A Dragon's Lullaby

A Dragon's Lullaby

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Synopsis: Aemond’s fury is a challenge to contain, but it withers beneath the touch of his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), pov first person (reader), foul language, hotd s2 spoilers, s2x06 inspired, dark/soft Aemond, SMUT, titty sucking, angst, fingering, fluff, feet, p in v, bath sex, oral (fem receiving), orgasms, slight voyeurism

Song: Made of Gold - Ibeyi, Pa Salieu

a/n: Inspired by this. His expression in this scene is everythiiing

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @hoosbandewan]

[divider @targaryen-dynasty]

The chamber doors slammed shut, jarring me from my needlework.

Aemond erupted into the room, his voice a venomous hiss that chilled me to the bone.

“Cravens. Lickspittles.” The words ripped from his throat with a guttural growl, filling the apartment with lethal fury, instilling a deep sense of unease in my gut, as he paced the room like a caged beast, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “A nest of fucking vipers.” His features were warped with hatred, his eye sparking rage and his scar appeared to burn hot red in his skin. 

I set my needlework aside, bracing myself for the inevitable storm. 

My husband had grown increasingly volatile of late. Temperamental. Volcanic, ever at the brink of eruption. Long convinced that his knowledge of history, swordsmanship, and his ancestral ties to Valyria of old – that was his dragon – destined him for the crown, he chafed under the regency. Yet, with the weight of governance upon him, I’d realized these qualities hardly made for a wise ruler. 

Aemond was tyrannical, impulsive, and possessed a relentless thirst for vengeance I’d thought long sated, but now burned fiercer than ever.

I’d learned to tread carefully, supporting him rather than opposing him. Questions were rare, acquiescence plentiful, regardless of my true feelings.

“The Lannisters,” he snarled, hurling a crumpled piece of parchment into the fire. “Balls deep in their lions and their gold that they believe they can command me.” His eye blazed with ire. “Me!” His voice was a startling growl, and I schooled my racing heart.

Adopting my role as the submissive, doting wife, I folded my hands in my lap and eased reverence into my gaze, “That was their first mistake,” I offered, feigning confidence, as though I had the briefest idea of what they had done.

Crossing Aemond was a path none would willingly tread, though the Lannisters were hardly known to be the brightest of the noble houses in the realm.

“They mock me,” he snapped. “My word is law.”

“And they’d be wise to abide by them,” I replied. 

“I tire of being compared with my father,” he spat. “The man was weak. Pliable.”

“You are his opposite, Your Grace.”

“Mother believes she can mind me like a puppet, as she did Aegon. She clings to what little power remains to her.” He stilled, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. “I sense her heart still lies with Rhaenyra.” All of his thoughts materialized into words like a surging flood. “I can no longer trust her counsel,” he said. “So, I dismissed her.”

A mistake, I feared. “I’m sure it was a wise decision, Your Grace.”

“Cole addles me,” Aemond proceeded. “The man, once so commanding and fierce, now carved out into a pitiful husk.” He started through the room again. “Aegon was a fool to name him Hand.”

“You are the Prince Regent, Your Grace,” I voiced softly. “You may name a new one as you wish.”

With his rant, his tempest began to subside. The honeyed tone I knew so well sank back into his voice and replaced his rage. His pacing ceased, and his anxious fingers relaxed at his sides, before he sank into his chair beside me.

“The Lannister coward wish me to fly out to the Tooth to secure their safe passage to Harrenhal,” he spat, his fingers twisting together, venom seeping back into his voice, “’With haste’, he says!”

I stood, my voice steady. “Your regency is green, Your Grace, and your subjects forgetful of their places.” 

Aemond’s hands gripped the arm rests, his whole body contracting beneath his leathers in readied ambush. 

“It is your duty to remind them,” I continued, rounding his chair, my hands settling on his shoulders. He was rigid beneath my touch, his muscles bulging with tension. 

He glanced over his shoulder, his eye a mix of softness and lethal intent. “You are correct,” he said, his fingers tightening around the hilt of Blackfyre. “A public execution would persuade them.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, and my grip on his shoulders tightened instinctively. 

“Perhaps a less bloodied approach, my love,” I suggested, coating my words in honey. “Escalating the mislike of the smallfolk would be unwise,” I said, willing my touch to send a calming current into his bones. “We cannot risk provoking the hungry masses.”

“I do not wish to be liked,” he hissed, his voice laced with malice. “I wish to be feared.”

Yet, when I leaned down over him, wrapping my arms over his chest, nuzzling my face into his cheek, he unraveled in my embrace, melting like wax exposed to flame. 

A deep exhale of relief escaped his lips, as though my touch pulled the string of tension from his muscles like cloth, a deep satisfied hum reverberating in his chest. All of his anger disintegrated into dust, and he leaned into me, closing his eye, his face pressing against mine, his delicious heat seeping into my skin.

I breathed in the scent of him. 

Musk and leather. 

I filled my senses with it, a heady intoxication.

“Husband…?” I whispered against his skin.

“Wife,” he sighed with rapture, his arm reaching up, his fingers tangling into my hair, pulling me closer. He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled. He sighed once more with entrance, his breath warm against my ear. “You smell divine,” he whispered.

His fury was a tempest, his tenderness a balm. Once crossed, he was a force to be reckoned with. 

But when he was soft… he was so very soft. 

“Thank you, husband,” I smiled. The matter of the Lannister’s defiance was as good as wind. “My maids put lavender and rose in my bath earlier.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed appreciatively. “I commend them.”

My heart swelled in my chest. In these moments, I felt a love that transcended fear. I could endure his tirades for hours if they always ended like this, with him so vulnerable, and soft, his fury crumbling under my touch, like a fortress breached. 

His complexity was a bottomless well, an endless enigma, each layer revealing a new facet of his being. A mystery I could not begin to fathom, only sit back and enjoy. I was utterly captivated, desperate to remain in his favor. His trust in me was profound, and I knew the weight of my words carried uncommon power. My devotion and loyalty were absolute. Anything he’d ask of me would be his, a fact he understood completely. 

My hair cascaded down his chest, mingling with his silver, a cosmic tapestry against the leather. I burrowed deeper into his skin, making him softer, my kisses trailing across his cheek until they met his lips, to which he groaned softly, deepening the union, his grip tightening around the back of my neck. 

The kiss was a consuming inferno, leaving me breathless and light-headed. 

“Hmm,” he hummed with delight. “Your lips alone could end this war.”

He possessed my whole heart in the palm of his hand. 

“They are your servants, Your Grace,” I whispered against his cheek. 

He chuckled low, a comforting melody, the muscles in his face plumping, his lips pursing to his contented smile. 

But the looming threat of Rhaenyra’s forces intruded on my thoughts. Despite my misgivings about the way the succession had been handled, my husband’s victory was paramount. Many believed him consumed by darkness, a prisoner of his own demons. His mother, among others, shared this bleak view. Yet, here in my arms, I held undeniable proof to the contrary. I knew in my heart that he did not need to be feared, when he was capable of such profound love. So much more than he probably knew himself. 

“Aemond,” I began, feeling his attention shift to me. “These weeks past I’ve been witnessing the plight of the smallfolk from our window-”

“You should not submit your eyes to such vile scenes,” he interrupted, snarling.

“Nevertheless,” I countered gently. “It has been impossible to turn a blind eye. Famine stalks the city. Sickness is surging. Blame is placed on those who rule over them.” His head rested heavier against me as he listened, his gaze flickering with thought. “Do not underestimate the influence of the common people,” I said.

His jaw clenched. 

“Their numbers far outstrip ours. Capable of turning the tide if discontented,” I pressed on.

A silence filled our chambers, and I sent a silent prayer to the Mother that he would be malleable enough to receive my words in the way they were intended. 

“What do you suggest?” he said finally.

I exhaled a silent breath. 

“Open the gates. Spare them imprisonment,” I replied.

“They will spread their slanders across the Crownlands,” he countered, his voice like liquid.

“But you cannot control them. A good King does not earn the love of his people through fear. Neither does he command loyalty. He must earn it. Fear breeds nothing but resentment.”

He seemed to consider my words, his expression unreadable. 

Then, he inhaled deeply, and took my hand, guiding me around his chair, pulling me into his lap.

“My wise counsellor,” he purred, his arms tightening around my waist. “You would make a formidable queen.” His lips brushed against my ear as his fingers began to trail a path down my neck, hooking into the laces of my dress, which he undid with expert grace, his arm pulling with long strokes as the laces fell out, and opened my bosom. A shiver ran down my spine and desire ignited in my blood. My breasts fell heavy, and he caught them in his hands, humming with delight. I shuddered beneath his touch, a pulse starting between my thighs. 

“Aemond,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

“Hm?” he murmured absently, his fingers already slipping beneath the delicate fabric. 

“Did you hear what I said?” I uttered, trembling.

He leaned in, his eye dark with desire. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice husky, his tongue darting out to taste the peak of my breast, softly grazing across my nipple in a hot, wet motion. 

Fog infiltrated my mind faster than I dared to acknowledge. 

He retreated slightly, and watched as my peak hardened under his subtle provocation. With practiced ease, he repeated the torment on the other breast, his gaze appraising, his eye a dark blue.

“You suggest I please the smallfolk,” he said, his voice low and sultry, lifting my heavy breast in his hand. “Though I’d much rather please my wife,” he groaned, and a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips as he took my nipple into the delicious heat of his mouth, a fierce pleasure igniting within me. I gasped, my hands instinctively cradling his head as I arched into him, keeping him latched. He released me with a wet pop, his eye gleaming with satisfaction at the pink swelling. He captured the other nipple in his mouth. A feverish heat pulsed through me, an insatiable craving consuming me. 

This nightly ritual was a torment and a salvation. He could have his hands and mouth on me for hours, days, until I was raw and throbbing, and I would still yearn for his touch, his taste, his complete possession. 

He was a poison and a cure, a fire that consumed me entirely. An addictive draught, coursing through my veins, blurring my reason. 

His hands, the weapons of a killer, ravaged my body and tore at my dress, twisting it down until my torso was exposed to his predatory gaze. They delved beneath the fabric, their touch a fiery brand igniting my skin. Hungry fingers tore at me, exploring up my thighs, setting my nerves ablaze. With a swift movement, he claimed me, switching me in his lap until my back pressed against his hard chest, my legs propped up on the edge of his seat, cradled on either side of him. His hands swept the inner curve of my thighs, a path of fire, a delicate torment reaching higher, until they found the tender juncture. His face pressed against mine, ragged breaths fanning my face. A shiver coursed through me, a strange blend of warmth and dread from the volatile energy emanating from him. His hands remained right where they were, squeezing softly, tickling gently. My gown bunched around my hips, my exposed core throbbing for his touch, pulsing with eager longing, my body yearning for the release his touch promised. 

My mind was immersed in an impossible fog, and I clawed for clarity. “Will you do me this one favor?” I panted, my breath mingling with his. 

“What is this favor?” His growl was a low rumble as his tongue wet his fingers, a slow, erotic swipe as he held my gaze, a prelude to torment, setting my blood aflame. They found my clit, dampening it in a circular dance of fire. I whined and shuddered beneath his touch, and his eye sparked with gratification. My body bucked, a helpless rhythm to his masterful control.

Senses blurred. Words tangled. Yet, I clung to the fading remnants of reason, forcing myself while he was still open to receive counsel. 

“To open the gates,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “If we cannot feed them, let them leave.”

“Hmm.” His throaty hum, a low, primal sound, vibrated through me, promising both ecstasy and torment. Goosebumps erupted down my skin. I gasped as his fingers slid downward, parting my slick lips, until they delved into me, the invasion equal agony and pleasure. I gasped, my head tilting back. 

He wrapped an arm around my chest, steadying me. “I’ll think on it,” he growled into the flesh of my neck, his teeth a fleeting brushfire on my skin. 

“Name a-,” my words dissolved as he curled his fingers up into my sweet spot. “-new Hand.” I gripped the armrests, desperately anchoring myself to reality amidst the tempest of his touch, his fingers pumping me slowly. “He was never suited,” I managed between ragged breaths.

