

Jon whispers.

“Darling, if you’re really going to do what I think you’re going to do, erm, I fear that I might end up… overcome in a way not fit for public viewing.”

“I’ve thought of that,” she whispers, “And don’t worry, I’ll pace it out a bit. You’ll only be on until intermission. And all you have to do is sit and enjoy the show.”

“Erm, okay.”

She pulls herself up again and grins at the audience. “And to think, all of you fine folks in the front row thought you got the best seat in the house!”

More laughter. Sansa rises from his lap and strides forward. She undoes her little wrap and tosses backwards. It lands right in his lap.

“Now, I think I was in the middle of a song?”

The music changes again, reverting back to that gentle melody from the beginning.

“I’ve grown too big for Papa’s arms/But I’m just right for yours…”

Sansa turns, still facing the audience, but still looking at him, and she sings like one of those ‘divas’ from the operas Mrs. Stark used to drag them to. Except Jon isn’t bored. He’s drawn in, because she’s singing to him, for him. Her song about finding home with him.

“I hear the laughter of those we lost/And they don’t seem so lost anymore…”

And gods…. It’s so beautiful, because she sings in a way that Jon suspects she’s always wanted to. She sings with her heart as much as with her lungs. Singing words just for him, to a melody just for him. Dressed as she is, singing as she is, she seems like the lady her mother always wanted her to be. Despite the fact that this whole number is orchestrated by her, Jon somehow feels like he’s given her something. But how? How could he of all people inspire something like this?

When she finishes, he’s crying. He’s never felt so cherished. So lucky. So blessed. There’s loud applause. Sansa pulls a handkerchief from her skirts and buries her face in it for a while. But, eventually, she looks up again, straight out at the crowd. Jon can tell by their reactions that she’s wearing a smirk and a mischievous raised eyebrow.

“And now, what you’ve been waiting for!” The music rises again into a walloping dance beat. Lots of horns. Sansa begins to shake. She leans forward so that her respectable-looking ball gown suddenly seems a bit more scandalous, and slowly begins pulling off her right glove.

“I get lots of boys and men/all with the same question/They see the silk and hear me sing/and think I’ll want a ring/You all may wonder/With how I wander/And how I cut them loose/Just what made me choose?/Just what made me pick this man?/Well I’ll tell you if I can…”

She’s free of the glove and turns to shimmy towards him. Their eyes meet. She sweeps over him, leaning over his shoulder and stroking his cheek. “He’s got a smile/ that makes the sun look dim/Just how good he looks/when he goes for a swim/..”

She removes the other glove and runs it along his face before dropping it. This song is ridiculous and adorable and absolutely ridiculous, but true. She belts out a line about him always lending a helping hand as she places the end of one of her gown laces between his fingers, then does a little rhythmic march forward. As designed, that one lace being tugged is enough to make it all come loose. The bodice begins to drop down her torso, and she pretends to be shocked for half a second before grinning again and slowly letting it fall around her hips.

Sansa backs up and tugs at the sash under her bustle. The waist of her dress comes loose and her skirts pool at her feet. She bends over, and Jon finds that her glorious backside, bedecked with beaded fringe, is inches from his face. Then it’s in his lap and his face is pushed between her breasts as she finishes the last few lines. It’s only once the last note is done that she pulls him up for air again and kisses him deep.

They’re gasping by the time they’re done. Sansa fans herself.

Jon is hard as the Rocky Mountains. She leans over and whispers in his ear. “I sort of lied when I said you just had to sit.”

“Mmmm…” He says, not entirely recovered. He tries to focus. “What?”

“When the song finishes, I need you to get up, throw me over your shoulder, and carry me backstage. Can you do that?”

“I was probably going to do that anyways.”

She slinks off his lap and sings a coy song about constructing a humble homestead with her pioneer man that is, in fact, not at all about constructing a humble homestead with a pioneer man, no matter how much she goes on about hammering and driving nails into wood or how excited she is to open her gates to him when he returns every evening. She mimes some of her ‘homemaking’, as it were. She ends on a big highnote, which Jon takes as his cue. Not at all faking the desperate passion he displays, he grabs her and tosses her over his shoulder. She squeals and the curtains close.

