
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5888686.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Petyr_Baelish/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Petyr_Baelish, Sansa_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Prompt_Fic, One_Shot_Collection, Age_Difference, Uncle-Niece
      Relationship, Pre-Teen_Sansa, Dubious_Consent, Older_Man/Younger_Woman,
      Molestation, Teacher-Student_Relationship, Pseudo-Incest, Oral_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-03 Updated: 2016-03-27 Chapters: 5/? Words: 4531
****** One Shots - Prompts ******
by itsallhushhush
Summary
     A collection of short Petyr/Sansa fics based on prompts.
***** Cemetery *****
Sansa went to pay tribute to her mother.
Petyr went to comfort her. 
                                      ---
                                        
Fallen leaves and dried twigs crunch beneath their feet as they walk along a
cobblestone pathway. Eve has set in, with a heavy fog that hangs in the air.
The lantern he’s holding glows yellow, lighting their way. 
His eyes flick across headstones in varying shapes and sizes as they continue
to make their way along the path. It would bother most—to walk among a cemetery
this late at night—but he’s un-phased. Death has never bothered him. If
anything, it meant he was that much closer to getting what he wanted. Death was
opportunity.
It isn’t long before a large building, carved from stone, enters their sight.
Two large pillars frame the doorway with the house name Tully carved into the
stone above it.
Entering the mausoleum his boots clack along the floor echoing in the dead
silence. He places the lantern on one of the many tombs and Sansa’s form floats
passed him, nearly silent on her feet.
She stands, gazing down at her mother’s tomb, clutching roses in her hands.
Placing the roses atop the stone casket, Petyr can’t help think what a morbid
sentiment it is—to cut flowers from their essence, only to bring them to a
grave where they will wither and die in vain.
On his death bed there will be no such nonsense—only gold and jewels will adorn
his grave.
“You’re bleeding, Lady Sansa,” he whispers over her shoulder. He can see where
the rose thorns have pierced her delicate skin and he must resist the urge to
pull her fingers to his mouth and kiss the crimson away.
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” she says softly, her tone laden with
melancholy.
“Nor can I,” he says in return, but he has mourned Catelyn long ago—long before
her death. “But such is life, sweetling,” he says, turning her to face him now,
her sad blue eyes so fetching in the dim glow of the lantern. “We must learn to
accept the things we cannot change.”
He pulls a white silk cloth from his pocket and carefully cleans the blood from
her hands.
“You are a part of her,” he says, his gaze meeting with hers, “and while you
live, she lives on as well.”
“I am nothing like my mother, she was so strong,” Sansa says wistfully.
Petyr smiles gently and reaches up to take her face in his hands, thumbs
resting against the line of her jaw. “Sweet child, you are right. You are
nothing like your mother,” he says and her expression saddens further. “You are
so much more than she could ever be.”
She looks up at him then, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
“And your beauty,” he whispers, looking from her eyes to her soft lips, “is
beyond compare.”
He leans in then, his mouth ghosting so close to hers that he can nearly taste
her skin.
“Petyr,” she says softly, “You shouldn’t.”
“Why?” He speaks against her lips, waiting for a fair reason not to.
“What if Aunt Lysa finds out?”
That is not a fair reason.
He smiles then. A wicked knowing smile, as her hesitation is not from
disinterest, but from the fear of being found out.
“Do not worry, sweet child, for the dead cannot tell secrets.”
And he presses his lips to hers.
***** Taste *****
I write my name on the blackboard and turn to face the group of teenage girls
who are looking my way—all eyes on me, just as I like. I can’t help but smirk.
“I’m Mr. Baelish, and I will be your substitute today,” I tell them as I walk
back to the desk at the front of the room—my throne of authority for the day. I
can’t deny that I enjoy it.
I stand by the desk and flip over the notes given by their teacher. “Seems
you’ll be reading in your books today. Chapters 10 through to 12,” I say and
they respond with a number of exasperated whines. Such spoiled little brats. I
could surely give them something to whine about.
As they reluctantly open their books and begin to read I take my place behind
the desk. Glancing over a classroom of perfectly uniformed students, my
wandering attention stops on a girl with milky white skin and fiery red hair. I
grin to myself.
I don’t even try to hide the fact that I’m staring at her and I’m sure I look
like a hungry wolf eyeing up a soft little rabbit.
My attention travels down to her stockings that come just below her knee and
the length of her legs makes her pleated skirt seems obscenely short. I stare
at the exposed skin of her thigh and my fingers are practically aching to touch
her. That smooth, soft, young skin.