“No more politics, my love,” he groaned, salacious noises of my pleasure filling the room. His focus, a burning intensity, was solely on me, on the spectacle of my pleasure.

And with a ragged, throaty breath, he uttered, “I want to watch you come.”

_

Water cascaded into the tub, steam licking across the water’s surface. The intoxicating blend of lavender and rose filled the apartment, a scent I’d commissioned for my husband’s return from the morning’s small council meeting. As I inhaled the sweet, warming air, my mind sought tranquility amidst the looming war. Yet, the illusion of peace shattered with the abrupt crash of heavy footsteps and a violent wrenching of the chamber door. 

Aemond stormed in, a frenzied tempest. 

“Fucking eunuch,” he hissed, raging past me, barely acknowledging my presence.  

The allure of the bath, once a soothing sanctuary, evaporated. 

Once more, his turmoil was a tempest I yearned to calm.

My mind raced as I strained to decipher the subject of his rage.

“That toad, Larys Strong,” he growled.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

“Did he truly believe I would bestow the title of Hand upon a Strong cripple such as himself?” he spat, his eye ablaze with malice. “I didn’t like the way he fucking looked at me. I’ll have his eyes out.”

“Come, Your Grace, join me,” I invited softly, swishing my hand through the water.

Aemond snarled, as if the water was poison. “I have no time for such indulgences,” he said, and with a dismissive gesture, turned to his books, his one eye scanning the pages with fierce concentration.

“It’s still warm,” I coaxed, but he paid me no mind, his focus remaining on the text.

I was not foolish enough to press his boundaries. Even though he was susceptible to my words and counsel, I understood when his wall had grown impenetrable. 

I left him to his studies, a certain comfort arising at the thought that perhaps this bath would be mine after all. I loosened my robe, letting it puddle at my feet before stepping into the inviting water. As I submerged myself, the heat seeped into my blood, tranquilizing my tense bones, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped my lips. I tipped my head back and allowed the water to filter into my hair, prickling my scalp with its alluring fingers. As I straightened, coiling the water out of my hair, I stole a glance at Aemond, who devoured the pages with predatory intensity, my nakedness seeming to hold no allure at present.

I sat up, my breasts rising above the water’s surface. I grabbed the soapy sponge and began painting my body in foam. I moved slowly, the rich lather coating my arms, my collar bones, my neck, my chest, my breasts… They became slick with it, my nipples tightening under the stimulation. 

Aemond’s gaze flickered.

As I cradled one breast, kneading and pinching the soft flesh, his nostrils flared and his eye narrowed, a predatory glint darkening its depths as if though I was his next kill, watching my cleansing ritual. Yet, he continued to feign indifference, his fingers turning the pages absently. 

A surge of triumph coursed through me and nerves danced beneath my skin. I’d captured his attention, a prize hard won. 

“Do you find something of interest?” I asked coyly, nodding towards his books. 

His jaw ticked. “More than you can imagine,” he drawled, his gaze burning me, and I knew he was not referring to the histories.

I continued my provocative play, flicking my nipples, lathering them, until they ached with longing for his mouth. 

His fingers twitched, a silent confession of his growing need. “Are you in need of assistance, my lady?” His voice, low and husky, was an enticing promise.

“I believe so,” I purred.

He shut the book and sauntered over, his approach slow and deliberate, sending the anticipation boiling within me. Kneeling behind me, he claimed the sponge, his touch a masterful blend of tenderness and command as he assumed his duties of cleansing me. Water beaded on the cloth before he inched it towards me, a cascade of soapy liquid descending upon my breasts at the clench of his delicate fingers. His hand followed, a caress that ignited a wildfire within. 

A throaty sigh escaped him, which sent heat lower.

“What of your Hand?” I purred, my voice laced with invitation. “Who will assume the duties?”

“I need someone steadfast to advance my cause,” he murmured, his gaze dark and distant. “Someone unyielding in the face of dragonfire. Someone fiercely loyal,” he drawled, his voice drifting with shifted focus. His hand came up around my throat, squeezing gently, a playful threat that sent shivers prickling my spine. It descended then, down over my collarbones, tracing a fiery trail to my breasts, and a flick of his thumb over my hardened nipple sent me into orbit. A low whimper escaped my lips. His frame loomed over me, his scent, a heady mix of leather and desire, filled my senses, intoxicating me. 

“Perhaps the candidate of choice is closer than we think,” he continued, his voice a low rumble. 

I perked up through the fog. “Enlighten me,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. His lips came down to my ear, his hot breath setting my blood on fire. His hand slipped beneath the water until his leather sleeve was submerged above his elbow. 

“You, wife,” he breathed, his voice a charged current that ignited my every nerve, further elevated by the caress of his fingers over my core. 

I scoffed, the absurdity of the notion hitting me like a cold wave. 

“Why do you laugh?” he asked, his voice velvet and steel.

“A woman as Hand?” I ridiculed. “Unheard of.”

“You are no ordinary woman,” he countered, his words a molten caress. “You are my wife. And you guide me better than anyone.”

His words washed over me, dissolving my resistance in a tide of desire. 

“Perhaps in our chambers,” I said, a hint of amusement coloring my voice. “But around a council table? Holding the second most powerful position in the realm? It is laughable.”

A dangerous silence stretched between us as he considered my words. “Nothing about you is laughable,” he finally said, his voice low and intense.  

I turned to face him, the water rippling around me. I stacked my arms on the edge of the tub, my head tilting as I studied his sharp features. 

His fingers traced patterns along my jaw, his eye filling with shimmering emotion. I smiled, reveling in the raw intensity he displayed only around me. 

“Won’t you join me, husband?” I invited. 

A dangerous glint sparked in his eye, and without a word, he stood, unclasping his doublet from his center with slow, deliberate motions of his fingers. Heat rose within me with each layer that he shed. His body was a masterpiece of muscle and sinew.

He was all smooth lines and clean edges, that anything remotely carnal felt so much more unchaste with him.

His muscles rippled beneath taut skin, a living sculpture of power. Every part of him was so incredibly hard and defined, shadows playing around each tissue.

He sank into the water opposite me, his silver hair melting in the water like liquid moonlight. 

I walked my feet up his taut stomach, up his chest, and wiggled my toes in his face playfully. He retaliated with mock ferocity, snapping at them with his teeth, his predatory gaze fixed on me, his eye alight with rare mischief. I giggled and retreated, but he captured one foot, his lips trailing soft kisses up my sole to my toes, sending a strangely pleasurable feeling through my core.

I scrunched my nose at him. “You’re filthy,” I complained with feigned revolt. 

“Indeed,” he drawled, his fingers kneading tension from my foot. A wave of pleasure washed over me, and I leaned back, sighing in contentment. His gaze was intense, his eye a fathomless blue. He knew, as always, how to soothe my soul. 

“If I asked it of you,” he began, and my breath grew shallow. “Would you take on the responsibility?”

The responsibility as Hand? 

A wave of incredulity washed over me and I wanted to laugh again, though his features were etched with such seriousness that I felt as though I would be lynched if I as much as quirked the corners of my mouth.

Anything he’d ask of me, I would do with pleasure, though a sudden reservation coiled in my gut this time. 

He had meant it in earnest. Dread sought its way around my throat.

I swallowed; my mind unable to even contemplate the weight of this looming task. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words formed.

He hummed with understanding, his eye softening and his mouth drawing up into a tender smile. “You needn’t give an answer now,” he said, placing a kiss to the bottom of my toe. “Consider it.” 

Then, he tugged on me until I straddled his lap, the water splashing onto the floors from our shifting bodies. I steadied myself on his firm chest as his hand snaked around my back, the other around my neck, pulling me into him. His desire, already throbbing and insistent, was pressing eagerly against my opening. 

“Imagining you,” he whispered against my lips. “Around the council table… At my side.” A shiver ran through me as I felt his dick pulse beneath me, and his breath shuddered on my skin. “It’s making me hard at the mere thought.” His grip tightened around the back of my neck, his fingers delving into my wet hair before he claimed my mouth, forcing my lips onto his in a clash of teeth and mess. I whimpered at the sudden collide, at the urgency of it, my body molding to his, while a heavy blend of lavender, rose, and dragon consumed my senses.

His hands came down and grabbed two handfuls of my ass and guided me onto his length. The water resisted our movements, making the intrusion slow and straining, and I sawed my bottom lip between my teeth. He filled me slowly, a throaty groan rumbling in his chest as I sank onto him, his eye locked onto the union, his lips parted in admiration. 

He seized my hips, setting a relentless pace. His muscles rippled with exertion in the most attractive way imaginable, as he forced me to fuck him, the water spraying around us. The apartment echoed with the sounds of our passion, a lascivious ambiance of violent splashes, our breathless moans, and the primal growl in his throat. 

_ 

The small council had convened hours hence when I was called upon from my chambers by the King’s Guard, my breakfast still steaming on the table. 

“The Prince Regent requests an audience, my lady,” they announced.

The lords sat huddled around the council table upon my entry, engrossed in earnest discussion. My gaze flickered briefly over Alicent’s and Cole’s empty seats. 

Aemond occupied the head of the table, his gaze distant and hostile, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“You called on me, Your Grace?” I inquired.

 “Be seated,” he commanded, his voice carrying an unfamiliar chill that sent unease coursing through me.

I moved towards the table’s end with the intention to seat myself opposite him, but halted at his disapproving hum. 

“Closer,” he insisted. 

I hesitated, confusion washing through me and the rest of the council. A tense air descended, and I swallowed, before smoothing my dress and circumnavigated the table, the empty seats beside Aemond my only two options. His eye fixed me with a venomous intensity, as though I were a mere adversary, and not his good wife whom he was buried deep inside only last night. 

Reluctantly, I claimed his mother’s old seat. 

His displeasure was palpable, but unvoiced. 

A tense silence filled the room before he broke it. “Lord Larys,” he began, with a challenging tilt to his head as his gaze ripped from me and pinned the crippled man at my side. “What has come of the summons of my grandsire back to court?”

Larys Strong shifted uneasily in his chair, the action of a man on the verge of delivering some bad tidings, and I noted that his eyes remained in their sockets. 

“My messages have been to no avail, Your Grace,” he mumbled. “Ser Otto seems preoccupied in Old Town for the time being.”

A low, contemplative “hmm,” reverberated in Aemond’s chest. “Well then,” he mused. “It seems I must consider…” His visage softened into a strangely content expression, “…other candidates.” He leaned back, propping his foot up on the edge of his chair, idly turning the king’s marble between his fingers. His gaze flickered to me, carrying a weight of unspoken intent.

“Do you have someone in mind, Your Grace?” Jasper Wylde inquired, his voice laced with curiosity.

A slow, predatory smile crept across Aemond’s features. “As it happens, I do,” he lulled as he observed me. 

Dread pulsed through me, and I shook my head at him; a silent plea for him to abandon this reckless idea died unspoken on my lips. Instead, a spark ignited in his eye, a dangerous glint promising a storm, his head nodding gently. 

“There is only one here whose counsel I trust implicitly,” he declared, his voice carrying a conviction that both warmed and terrified me in equal measure.

Lord Larys, ever the opportunist, perked up beside me. “And who might that be, Your Grace?” 

A flicker of annoyance crossed Aemond’s face. He sat up straight in his chair and pinned Lord Larys with such venom that the cripple must have abandoned all hope before Aemond even spoke. “My wife,” he pronounced, his tone final. 

A stunned silence descended upon the council as the weight of his words sunk in, and an ominous shudder coiled up my spine.

“Go on,” Aemond urged, ice in his voice. “Voice your disputes.” He dared them, his fingers resting adroitly atop the hilt of the catspaw dagger at his waist.

“Your Grace is free to choose his Hand as he sees fit,” Maester Orwyle offered, his voice carefully neutral.

“There has never been a female Hand,” Lord Larys ventured, his tone hesitant and laced with poison.

“Then it’s high time there was one,” Aemond countered, leaning closer, his voice a velvet threat.

“In these times of war and turmoil, you need a strong Hand at your side, Your Grace.”

A venomous glint sparked in Aemond’s eye. “Like you?” he sneered. “Lord Strong.”

Larys recoiled. “I would never presume, Your Grace,” he stammered. “But if duty called, I would serve you without question.”