Myranda and Mya hurry out of the wings, but Jon sends them backing away with a look.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa blows the audience a few kisses as the curtains close and laughs. “Okay, Jon, you can put me down now!”

“I could, but I’d rather not,” he says, a rough undercurrent to his tone as he continues to carry her down the right wings. Sansa feels a fluttering in her stomach and catches Mya’s eye. She grins.

She’d been so nervous about this. Most of her told her that her instincts were right. But her self-doubt was always present. Maybe he’d hate it, be humiliated, refuse. He’s not a showman. But she’s watched him as she’s performed. She’s observed the way he scowls whenever she admonishes him to restrain himself in public, how jealous he gets, how sullen he sometimes is. The longing in his eyes during the shows.

Thank gods she was right. She can tell by the way he’s discreetly stroking her inner thigh as he marches her backstage towards her dressing room. Thank gods the Stage Port provided a chaise. It would be a long intermission. A long, glorious intermission.

Her heart skips a beat when he kicks the door closed behind them so it really slams. Slams in a way that tells everyone within a hundred yards that that door would stay slammed until he opened it again.

She’s so wet she fears her bloomers might stain permanently. It was so hard to focus onstage, especially when she sat in his lap and felt just how overcome he really was.

Sansa squirms over his shoulder, hoping, praying that he’ll----

---Yes! He flips her over and throws her down onto the chaise like she’s nothing, looming over her with heated eyes. Sansa arches her back, hands above her head. She’s so happy she chose to wear tear-away underthings. She suspected that it might be necessary.

But Jon doesn’t take advantage of it at once. Oh no, his fingers slip down between her legs and he strokes her through the satin. Sansa thrusts against his hand, on fire. She tugs at the stupid tuxedo jacket that the venue’s dress code demanded of anyone not specifically paid to dance in impractical underthings, desperate to feel his rippling muscles and sweat-slicked skin against her bare fingertips.

She gets his shirt off, but he still strokes her through the satin. So good, but so cruel. Not enough, not enough!

“Please, Jon. The costume is tear-away!” She whispers.

He pulls away from her, eyes like hot coals, and sits up. She whimpers from the lack of contact until he grabs her by her waist with both hands and sets her on her feet in front of him.

“Is that so?” He says gruffly. “You really had every bit of this planned. So what you’re saying is, I just need to pull this and---”

He tugs, and the top part of her corset falls open so more of her cleavage spills out. She gives a mock-squeal and pretends to cover the space between her breasts. Jon grins and tugs at another lace. The corset falls open further. Sansa keeps pretending (poorly, she’s grinning), to be scandalized when Jon reaches for the two unjoined edges at the center of her garment and yanks them apart. The whole thing falls away. Sansa catches her breasts just in time, flexed fingers over each nipple.

“And these?” He asks, reaching each hand towards a lace on either side of her bloomers. They come apart and the front flops down, exposing her soaking sex. She gives another squeal and reaches to cover herself. Jon takes her fingertips in his mouth and sucks on them, gazing up at her as he releases them and moves his mouth to her cunny.

She comes apart in his mouth in no time at all, flying high. The sound of him undoing his belt brings her back. Seconds later, he’s thrusting her onto her back again, then thrusting into her. Sansa moans, nearly howls. When they’re done, she’ll probably be mortified by what the staff may have heard, but not now. She wants them to hear!

He pushes into her hard and fast, then grabs her again. Jon gets to his feet, then bends her over the back of the chaise, taking her from behind. He gives her backside a good smack.

“That’s for taking me at unawares,” he moans, then bends over to kiss her cheek tenderly. “That’s for making me your husband.”

Sansa luxuriates in the kisses he lavishes on her cheek, ears, and neck. She reaches a second peak and when she does, Jon starts going faster. He grips her breasts so, so hard as he slows his pace but increases his force, spilling within her with a strangled cry and faltering juts of his hip.

Jon practically crumbles away from her, and Sansa spills back onto the seat, gasping and smiling. She reaches over the edge of the seat and tugs him towards her. He climbs up on top of her and they embrace.

After a while, though, they start to remember where they are and what’s going on. Jon reluctantly peels himself off of her and starts tugging his tuxedo back on. Sansa remains on her back, watching him.

“The show must go on,” she murmurs tragically.

