#and dealing with those council fucks is the dirtiest work of it all

[dumpster-fire-sapphic-failgirl]

A quick note on the Zaun folks fighting alongside Piltover at the end (not the ones who joined and put on the uniform, that was way more fucked, but the rest) :

1) until Ekko/Jinx rallied them, most of them weren’t having it. They were willing to let topside burn bc fuck it

2) The Noxians, for the most part, weren’t overtly oppressing the citizens of Piltover. The Zaunites, on the other hand, had been dealing with months of them being as bad and sometimes worse than the enforcers. Getting a chance to kill them and be seen as the good guys probably had it’s own appeal

3) Viktor wasn’t gonna stop at pacifying topside. Piltover and Zaun were separated by a bridge and a system of deep oppression, but that wasn’t going to save them from the glorious revolution. it truly was in their best interest to collaborate

(pivoting to the end of the series and the after effects of them helping)

4) Between the hextech pollution, the rule of the chem barons, the months long absence of Ekko, Viktor’s honestly fucked up commune, no more shimmer but also the ravaging after effects of shimmer on the community, Zaun is economically, infrastructurally, and socially kinda fucked.

5) you can see in Sevika’s face at the end there, the fight isn’t over, it has just changed style and venue. The implication is that Zaunites know this too. Why not send Ekko? Ekko is a better community leader. He can rally the people. He can help rebuild. Zaun is better served with him able to focus his efforts there instead of spending his days fighting with topside. So they sent Sevika. What was she to the undercity? The scrapper. The one whose loyalty has always been to a united Zaun. The one that wrangled the chem barons. the deal broker. Nothing in her expression says she is there to kneel. She is there to fight. She can call people out on their bullshit. She draws focus. And while the council has its eyes on her, Ekko can shepherd Zaun’s recovery. It is a small victory. And it is no reward. But it is a step forward. (though they did my girl dirty by giving her absolutely no lines in Act 3)

it’s not the perfect resolution of the system of oppression. In no small part bc it isn’t a resolution at all. The fight continues. But if the Zaunites hadn’t helped the Pilties, the fight would have been over. Not with a free Zaun, but with a pacified one, an empty husk with the peace of the graveyard. Destroying yourself to see an enemy lose is not the victory most people think it is.

Zaun wasn’t fighting alongside Piltover to save Piltover. Zaun was fighting alongside Piltover because the fight in Piltover was the best chance to save Zaun. (plus it was probably nice to have Piltover be the war zone instead of their home, tbh)

[ben-barnes-is-my-husband]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! Not sure if you're still taking jonsa prompts but I love a kinky domJon and know you do too so here goes nothing. By day Sansa is all business, negotiating trade, handling petitions, dealing with the left over Dothraki, currying favor with visiting Lords and generally healing a post Long Night 2 Westeros. By night however she just wants to let go of control and enjoy being taken like a bitch in heat, commanded, used for pleasure, marked, denied and made to beg by her King.

Oooh boy! I don’t think I’ve played a lot with Dom!Jon, but I think I like it! Thanks, anon! 

I Crave Subjugation

Rating: Explicit as Fuck 

Jon’s heart swelled in his chest as it always did when he saw Sansa after a long day of being apart, tending to their duties. He feared that his Queen worked harder than he did. It made sense though, for she was more politically minded than he was, and it wasn’t odd to have his council seek her opinion along with his. Or to go with hers instead of his.

She glided across the room in a dress made up of Stark colors. It clung to her curves, showing her waist and the swell of her bosom. It was dipped low, the tops of her breasts pushing against the décolletage of her dress, giving Jon and every man in the dining hall a show.

Jon felt himself start to harden at the sight. He knew what his wife wanted this evening. What she always wanted after a day of ordering others about, making decision after decision for the good of Winterfell, the North, and all its people: subjugation.

He had never considered himself the sort to command a woman, to do the depraved things Sansa craved him to do to her in the bedchamber when she had need of it. But with Sansa…she had the ability to awaken him to things he’d never known he’d wanted or needed.

It was no wonder he loved her so desperately. Needed her endlessly. Craved her constantly. With her, he was his true self. With her he could be vulnerable. With her he could rule the North, but only with her as his Queen, only with her by his side.

And with her, he could tap into a side of himself he didn’t know he had in him. The darker side; the side that craved to command his Queen, to make her bend the knee to him, to make her please him, to make her irrevocably his over and over and over again.

She taunted him now, got his blood up as she passed by the Northern Lords in attendance and made them love her and lust after her with well-placed smiled and quips. She wanted to rouse his anger enough to take control over her, and thereby bring his lust and his need to the forefront.