“Lady Y/N,” Aemond’s voice, cold and deliberate, jolted me from my thoughts, sending a gnawing chill up my spine. “Should I make Lord Strong my Hand in your stead?” 

The question was a seismic shift, leaving me teetering on the precipice of disaster. 

To deny Larys was to accept the mantle of Hand myself, a role I was woefully unprepared for to be sure. To elevate Larys was to gamble the stability of the realm on a man whose loyalty was as fickle as the tide. 

The latter choice was a chasm of peril. 

I straightened in the chair, meeting my husband’s gaze. “Lord Larys is a man of expedient measures, his loyalty as fleeting as the wind,” I declared, my eyes locking with cripple’s next to me. “To name him Hand would be to plunge the realm deeper into chaos.” 

Larys returned my gaze with a venomous glare, and I understood the depth of Aemond’s earlier words. 

The way he looked upon you when crossed demanded his eyes out.

A pleased smile curved Aemond’s lips. “Then it is decided,” he said, rising from his seat. He crossed the chamber to a central plinth and selected one of the smooth marbles. Returning to me, he placed it reverently in the hollow before me, his air lingering briefly. When he sat back down, he fixed Lord Larys with an unwavering glare, his eye narrowing and his nostrils flaring with contempt. 

“You heard her, Lord Strong,” he hissed. “Off you limp.”

The cripple offered no further protest, rising with evident reluctance despite the provocation. He leaned heavily on his cane and hobbled from the room, as commanded.

“Now,” said Aemond, splaying his hands on top of the table. “Where were we?”

Remaining to Aemond’s small council were now Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, and myself. This apparent oversight did not seem to trouble my husband. If given the choice, he would likely rule alone, with me as his sole companion, a prospect I would swiftly dispute. 

Lord Wylde reported that Ser Criston had finally departed for Harrenhal with the Hightower army. Intelligence suggested Daemon’s position at Harrenhal appeared weakened, presenting a prime opportunity to strike. Moreover, Daeron, along with his dragon, was expected to join the fighting soon, and the Lannister fleet was closing in. 

“King Aegon makes slow but steady progress, Your Grace,” Maester Orwyle reported. “He grows stronger each day. He even managed to stand up for a shirt time this morn’.”

Aemond hummed thoughtfully. “A long recovery lies ahead, Grand Maester.”

Maester Orwyle dipped his head in agreement. 

“If there is nothing further, we will reconvene on the morrow, my Lords,” Aemond declared. “You are dismissed.”

We rose from our seats.

“Not you,” he said, halting me, knowing he was addressing me without having to look at him. Maester Orwyle and Lord Wylde placed their marbles back onto the platform before filing out, the heavy doors closing behind them.

I turned to him, his air exuding incontrovertible autocracy. There was something so unfamiliar about this man. He wasn’t my husband, but someone else entirely. A stranger inhabited his body, a man of iron will and cold fury. Someone that would let the world burn beneath the rage of his dragon and find it a triviality. 

I wished to pacify him. To quell the fire and take my soft husband from the ashes. If this man in black leather and silver edges would deign to let me near him.

“I understand now the burdens you carry,” I said cautiously, making my careful approach. “Surrounded as you are by a council of deceitful lords with a reluctance to serve you fully.”

His jaw ticked, a tempest of emotions raging within his eye, fury and vulnerability warring with each other. 

His father was dead, his mother ridden with guilt and misplaced allegiances, his brother burnt and broken, and his sister consumed by grief. 

He was a Targaryen, left to face the horrors of this war alone. A most terrible fate. The weight of his house rested solely on his shoulders, and violence had become his banner.

“I have it under control,” he growled, though his dancing fingers upon the stone betrayed his words. The burden upon him was a festering wound, threatening to consume him. 

“I’m sure you do,” I replied, looming over him. “But that does not mean you must stand alone.”

His eye pinned me with pure venom, sending a sharp chill coursing through my veins. But I willed myself to touch him, as I had so many times before to quiet his rage. My hand instinctively came up to his cheek, my thumb tracing the familiar scar on his cheek, and as I’d thought – this time were no different. He surrendered to my touch like a storm subsiding, his eye a deep pool, welling with the shimmer of unspoken emotion. 

“I’m always at your side,” I promised, and his hand came up to cup mine, squeezing lightly with subtle desperation, a silent acceptance of my solace. “Whatever happens,” I assured him. 

He averted his gaze, as if holding mine would cause the pool to flood.

“Sometimes,” he began, pursing his lips to the side, considering his next words for a moment. “It feels like you’re the only one who is.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” I said.

“Even so,” he said. “It would be enough for me.”

A smile crept up the corners of my lips 

My sweet Aemond.

I straddled him in his chair, and he took me into his arms, burying his chin in the crook of my neck. Once weapons of war, his hands now cradled me with a desperate tenderness. That’s how we remained for a while, his hands splaying across my back, gripping me with a possessive ferocity, as if he’d never known touch. 

He yearned to be seen, accepted, loved, flaws and all.

I returned his embrace with equal fervor, our bodies igniting in a conflagration of warmth and desire. I held him so tightly that my arms began to ache, and the heat radiating from our fusion made me perspire. 

But it was more than his body which heated me. A potent warmth radiated from him, igniting a fire deep within me. The desperation in his embrace had softened into something gentler. His hands rubbed me tenderly, his breath grew shallower, and his lips began to place soft kisses along my neck, which sent want pulsing through me.

He had solidified beneath me, his arousal pressing against my groin, demanding adjustment. Meeting his gaze, his features were no longer etched with heartbreaking peril, but had instead darkened with lust. 

I pressed myself against his erection, and he let out a rough breath, watching me with languid appreciation as my hands roamed his chest, ran up his neck, into his thick hair, and then delved into the rich fabric of his doublet. I was infatuated with every inch of him. A heady warmth emanated from him, and I was utterly consumed.

A slick heat pooled between my thighs. The insistent pressure of his arousal against my dampened undergarment, a wave of lust blurring my vision. I couldn’t resist the urge to grind against him. Our eyes met, hazy, heavy-lidded, urgent. His thumb traced my lower lip, and I didn’t hesitate to press my mouth to his. I surrendered to him, his kiss, sweet and lazy at first, then deepened into a demanding exploration of my mouth. His hand searched beneath the pool of my dress. It fisted the fabric of my undergarment and I gasped as he tore it from my hip, revealing my wetness. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth. 

My palm caressed his arousal, a reckless abandon consumed me as I stroked him. He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on my ministrations as I moved my hand up and down his length. His body throbbed beneath my hand, his breathing growing shallow and ragged.

“Perhaps we should retire to our chambers?” I whispered, a shiver of apprehension running through me as the precariousness of our position struck me with a chilling clarity.  

I was sitting astride him in the council chambers where anyone could enter. 

“What for?” he demanded, his voice a rough growl. His hands claimed my body, swiping up my abdomen, kneading and bruising with a primal force. They squeezed my breasts, his eye admiring them nearly bulging out of my dress. His mouth devoured the valley between them, his tongue and teeth an exhilarating assault. 

My breath shuddered as I watched him devour my skin with hungry kisses. Words suddenly failed me, and I was unable to articulate a reason. 

“I am the prince regent,” he growled, his words muffled against my skin. “I will fuck my wife wherever I please.” With that, he rose, sweeping his hands beneath my thighs to place me on top of the council table. 

“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his tone icy and menacing.

Lust constricted my breath as I obeyed.

His palms caressed my legs upward, his thumbs pressing into my inner thighs with a brutal intensity that unraveled me. As my legs parted, a cold draft swept across my core, and I became acutely aware of my dampness. His gaze lingered there, a mix of heat and corruption that electrified me.

He yanked me closer, his grip on the back of my neck forcing my breasts against his chest as his lips grazed my ear. 

“The Hand is dripping all over the council table,” he growled and nipped my neck. 

The sharp pain lanced my neck as his teeth grazed it. I gasped, but the discomfort transformed into a moan when his thumb found my clit. His hold tightened in my hair, pulling my head back as he lowered my dress, exposing my breasts. His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking on it, igniting a wildfire of desire that consumed me. 

His thumb traced delicate patterns over my clit, a cadent dance that sent shivers through me. His grip on my hair tightened. A deep groan reverberated in his chest and his attention shifted to my other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing and tormenting me. 

I leaned back on my hands and arched into his touch, my hips involuntarily bucking under the dance of his fingers. His mouth was a fiery brand on my skin, and I felt as though I were drowning in sensation. 

When his hands left me, I was left aching for their return. 

His gaze, dark and intense, held me captive as he grabbed my hips and jerked me to the edge of the table. My legs parted instinctively, and I was lost in a world of heightened senses. His eye followed the curve of my body, falling between my thighs, my core completely exposed to him, and he shook his head in disbelief, running his hands down my calves. 

“Fuck,” the single word, uttered with raw desire, escaped his lips. His strong arms cradled my thighs, before his mouth descended between them. 

The first hot, wet swipe of his tongue sent a violent shiver through me. A storm of sensation erupted within me as his tongue explored every inch of my damp folds. I was consumed by a primal urge, a reckless abandon that clouded my judgement. A rush of pleasure flooded me, the waves rolling stronger and stronger at every slow lap of his tongue.

My fingers tangled in his thick hair as he licked me from entrance to clit. “Oh, Gods,” I moaned, digging my hands into his silver, my blunt nails tugging at his scalp. 

My gaze skittered toward the chamber doors and my mind surged with anxiety at the prospect of someone coming through them, but I found the thought slipping from my mind when Aemond swirled his tongue over my clit before sucking gently. My eyes rolled back in my head and my hips wound beneath his mouth.

The introduction of his fingers was a spark that ignited a conflagration, a feeling of fullness descending a hazy veil over my mind and body, oil torching through my bloodstream. 

A tremor convulsed and a shuddering gasp escaped me as his tongue flicked my clit, a cadenced dance foregrounded by the insistent thrust of his fingers. Each of his strokes were a calculated torment, deep, guttural noises of satisfaction escaping him as the sweet nectar of my pleasure ran down his chin. He teased the precipice, slowing when the pressure built, igniting a desperate plea within me. 

“Please,” I breathed desperately. His fingers deepened their invasion, intensifying the fire within me. When he slowed again, panic seized me, and I clawed at his hair. Words failed me, reduced to a desperate repetition of a single syllable. “Please, please, please,” I begged. 

Finally, he answered my silent demands. His digits quickened and curled, his laps ran steady and drenched my core, until a relentless, hot pressure built. 

His gaze locked onto mine, his blue eye transformed into a storm-laden ocean. As the world narrowed to a blinding white, I cried out my final plea, his name, obscenities; before the tempest of release engulfed me, my whole body clenching and shuddering beneath him. 

In its aftermath, a languorous warmth spread through me. I trembled against the table, a puppet on invisible strings as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm. 

My body, spent and quivering, collapsed onto the cold table, my chest heaving, my eyes closing as the last waves of ecstasy rolled through me.

As the fog began to lift, I opened my eyes to find Aemond reclined in his chair, his face flushed, his lips parted from exertion, his chin glistening from my slick desire. 

He was a sight, to be sure.

His gaze, dark and rapacious, held me captive. A flicker of hunger danced in his eye, as though he was ready to eat me whole. 

“Welcome to the small council, my love,” he smirked. 

Tag list: @plovas69 @quinquinwuincy @lumerstar

Tbh I’m so disappointed

JUMPING UP AND DOWN IN JOY FOR A NEW CHAPTERRRR

I love you bambi pls don’t die 🙏🏻

The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 15 ✿:+ The Childbed is our Battlefield 

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Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, SMUT, pregnancy, oral (fem rec), masturbation (male), mention of forced abortion, NSFW themes, Sandor “my wife” Clegane, misogyny, angst, VIOLENCE emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage, 

Word Count: 5.2K 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

“Mhmmmm…” You hummed a moan as your husband's large, calloused hands gripped at the plush fat of your thighs. Forcing them open as he slowly, sensually, and above all lovingly let his lips, and his tongue dance around your cunt. It was like a slow but sloppy kiss. His eyes remained shut as he did, taking in every bit of you. 