She shifts in her seat and, to my delight, I get a quick peek at the white
cotton panties she wears beneath her skirt. I quirk a brow, and can’t help but
wonder what loveliness lies beneath that thin white fabric. She’s old enough to
have pubic hair, but I doubt she’s old enough to rid herself of it—to shave, or
wax, or whatever it is women do to please the fickle men in their lives. I
absentmindedly lick my lips at the thought of the tawny curls between her legs.
I wonder if her friends tease her and call her names like fire crotch. Girls
can be so mean, but I could mend the humiliation of their words.
I could ask her to stay behind after the bell rings. I could tell her I found a
problem with her homework. Whatever I needed to do to make her stay. I would
lock the door for her sake only, as I relish in the thought of being caught
with her. I wonder if she would dutifully do what I ask, or would I have to
persuade her with an authoritative tone to my voice. If she knew what I was
after, what I wanted—just a taste—she would surely go along with my plan.
Could I convince her to sit on my desk before me? To pull up her skirt and show
me her panties? I would take in the sight of her—surely my cock would be
getting hard by this point—and would let my hands glide over her stockings and
up her pale thighs. Pushing her legs apart I would lean in and press my nose to
the soft cotton and inhale her forbidden scent.
I wonder if she’s touched herself before. If her hand has ever found its way
between her legs to explore. Has she ever been so turn on that her panties have
been soaking wet? Or is she completely oblivious to the pleasure she can feel?
The thought of her inexperience makes me want her that much more.
I know I wouldn’t be able to wait, if I had her in front of me like that. I
would pull her panties off, throwing them to the floor. I know I couldn’t be
slow; I couldn’t wait for her to adjust to what was happening, I would need to
taste her.
I would push her legs further apart, and her breath would hitch as I lean in
and press my mouth to her cunt. The trill of knowing I was the first to have
her like this would cause me to be hasty. I would want to devour her. I would
keep hold of her thighs and only use my mouth—my tongue licking between her
soft lips, drinking in her sweetness.
Her breath would quicken as I continue working my mouth over her virgin cunt,
and a soft moan would fall from her lips when my tongue finds her clit—such a
delicate little thing. Her hands would find my hair, fingers raking into the
graying curls, and it would be a show of encouragement—to keep up what I’m
doing, that my mouth is what she wants.
It wouldn’t take long for her body to begin to tremble, for her breathing to
quicken, and the moans to come louder. I would think how wicked it must look,
my head between her thighs, fucking her with my tongue.
And when she finally came I would savour every second of her taste, of the way
her body stiffens and her thighs tremble, of the way my name—Mr. Baelish—would
fall from her lips.
It would be such of lovely, wicked thing.
I’m brought back to my senses as the class bell rings and I watch her stand and
gather her things. As she’s about to walk out the door I call out to her.
“Sansa,” I say, and she stops in her tracks, blue eyes fixing on me.
“Tell your parents I said hello,” I say.
“Of course I will,” she replies with a smile.
And I grin as she walks out the door.
***** Heiress *****
Chapter Summary
     This is the most historically inaccurate portrayal of an Heiress
     ever! I just wrote it as flouncy as possible!
I was the only child of a king, and heiress to the throne. And at thirteen
years, before the first bleed of womanhood, my father had made plans for me to
wed. I thought it too soon, as I still felt a child in every sense of the word.
But I was not to contest my father’s wishes, for I was just a girl and he was
king.
When father had made the announcement, that I was in need of a suitor, men of
wealth and nobility came to the castle from far off places to vie for my hand.
A lavish affair was thrown in my honour, with lords and ladies dressed in their
most beautiful fashions and adorned with their finest jewels. There was music
and dancing, wine flowed like water, and the food exquisite--with my favourite
being the trays of sweet cakes and pastries.
For most of the night I had been sat upon an ornate throne, plush velvet
cushions beneath my bottom, as my potential suitors approached to kiss my hand
and offer their name. I had smiled sweetly at each and every man—many of whom
were old enough to be my father—all the while wondering nervously which of
these men may be my future consort.
I had thought to be done of all receptions until a svelte man approached to
take my hand. He was immaculately dressed from head to foot with a double-
breast waistcoat and an elegant cravat that was affixed to his collar with a
mockingbird pin. As he greeted me with his name and pressed his lips to my
hand, I noticed the many rings, which decorated his fingers. I did not know of
this man’s wealth, but I would have guessed him the wealthiest of all and,
perhaps, the most handsome as well.