“If you like, I’ll carry you off the stage for the finale as well,” he offers.

She suddenly feels the drive to get up again, and winks. “I’ll see you when the curtain goes up.”

He kisses her again, then shuffles out.

Feeling rather brazen, Sansa remains as she is as Mya and Myranda shuffle in. Myranda lets out a whistle.

“There should be a real spring in your step for Act II, I think.”

#jonsasmutweek #jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #day one

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amymel86 · 7 years

Text

Quiet

Day 5 of Jonsa Smut Week - Getting Caught

@jonsasmutweek

It’s not like Jon had planned it, but as soon as the thought had occurred to him, it just would not leave - and neither would his erection.

The two bodies next to him continued to let out sleepy breaths - one was snoring lightly. He should just forget it - roll over, try to join them in the land of nod. But....the thought of doing that...right now...with her....and with the possibility of getting caught....yeah, he wasn’t getting any sleep anytime soon.

Jon cursed his friend Theon at first for neglecting to check that his one-man tent was still usable for this camping trip.

This little getaway had been planned for months. After watching one too many episodes of ‘Wild Giantsbane’ - a TV show that followed the famed wilderness man, Tormund Giantsbane as he navigated and survived the most unforgiving backdrops that nature could provide - Jon, Robb and Theon were inspired to ‘get back to nature’ themselves with this trip. Jon had been a little apprehensive at the girls, Sansa and Margaery coming along too, as he’d only been dating Robb’s little sister for 4 months and he suspected that his best friend still wasn’t 100% comfortable with the arrangement.

In fact, his suspicions were pretty much confirmed when Theon loudly proclaimed that ‘Oh shit! There’s holes in my tent! We must have mice or something in our garage!’ followed by an exchange of glances between Stark and Greyjoy.

“You can’t sleep in that, it’s forecast rain overnight” Robb had smirked. “Snow’s got the bigger of our two tents - you don’t mind sharing with Greyjoy...do ya, mate?”

And so here he was, sleeping on one side of his girlfriend as Theon slumbered on the other.

Thanks a bunch Stark, he groused internally as he let out a huff. But that thought hadn’t left him since it skipped into his head. It had taken root and pushed all other thoughts aside.

It’s not that Jon was some kind of perverted exhibitionist - even if he sometimes jerks off thinking of that time he’d fucked Sansa in a shower cubicle in their college co-ed bathroom. But the risk of getting caught doing something naughty did send a thrill through him.

Sansa was sharing a double sleeping bag with him and was sleeping soundly facing away from him and towards Theon. Jon raised up onto his elbows to peer over his girlfriend at their unwanted guest. Theon let out a loud snore and rolled from his back to facing the canvas of Jon’s tent.

Looking down at the splay of silky red hair covering Sansa’s pillow like spilt molten copper, Jon shifted to his side and leant down to nuzzle the back of her neck. Sansa wiggled and let out a sleepy sigh, making Jon grin as he scooted closer, moulding his body to hers.

He peppered her bare shoulder with soft kisses, pulling down the thin strap of her top so that he could continue without interruption. Changing direction, his lips travelled back towards her neck as he slipped his hand around her hip, following the sliver of bared skin above her cotton sleep shorts. Sansa squirmed a fraction as his fingertips brushed lazy circles into the soft skin below her navel. The movement causede her to rub against Jon’s erection. He bit his lip and ground himself slowly against her behind.

Jon could hear a slow pitter patter of raindrops hitting the canvas above them as he nuzzled at the base of Sansa’s neck making her shiver against him. If there were to be a time in which Jon may have paused to debate whether he should continue, then this would have been it - but instead Sansa stretched sleepily in his arms, arching her back and pushing her ass into his crotch - so really, he had no other choice.

His hand stole up the hem of her top, smoothed over the warm skin of her belly and ribs until he was cupping one of her breasts. Jon began to knead the soft flesh gently in his hand as he nosed at the hairline of the back of her neck. Sansa made a quiet whining noise in her sleep and rubbed her thighs together.

He could feel her nipple stiffen against his palm and decided to tease it further by circling the puckered skin with feather-light drags of the very tip of his middle finger. Round and round he went, stopping and changing directions. He licked his lips at the thought of suckling at her nipple - drawing it into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it.