He couldn’t help but grind his hardened cock into the mattress of the bed as he practically drank in your sweetness. You laid on your feather bed, your hair sprawled out beneath you, and your nightgown was practically undone by now. Your hand lightly tugged at his hair as he moaned into your cunt. The vibration from his deep voice sending a chill down your spine, making you arch. 

Now that you and he were together again, he couldn’t control his urges. He needed you all the time, needed your taste and your sounds. And now that you and he were wed, his devotion to your pleasure and your happiness was never more fierce. And now that there was a war, he’d very little opportunities to give it to you. 

In turn he had you in any private place or chamber he could find, at any moment he could find. 

Like right now, you were just waking up and already your husband was whispering obscenities into your ears, as his hands gripped at your plushness. You felt his hard cock pressing against your back, and you’d be lying if you hadn’t done the same. 

Waking in the morn, turning over and running your hands over your husband's body, kissing his neck gently until he stirred. Grinding your cunt against his thigh. 

“Yes,” You said in a whisper as you shut your eyes. Softly reaching your peak, “Yes, mmmhm…” Your moans only encouraged him to rock his hips harder into the mattress.

It reminded him of when he was taken in by the septon, when he’d think of you as he grinded his cock against the bedroll. How desperate he was for you. And now he had you… he was going to hold on with both hands. Specifically onto your thighs in this case. 

His grinding became more erratic as more and more of your sweetness seeped from your cunt, and your moans with it. Grasping his head with both hands, your moans got caught in your throat as you peaked finally. Releasing onto his tongue as his own release spilt into his small clothes, seeping through and coating your sheets. 

Sandor caught his breath as he rested his cheek on the inner side of your thigh. He looked at you satiated. His face is covered in your slick. 

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, looking down with half lidded eyes and a relaxed smile. His beard tickled the already sensitive skin of your inner thigh as you reached your hand down to caress his burned cheek.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Sandor buried his face into your thigh with a growl, annoyed that someone has once again intruded upon your heaven once again. It had happen often now. In truth if Sandor didn’t make it a habit to lock your door, several handmaidens and sers would have walked in on your husband taking you, or you taking him. 

You smiled upon him as you beckoned, “Yes?” 

Sandor began to climb over your body, biting and kissing up your stomach as he did. 

“It is Ser Leon, my Lady.” He shouted behind the door, as your husband's hands found your breasts. “Pardon the early hour, my Lady, but the Lord Snow has requested immediate counsel.” He said as you fighted the urge to moan as Sandor began to suck on your breasts. 

“Tell him I will be there momentarily.” You said as your hands gripped onto Sandors bareback.

“Shall I send for a handmaiden to aid you in dressing, my Lady?” Ser Leon questioned as your hips bucked into Sandors hard stomach. 

“No, I’ll manage. Thank you, Ser Leon.” You finished fighting off a moan. You took Sandors face into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “We must stop.” You whispered to him with a smirk. 

“He can’t keep taking my wife from me.” Sandor grumbled into the crook of your neck speaking of Jon and his war which has become an irritant to him. 

“No one is taking me from you.” You said as you pulled his face away from your neck, and captured his lips with yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You wanted nothing more than to do the same, wanted to take him in your mouth till he was spent, wanting to taste all of him. But alas, war was at your door and there was nary any time to fantasize of such things. 

“No they won’t,” He hummed into your lips as he absentmindedly gripped the plushness of your hips. 

“If we don’t stop I won’t be able to stop.“ You whined into his lips as his kissing did not cease for a moment. 

“My wife can do whatever she wants.” He growled into your mouth as he gripped you harder, “Anything.” 

“Sandor-“ You said breathlessly, 

“What?” He grumbled 

“We need to go- But I believe you’ve made my legs far too weak to dress on my own.” You said teasing. Sandor finally loosened his grip on you, looking into your eyes with amusement, “You tired me out so well, it’s the least you could do.” 

And so he did. As you stood in front of your mirror you watched Sandor attempted to lace your dress up. Concentrating hard on the fine lacings. And still with all his experience undoing his own armor he still had no clue how to do this.

You watched with a smile as he grew more and more frustrated by the lacings. But then suddenly- “Mmphm…” You held onto your stomach tightly. Sandor stopped fumbling with the ties of your dress, looking at your face in the mirror. He looked at you with a concerned look waiting for you to explain what had happened. You sighed “My stomach, as if it flipped in on itself.” 

“Get back into bed,” He said quickly and assertively, ready to throw you in himself. 

“No-“ You brushed him off. “It is expected of me, and I’m already late enough as it is.” You said continuing the lacing of your dress. 

“Stubborn.” He said with a huff, 

“Stubborn gets you beaten.” You said, recounting his words of advice to you back in King's Landing. 

“It did.” He said tracing with his thumb the faded scar across your top lip from when Meryn Trant slapped you with an armored glove. “But not gonna fucking ‘appen again.” He said as he cupped your jaw. 

With that you finished readying yourself, as did Sandor. As much as he’d rather stay far from any council meetings, he found it difficult to leave your side now. 

The meeting itself was dark and weary. Jon had heard news of the Army of the Dead approaching. You all now knew you had one day, one day left before the war came to you. 

You tried your best to add as much helpful commentary to the meeting as you could, however your stomachs cramping did not release at all. It was similar to what you felt in the Eyrie when Tyrion came looking for you. Your palms become sweaty from the pain, and you were unable to stand long without wincing. Your mind was so fogged from the discomfort that you didn’t hear that Tyrion had called your name not once but three times. It was only when Sansa placed a hand on your shoulder that you noticed. 

“(Y/N).” Tyrion repeated again. Your eyes snapping back to Tyrion once your attention was restored. 

“Ser Leon will stand to command the Vale archers on the castle walls, whilst Lady Brienne shall stand to command the Knights of the Vale in the name of Lady Sansa.” You said, guessing that's what he was inquiring about. 

Tyrion nodded… so it would seem you assumed right. “And what of your husband? The best fighter of the Kings Gaurd.” Tyrion said, his tone sounded like a tease. 

Before you could intervene, to say he would be doing no such thing. Sandor, who stood off to the side lines huffed, “Aye… I’ll be fighting.” He said with disdain directed towards Tyrion.

That was when your heart raced, and you felt the hot bile rise in your throat. “Excuse me.” You said under your breath as you quickly made your way out of the room. 

Sandor, who stood off with other onlookers, found it difficult to follow you with all the people in the way. Even though he did shove them you were too fast for him to see where you went. 

After you left the counsel room, you made your way with haste towards a privy. You couldn’t hold in your sickness any longer. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ 

The rest of that day was filled by you avoiding Sandor. Unwilling for him to see you as sick as you were. However, after you went to the maester he’d give you tea to calm your stomach. It worked slightly but there was still an uneasiness that lingered in your belly. With nothing else to be done, and the day slipping away, you made your way back to your chamber. 

You heated up a few small stones in the fire, wrapping them in a thick cloth as you held it against your belly whilst you laid in a chair by the fire. The heat untangled whatever knot laid in your stomach. 

Your eyes grew heavy as you watched the flames of the fire, but widened once you heard the chamber door open followed by heavy footsteps. “Is that you?” You asked, hoping it was Sandor. They didn’t say anything but you felt a large warm hand caress the top of your head. The touch itself made you feel warm and safe. “It is, I can tell.” You said as you curled into his touch, “My body- recoils at the touch of anyone else.” You relaxed, closing your eyes again. 

Sandor kneeled at your side, “Who else has touched you?” he grumbled as he caressed your cheek. 

You shook your head softly, “They’re all dead,” You said softly, “except for one.” 

“Littlefinger.” He rasped, caressing your cheek slightly tighter. Feeling the anger rise in him. 

“He’ll be dead soon.” He said softly, trying to calm him. 

“He will.” He reassured you, “I tried to find you-” 

You interrupted him, “I couldn’t stand to think of the war. I can’t think of it now.” You said as you winced. It wasn’t the whole truth but not a lie. You only didn’t wish to worry him.

“You’re ill?” He said, seeing through your veiled words. 

“My blood must be coming.” You sighed. 

“I’ll wake the fucking Maester and drag him here.” He said gruffly, 

“No, sweet man.” You said with a tired smile as you placed your hand on his cheek. Sandors mouth twitched with slight annoyance at your new name for him. “Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone.” You said as you patted his cheek, “I should sleep.” You sighed. Then your husband picked you up like a new bride as he carried you to your bed. “I can walk, Sandor.” You huffed,

“Enough of it.” He grumbled as he placed you onto your bed gently. He untied your dress off of you, removing your dress and small clothes from the day. Leaving you bare. Then he wrapped the blankets over you. 

You reached your arms out for him to join you in the bed. With a slight huff he complied after removing his own clothes. 

A slight chill came over you as he lifted the blankets as he crawled underneath them. But the chill was replaced by warmth as his warm body pressed against yours. “Hold your hands here.” You said, placing his hands against your stomach, “The warmth helps soothe it.” You said as you felt your body relax under his touch.

“I can give you more.” He said against your ear, 

You smirked “You’d not say that when the blood comes.” you teased. 

“You think blood would fucking scare me?” He said with a rasp. You’d never heard of a man and woman doing such a thing, and the thought intrigued you. It also excited you that he’d not care about such things. 

“Suppose not.” You said as you padded your pillow, “This sickness in my belly does not always come from the blood. It can come from stress. The War is coming.” You said somberly. 

“Aye.” He sighed, knowing the real stakes he was up against. 

“I know they are expecting you fight. And I know, my request to have you stay in crypts is futile. But please- everything you feel for me, as your wife-“ You felt the emotion growing in your voice. 

“I feel more for you than just a wife.” He asserted passionately.

“Do not allow yourself to be harmed.” You asserted just as passionately, “I command it.” 

He knew he could not promise you such a thing. So instead, he wrapped his arms around you tightly “Sleep now.” He said gently. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The next day you were confined to your bed. 

Upon the order of your husband who had taken every chance to bring you food, or tea, anything you might need. However he was busy, there was a war approaching and now with the sun beginning to set you knew it was coming. 

You couldn’t allow for any more time to be wasted in bed. So you called for a handmaiden to assist you in dressing.  

It was an elderly woman, pious and prudish. She’d been the one to make your beds and change your linens since you were in Winterfell. She’d often make some comments at the clear signs of coupling that were left in your sheets after you and Sandor had your fill. It amused you but irritated your Husband to no end. 

Today as she helped you dress she too could see the sickness that was afflicting you, “Are you unwell, my Lady?” She asked sweetly.

You sighed as she finished with your laces, “Stress, I should think. Always disagrees with my stomach.” She nodded as she moved to your sheets. As she undressed the beds she analyzed the sheets. This time however instead of making a remark about any clear signs of coupling she looked at the sheets with a strange look. “What is it?” You asked, looking at her over your shoulder.

“You haven’t had your blood in some time, My Lady.” She looks at you with a knowing look. 

“Perhaps it is coming.” You said turning back to the mirror, attempting to redirect your mind to anything else. “Mine tends to be late.” You said as the old maid approached you, cupping your breast with one hand, “What are you doing?” You asked with furrowed brows, hoping your Husband would walk in. 

“Your breasts have swelled.” She said looking at you with a smile. 

“Are you certain?” You asked, grasping at your own breasts, trying to see for yourself. 

“Nothing is an absolute certainty, My Lady. But I’ve had three of my own, aided in the delivery of five others.” She said as you looked down, filled with a multitude of emotions. You wanted to have a child in the Eyrie. Not in Winterfell, not in a war. But you remembered how it was taken from you before. You already felt a love growing for something that was not certain. “My Lady?” The old maid asked, worried. 

“I shall see the maester.” You nodded to her making your way to the door of your chambers. 

“Shall I accompany you?” The old maid asked excitedly. 

“No, I can see to it myself. But would you see to it my husband knows I’ve gone to see him.” You asked firmly.

She nodded and stepped closer to you, “Shall I tell the Lord it is a matter of urgency? Most husbands might not come-”

You interrupted her, “He will take the message with urgency however you say it.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

As you sat in the measter’s chambers, sitting on a table, the old maester looked upon you awkwardly. 