“It is but an honour to meet you, Princess Sansa.” He addressed me with regard,
as no other man had the entire night, which caused a genuine smile to become my
lips.
“Would it be so bold of me as to ask your highness for a dance?” He proposed
with a quirk of his mouth.
I smiled at his request. “It would not be bold at all, as I have been waiting
to be asked all eve,” I explained with a frustrated tone.
“One as lovely as our Princess should never be kept waiting,” he said as a grin
played across his face.
Offering his hand to me I took it post haste as he lead me onto the gallery
floor. He was a man of short stature, my height not far from his own, but it
made dancing with him all that much easier. I loved to dance and twirl about
the floor and it seemed he shared my sentiment as he was very knowledgeable
about the proper footwork of each dance.
“Would my Princess enjoy some fresh air?” He asked after a length on the dance
floor.
“Yes my Lord, shall we take a stroll through the gardens?” I suggested, as it
was one of my most favourite places to be.
“The gardens it is,” he agreed and with my hand in his, he led me from the
ballroom out into the gardens and the cool relief of the evening air.
We had walked in silence for a length of time, the music from the ballroom
growing faint, as we followed a path along the rose hedges.
“Is my Princess anxious to be wed?” He wondered aloud as we strolled alongside
one another.
“My Lord would not be wrong to assume such a thing,” I conceded, admitting the
truth to a man I had barely met, but whose company I would enjoy to keep.
“Who do you suppose the King will choose for his daughter's hand?” He asked,
but I had not a notion of whom my father had in mind.
“I suppose whomever he deems worthy,” I said, for I knew my wishes would not be
taken into account.
Lord Baelish stopped then to harvest a single rose from the hedge, which he
offered to me with a smile. I accepted it, bringing the crimson petals to my
nose, and breathed in its delicate scent.
“And if given the choice, whom would the Princess choose to wed?”
I looked at him, his grey-green eyes peering back at me and I reflected on his
question. I already knew my answer, for it was stood in front of me.
“Perhaps she would choose you, my Lord,” I confessed and felt the warmth of a
blush find my cheeks. I never knew myself to be so bold.
“Might I tell my Princess a secret?” He asked, his voice becoming hushed.
“Please do,” I said, my tone lowering to match his, as I revelled in the
thought of sharing something clandestine.
He moved toward me then, his hands coming up to my shoulders, and he leaned in
so that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. I shivered at the
feeling as he whispered to my ear.
“I would have her choose me too.”
***** Breathless *****
Chapter Summary
     I couldn't sleep. So I wrote this.
Five
She deft on her feet as she runs through the tall grass as fast as she possibly
can. He's catching up to her, she knows, as his legs are much longer and he can
run much faster. And she must be careful not to fall, for her mother would
scold her if she ruined her new dress.
Her laughter is like a birdsong, sweet and melodic. And she shrieks when he
finally catches her, his hands grabbing around her tiny waist.
Picking her up he twirls her round and round until she's breathless from
laughing and just a little dizzy.
She wraps her arms around his neck, holding on tight as he carries her through
the field of tall grass. Both tired from their innocent game.
“Do you love me Uncle Petyr?” She asks as she rests her head on his shoulder.
He smiles. “Of course I do.”

Eighteen
His mouth touches her skin and her eyes close at the feeling. His touch is sure
and careful and it elicits a fire within her that has yearned to burn for so
long.
His deft mouth and skilled hands make her writhe with pleasure until she's
breathless and gasping. And she feels just a little dizzy.
Once inside her, she pulls him close, their naked bodies pressing together,
fingertips digging into yielding skin. She would stay this way forever, if she
could.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, their mouths come together once again. And
they're both tired from a game that is no longer innocent.
“Do you love me Petyr?” She asks in a whisper against his cheek.
He smiles. “Of course I do.”
***** Birthday *****
Chapter Summary
     This fic is not for the morally sound. You have been warned!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
There was nothing Sansa loved more than the chance to dress up, and the moment
the invitation arrived in the letterbox, for the entire Stark household to
attend her Uncle Petyr's birthday party, she had began planning exactly what
she would wear.
Even as a girl of eleven years, she was meticulous about her appearance, and
enjoyed being looked upon as proper, which was a stark difference to her
younger sister Arya who cared much more about chasing after stray cats than
about how she looked. Their mother often fought with her younger sister to wear
dresses, and with the upcoming formal occasion things would be no different.