“Mmmm....what are you doing Mr Snow?” Sansa whispered, rolling her hips back into his.

“Shhh Miss Stark, I’m trying to concentrate. I have some very important business to attend to.”

“My apologies...please, do continue.”

Jon grinned into the back of Sansa’s neck and placed a quick kiss into her hair.

They continued on like that for a while - Jon palming, squeezing, rolling, teasing as Sansa found a rhythm for rubbing back against him.

Suddenly, Theon let out a loud snore, followed by a sleepy mumble and both Jon and Sansa froze. They held their breath, listening to nothing but the rainfall. After a while, Jon let out a long exhale and whispered behind Sansa’s ear. “Coast is clear.”

His hand left her breast to leisurely descend her body, twirling nonsensical patterns with his fingertips as he went. Sansa squirmed and let out a soft giggle. “Jon, what are you doing?”

“You expect me to be able to keep my hands off of you?” He whispered.

“Theon is right there.”

It was true - if Sansa only leant over and stretched out her arm, she could touch the slumbering third wheel to their party.

“He’s asleep” Jon commented, his fingers tracing just above her waistband. Sansa’s breath hitched when he slid his hand over the thin material of her shorts and cupped her in his warm hand. He loved how hot she felt down there and started stroking her through her shorts. It didn’t take long for the material to become damp. “What a naughty girl” he rasped right next to her ear, making Sansa whimper.

Jon chuckled as she started grinding herself against his hand, seeking more friction. “Horny little thing aren’t you?”

“And whose fault is that?” She whispered back.

Jon nipped at her earlobe. “Do you think you can be quiet, love?”

There was a pause - a pause that was filled with the sound of rain and Theon’s snoring before Sansa began to nod.

“Alright” Jon breathed, slipping one hand underneath her side, bringing it around her front to palm her breast and tweak her nipple. His other hand reached into her shorts to seek her out. “Mmmm... you’re wet for me, Sansa” he whispered, stroking her before pushing his fingers into her heat and rubbing his cock against her ass. Sansa shuddered when he pulled his fingers out to slip over her clit and then back into her again, only to repeat the motion, his fingers gliding over her sensitive bundle of nerves with her own silky wetness.

“Jon” she sighed in pleasure.

“Shhhh love, don’t want to wake our guest do we?”

Pinching her nipple caused Sansa to gasp and turn her head into her pillow, muffling any further little noises of appreciation. Jon kept his hands busy for a while, with Sansa keeping up a rhythm of gyration against him but it soon became too much to bear. Sansa groaned when his hand left its delightful place between her legs, making Theon choke out a loud gurgling snore in reply. Jon’s hand paused on her hip.

Once Theon’s steady breathing resumed he brought his fingers up to his mouth to lick and suck at them noisily directly behind Sansa’s ear. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, a smirk barely visible in the limited light from the dim camping lamp at their feet.

The air in the tent had turned frigid, but beneath their covers, with their bodies pressed to one another they were almost unbearably warm. Jon grazed his nose and lips to Sansa’s cheek as his hand disappeared into the sleeping bag once again. “Take these off” he whispered, tugging at the waistband of her shorts. There was rustling and a bit of giggling as Sansa did as instructed and Jon pushed his boxers as far as his thighs. Sansa tilted and turned her head back to him so that he could taste her lips. They kissed sloppily for a time as Jon reached down to curl his hand around the back of Sansa’s thigh and hold it up slightly, parting her legs.

They both groaned into each other’s mouths when Jon’s cock slid up and down her slickness, seemingly forgetting all about the other person sleeping beside them.

Sansa angled her hips and broke their kiss with a gasp when Jon grasped himself to enter her. She curled her arm under her pillow and pushed it up into her face to bite on to and muffle any escapee sounds.

“You naughty girl” Jon panted into her neck. “Fucking with someone else so close by. You dirty, dirty girl” he whispered, thrusting in and out of her and holding her leg aloft. Sansa whimpered into the pillow. “You like it, don’t you? The thrill that we might get caught.” Jon’s breath became ragged and hot directly behind Sansa’s ear as his hips picked up their pace, making a soft slapping sound from beneath the covers. “Do you want people to know that you’re my naughty girl, Sansa?” he growled.

