A Northern Tradition (Game of Thrones)
A/N: A Northern Tradition was a commissioned one shot originally written back in July of 2021. Posting it up here and now for people to enjoy!
Summary: Recognizing that they won't be able to convince Jon to stay in Winterfell and send someone else to treat with the Dragon Queen, the Stark sisters put their heads together and come up with a plan.
Themes: Threesome, Rough Sex, Fucked Silly
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"What's this about, Sansa? What's so important that I have to attend you in your quarters the eve before my departure South?"
Jon tries not to come across as too confrontational as he sweeps his way into Sansa's bedroom, but he can't help the small amount of annoyance that leaks into his voice as he comes to a stop in front of her. The Lady of Winterfell, for there is no other Stark to take up the mantle at this point, sits on the edge of her bed in her nightgown.
Before she can answer him, the door to the room clicks shut, causing Jon to whip his head around and blink at the sight of Arya standing there in her usual leather armor, looking at him as well. Furrowing his brow, the King in the North looks between the two young women, the last two Stark girls in all the North.
"It's precisely that departure that causes me to call for you, Jon. It's precisely that departure that makes this meeting a necessity."
Bristling just a bit, Jon frowns at Sansa.
"We've talked about this, Sansa. I'm not going to send a proxy, no matter what you say. We need that dragonglass to have even a chance against the Army of the Dead. More than that, if we can get the Dragon Queen and her dragons on our side..."
He trails off then, both because the rest of it is obvious, and because Sansa is nodding along with him rather than shaking her head in disagreement.
"I understand that, Jon. You're King now, and your word is law. I'm not trying to convince you to change your mind... not anymore. Now, it falls to me to make sure that you go South with the clearest mind possible."
"And me."
Arya steps forward at that, circling around Jon to enter his field of view. Sansa glances to her sister and her lips thin, before she gives a conceding nod in Arya's direction.
"And her."
Confused still, Jon looks between the two women, trying to figure out what's going on. Before he can demand an explanation, Sansa steps up, and together with Arya, moves forward and divests him of his upper layer of furs.
"What... what is this?"
"An Ancient Tradition, Jon. One that has not been observed in quite some time. I read about it in father's office, in the records of long ago. It's a tradition that we forgot... and in forgetting, it has cost our family dearly."
Sansa's voice has a way of drawing him in these days, Jon has noticed. She's certainly grown up a lot since they were children, and in a lot of ways he wished she hadn't had to. But their time apart has changed both of them... and Arya too. There's no denying that.
"What tradition?"
"Simple. It is the duty of Stark women, usually the Lady of Winterfell, to make sure no Stark Lord goes South without his needs being taken care of first. It is tradition for the Lady of Winterfell to lay with her Lord... or in your case, her King, on the night before his departure, to make sure that the womanly wiles of the South cannot cloud his mind and thus his judgment."
Jon is so busy listening to her words with growing incredulity that he doesn't even notice her and Arya stripping at first. As he processes what Sansa is saying however, he realizes both of them have began removing their clothes, Sansa's nightgown slipping off her shoulders and down her otherwise naked body, while Arya has started working open her leathers.
As the younger of the two sisters' strips, Sansa moves forward to ostensibly help Jon. He stops her of course, completely baffled.
"That's... s-surely such a tradition would only exist between a married couple! The Lady of Winterfell and her husband, the Lord of Winterfell!"
Sansa smiles a frosty smile and just shrugs, which does quite interesting things to her... assets. Jon can't deny that the red head has flowered in their time apart. She's not the girl he knew anymore, and her breasts, full and voluminous, jiggle with the movement of her shoulders as she begins to pull at the ties of his armor, taking it off of him. He notes to himself that... he's not really stopping her anymore.
Jon can only stare down at her, baffled and wondering where she learned such... skills while they were apart, before finally she pulls back and spins herself around, presenting her body to him on her hands and knees.
"Go on then, Jon. Grab ahold of my hips and-!"
Perhaps it has to do with his time with the Free Folk, but this... this is almost more natural than what he'd done with Sansa, at least for Jon. Or maybe going slow with Sansa had left him pent up or something. Either way, he grabs Arya's hips and sinks his cock into her sopping wet cunt before she can even finish her instructions. Arching her back, the petite brunette lets out a joyous cry as he thrusts into her tight, virgin quim.
She's unbelievably tight, her inner walls clenching and massaging up and down his length in a way that doesn't seem at all random or sporadic. It's like she's controlling her cunt muscles, even as Jon finds himself unable to go slow like he did with Sansa. Not in this position. Not with this girl. Arya, of course, happily eggs him on with her moans and her cries and the way she thrusts her hips back into his pistoning prick. And of course, with her words.
"That's it! Fuck me, Jon! Fuck me nice and hard! Give it to me, don't you dare slow down! Fuck me HARDER!"
As he does so, Arya gets louder and louder... until being abruptly cut off by Sansa grabbing her sister by the face and pulling her down into a tongue-filled kiss. When they pull apart a few seconds later, Sansa's eyes are glittering.
"You're too loud, Arya. Learn to be quiet, or I will teach you."
"S-Shut up, you-mmph!"
Sansa silences Arya with another kiss, and Jon goes right back to fucking Arya fast and hard, just like she apparently likes it. Her muscled, toned body ripples in his hands, her cunt clenching around his cock. She feels too damn good. To be fair, Sansa felt amazing as well, but in a different way. The Stark girls have both grown up into fine, amazing women... of two very different types.
In the end, Jon pulls back and spills his second load all over Arya's back. He covers her in the sticky stuff, and while it's embarrassing, it's better than cumming inside, he reasons. He has no desire to get either of the two women pregnant.
As Sansa and Arya lay back on one another, panting heavily, covered in his cum, Jon stares down at them both in awe. Even as messy as they both are, they're gorgeous right now, utterly beautiful. He finds himself just... amazed by how sexy they're managing to look.
"... Y-You're still hard."
Only Sansa's voice takes him out of his stupor, and he blinks, looking down to realize what she's already said, that he is indeed fully erect once more.
"... I guess I am."
"Then it falls to us to handle it... right Sansa?"
Arya's determination is soon matched by her sister's as Sansa nods resolutely.
"Y-Yes... it falls to us."
Needless to say, the rest of the night is filled with more wanton rutting as Jon fucks both Sansa and Arya senseless. The next day, the two are still in bed when he leaves for the South, and while some of Winterfell's residents wonder to themselves why the Stark girls weren't there to see their King off, some of the older Northmen and women, such as Old Nan, have knowing glints in their eyes and nod their approval.
Tradition was important, after all. The death of tradition was the first sign of a culture dying out... and the North had been giving ground to the South's culture for far too long. No more.
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