It worked. Every. Single. Time.

He didn’t like the Northern Lords looking at their Queen like that. At his Queen. At his Sansa.

Finally, when she came to sit beside him, he stood, pulling her chair out for her. She smiled at him and sat, and when he pushed her chair in, he leaned in to her ear and whispered, “Did you enjoy your flirtation with the Northern Lords, my lady wife?”

“Perhaps,” she said nonchalantly.

“Are we feeling impertinent this evening?”

She looked at him, and then lowered her eyes as soon as she saw the ire written all over his face. “No, my King.”

His nostrils flared. Their game had begun.

“Eat your dinner, Sansa,” he commanded lowly. “And as soon you are done, I want you in our bedchambers. Ready a bath for me, and it better be ready and piping hot by the time I arrive. I want you naked and I want you on your knees.”

“Yes, my King.”

Jon sat back, thinking this might be the longest dinner of his life with his cock hard and his blood up. Sansa would be lucky if she made it through this meal without him taking her right there on the table.

xxxxxxxx

As soon as her last morsel of dinner had been put in her mouth, she saw Jon looking at her pointedly out of the corner of her eye. She swallowed quickly and hurriedly excused herself, flushing with heat and anticipation.

Her skin tingled with the promise of what was to come, of how Jon was going to take her that night, of how he was going to order her to serve him and do every filthy thing he could think to make her do.

Gods. She could not wait.

She needed the release that their game provided.

At first, she thought there must be something wrong with her when her desire to be dominated in the dirtiest ways possible came to the forefront of her and Jon’s heated couplings. It had started with asking him to smack her ass, then pull her hair, then mark her skin with his mouth. He had hesitated with each act she asked of him, ever mindful of all that she’d endured under Ramsay.

Was it because of him that she’d wanted this? Was there something sick and broken inside her that made her desire such things? Or had it been there all along and had only needed the right man to set it free? She chose to believe that it was Jon, her trust in him, and her love for him.

With Jon she felt safe, always. She knew he would never hurt her unless she asked him to, and even then it was never a real kind of hurt. He never made her afraid. Instead, he made her feel alive. Free. And she knew he felt the same when they played this game.

An hour after she’d left him, the bath was prepared. Steaming and scented with bergamot, just as he liked it. And she was naked, aside from a strip of leather she wore tied about her neck that fell down to her calves. She knelt next to the tub, waiting for her Lord and Master to arrive.

When he arrived with a boom and a shake of the door, he stood before her, crown on, and fully dressed.

Her mind slipped into that of his subjugate.

He walked over to her and her heart began to race. Would he find the bath pleasing? Would he find her pleasing?

He dipped his hand into the water. “Well done,” he said. “Now stand and undress me.”

Sansa stood quickly, and her head felt light. She reached for his crown first and his penetrating gray eyes bored into her with warning. “Be careful of my crown,” he growled.

Sansa shivered, gooseflesh appearing on her arms. “Yes, my King.”

Carefully, she removed his crown and carried it to the bureau and placed it next to hers. Demurely, with her hands folded before her, she returned to him and began to undress him.

“If you don’t do this quickly,” he drawled, “then my bath will turn cold and I’ll have to punish you for it.”

Oh, how she wanted to be punished! Still, she undressed him quickly and laid his clothes neatly on a nearby table. When she turned after having finished, she found Jon looking at her with eyes narrowed.

“My bath is not as hot,” he told her. “You took too long laying out my garments.”

“I—I am s-sorry, your Grace.”

“You certainly will be. Now get over here and help me into the bath.”

She practically ran to assist him. Once he was leaned back in the hot water, groaning with satisfaction, he crooked his finger at her. “Kneel and wash me.”

Grabbing a cloth and soap, Sansa dipped both into the water and lathered the cloth up. She then proceeded to glide the cloth along Jon’s strong arms, his muscled chest and stomach and down, down, down to his hard cock. She stopped and looked up at him through her lashes.

“Did I tell you to stop?” he asked.

“No, my King.”

“Then why did you?”

“You would have me wash it for you?”

“Yes,” he said with a hiss.

Excited, but trying hard not to show it, Sansa wrapped her hand around his cock with the cloth acting as a barrier and stroked up and down his length. Gods, he was hard. And she was getting wetter by the second.

She rubbed her thighs together and bit back a moan. But Jon noticed. He always noticed. He never took his eyes off her. “Get up,” he ordered. “Get up and go to the bed. Bend over and put your hands on the bed. I want to see your ass. And do. Not. Move.”