“Jon” Sansa whined, her whole body now being jostled by his thrusts. Theon snorted sleepily but they both ignored him. The tent was now filled with their panting breaths and the rhythmic rustle of their sleeping bag. “Unnh... fuck” Sansa muttered, a little louder than before, prompting Jon’s hand to leave her thigh and cover her mouth. Sansa moaned into his palm as he upped the intensity of his thrusts.

“Quiet, dirty girl.”

Jon could feel the tightness forming that normally signalled his impending release. “Play with yourself, Sansa” he huffed, burying his face in her hair at the back of her head and keeping his hand over her mouth. He felt her fingers graze his cock a few times where they joined as he pushed in and pulled out.

Sansa’s moans and gasps were muffled by his hand, but his grip slipped a little as he thrust into her, allowing Sansa to take his index finger into her warm wet mouth. She sucked on it and swirled her tongue. Jon could feel the vibrations of her next moan around his finger and it was all too much.

“Fuck...Unnn-ah!” he grunted into Sansa’s hair as bright white blossomed behind his tightly closed eyelids. He felt himself pulse his release inside her with a groan. Sansa mewled around his finger, her hand quickening its motion between her legs as Jon’s heart still raced in his chest.

As he caught his breath, Jon’s hips slowed but did not stop. He slipped in and out but stayed inside of her, a rumble of satisfaction emanating from his throat as he lazily nuzzled Sansa’s neck. “My perfect dirty girl” he whispered sleepily with his eyes still closed.

Suddenly, Sansa groaned into his hand and he felt her tighten and release repeatedly around him - if it hadn’t have been so soon, it may have been enough to get him a hard again.

He placed a few little kisses on her shoulder and neck, his finger slipping from her mouth and his cock slipping form her cunt as he held her close.

Jon listened to Sansa catching her breath and realised that the rain had stopped, he could feel her rapid heartbeat where his hand now rested on her chest. Once her breathing evened out, everything seemed eerily quiet.

“You filthy fucking animals” Theon muttered into the dark.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsasmutweek #day 5 #getting caught

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jonsasmutweek · 7 years

Text

Jonsa Smut Week Masterlist!

Once again, a BIG THANK YOU to all the participants and supporters of our very first Jonsa Smut Week - we were blown away by your enthusiasm and your filthy minds!

So, here’s a round up of all the entries under the cut....