“My husband will be here in a moment.” You assured him. 

The measter was clearly not wanting to waste his time, “I do not mean to rush you my Lady, but we could tell him the news after we complete the evaluation-”

“My husband will throw that door open at any moment. If he were to do that and saw your hand in me, he’d quite literally take your life for it.” You said as you pointed to the door, 

And with that, the door was thrown open. “What the fuck happened?” Sandor barked as he stomped into the room, and the old maester was quite happy with his decision to wait. 

“Calm yourself.” You said with a sigh as you held a hand up to him.

“Someone touch you?” He loudly questioned. 

“It would seem so.” The measter said in some kind of jest though it only irritated Sandor as his wild and angry eyes glared at him.

“Might be nothing.” You said softly, still attempting to keep him calm. 

“For fucks sake-what the fuck happended-“ He nearly shouted, 

“I haven’t bled for some time.” You sighed. 

Sandor’s angry and untamed behavior calmed instantly. Replaced by… fear?

“Are you sure?” He asked softly as he stepped closer to you. 

“Sure I haven’t bled, yes. The other, not so much.” You said softly back to him. As if you and he were keeping your words only to one another. 

“I think it best that the Lord Clegane remains outside for this but. Most husbands do not enjoy to be in the room for the examination.” The measter said. Sandor glared at him, furious that he’d think that he’d allow his wife to undergo such a thing. 

Without further debate, the examination began. It was uncomfortable both physically and mentally. Between the pain and violation you felt from the tools that entered you and the death glare Sandor continued to give the maester while he let you grip onto his hand for any pain you felt. 

“Ah!” You winced under the pain, 

Sandor had had enough at that point, “My wife yelps like that again and I’ll-“ He barked, but you held up your hand to him, your way of telling him to stop speaking. 

The maester, slightly frightened, removed his tools from you, “The examination is never pleasant.” He said cautiously, “But the news is. She carries a babe in her.” He told Sandor with a smile. 

However his happy demeanor was not met with similar enthusiasm. You and Sandor simply stared at the maester for a moment. 

You blinked and swallowed hard, “Is it certain?” You asked. 

“Early in your term. An uncertain time. But the babe is there, with a beating heart, and is growing well. You are lucky, most newlyweds take a year to conceive. Tis’ a strong seed that has taken root, no doubt from a strong father.” The measter said with a smile. 

“Fuck off.” Sandor huffed with annoyance at his compliment. 

The maester uneasily stood, “I shall leave you both to revel in such a blessing of the Gods.” he said as he left you both. 

You looked to Sandor who could not look at you. You sighed, “In truth we hold no right to shock. We did naught to prevent it.” That was the truth, and Sandor knew that as well. “Are you unhappy?” You asked him softly. 

“I’m not made to be a father. The things I’ve done… I don’t deserve what you’re giving me.” He shook his head, still unable to look at you, as though he were ashamed of himself, “I was never meant to have this much of you.” He said as he looked at you, noticing the tears that began to form in your eyes, “Ah-fuck- I didn’t mean I don’t want it-” He began as he wrapped his arms around you. 

“I’m frightened, Sandor.” You whispered into the crook of his neck. 

He held you by your shoulders and pulled you away to look you in the eyes, “Of what?” He questioned. He’d kill anything that frightened you.

Your tears only grew, “The screams… the blood.” You said with scared and wide eyes. The tears that formed in them fell down your cheeks as you thought of your mother, “What happened t-to my- my mother-“ 

“Don’t think of it.” He interrupted you, held you tighter, wanting for those thoughts to leave you. 

“How can I not?” You sobbed, 

“It won’t happen to you.” He reassured you, his voice was dark. 

You shook your head, and furrowed your brows. Angry that he would promise such a thing, “Do not lie to me. How can you know?”

“Because I fucking said so.” He said, his eyes were wide. And his grip on your shoulders were tighter, 

As you looked into his eyes you felt safe, you felt his promise. You sniffed your emotions, “You said promises are for cunts.” You said with a slight smile as you wiped your tears. 

“Aye, and I am one.” He said, with a very slight smirk. He caressed your cheek softly. “You choose what you want, I’ll stand by you. Whatever it is.”

You thought about it for a moment. Thinking of the pain you felt when you were forced to drink the tea. Thinking of how this could be the last piece of their father after the war tonight. “I don’t think I can lose another.” You said softly. 

Sandor nodded in understanding. In truth he could not want anything more. “I can’t promise much. But I can promise I’ll try. I’ll keep you both safe.” He said gently as he petted the top of your head, “Might ‘ave a shit father but least’ they won’t be a bastard.” He jested placing a hand on your stomach. 

You smiled through your tears, “Long as you live, long as you are their father, the rest matters not.” You said sweetly and softly.  

Just as you were about to bring your husband's lips to your own, you heard the horns. 

You now after the battle of the bastards were all too familiar with their sound. The horns of war. 

“Get to the crypts, now.” He commanded you. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

You however only temporarily disobeyed your husband's wishes. Wishing to see your men off to war. 

As you walked down into the courtyard, you first found your little cousin, Arya. She smiled at you as you approached her. 

“I suspect you are refusing a place in the crypt.” You asked her with a warm smile. 

She shook her head, “There is no place for me down there. Not when I can do something up here.” 

“And I suspect even if I beg you to go below you won’t.” You asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“Good thing you aren’t a beggar.” She said a smirk. 

You petted her hair gently as you looked upon her warmly, “You were always a brave one.” 

“Like you.” She is soft. 

As you looked upon her you thought of her as a child in King's Landing. How much different she was now. “You must keep your wits about you. You are forbidden to be harmed.” You said and she chuckled, “I mean it. I cannot bear another loss.” You said with a more serious tone. 

“Fuck are you doing up here?” You heard from behind you. 

Arya smirked at you as she walked away, and you turned around to see your husband. 

You smiled up at him, “Seeing my men off.” You stepped closer to him, “And my husband.” You took his hand into your own, “Do not allow yourself to be harmed. With everything you feel for me.” You said as you reached into your dress collar, pulling out a small token. Sandor looked at you, annoyed that you were forcing such a sentimental moment on him in plain sight of all the other people around. You rolled your eyes at him, “I’m staying in the crypt as you asked me to. You can indulge me.” Sandor huffed and took the token into his hand, “I love you.” You said softly, and earnestly. 

“Aye…” He nodded. 

You huffed at his discomfort, “They’re all concerned if they are going to die out there, they do not care.” 

“I love you.” He said in a whisper to you. You smiled up at him warmly. 

Just before you could kiss him goodbye, the old maid that came into your service approached you, taking your arm in hand, “My Lady, It’s time-”

“Aye, take her before I chuck her in there.” Sandor asserted dominantly as he turned away from you and the old maid pulled you along. 

As you and she walked towards the crypts, the old maid held onto your arm tightly, “Did you receive word from the maester?” She asked. 

However before you could answer you saw your cousin approaching you with haste, “Sansa!” You shouted as you reached for her. 

She took your arm as you and the old maid made your way with haste, “The fightings already begun. Never seen anything like it.” She said breathlessly, clearly genuinely frightened. The thought of Sandor being harmed, or even in the way of harm of any kind made your stomach turn. You winced and grasped at your stomach, “Are you alright?” Sansa asked worriedly. 

You looked at both Sansa and the Old maid, finally giving in, “I’m with child.” you admitted. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

As you and your companions entered the Crypt. You were met with anything but a warm welcome. There were women and children, crying babes, and to make the situation more uncomfortable, you and Sansa’s former betrothed. 

“So-“ Tyrion began. 

“I do not wish to discuss it.” You said knowing he was going to mention your marriage. 

He looked upon you with some empathy. “Are you worried for your Husband?” He asked you earnestly. 

You absent mindedly rubbed your belly in an attempt to soothe it, and sighed. “I trust he is well. You’ve seen him fight. He’s the best fighter an army could have.” You said defensively. 

Tyrion restlessly paced the room, “Yes I am sure he is being put to great use up there. But we’re being waisted down here.” You watched him slightly amused. He would think such a thing. “If we were up there we might see something everyone else is missing. Remember the Battle of the Blackwater. I brought us to the mudgate.” Tyrion said pridefully. 

“And got that cut on your face.” A voice said, you looked over to see Varys, the Spider.

“And it made a difference.” Tyrion said, it made you roll your eyes. “If I was out there right now…”

“You’d die.”  You interrupted him,  “Listen to those sounds above us…” You said pointing above you. You could hear distant screeches and screams. “Do you really think you could do anything? There is nothing you can do.” You said with annoyance. 

“You might be surprised at the lengths I’d go to avoid joining the Army of the Dead. I could think of no organization less suited to my talents.” Tyrion jested. 

“Witty remarks won’t make a difference.” Sansa said with a smirk. “That’s why we’re down here, none of us can do anything.” She said solemnly.  

“Is it?” Varys said, “If I heard correctly, the Lady Arryn rode five thousand men into the Battle of the Bastards. I heard she fought in that war herself.” The Spider said in an almost mocking tone as he stared at you.

“She did.” Sansa said in defense of you. 

“Then why does she sit in the crypt with us useless individuals?” Varys questioned cynically. 

“Her husband has requested she stay in the crypt.” The Old Maid said. 

“She listens to a man now? Very out of character.” Tyrion said teasingly. 

“She is pregnant.” The Old Maid said, in an attempt to defend you further. However it only sucked whatever air in the room was left. 

Varys looked at you with surprise, and Tyrion stared at you with a hollow ache. 

Just then, the walls of the crypt shook. Dirt rattled off the walls as skeletal hands began to burst through them. Suddenly wights start clawing their way out of their tombs. Although the wights are old and in terrible shape, the women and children are totally unarmed.

“Move! Move! Move!” You shouted as you pushed Sansa to move. 

You pushed her behind a tomb, and soon Tyrion hid with you.  You could hear the screams of the women but you yourself were unarmed. Contemplating on how you would help them. Sansa presents you with the dragon glass that they were given by Arya. You took the Dragon Glass in hand, gripping it tightly. 

“For whatever it may be worth, even though we may all die.” Tyrion whispered, “I could think of no one better suited to be a mother.” He said sweetly as he kissed your hand. Convinced it may be the last time he’d ever see you again. 

Before you could say a word, a wight found where you and your companions were hiding. The hideous corpse lunged onto Sansa. Attempting to harm her in any way it could. 

Seeing red, you stabbed the wright with the dragon glass Sansa had given you. Driving it into the monster as many times as you could. You remembered what Ser Cole taught you. The throat, the eyes, the heart. So you went for all three, repeatedly. 

Once you were finished, breathless, you looked down at yourself, you were covered in a thick dark blood. It was a hideous sight. But it felt good. 

You then turned your attention to the other wights in the crypt. You slowly moved out from your hiding spot, you contemplated which you would take first. Though your decision would be pointless. 

What in that moment seemed for no reason, each of the wights fell. Laying motionless, as dead as they should have been. 

Each person in the crypt stayed silent, aside from the babes that cried out in fear. 

But that was all you heard. The sounds from above were muted.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

You waited as long as Tyrion or Sansa could convince you before you made your way out of the crypt. 

You were disorientated, frightened, and your adrenaline was flowing as you stumbled out of the crypts. 

Looking upon Winterfell it was unrecognizable. You could have sworn you stepped into the seven hells. There were dead, swords, fire, and blood all around you. You stepped over the bodies as best you could, but sometimes couldn’t help but step on one or more.

You did not see a living man or woman in sight. Until you saw one man stumbling around the carnage just as you were. 

“Ser Leon!” You called out. 

“My Lady!” He called back to you, he looked disheveled and bloodied. 

As you approached him, you gripped onto the collar of his armor, “Where is he? Where is my Husband?” You commanded through gritted teeth. 

“I-I do not know, My Lady-“ You pushed him away from you and began to walk on your own, “My Lady! Please we do not know for certain if it is safe out here yet-“ He called out to you as you walked away. 

“It’s no safer down there.” You groaned as you continued on. 

You walked along the death riddled battle grounds that were once your given home. Searching for your Husband. It felt like an eternity as the sun began to rise, and you saw a man. A man much taller, and larger than any other man you’d ever seen. 

