DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Sansa IX

Warning for smut

The water's subtle movement hinted at Jon's presence behind Sansa. "You can turn around now," she said in a tone that carried both warmth and familiarity.

Illuminated by the dancing flames, Jon appeared almost otherworldly, bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. In many ways, he was more than just a man; he was entwined in a prophecy echoing through millennia and the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, amidst the water's embrace, Sansa perceived him simply as the man he was.

Jon embodied the virtues of bravery, strength, and gentleness her father had once promised. His handsomeness surpassed her previous standards. Despite the bitterness she harboured for how her mother treated Jon, a latent satisfaction lingered within Sansa. If not for the distant relationship they shared in their youth, they wouldn't be standing in the pool, their naked forms concealed beneath the water's surface, shoulders submerged in the intimate embrace of the moment.

Sansa detected a subtle undercurrent of nerves emanating from Jon, a surprising revelation given the circumstances. Traditionally, she would be the one grappling with nervousness, yet a firm decision had settled within her; she was ready for intimacy with Jon, willing to explore the depths of connection if the moment called for it.

Approaching Jon with deliberate slowness, like a direwolf stalking its prey, Sansa observed him standing still, resembling a green boy caught in a moment of uncertainty. In a way, she acknowledged, he still bore the essence of youth in this particular body. Without hesitation, just as she reached him, Sansa leaped, placing her hands on Jon's dry head, submerging him in the water. She let go, retreating with laughter dancing on her lips.

Jon emerged from the water, his dark curls now adhering to his head like wet ink on parchment. Shaking himself off, reminiscent of Lady coming in from the storm, droplets scattered in all directions.

"You've just declared war, my lady." Jon declared with a laugh, retaliating by cupping his hands into the water and flinging it playfully over her.

"I believe I'm already winning, Your Grace." Sansa playfully asserted as she scooped up water and flung it toward Jon. Squeals of laughter filled the air as he retaliated, ensuring the exchange was both playful and spirited. Sansa, anticipating the playful onslaught, turned her back to shield herself from a direct hit to the face.

"Ouch, my hand!" Jon exclaimed, a momentary distraction that drew Sansa's concern. She pivoted to face him, swift in her approach. "Have you split your stitches?"

"No." Jon laughed, diverting her attention by tossing water into her face.

"That is most unfair." Sansa chided, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I can play dirty too."

"I'm sure you can." Jon said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Sansa lunged at Jon, who instinctively moved back, but she skilfully caught him, wrapping her arm around the back of his neck and pulling him towards her. Jon attempted to break free, yet she secured her legs around his waist, drawing him closer. In that intimate closeness, Sansa felt an unexpected sensation as Jon's firm presence brushed against her most private place, eliciting a breath of surprise.

Any intentions Sansa might have had for more splashing were swiftly abandoned. Her gaze fixated on Jon's plump lips, an overwhelming desire to taste them taking hold. Jon, attuned to her unspoken wishes, encircled her waist with his arms, drawing her even closer. Sansa's eyes briefly met his, dark and hooded, a tacit signal that emboldened her to proceed. In this delicate dance, Jon respected her boundaries, understanding that every step had to be of her own accord.