Day 1 - Trying Something New OR Teasing

Tangled Up in Blue by @redwolf-whitewolf

Put Your Hands on my Waist, Do it Softly by @kitten1618x

In Another Life by @jonsaforlife

Performance by @wendynerdwrites

Silk by @hellyeahayumichan

A Taste of Something New by @awolfofwinterfell

Loving Too Late in the Night by @cryoreal

Trying Something New by @asongforjonsa

Blue Roses by @kittykatknits

The Last Resort by @captainbee89

Last Man Standing by @amymel86

Teasing by @sistark

Just a Taste by @castaliareed

Drabble by @myrish-lace-love

Naughty Alayne and Lord Commander Snow by @vivilove-jonsa

Don’t You Dare by @jonsasnow

Aphrodisiac by @whatshernamemaria

Teasing by @alczysz17

Day 2 - Everything Except Consummation OR Jealousy

Wistful by @hellyeahayumichan

Supernova by @jonsasnow

I Want You to be Mine by @whitewolfofwinterfell

Baby You Got the Keys, Now Shut Up and Drive by @kitten1618x

Loving Too Late in the Night (Chapter 2) by @cryoreal

Naughty Alayne Plays a Game by @vivilove-jonsa

Jealousy Pic Set by @whatshernamemaria

Fights and Flames by @castaliareed

She is Mine and I am Hers by @captainbee89

Jealousy by @asongforjonsa

Jealousy by @alczysz17

Day 3 - Anywhere But The Bedroom OR First Time

The Longest Winter by @kittykatknits

Sharing the Load by @redwolf-whitewolf

Operation: Salon Seduction by @chocolateghost

Loving Too Late in the Night (Chapter 3) by @cryoreal

The Broken Tower by @castaliareed

True Knight by @whitewolfofwinterfell

Don’t You Dare Part II by @jonsasnow

Show Me How Love Feels by @kitten1618x

Everlong by @captainbee89

A Maiden No Longer by @vivilove-jonsa

Innocent by @hellyeahayumichan

First Time by @alczysz17

First Time by @asongforjonsa

Day 4 - Drunken Antics OR Fantasies

If We Could Escape the Crowd Somehow by @kitten1618x

Whispered Only Once by @kat-snow2613

Drabble by @cryoreal

Drunken Antics & Getting Caught by @nutellaninja0001

Too Much Ale and Arbor Gold by @vivilove-jonsa

Warm Ale by @castaliareed

Drunken Antics and Getting Caught by @asongforjonsa

Ensnared by @whitewolfofwinterfell

Yes, Dr. Stark by @ladywolfmd

What Daddy Wants (plus this Pic Set) by @awolfofwinterfell

Pic Set by @queensansaofhousesnark

Fantasies by @alczysz17

Want by @hellyeahayumichan

Sweet Dreams by @captainbee 89

Day 5 - Getting Caught OR Clothing

The Honeymoon isn’t Over by @whitewolfofwinterfell

Two Wolves by @castaliareed

Getting Caught by @alczysz17

Portrait of Jon Snow as a Young Pervert by @chocolateghost

Drunken Antics & Getting Caught by @nutellaninja0001

Hands Down My Pants (My Name On Your Lips) by @vivilove-jonsa

A Careless Rendezvous by @hellyeahayumichan

Quiet by @amymel86

Drunken Antics and Getting Caught by @asongforjonsa

Day 6 - Food/Toys OR Forbidden

Show Me by @whitewolfofwinterfell

Jonsa Hooker au Pic Set by @itwasmycroftbbc

Forbidden by @alczysz17

Protection and Promises by @castaliareed

(I can be your Dragonknight) I’d rather you be my Wolf by @redwolf-whitewolf

Another Broken Vow by @vivilove-jonsa

As Milady Commands by @captainbee89

A Wicked Thing by @hellyeahayumichan

Drabble by @myrish-lace-love

Food/Toys by @asongforjonsa

Day 7 - Dom/Sub OR Pregnancy

Dom/Sub Pic Set by @itwasmycroftbbc

From the Ashes by @castaliareed

Dom/Sub by @asongforjonsa

Glutton for Punishment by @chocolateghost

My Queen by @captainbee89

Dom/Sub post by @amymel86

BDSM au Pic Set by @itwasmycroftbbc

Lucky by @whitewolfofwinterfell

Pregnancy by @alczysz17

The Queen’s Condition by @vivilove-jonsa

And ‘Spill Out My Passions Upon Your Feet’ by @letitia-is-cross, which covers all prompts from the week!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsasmutweek #masterlist #THANK YOU #jonsa smut week #master list #jonsa smut #LOOK AT ALL THE JONSA SMUT!!!#dear LORD I hope we got everyone!#if your entry isn't on here - LET US KNOW PLEASE!

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whitewolfofwinterfell · 7 years

Text

@jonsasmutweek day 7: Pregnancy

Lucky

Since Sansa discovered she was pregnant with hers and Jon’s first child there’s been a lot of change. With their reservations and fears mounting up, Jon working long hours and Sansa cooped up at home, there’s a distance between them that is weighing heavily on Sansa, but one evening of quality time is all it takes them to realise how lucky and in love they are.

Read on AO3

Sansa slides across the bed to Jon who is laid with his back to her. Resting her chin in the crook of his neck and snaking her hands around his waist she asks, “Jon, are you asleep?”

“Yes.”

She slaps him playfully and he rolls over, an amused smile on his face. He wraps his arm about her and she looks up at him. He has dark circles under his eyes and she can see that the late hours he’s been working are beginning to take their toll. Though she sees him every day and sleeps in bed beside him each night, she feels she rarely sees him as of late. He is out of the house at the crack of dawn, returns late in the evening and after they’ve ate dinner, it’s only an hour or two before he’s passed out on the couch or crawling up the stairs to bed.

“I miss you,” Sansa says tracing circles on his bare chest with her fingertips.

“What?” Jon asks with concern.

“I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“You see me everyday.”

“I know, but we haven’t been close in the same way we used to be. It just feels like so much has changed since I got pregnant. I can’t work anymore so I don’t see any of my friends, you’ve been working more hours and I feel like all I am anymore is a pregnant woman.”