                                      ---
When the day finally arrived Sansa dressed herself in a beautiful mint green
dress, a dress with a thin layer of tulle and lace hemming that she had only
worn once before, but felt an adult’s birthday party was the perfect time to
wear it again. Her shoes were pearly white flats, and she adorned herself with
a dainty gold necklace with an ‘S’ charm that her parents had gotten her for
her own birthday a number of years ago. Pleased with how she looked, she smiled
at herself in the mirror before hurrying downstairs to leave.
Her Aunt Lysa spared no expense for the party, and the estate was lavishly
decorated. The guests were all so beautifully dressed as well, and Sansa felt
as if she were attending a wedding rather than a simple birthday party.
“Such a pretty girl in a pretty dress,” she heard someone from behind her
speak, and she blushed before turning around to see her Uncle Petyr. He was
standing there in a perfectly fitted navy suit and matching tie, with a grin on
his lips that make Sansa blush even further.
“Thank you,” she returned, looking away bashfully from her complimenter.
“Did you pick this dress yourself?”
“I did,” she said, instinctively smoothing her hands over the skirt to make
sure she looked her best.
“It's perfect for the occasion,” he said, smiling.
Sansa smiled, practically beamed, in return, as she had put so much thought
into her attire and was elated that someone noticed her efforts—especially her
Uncle Petyr.
                                      ---
With the party being a formal affair there was a three-course dinner and for
dessert everyone got their own miniature cake to enjoy. The adults also got
treated to wine, as there were a number of bottles of red and white at each
table.
As the evening drew on it was easy to tell many had partook in the free
beverage, as the room was filled with much more chatter and laughter than there
had been before. And after the dinner had finished, the dining hall open up to
the warmth of the outside evening where there was music and dancing.
Having drank too much sweet lemon tea, Sansa made her way back inside in search
of a bathroom, where she did her business and then studied herself in the full
length mirror to make sure she still looked presentable.
Outside the bathroom her Aunt Lysa’s fluffy grey cat crossed in front of her
and, in her attempt to pet the thing, she followed it down the hallway and
further away from the party. She thought a moment that she was being just like
Arya, chasing after a cat, but in her defense at least it wasn't a stray.
Coming to the end of the hallway the cat sauntered into a room with its lights
on and Sansa continued to follow. Though, she stopped just inside the door when
she noticed a man sitting at a desk, and she quickly realized that it was her
Uncle Petyr. 
On the desk before him were two lines of white power and, with a rolled up note
held to his nose, he proceeded to sniff the entirety of one line, and then
after a few seconds he sniffed the other as well. He sat up, sniffing, and
rubbing at his nose, and when he finally turned in his leather business chair,
about to stand, he saw Sansa standing there watching him.
He stared at her a moment, and Sansa was unsure of his gaze. She thought
perhaps she was going to be in trouble for having left the party and walking in
on him, but then the corner of his mouth pulled up into a grin.
“What...what was that powder?” She asked, her brows furrowing.
“Allergy medicine. I'm allergic to the cat,” he replied, sniffing his nose once
again and swiveling slightly in his chair.
“Really?” She had never seen anyone take medicine that way before.
Petyr smiled. “Why would I lie?”
Sansa shrugged and stepped further into the room. “You're not at your party.”
“And neither are you,” he informed with a smirk. Though, it wasn't her party
and her absence wouldn't be noticed like his would.
“Did you get all the gifts you wanted for your birthday?” She wondered aloud,
as she looked at the man who was staring at her intently.
“Mmm...almost everything.”
“What didn't you get?” She asked, innocently, and she was standing near enough
to him that she could see how large his pupils were, making his eyes look
almost black.
He smiled at her then, leaning forward in his chair. “I thought maybe I would
get a kiss from a pretty girl in green dress, but I didn't.”
She looked down at the soft green colour of her dress and felt her cheeks tinge
pink. He was talking about her.
“Do you think maybe the pretty girl in the green dress was waiting for a few
minutes alone with her uncle to give him that gift?” He questioned and Sansa
felt her blush grow even deeper—surely her cheeks were completely red.
She felt it hard to look up at him then, as she knew his piercing eyes were on
her. If she was to be completely honest, she had thought of such a thing
before—a quick peck of her lips to his cheek—as she secretly harboured a small
crush on the man she called her uncle.