Sansa nodded and did as she was told, her face heating with what was to come.

She heard Jon finish up his bath and she dug her hands into the furs on the bed, wishing she could see him wet and as naked as his nameday.

Silence fell and Sansa wondered what he was doing. She didn’t even hear him moving around any longer. The longer the silence, the more restless she became. She couldn’t help but peak over her shoulder to see what he was doing.

And he was right there behind her, naked and frowning at her disapprovingly.

“Tsk tsk tsk, Sansa,” he said with a shake of his head. “I told you not to move and yet you did.”

“Jon—”

Thwack! His hand came down on her ass and she jumped at the sting and surprise of it.

“What did you just call me?” he demanded.

She was panting now, eager. “Jon. I called you Jon.”

He smacked her again. “Is that what you call me?” he roared.

“No!”

“What do you call me?”

“I call you my King!”

He smacked her again, twice in a row. “Because what am I to you?”

“My King,” she gasped. “My Lord and Master.”

He smacked her again and she ducked her head, shutting her eyes tight and resisting the urge to moan.

“On your knees. I want you to suck me.”

Sansa swallowed hard as she got down on her knees, lightheaded from being bent over. She gazed up at Jon, knowing how much he liked to see her looking at him when she took him in her mouth.

“Take down the leather,” he ordered.

She nodded and undid the leather strip about her neck. He grabbed it and looped them around her wrists, binding them together.

“You’re going to take me all the way down your throat like the filthy girl you are. You’re not my Queen in here, Sansa. You’re my whore. You acted the whore for all those men tonight. Enticing them with that dress and your tits on display. You don’t smile like that for those Northern Lords. You smile for your King like that, do you understand me?”

She nodded. “Yes, my King.”

“Suck me off. I want to hear you choke on it.” He grabbed her chin roughly and leaned down so that he was in her face. “And do not turn your eyes from me. Nor do you use your hands, understand?”

She nodded. “Yes, my King.”

“Suck.”

First, she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, gathering up his juices that were leaking already from the tip. Then she suckled on it, which caused him to card his fingers through her hair and tug slightly. Then she took him down as far as she could, which wasn’t far the first time around. He waited patiently for her to try again. Further this time she went, focusing on relaxing her throat.  

He grew impatient, as he always did, and thrust forward into her mouth, causing her to gag. Her eyes closed and he tugged on her hair.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he growled. “Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, watering from having gagged on him, and began bobbing up and down on his cock. He hit the back of her throat again, and she gagged again. She moved her mouth off him, and gathered her breath. She spit onto his cock and a trail of it landed on her breasts.

He forced her mouth back on him and she took him in deep. He pushed further down and she gagged again and backed off, spitting again on his cock. Again she took him in and this time went further. When she tried to pull back, he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he held her there and she waited, trying hard not to struggle. Then he released her and she took her mouth off him and coughed.

“Again,” he commanded.

He gripped her hair hard enough to sting just a little, and she managed to take him down further and then further and then he started fucking hard and fast into her throat.

She choked and gagged and drooled messily all over his cock. Finally, he released her and pushed her off of him.

His cock was wet and glistening, a trail of spit on the tip. She licked her lips, thinking of it being inside her cunt.

Jon reached down and undid the binding of her wrists. He dropped the strip of leather onto the bed and told her to get onto it with her ass on the edge and her legs up.

Sansa assumed position and watched him go to their bureau. He extracted a large black pouch and felt a tremor of excitement ripple through her.  He was getting the black wooden phallus he’d had made for her. It resembled his cock, only not as long as he was.

He came over to her and placed it against her folds, twisting and turning it in her wetness. “Such a whore,” he commented. “So wet and wanton for me.”

“I am a whore, my King.”

“Whose whore are you?” he barked.

“Yours, my King. Only yours.”

“That’s right. My whore. My woman,” he gritted out. He placed the head of the wooden phallus at her hole and pushed it in.

Sansa gasped at the intrusion. Instead of pulling it out and fucking her with it, Jon kept it inside her as he bent his head and licked at her nub. She squealed and struggled not to move in the direction of his mouth.

“Don’t you dare peak,” he warned her. “You don’t peak until I tell you to, do you understand me, whore?”

“Yes, my King,” she said, breathless and strained. She was so close already…

He started to fuck her with the phallus while he licked at her and when she was close, so close she couldn’t have possibly held back one more second, he stopped licking her and pulled the phallus out of her.

Sansa knew this was to be expected that at some point he would deny her peak completely, but still she reacted as she always did because Gods, she had been rightthere.