Sansa hasn’t spoken of her struggles as a new mother-to-be to anyone, not even Jon, for fear of appearing weak or incapable of being a mother. But she finds she cannot hold it in anymore.

“You’re unhappy?” Jon asks, anguish on his face.

“No, no, it’s not that. I’m happy with you, of course I am. I just--I miss the way things used to be. I miss how we used to be.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea. I know I’ve been working a lot and I haven’t been around as much as I should, but I just want to make sure we have everything we need for when the baby arrives.” He places his hand on Sansa’s swollen belly.

“I know that and I love you so much for it,” she says stroking his beard lightly. “But I miss us. I miss being with you. I miss our sex.”

Jon and Sansa used to have a very active and passionate sex life, but since Sansa has been pregnant it has steadily declined. It’s not for lack of love or desire, but because of the exhaustion and busyness of daily life.

“I want to feel close to you again,” Sansa whispers, planting a soft kiss on Jon’s lips. “I want to have sex. It’s been so long, Jon. It’s been too long.”

“But are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’m pregnant, Jon. I’m not dying.”

As this is their first child and Sansa’s first time being pregnant, Jon has a tendency to be incredibly overprotective. Though it’s endearing, it can also be irritating for Sansa. She doesn’t like to be treated as though she’s made of glass.

“The sickness has gone, mostly I just get tired now and moody. But I think you can help with my moodiness.” She grins at him playfully.

“I don’t know, Sans. I’m pretty tired.”

Sansa sighs. “Tired, sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon questions.

“It means if you don’t fancy me anymore have the guts to be upfront about it.”

“What?” Jon exclaims.

“You heard me. I know I’m a hideous whale and you don’t find me attractive anymore, I just thought--”

Jon runs his hand from her belly to her waist and pulls her in closer to him, kissing her deeply.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known and you’re mad if you think I don’t fancy you. If anything, I fancy you even more. You’re going to be the mother of my child, Sansa. Nothing is more attractive than that. Nothing.”

His thumb traces circles on her cheek and Sansa beams at him. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do. I’ve heard about these pregnancy hormones, but I didn’t realise they made you this crazy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sansa says through laughs.

“But I’m serious, Sansa. The reason I haven’t been having sex with you isn’t because I don’t want you anymore, because I do. I really do.”

“Prove it.”

Jon smiles at her and kisses her again, harder this time, causing Sansa’s breath to catch in her throat. She wants to roll him over and straddle him, but though he has just told her how beautiful she is, she doesn’t have the confidence to do so, so remains on her back, pulling Jon down on top of her. She hasn’t kissed him this way for so long and it feels so good. His kisses are so gentle and sensual and filled with love.

Sansa reaches for the hem of her pajama shorts and pulls them down with her panties, losing them somewhere under the covers.

“Touch m--.”

Jon’s hand is already on her before she has time to complete her request. He seems taken aback at how wet she is and says, “You really have missed sex, haven’t you?”

“I told you.”

Sansa’s libido has increased immeasurably since she entered the second trimester of her pregnancy, but the impracticality of her swollen belly have made sex tricky. Her insecurities have also held her back as she often feels fat and hideous.

But tonight, she doesn’t care and nor does Jon. His fingers massage her soaking folds and Sansa can feel her engorged clit throbbing underneath the pressure of Jon’s touch.

“You’re so wet, you’re so wet,” Jon mumbles against her mouth. “I want to feel you so bad.”

With that Sansa pulls Jon’s shorts down to free his cock and begins stroking it. Jon grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s on her side, with her ass to him and he enters her from behind.

“Yes, Jon,” Sansa moans, reaching back and stroking his face.

Jon’s hands massage her tender and throbbing breasts. It’s painful at first, but when she tells him to be more gentle, it feels incredible.

When Sansa begins to move against Jon, wiggling her ass and meeting his movements he tells her, “Just relax, Sans. Let me look after you.”

After that Sansa allows her body to sink into the mattress, rests her head on the fluffy pillow and just remains with Jon’s arms wrapped about her body as he makes love to her slowly.