He raised his brows at her as if waiting for an answer and then slowly she
stepped closer to him. When she was merely a step away, their shoes almost
touching, she hesitated a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick
kiss to Petyr's cheek.
He grinned and she was blushing once again. “Can I give you one?”
She smiled, feeling almost giddy from his question, never having imagined he
would ask such a thing, and she turned her cheek toward him. But instead of
feeling his lips touch her cheek she felt his fingers touch to her chin,
turning her head toward him, so she was looking him in the eye.
“I thought maybe I could kiss you…here.” His finger grazed her lips.
Sansa looked at him, with her big blue eyes wide, and while she was unsure of
his request, she felt a twist of conflicting excitement in her belly. But,
after a moment, she let herself nod.
Petyr smirked then, his eyes dark, and as he leaned forward she let her eyes
fall shut. She was expecting just a quick peck of his lips, but instead what
she felt were his lips, wet and parted, as they connected with hers. It was not
a quick peck at all and when his lips began to move against hers she pulled
back, surprised by the contact.
Sansa took a tentative step backwards. “I should go back to the party,” she
said, and when she took another step back, Petyr caught hold of her arm,
keeping her from going any further.
“Or you could stay here…with me,” he said, raising a brow, not yet letting go
of her arm.
He wanted her to stay with him on his birthday. There was a room full of people
that were there to see him, but he wanted to see her. She smiled at the
realization.
He pulled her closer and leaned forward with a bit of a smile on his lips. “I
want you to tell me a secret,” he whispered.
She felt her heart begin to race with how near he was to her again. She could
smell the spicy musk of his cologne. “What kind of secret?”
He was so close that if he wanted to he could easily press his lips to hers
again, but instead he leaned in so that his mouth was mere inches from her ear.
“Tell me Sansa, do you ever touch yourself…between your legs?”
The blush crept back into her cheeks at such a query.
“Don’t be shy, I promise not to tell.”
Sansa thought about the question, thought about the times alone in her room
when she’d let her hand sneak between her legs. Her nimble fingers would
explore until she was breathy and her body tingled all over. “I have,” she
admitted, though felt guilty in saying so, as if she knew touching herself was
something she shouldn’t have done.
His nose grazed against her cheek. “Mmm…did you like it?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice so low it was barely audible.
Then suddenly, Petyr’s hand gently grasped her inner thigh and goosebumps
exploded over her skin. She knew that she should step back away from his touch,
that her uncle should not have his hand there, but she couldn’t make herself
move. His breath was hot against her ear, and she fidgeted when his hand came
up to press between her legs.
“Uncle Petyr you—“
“Shh…it will be our secret,” he spoke into her ear, as he began to stroke his
fingers over the cotton of her panties.
Standing perfectly still, she couldn’t help the confused-excited feeling that
rose up inside her, as his fingers moved slowly over the thin cotton fabric.
She knew it was shameful to touch herself in such a way, so surely it must have
been more shameful that she allowed her uncle to do the same—and even more so
that the touch thrilled her like it did.
He pushed her panties to the side and felt the perfectly smooth, warm skin that
lay beneath. And she gasped when he slid a single digit between the slightly
wet lips. “Such a soft little cunt,” he whispered, his lips skimming across the
skin just below her ear.
Her breathing quickened as his finger discovered her, and she couldn’t help but
whimper when he stroked over a sensitive point that made the entire area
between her legs tingle with pleasure. “The sweet spot,” he said, and Sansa
shivered at the sound of his voice, dark and husky as he spoke to her.
“Sansa, where are you?” She startled as she heard the voice of her younger
sister Arya, coming from down the hall.
“Remember, our secret,” Petyr said, righting her underwear, his touch suddenly
gone.
Sansa nodded quickly, her heart beating wildly in her chest, as the thought of
only a moment longer and she may have been caught with her uncle’s hand beneath
her dress.
Just as she was about to turn and leave, she watched Petyr, with wide
disbelieving eyes, as he brought the finger, he had touched her with, to his
mouth and licked the wetness from it.
Petyr smirked.
And Sansa hurried from the room.
Chapter End Notes
     Prompt List:
     cemetery (complete)
     taste (complete)
     heir (complete)
     breathless (complete)
     birthday (complete)
     wicked
     flexible
     secret
     chocolate
     beads
     darkness
     creative
     fire
     snow
     pregnant/pregnancy
     leather
     chess
     old
     I'm not taking any more prompt requests for now!
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