“Sandor!” You shouted with relief as you used whatever strength you’d left to run to him. 

Sandor dropped his dragon glass axe to the ground, taking you into his bloodied hands, “(Y/N), the fuck happened-” He asked as he looked apun you. “You hurt? Show me-” He said, though you couldn’t. You just stared at him, so thankful he was alive. You nuzzled your face into his neck, as you began to sob. “You’re alright now, Birdie.” He said as he ran his hand over your hair. “You’re both alright.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: RSVP to the most awkward baby shower in winterfell below!!!

Also… Who’s bright idea was it to keep women and children in an underground crypt during a war against someone who could raise the dead. 

We also need to give Ser Leon a raise.

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

Beloved Tags: 

@dontfollowjuststuff @merfic @broadsdrinkwhisky  @vikingswhore0

@the-queen-of-sorrows @eddiesbongwater @not-neverland06  @symonedoesart 

@wyvernnest @bdudette @frosch-thefrog @patrick-hockstutter @vikingswhore0 @drymushroomfics @dream-a-little-nightmare

born to marry him, forced to write fanfics about him

OSCAR TULLY I WILL ALWAYS BE A FAN OF YOU

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader

+:✿ Chapter 7 ✿:+ : Blackfish

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Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister. You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his.

CW: SMUT, MDNI, P in V unprotected, Mutual masturbation, cum play (sorta), body worship, outdoor sex, fem dom (if you squint), afab reader, pining, fingering, NSFW themes, mention of non-con, misogyny, mention of violence, mention of arranged marriages, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes, mention of parental death, witch/dreamer reader.

Word Count: 7.K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You dreamt of forests and trees. Cool winds and rushing waters of a river. 

It was calming, and felt like home. 

Though soon your dream was intruded on by the sharp and awful pain in your side. Cutting through all the deep layers of sleep, and pulling you out. 

As your eyes slowly pulled themselves open, you could see you were laying in a bed. Much less luxurious than the one you laid in, in King's Landing, or on Bear Island, or even the brothel. 

The sheets were thin and the mattress was stiff. Your room was small, dark, and damp, it was obvious that you were in Castle Black. As your eyes adjusted, and you mustered the energy to sit up. As you did you saw him. 

The very squire you fell in love with. He sat nodding off to sleep in a chair by your bedside. 

“How long have you been sitting there?” You asked, your voice still hoarse from sleep. Though your voice was enough to steer him from his sleep. 

Podrick jolted awake, bolting to your side with widened eyes, “You’re awake- Is the pain terrible? I’ll call for a maester-“ He began babbling, overly concerned, his hands roaming over you, afraid to touch you. As if you’d shatter at his touch. 

You smiled at him, placing a hand on his cheek. “Leave that for now.” You said softly, your words and touch practically made him melt in your hand. You ran your fingertips along his hair, “Your hair is shorter.” You pointed out as you studied him. He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful, most sacred thing in his life, and maybe you were.

His smile was warm, and his eyes trailed over you sweetly, “You’re beautiful.” 

You scoffed as you wiped sweat from your brow. “I look like a corpse warmed over.” You whined as you sat up more. You winced at the pain from your wound. Podricks hands went to your arms, trying to support you. 

You let out a groan as you pushed the furs that covered you down, and pulled the tunic that was not yours, up. You looked at the cut, now much worse than it was before. 

You huffed and laid back in the bed, annoyed by the burden of the wound. 

“Who did this to you?” Podrick asked as he petted your hair. Even though his tone was soft you could hear anger in his voice. 

“Gold Cloaks. They attacked the Knights Watch recruits. Looking for bastards of the Kings.” You explained, your voice was breathless from the pain. 

Podrick looked down, ashamed in himself, “I should have stayed. I should have waited for you.” He said with a shake of his head. 

You smiled softly at him, taking his hand, “We’ve no time for any of that.”

“Of what?” He asked, kneeling at your side. 

“Regrets,” You said, taking his face in your hands. He held onto your wrist, “My knight.” You said sweetly, making him smile and hold back a laugh.

He leaned in and kissed your lips. He tried his best to be gentle, though he felt starved for your touch, for your lips, for your body. He needed you so desperately and you could tell by his kiss. You knew if it wasn’t for the deep cut in your side he would have ravaged you. As his lips pulled with yours, he held your face as he rested his forehead against your own,“Don’t send me away again.” He pleaded.

“It was for your own good. You served one suspect of the Kings murder and fucked the other. You would have been strung up and tortured for information you didn’t have.”

“Don’t send me away again.” He asked you, almost pleading.

You smirked, “Don’t do what I tell you.” Podrick sighed, and leaned back. He loved your defiant spirit but it made things like this difficult, “I can’t promise I won’t. And I would never lie to you.” 

Podrick smiled softly at you, as his eyes drifted down towards your wound. He frowned and sighed. “Maester said your cut had already been stitched up. When you arrived some of them had come undone. What happened?” He asked with a concerned demeanor. 

“After the attack, I fled. Fainted in a river from the pain. A woman- a brothel madam found me.” Podricks eyes went wider, You smirked as you finished your story. “She stitched me up.” 

“In a brothel?” He questioned, but you couldn’t answer before the door began to open. As it did Podrick was quick to take the fur blanket and throw it over you, attempting to protect your modesty on your behalf. It made you smile. 

A short man with dark curly hair walked into the small room. “Lady Mormont,” The man said with a respectful nod. “Podrick…” He said a bit more confused as to why he was even there. He then turned his attention back to you. “I am Jon Snow,”

You looked at Jon Snow, the son of Ned Stark. You knew that if your father was to make one man his successor it would be the blood of Ned Stark. You also knew, if your father was alive, he’d be in this small damp room already, lecturing you about how stupid it was for you to leave Bear Island alone, and for you to travel here. But above it all, you had an indescribable feeling, one that pulled you to a terrible thought. “You’re the new commander aren’t you?”

Jon looked at you confused, unsure of how you knew. “We should speak in private-”

“My father is dead.” You interrupted, catching both Podrick and Jon off guard. Jon stared at you for a moment unsure of what to say. You, despite the horrid pain, sat up. Your eyes bore into Jon’s “Isn’t he?” you questioned. 

“Aye.” Jon said with his head held low. 

You already knew. You knew the moment you saw the vision in that brothel. But now it was real. Your visions were real, and your father was dead. You felt emotion get caught in your throat. Your brows furrowed as you softly and quietly questioned, “How?” 

Podrick, hanging his head low. 

Jon began, cautiously, “He was betrayed by his men. Beyond the wall… he was attacked-”

The thought angered you worse than anything you’d ever feel, “By who?” You asked with gritted teeth. 

Jon stepped closer towards you, “A man named Rast. A man who is dead now. All the men who betrayed him are dead now.” You hang your head, your hair falls forward covering your face. You didn’t say a word. “My Lady, you are the eldest inherited living child of Jeor Mormont. Your cousin Lyanna has held your rightful position in your absence. We have sent a raven to inform her of your-”

You interrupted him. Unconcerned with succession or whatever that raven said. “Where is he?” You asked, “My father. He should be on the Island.” You said softly.

Jon thought deeply for a moment. Trying to find a delicate way of phrasing it.“There was not much of him left.”

You raised your head, revealing the tears that fell down your cheeks. “Leave me.” You commanded softly and breathlessly, “I apologize but please go.” 

Jon Nodded, turning his attention towards Podrick, “Podrick-”

“He stays.” You commanded,

Jon, though confused, didn't fight it. He left you to mourn. 

As soon as the door closed, Podrick went to you. Holding you as you cried. He petted your hair and whispered small comforts to you. 

As time went on, your breathing steadied, your cries turned to quiet sobs, and soon nothing at all. So he believed you fell asleep once more. 

Though he did not tell you, as he had no opportunity to, he sat by your bed for nearly twelve hours waiting for you to wake. So knowing you were at peace, allowed him to find his own. 

You however did not sleep. You couldn't, the pain was great, and you did not want another dream to come to you. Especially in the arms of the man you waited so long to be with again. With your head nuzzled under his chin you laid there listening to his breathing and quite snores. It was the last pleasantness you had left. Your father was dead, and mutilated. Your only friend’s heart was broken by your own hand. You were an orphan, And whatever was left of your family was more than likely furious at you for fleeing. But you’d a man who loved you, whole and as you were. One who thought you were beautiful even when you were cut up, bloodied and bruised. Without a proper wash, or pretty gown. With a sweaty brow and unmade hair. One with an even temper, and sweet disposition. It made you smile softly as he snored quietly. 

The pain however, persisted, as pain of all kinds seems to do. 

You tried your best to wiggle your way out of Podricks grip without waking him, or groaning from the pain. But Podrick was a deep sleeper, and an even deeper one when he denied himself of sleep for so long. 

When you stood from your bed, you steadied your imbalanced bare feet on the cold stone floors. You looked down at the tunic you wore, it was clearly not your own. It was far too big, fitting like a dress on you. Your pants were gone as well. They must've been too bloodied for them to leave on you. 

Though it didn’t stop you from wanting to leave that room. You need the poppy and if they didn’t give you clothes that was their own fault. You looked back to Podrick sleeping soundly on your bed before you opened your chamber to find that your chamber was hardly a chamber at all. But a room within the Maesters quarters. 

You looked around at all the books, herbs, oils, poisons, salves, and other medicines that littered the room, and its shelves. You smiled to yourself, as you looked at it all. You’d have it all to your disposal. 

You stepped into the room cautiously, hoping you wouldn’t see an old maester, or more accurately hoping he wouldn’t see you, half naked. 

But the hour was late, there was merely a single candle lit, and no Maester in sight. So you seized your opportunity. You rummaged through the bottles and pouches of herbs. 

Either you were not as quiet as you believed to be or the lack of your scent, warmth, and presence was enough to wake Podrick. As his disoriented eyes began to open, as soon as he noticed you were not cuddled up to his chest, he threw the blankets off of him and ran out of the room, only to see you standing on a ladder rummaging through bottles on a high shelf.  

Podrick let out a sigh of relief, “What are you doing?”

You didn’t look at him, still rummaging through the oils “What is that maester using?”

Podrick shook his head, not knowing the exact medicine, “Some salve he made.” His eyes softened towards you, “Are you alright?”

You ignored the question, not wishing to pull those awful feelings up again. “I need lavender, calendula, and comfrey. I’ll make a salve that’ll actually work.” You mumbled to yourself.

“You should be resting.” Podrick said, his voice sounding more frustrated. 

“Surely the Maester here must have something-” You said, still ignoring him.

“(Y/N), about your father.” He pried softly. 

You however continued to mumble, “Ghost pipe-comfrey- I can use that,” 

“(Y/N).” He said, much more frustrated.

His out of character tone startled you almost. You turned to him, “I’m sorry.” you said softly. 

He huffed, and looked down, unable to be crossed with you. As his eyes reached your gaze again he softened, “You needn’t be.” He said walking towards you, “I only worry for you.” 

You smiled down at him from the top of the ladder, “You needn’t.” You sighed, “This is how I handle pain. I’ve cried, and now I shall ignore it.” You reached out your hand towards him, which he took without hesitation, “Help me down.” you winced as you began to get down. 

“Is the pain terrible?” Podrick asked as he took you in his arms gently, picking you up slightly before setting you down. His strength aroused you, though now might not have been the time to admit it. 

“Yes. And the salve they used was mediocre.” You said as you examined the oils you picked, still wincing from the pain. 

“Ask me next time and I’ll do it.” Podrick said not wanting you to strain yourself anymore, though his words felt domineering, and you again… hated to admit it but it aroused you.

“You shouldn’t steal from the Maester.” You said as you began to mix the oils with some herbs you’d found as well. 

“You did.” Podrick said as he watched you work, in awe. It reminded him of when you stiched his hand, when you and he first met, and that aroused him. 

“I’ll be working for him soon enough.” You said dismissively as you continued. 

Podrick leaned in towards you “How did you know?” “Lord Snow did not need to tell you, for you to know. You already knew.” His eyes were direct, 

You stopped working, looking at him with some fear. Not knowing whether or not he would understand. “I saw the Wildlings cross over the wall.” You said in a whisper, leaning in closer. “My father never expressed anything other than contempt towards Wildlings to me If he were to let them in-” 

“How did you see that?” He asked with furrowed brows.