When his hands find their way to her belly once again, Sansa feels an overwhelming emotion take her over. Whenever they’ve had sex since she’s been pregnant, it’s been different. More intense, more soulful. Because as connected and as in love as they were before, now there is a small human growing inside her that was conceived of that love who is half Sansa, half Jon. It’s an inexplicable feeling of closeness the likes of which Sansa never imagined she could have with another person.

Jon sweeps her hair behind her ear and sucks on her earlobes whilst Sansa’s own hand wanders to her hot core. She jerks when she makes contact with her clit, the sensitivity of it making it almost painful to the touch.

“Do you want to switch positions?” Jon asks.

“Yeah,” Sansa says pulling from him. On her knees, she pushes him back on the bed and proceeds to straddle him. Where she was not confident enough to do it earlier, she is now, though Jon is still doubtful.

“Are you sure you want to be on top?”

Sansa nods. “I want to see your face.”

Jon smiles up at her and Sansa begins to grind down on him softly. Jon meets her, falling into an easy rhythm with her.

“I love you so much,” he says.

Sansa is too lost in her pleasure to be able to respond and when Jon reaches his fingers out to stroke her dripping center, she cries out frantically, her orgasm taking her hard and fast.

Sansa’s legs spasm uncontrollably and she feels Jon’s tight grip on her hips, supporting her as her walls contract around Jon’s hardness and he spills into her, a series of grunts escaping him.

Jon sits up and wraps his arms about her back, holding her as close as her bump will allow. Sansa rests her head against his and laughs breathlessly, still riding the high of her orgasm.

Her stomach is rippling with intense contractions and her core is still throbbing almost painfully, but she is on cloud nine. She hadn’t realised how tightly she’d been wound and how desperately she’d missed feeling Jon inside her and hearing him moan her name.

Sansa feels the baby begin to somersault inside her and Jon jumps in surprise.

“Was that--?”

“The baby? Yeah,” Sansa smiles.

Jon looks down at her belly that is separating them and he lays his palms on it. When the baby moves again, Jon feels it and his eyes widen in surprise.

“No matter how many times I feel it, it’s still the most incredible thing,” Jon says, pride and joy reflected in his eyes.

“I know what you mean.”

The two of them collapse back into bed, their limbs entwined and lingering dreamy smiles on their faces.

“I didn’t realise how much I needed that,” Sansa says.

“Me either.”

After a minute silence, Jon adds, “Sansa... what you said before, I really am sorry.”

Sansa shakes her head. “You don’t have anything to apologise for. We’re having a baby, it’s normal for things to change.”

“But I should have been there for you.”

“You have been there for me. You’ve done everything for me, Jon.”

“I haven’t done enough.”

Sansa shakes her head. “If anything you’ve done too much. You’ve been so attentive where the baby and the pregnancy is concerned, but I suppose that’s made me not feel like me anymore.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. You’ll always be Sansa to me. You’ll always be my Sansa.”

Sansa feels her heart warm at his words. How did she ever get so lucky to find a gentleman like Jon with such a kind heart?

“I want you to know that me saying all of this... I don’t want you to think it’s me not wanting the baby or being--”

“No, I know,” Jon says cutting her off. “I understand. Things are changing and they’re going to change even more when the baby arrives and it’s scary. It scares me too.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does. This is the most life-changing thing we’re probably ever going to go through and it’s scary. But it’s also exciting and we’re in this together. We’re a team, no matter what.”

Sansa nods and realises that this is exactly what she has been needing to hear. All her fears and reservations are normal and Jon shares them.

“I’m so happy, Jon,” Sansa says a tear falling from her eye onto his chest.

“Me too.”

Sansa props herself up on her elbow to look at him. “Promise me that we won’t get distracted again and that we’ll always make time for each other like this.”

“I promise. All that matters to me is you and our baby.” Jon rests his hands on her belly. “You’re my family. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and you’ll all I’ll ever need.”

“I love you,” Sansa says, tearful.

Jon kisses her forehead tenderly and pulls her into him until her head is rested against his chest. The sound of Jon’s heartbeat lulls Sansa to sleep and the last thought on her mind is, “I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

#jonsasmutweek #jonsasmut17 #actuallyjonsa #jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #jonsa au #jon x sansa #mine #my writing #i finally finished #sorry its like a week late #but i wanted to complete it

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