After what had happened to Robb, it didn't take much insight to see that Jon's bannermen and advisors were anxious to see that he didn't make similar mistakes. They didn't want to be ignored or cast aside, forgotten in a moment of lust and bad judgement. They had all seen the costs that such things could bring and having only just won back the north, they would be hostile to anyone or anything that could threaten it's safety. Margaery could represent that danger and she didn't doubt that many would begrudge her place by Jon's side. She had a target on her back now and there would be more danger than she had anticipated. Northern men were a fiercely loyal lot and she knew that they would never forget.
Sansa, however, was a different matter. It was less about her family and more about the usurption of power. In a way, Margaery could understand her. She had been helpless for so long, used as a pawn by the Lannisters and Baelish. Now that she was Lady of Winterfell, she held on to it with a grip of iron, fiercer than a she wolf with her cubs. This was her world and Margaery was slowly becoming an interloper. It was telling that her friend's visits lessened with the more time Jon spent in Margaery's rooms. Though, a part of her wondered what Sansa would do once Jon married. She wouldn't be Lady of Winterfell then, no matter the role she played in gaining back their home.
With or without these risks, it was inconceivable to pull away from Jon. They were sealed together, their passions bonded by the fires of desire and need. They were expertly made for each other, as though they were crafted like a sword of Valeryian steel. She couldn't imagine being severed from him, seeing only a black ether that she would be lost to, more frightening than death and emptier than the void itself.
The sudden rush of tenderness was a balm for the ravenous lust that coursed through her soul. She clinged to Jon, kissing him gently, soothing away any lingering fears they might have. They had spoken the words several times, made vows and promises, but this felt like so much more than that. Almost a union of their spirits and heart, as though they were more than wed. "You are all I have left in this world and all I ever want. I don't care for the rest." Her name, her home, it mattered so little compared to the feel of Jon's arms around her. "I give it all up, if only so I can be yours and never leave your side." Her lips met his, emotion welling up in her fiercely. She could feel tears in her eyes, stinging her as they rushed to the surface. She was drowning in love for him, or whatever the name for this feeling was. It was something deeper and more mysterious from the death they were pulled from.
And all at once it was overpowered by the white heat of lust and desire. The simple image of fucking him in front of the court had her moaning, her sex heated and aching for him. The guards would know by now as it was, what did it matter if all the rest witnessed them? To ignore this hunger would bring nothing but physical pain and frustration. She needed him as desperately as she needed air. She could simply not stop breathing, just as she could not simply ignore her desire to be fucked and claimed.
She lost her humanity somewhere between his touch and his demand for her to be on her hands and knees. She had teased him, claiming that they would play at being animals, but in reality, they became animals around each other. The sudden swipe of his tongue had her growling, bristling with the rush of lust and white hot hunger. She clenched her hands together, only to suddenly feel the sharp bite of his teeth.
She cried out, bucking against him as her body battled between pain and pleasure. Gods, but was there a difference anymore? "Yours. Only yours." She whispered the words as she turned, grateful that he would not be looking at her back when he penetrated her for the first time. Even in the height of her frenzy, she wanted to spare him the sight of her scars. She wound her legs around his waist, pulling at him to move closer. "Gods, I need you. Please, Jon."
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Sansa, however, was a different matter. It was less about her family and more about the usurption of power. In a way, Margaery could understand her. She had been helpless for so long, used as a pawn by the Lannisters and Baelish. Now that she was Lady of Winterfell, she held on to it with a grip of iron, fiercer than a she wolf with her cubs. This was her world and Margaery was slowly becoming an interloper. It was telling that her friend's visits lessened with the more time Jon spent in Margaery's rooms. Though, a part of her wondered what Sansa would do once Jon married. She wouldn't be Lady of Winterfell then, no matter the role she played in gaining back their home.
With or without these risks, it was inconceivable to pull away from Jon. They were sealed together, their passions bonded by the fires of desire and need. They were expertly made for each other, as though they were crafted like a sword of Valeryian steel. She couldn't imagine being severed from him, seeing only a black ether that she would be lost to, more frightening than death and emptier than the void itself.
The sudden rush of tenderness was a balm for the ravenous lust that coursed through her soul. She clinged to Jon, kissing him gently, soothing away any lingering fears they might have. They had spoken the words several times, made vows and promises, but this felt like so much more than that. Almost a union of their spirits and heart, as though they were more than wed. "You are all I have left in this world and all I ever want. I don't care for the rest." Her name, her home, it mattered so little compared to the feel of Jon's arms around her. "I give it all up, if only so I can be yours and never leave your side." Her lips met his, emotion welling up in her fiercely. She could feel tears in her eyes, stinging her as they rushed to the surface. She was drowning in love for him, or whatever the name for this feeling was. It was something deeper and more mysterious from the death they were pulled from.
And all at once it was overpowered by the white heat of lust and desire. The simple image of fucking him in front of the court had her moaning, her sex heated and aching for him. The guards would know by now as it was, what did it matter if all the rest witnessed them? To ignore this hunger would bring nothing but physical pain and frustration. She needed him as desperately as she needed air. She could simply not stop breathing, just as she could not simply ignore her desire to be fucked and claimed.
She lost her humanity somewhere between his touch and his demand for her to be on her hands and knees. She had teased him, claiming that they would play at being animals, but in reality, they became animals around each other. The sudden swipe of his tongue had her growling, bristling with the rush of lust and white hot hunger. She clenched her hands together, only to suddenly feel the sharp bite of his teeth.
She cried out, bucking against him as her body battled between pain and pleasure. Gods, but was there a difference anymore? "Yours. Only yours." She whispered the words as she turned, grateful that he would not be looking at her back when he penetrated her for the first time. Even in the height of her frenzy, she wanted to spare him the sight of her scars. She wound her legs around his waist, pulling at him to move closer. "Gods, I need you. Please, Jon."