“You’ll think I’m mad.” You said looking down and getting back to work on your own medicine. 

His hands stopped yours, “I’d never think that.” He said leaning in. His tone was full of conviction. 

“Fire.” You said again in a whisper.

“Fire?” He repeated back. 

You looked at him, your eyes uncertain that he’d understand it, because you hardly did. “That brothel madam was not only a brothel madam. She was a witch. She showed me her sight. Helped me understand my own.” 

Podrick shook his head, “I don’t understand.” It was clear he was genuinely trying to understand. 

“Before the Gold Cloaks attacked, I dreamt of it. Before I found that brown horse I rode in on, I dreamt of it. That is my sight. Dreams.” You looked towards the fire in the room, “I peered into a fire, like that one there. The fire showed me Wildlings crossing the wall. That was her sight. Fire.” You said looking back at him, 

“How?” He asked again. He wished to understand you desperately, to know you fully. 

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, “But I want it to stop.”

“Why? It would seem to be an advantage.” He said, ever the optimist that he was. 

“I don’t wish for advantage. I don’t wish to be special. Or to be head of any great house. I never did.” You said as you pulled your tunic up and over your head, surprising Podrick. Though not unpleasantly. You began to apply the mixture of oils and herbs to your wound. 

Podrick attempts desperately to avert his gaze from your breasts, and look into your eyes, “What do you wish for?” 

“Once it was an adventure, to see the world and now it. But I’ve seen it and I hate it. Now I just want simplicity.” You finished applying your newly created medicine and you held your tunic back up around your neck as you looked at Podrick who was smiling at you warmly, “A house made of stone, and wood. I want to live off my own land. With a man I love.” You said as you leaned in and kissed his lips gently, as you pulled away you also pulled a small whimper from Podricks lips “I missed you. Worried for you.” 

His eyes wandered over your form, “I thought of you always. Lady Brienne was to aid me in finding you. I should have left on my own for you-” 

You shook your head, “I told you enough of that.” 

He leaned in further, “You also told me not to do what you told me to do.” He said in a more confident and seductive tone than you were used to.

“What if I told you to kiss me.” You said, and before you could smirk or amuse yourself with your own teasing, Podrick grabbed hold of your jaw, gently, still treating you as porcelain. His kiss was sloppy, and wet, but it was exciting, and made you whimper into his mouth as his tongue entered yours. 

“Get in your bed.” He said darkly, it made your belly tingle. You smiled at him with your eyes half lidded, giving him a final kiss before obeying as he said. As you got to the foot of your bed, you dropped the tunic you held onto. The sight made Podrick hiss. 

You laid on your bed, as you watched him undress. He stood in front of the end of the bed, looking down upon you as he undressed. As he climbed on top of you your hand trailed down his chest, that was now much more toned than it was before. “Beautiful-mmm” You said as he licked you, from your sternum to your neck. He kissed your lips as his hand ran up your thighs and somewhat mindlessly yet masterfully played with your cunt. As your pleasure rose, so did the tension in your belly. The tension tighten your muscles and caused that awful pain again, “Ah!” you cried out in pain, 

Podrick nearly jumped off of you, but he held your face “Are you alright? What did I do?” He asked, frightened he’d hurt you even if it were unintentional. 

“It’s this bloody cut.” you said frustrated, you said as you looked down at his hardened length.  “I’m sorry-” You felt guilty, leaving him as you did the last time you were with him. 

“Do not be.” He smiled, shaking his head, “There’s time.” He said sweetly as he petted your hair, 

You still, felt terrible, “I can take you in my hand, or-”

He shook his head again, and furrowed his brow, “I’m not going to use you.” He said sweetly, as he kissed your lips softly, “I’m still in love with you.” He whispered into your cheek as he kissed it.

“I love you.” You said back as he pulled you into his arms, 

Soon you both fell back asleep in one another's arms. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

When you awoke, Podrick was already awake. You laid against him, your head resting against his chest as his fingers played with your hair sweetly.

As you rose your head from his chest to look at him, he smiled at you and you smiled back. “I’ve never woken in your arms.” You said quietly.  

He tucked your hair behind your ear, “Did you have any dreams?” 

“Yes, though it was vague.” you said as you took his hand, began to play with his fingers. 

He asked “What was it?” It made you smile how he wanted to know, to understand. 

“A black fish lays dead. And a small boat travels down a river.” You said, stoically. You hated these dreams. Hated that you never understood them until it was too late. 

Before Podrick could try to help you decide the meaning, your door to your chamber swung open and a tall Blonde lady knight walked in with the maester. Podrick tugged your fur blanket over your exposed shoulder. “My Lady, pardon the intrusion- Seven hells.” Brienne said with an irritated huff as she averted her eyes and hastily walked away. The Maester however stayed in the doorway, watching disapprovingly as Podrick threw on his clothing frantically.

He looked back to you, as if he were asking permission to leave, to chase after Brienne and attempt to swear her to secrecy. You finding the whole situation comical nodded and he rushed past the old Maester who stood in the doorway. 

You looked over to the oldened Maester, “Who’re you?” 

The man walked into the room, “I’m the Maester here, Edmure.” He said with a judgmental gaze, “And I wouldn’t suggest coupling in your state.” He said as he walked closer to your bed.

“We didn’t.” You huffed. You wish that you did, but you didn’t.

The Maester sat on the side of your bed as he retrieved a bottle of a milky white substance from his pocket, “A man of that age, lays naked beside a naked girl, and only sleeps?” He questioned uninterestedly and unconvinced.

“That’s right.” You said equally uninterested, turning your attention to the substance that he was pouring into the spoon. “Is that milk of the poppy?”

“Sleep is the best way to heal.” Maester Edmure said as he prepared your drink at your bedside.

“I don’t wish to sleep. When I sleep I dream.” You sat sitting up, being sure to hold the furs to your bare chest.

“Yes, that is typical of sleep.” He said as if you were incompetent as he finished preparing your drink.

“I don’t like my dreams.” You said as he put the cup up to your lips, “I won’t take it.” You said turning your head away from the cup.

“You’re as stubborn as your father.” Edmure said with a frustrated but somber sigh. 

You felt a sting of sadness thinking about it. “Have you thought of grinding the poppy into a salve? It would numb the area-” You began, attempting to offer your wisdom and skill.

“It is not done.” He said, stuck in his ways of old medicine. 

You didn’t attempt to argue, not caring enough to do so. “Do I at least have clothes I can wear here?” 

“I’ll see what I can find.” He said with a nod, “Drink that.” He finished as he left the cup of milk of the poppy diluted with some tea next to your beside while he left your chamber.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

Maester Edmure did infact find some clothes for you. It was clear the clothes were old. A testament of how long it had been since a woman stayed in Castle Black. 

As you tie the strings of the corset, be careful not to tighten the strings too tightly. 

Soon Podrick poked his head into your room, making sure that you were there alone. As he poked his head in he saw you dressing yourself. He smiled as he walked in, and you turned around smiling back at him. 

Podrick came up behind you, gently wrapping his arms around your waist as he leaned in towards your ear, “What did the maester say?”

“I don’t think he likes me very much.” You said, and it made him chuckle. “I won’t be dying any time soon.” You said as you turned around, looking into his loving eyes, “What did Brienne say to you?”

“I’ve been asked to accompany her to the Riverlands, to deliver a message to Lord Brynden Tully.” He caressed your face and sighed, “I wish to stay with you. You’ve only just returned to me.” He said, clearly conflicted.

You smiled sweetly at him, “And now that we are both free we will be with one another again.” You took his hand that caressed your face, “If you are to be a knight you will, no doubt, be sent off to many more missions.” You kissed the scar that adorned his hand, “You should go.” You smiled at him sweetly, “I’ll be able to handle my own self.”

He smiled back at you, just as sweet, “Yes I know you will.”

“Go on then. You will return to me.” You said as you kissed his lips softly. 

Podrick ran his hands down your hair, “I will.” He promised. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Podrick and Brienne traveled to the Riverlands just to find that House Tully was under siege of House Lannister. 

This obviously gave Brienne the opportunity to speak with Jamie Lannister. In an attempt to allow her to speak with House Tully before the attack. As Jamie and Brienne spoke alone within a tent in the siege, Podrick stood outside.

As he stood outside the tent, an older man came up behind him and forced him into a headlock. Podrick finally was able to get himself out of it, he saw the man was Bronn, the sellsword who was also in Tyrion’s service back in King's Landing. 

“Getting too old to be a squire, aye?” Bronn teased, “Podrick fucking Payne,” He said with excitement, “I thought you’d be dead by now.” 

Podrick smirked, and stifled a laugh, “Not yet.” 

“They in there?” Bronn asked, wondering where Jaime and Brienne were.

“Mmhm.” Podrick replied, 

“You think they’re fucking?” Bronn asked with a genuineness,

“What? No.” Podrick said with a disgusted face, 

Bronn shrugged, “Why not? I’d fuck her. You’d fuck her wouldn’t you?”

Podrick shook his head, “I’m her squire.” 

“Oh. Well he’d fuck her, that’s for sure. And she’d fuck him, don’t you think? The way she looks at him.” Bronn continued on, Podrick was unamused and rolled his eyes, “Come on, you’re the one with the magic cock.” Bronn said teasingly as he grabbed hold of Podricks crotch swiftly, making Podrick groan in pain, “You must’ve shown it to her by now.”

Podrick stood straight, “I’ve my own lady, now.” He said with confidence. 

Bronn raised his eyebrows at him, “Oh? Let me guess, it’s a girl who looks a whole lot like that bear girl.” 

“She is the lady Mormont.” Podrick said pridefully,

“Is she?” Bronn questioned, and Podrick nodded his head with a smile, “Should I call you Lord Payne now?” Bronn teased.

“We’ve not wed- yet-“ Podrick stammered, almost embarrassed he hadn’t married you yet.

“But I bet your fucking ‘er.” Bronn jested with a poke at Podricks chest. 

Podrick felt a sting of anger, “She is my Lady, I do not speak about my-“

Bronn interrupted, “I’m just fuckin’ with you, Pod.” He patted him on the back, “You must be itchin’ waiting for that pretty Lord title.”

 Podrick shook his head. “I don’t care for that.” It was true, he didn’t want to be lord of anything really, and he didn’t want you simply for that either. “I’ll be a knight. Brienne is training me to fight.” He said proud of the person who was training him. 

“Is she now?” Bronn questioned,

“An hour in the morning and an hour at night. Everyday.” Podrick said smugly

“Then how come an old cunt like me can still sneak up and murder you?” Bronn jested.

“That’s a different sort of fighting.” Podrick said defensively. 

“Now that’s the truth isn’t it. You want to learn that sort of fighting?” Podrick looked at him with a smile and nodded, “Alright, alright let's start with your footwork. Show me your stance.” Podrick got in stance as Bronn approached him, “Now listen to me Pod, see how your feet are about a yard apart?” As Podrick looked at how, Bronn slapped him hard, “Lesson number one assume everyone wants to hit you. Cause they do, Pod. Everyone wants to hit a fucking squire.” Podrick bit on his bottom lip angrily, “Again, come on don’t sulk, you want to protect that pretty bear now don’t you?” 

He did.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As time had passed back at Castle Black, you were using your own concoctions of medicine. And against the old Maester’s advice you even removed the stitches on your own. You were healing much faster than you should have been.  

Maester Edmure was examining your cut, and marveling at how well you’d healed. “You have healed remarkably.” 

“Perhaps it is my own doing.” You said, knowing it would get under the old Maesters skin.

“Sleep is always the best way to heal.” He said dismissively, 

“Some say.” You said as you put your corset back on. 

This snarky comment was the last straw for the Maester, “I am a member of the Order of Maesters, I have been studying medicine since I was a boy-”

You interrupted not wanting to endure a tantrum disguised as a lecture, “I’ve no doubt you’re fine at what you do. But I have even less doubt that I am good at what I do.” You said calmly as you laced your corset. “I have seen you out of courtesy, and politeness.”