 She cried out, sobbed, and begged Jon for release while writhing on the bed. “Please, my King, please, please, please…I need to peak, please, my King…”

He stroked his cock as he looked down at her, snarling. “Look at you, writhing on the bed like a bitch in heat.”

She reached for him, eyes pleading, her folds throbbing with need. “Please, my King. Use your whore, your dirty whore. Make me peak for you.”

He came over to her and stroked the tip of his cock against her nub. Her breath hitched and she undulated her hips, seeking him, seeking release.

“Play with your tits,” he ordered.

Her hands immediately went to her breasts. She pulled on her nipples, teased them, made them hurt just enough.

“Back on your knees, I want to fuck them.”

Sansa begged still, unmoving, knowing that would rouse a punishment from him. She wasn’t disappointed. He grabbed the leather strap and folded it several times over. Then he commanded her to hold her legs up again. She did, quivering and he smacked her ass with the leather.

She cried out, writhing again, and he smacked her again and again. He dropped the leather to the floor and then she felt his hand on her ass smoothing where he’d struck. She whimpered. She was out of her mind with need now; she was desperate. She clawed at the furs as he then put his mouth on her ass, kissing it gently.

“Spread your legs.”

She did and he licked her from the rosebud of her ass to her cunt. She dug her nails into the furs so she wouldn’t grab his head and push him into her cunt.

“Please, please, please,” she babbled over and over again.

“Get into the middle of the bed,” he told her with one last lick.

She scooted back, wincing only slightly from her sore bottom. She glanced at Jon and noticed the look of concern that passed over his face.

“How do you want me, my King?” she asked, letting him know this way that she was fine. That she loved this and needed this so badly.

“On your back, push your tits together.”

He crawled over her straddling her chest, and spit into the valley of her breasts. She spread his spit down between her breasts, making the passage slick for his cock. He laid his cock at the bottom of her pushed together breasts and thrust forward. He fucked her tits hard and fast, groaning, and Sansa rubbed her legs together, seeking some kind of relief.

While he fucked her tits, he reached behind him and teased her folds with his fingers. She lifted her hips and he pinched her clit, causing her to cry out for more.

He moved off of her, and she begged again. If she didn’t peak soon she was going to fall to pieces, she needed it so very badly…

“On your knees, whore,” he ordered her.

Whimpering, she got on her knees and spread her legs just as he liked, pushing her face into the furs.

He put his cock at her entrance and Sansa held her breath and shut her eyes, willing him to fill her. Please, please, please, she begged in her mind.

He slammed inside her and she cried out, grabbing at the furs as he set a brutal pace. His hands dug into her hips and she knew he’d leave marks there. He usually did. A reminder of who she belonged to.

“Cum!” he shouted.

And she did, crying out, with tears rolling down her cheeks, so thankful for the sweet release. She shut her eyes, dizzy, as her peak washed over her, causing her legs to tremble, and her body to quake.

Still, Jon pounded inside her, seeking his own release. “You’re mine, Sansa,” he grunted. “My whore. My Queen. My woman.”

“Yes,” she said weakly.

“Yes, what!” he shouted.

“Yes, my King, my sweet King, my lovely King…”

She felt him press against her nub with his finger and her eyes widened. She couldn’t possibly peak again, but she knew that he was going to make her. She shut her eyes, feeling that familiar tension build as he rubbed her again and again.

She cried out hoarsely when she peaked again. Jon roared, holding himself inside her as he emptied his seed. Sansa’s legs gave way and she collapsed against the bed, taking Jon with her so that he fell against her back, bracing himself on his arms so she didn’t take the full force of him.

He pulled out of her and she whimpered. He fell to the side, facing her. He was panting, and she could see the sweat on his forehead and chest. She was boneless against the bed, unable to move. But that was fine. Jon did the work this time. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and then finally her mouth. He kissed her lovingly, passionately, and greedily.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Gods, I love you, Sansa. My Queen.”

“Your whore,” she teased.

“No, not now. You’re my Queen.”

She smiled tiredly. When the game was over, he refused to refer to her as such. And she loved him all the more for it.

“Did I hurt you at all?” he asked her tenderly, as he ran a hand down her back.

“No,” she said. “I loved it all. You know I do.”

“I saw you wince,” he said. “You know I don’t want to hurt you, sweet girl.” He groaned and kissed her. “Gods, you drive me mad. You consume me…”

She kissed him and ran her fingertips along the side of his face. “Perhaps you could put oil on my bum?”

He nodded. “Happily. Whatever you need.”

Sansa snuggled into the furs as Jon got up to grab the oil and tend to her. She smiled happily, contentedly. And sated.

For now.