“You don’t have politeness.” The measter said in a grumble 

“The last Maester I worked for did not like me either.” You said with a sigh,

“You do not work for me.” The measter said with real annoyance.

“Well then I’ve just been stealing from you.” You said handing him a pot of a salve you’d made and had been using instead of his mediocre medicines. 

“What is this?” He asked as he sniffed the concoction. 

“A salve, made of ghost pipe, poppy, and comfrey.” You brightened a little as you explained it.

“You made this?” He asked as he looked up at you with surprise. 

“I did.” You said with a sense of pride. “Ghost pipe and poppy act in tandem to kill the pain, the comfrey works to-”

“Fight infection, I know it.” He said as he sniffed the concoction again, 

“You asked.” You shrugged, 

“I’ve not seen ghost pipe and poppy blended with one another.” He said in a veiled astonishment. 

“Neither had I.” You said, prideful. 

The measter looked at you with wide eyes, “You experiment medicines on yourself?” 

“Hardly an experiment when you know it will work.” You said with a smirk, knowing your confidence would only get on the old man's nerves. 

The measter rolled his eyes at your comment, but then looked back down the concoction you created. Noting how well it did work on you. He then begrudgingly said, “I worked under Maester Aemon for your father. He’d want you to have a place here in Castle Black. If you wish for a position you have it.” 

You smiled and crossed your arms, “I told you, I’d work for you.” You teased.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You were tidying up the old masters unorganized books as the door to the measters chambers opened. You knew who it was immediately, you didn’t need the sight to tell. A beautiful girl with bright red hair. You were a Mormont, you would know a Stark when you saw one.

“Pardon the interruption.” She said meekly, clearly uncomfortable. 

“No interruption.” You shook your head, wiping your hands of the dust from the books on the apron that you wore. 

“I attempted to have my sworn sword reach you before but it seemed you were still abed.” Sansa said, apparently not aware of what Brienne had actually seen. 

You grinned, “Yes, I believe I remember that.” you said with a nervous laugh.

“I am in need of a maester, only- I mislike old men… touching me.” She said cutting to the chase. 

You nodded, “An understandable feeling.” 

She stepped closer to you, “Do you know who I am?” she asked stoically. 

“There’s only three women in Castle Black. The most it’s ever seen. Brienne of Tarth, myself… and Sansa Stark. And I know you aren’t Brienne of Tarth.” You said in a comforting tone. 

“Do you know what happened to me?” She questioned, 

“Yes.” You nodded averting your gaze from hers out of respect. 

“What he did-“ She began, 

“You don’t need to tell me. I can tell.” You stopped her. You knew the pain of it. Did not wish for her to continue. “I’ve seen the look before.” 

“Can you help me?” She asked 

You nodded, “There's tea. If brewed correctly, will expel whatever may be affecting you.” You pulled the herbs from the shelf, and began to boil the water on top of the open fire in the room.

Sansa watched as you worked, “Is it certain?”

“I will exhaust our options. I will make certain. You will drink this tea, then we will run until our legs hurt. Together they should work certainly.” You said comfortingly “It’s bitter and ugly. Best to be drank in a swift manner.” You said as you poured the boiling water into the cup, 

“You’ve served this before?” She asked as you handed her the cup,

“Three times.” You nodded, “A married girl who wanted her marriage annulled, a girl who was in a very similar position to yourself, and myself.” You smiled at her, and she smiled back. “Drink.” As she did she winced from the horrid taste, “I told you. Rotten stuff.” As she finished you took the cup from her hand, “Now. Let’s run.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

As soon as Podrick arrived back to Castle Black he made his way back to the measters quarters, only to find the old man and not you. 

“Oh it’s the naked boy.” The measter said as he tinkered with some kind of medicine. 

Podrick, embarrassed, pulled his mouth into a line as he nodded, acknowledging that it was indeed him, “Where is the Lady Mormont?” 

The old maester sighed, “She is treating the Lady Sansa.” He said as he pointed out the window of the chamber. 

Podrick looked out and saw you pushing Sansa to run and keep running. Round in circles over and over again. “What is she doing?” Podrick asked the old maester, genuinely confused. 

The measter shook his head, “She’s a strange way about her. And a strange way she conducts her work. But it works.” He shrugged. 

Not wasting further time Podrick left the chambers to find you. 

As he went out on the outskirts of the Castle Black walls, he saw you and Lady Sansa speaking. 

“It should be certain now,” You said softly, “Your belly might ache, but that is a good sign.” You said lastly before Lady Sansa thanked you and walked off. 

You smiled as you saw Podrick walking towards you, it let you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“You’re running,” Podrick said happily, noting your recovery. 

You smiled at him, happy to see he was back. “Me and the Lady were discussing political matters.” You lied as you and he both walked off into a more secluded area of Castle Black.

“While running?” He questioned you, 

You flashed your eyebrows at him, “It’s an exhilarating topic.” 

“You’re lying to me?” He asked with a grin

“Hardly a lie if so I know you won’t believe it.” You smirked at him and he smirked back, “I’ll tell you, later.” you said holding onto his arm, “I hear your sword work is coming along quite well.” 

“I hope so.” He said, 

“You and I should fight some time.” 

“I don’t think I’d be able to put you down.” He said, shaking his head.

“No?” You asked with a smirk, you looked around noting that there was no one around, “Try it.” You said pushing him slightly as you ran off. Podrick chased after you. You laughed as he chased you, once he finally caught up to you, you dodged him and he fell into the plush snow, “Go on, keep at it.” You said teasingly as he looked up at you.

“You enjoying this?” He asked with a grin

“I am.” You said with a smirk as you kicked snow at him as you ran off.

He picked himself off the ground and ran after you, “Come ‘ere!” He said as he finally wrapped his arms around you, 

“Ah!” You squealed as he caught you, and pinned you against the ground. “Mmm, you’ve gotten quite strong.” You said, as your hands roamed his strong arms that pinned your body down. As you looked up into his eyes they were hungry and lustful, as he stared at your breasts. Compressed against both his weight and your corset. “I believe you’re staring.” You said with a smirk. 

“It’s a weakness of mine- with you.” He said, stammering like how he did in King's Landing.

“This doesn’t feel weak.” You said as you bucked your hips against his own, noting the hardness growing in his breeches.

He blushed slightly, “Are you, have you-” He asked, worrying that he’d hurt you again.

“I’ve healed-“ You interrupted, just wanting to be fucked, badly.

“Oh thank the Gods-“ He blurted out as he began frantically pawing at your neckline. Needing your redirection to the laces of the corset to actually get it off. As soon as he’d gotten your garment loose enough to pull your breasts out of it, his mouth ravaged you. 

Your skirts raised around your thighs. His teeth gently, grazed and bit down on the sensitive buds of your nipples, you were overwhelmed with the pleasure. No man had ever done this so well, “Mmphm! Fuck-Fuck-Fuck,” You moaned breathlessly as his tongue soothed your breasts as he continued to suck on them. “Mm-I didn’t know that could feel this good.” You mumbled between moans. 

Podrick lifted his desperate gaze from your body to your eyes. You ran your hand through his hair as he looked at you with hunger, “No ones ever taken care of you like this?” He asked gently as his hand began to softly and tenderly roam up your thigh.

You shook your head, “Most men had me bend over, just to fuck into me until they’re spent.” You said with a pout. It was true, no man ever made you feel this good, nothing did. 

The thought of you with another man made him somewhat jealous, not that he’d admit it. But mostly he was angry that no man would want to see you like this, or hear the beautiful sounds he could coax out of you. So to show you how much he himself appreciated it, his wandering hand finally found your cunt. He palmed your, already wet, cunt. “Who wouldn’t want to see you like this?” He asked as he pressed the tip of his ring finger against your clothed entrance as his palm rubbed against your clit.

“Awh!” You moaned out in surprise as you clenched around barely anything at all. You caught your breath and smiled at him, “Pod, you never talk like this.” 

He looked at you desperately, “I missed how beautiful you sound.” He said as he continued to toy with your cunt. 

You held back a moan, attempting to get him to work even harder for it, “Did you ever think of me?” You asked as your hand caressed the side of his face sweetly. 

He furrowed his brow, “Of course I did.” He said, as though he were offended you’d think that you did not consume his every waking thought. He leaned in closer to you, “Every hour” He said as he kissed your jaw, “Of everyday.” and he kissed your cheek, “In the late hours of the night.” as he grazed his lips against your own. His hand is still rubbing against you.  

Your fingers came to his neck, gently tracing imaginary shapes against his sensitive skin. Just how you knew it drove him crazy. “What did you think of?” You asked in an innocent voice. 

He smirked down at you, as he leaned in closer to your ear, “Do you remember what you said to me, the night before Joffrey’s wedding?” He asked as his ring finger moved from your clothes entrance to your clothed clit, making you arch your back and whine slightly. Unable to answer his question. “No?” He asked teasingly as he kissed your ear, “I didn’t forget it. You said, you wanted- My tongue.” He licked at the soft spot between your ear and your jaw, “Between your pretty thighs.” His hand gripped onto your breast, and he kissed your cheek, “To fuck you with my fingers, while I licked at you.” He said with a sloppily and wonderful kiss. “You remember that?” He asked teasingly. 

“You forgot one thing,” You said breathlessly, “I said I wanted to bite your neck right here.” You licked the sensitive spot on his neck as it bit down on his neck as you sucked on his skin gently, he groaned with pleasure as you did so. You hand roamed down his chest and stomach, until you were palming the hardening mass under his breeches, “Feels like another weakness of yours.” You said into his mouth as he bucked his hips into your hand. “Tell me, what did you do when you thought of that?” You looked into his eyes, half lidded. 

He smiled absentmindedly, “I’d go into the woods, and take myself in my hands-”

You grabbed him by his jaw, “Show me.” 

If you’d asked Podrick to do this back in King's Landing, he would have been far too bashful, but now he had been so hungry for your touch he had no real release. The request made his cock twitch in his pants.

He sat up on his knees, as he pulled out his length. His eyes never left your own as he began to stroke his throbbing cock. The sight alone made your cunt clench around nothing. His cock was already leaking precum, and his eyes were growing more and more starved as he looked down at you. 

You pulled your small clothes off, throwing them off to the side. You hand went down to your cunt. Immediately you began to toy with your clit, the slight made Podrick slump down, resting his cheek against your knee as he watched you, “Awhhhh” He moaned out watching your pretty fingers play with yourself. His stroking only fastened as you pushed two fingers into yourself. He grasped onto your thigh supporting himself up as he was mesmerized by you. He looked up at you with desperate eyes, practically drooling, “Please,” 

You pulled your two fingers out of yourself, and presented to him. To which he took in his mouth hungerly “That’s a good lad.” You said seductively as he sucked on your fingers. As you pulled them out you opened your legs just a bit more, “Go on.” You said with a nod. 

Wasting no time at all, Podrick kissed, licked, and bit his way down your sensitive thighs. Your back arched, and you through your head back as his lips finally met your aching cunt. You gripped a hand full of his short hair as his tongue fucked into you, and his nose rubbed against your clit. 

Your other hand gripped onto the snow that blanketed the ground below you, as he began to suck onto your sensitive clit and his thick fingers entered your throbbing core. You moaned out in pleasure, not caring who might hear you.

Podrick looked up from your cunt, you could see your slick covering his face, “I need you. Gods I need you so badly.” He pleaded, 

You nodded your head “Take what you need, pretty boy.” You said as you held his face as he nearly pounced on you.

He rubbed his cock, slick with precum against your wet cunt, making you both moan into one another's mouths. “Tell me,” He said into your lips, “Tell me what you want.” It surprised you. He was never so demanding, but you liked it, no you loved it. 

You held onto his neck as you licked and kissed it, “Fuck me,” You pleaded into his brusing skin, “Fuck me, my Knight.” You whispered into his ear. 

“Awwwwwhhhhh” He moaned out as he slid into you with ease. His head dropped into the crook of your neck as he bucked into you. Your hands roamed under his tunic, dragging your nails against his back. “I can’t leave you again, I can’t-” He babbled, so cunt drunk he could hardly form a sentence.

“Gods, you’re so good-” You moaned out as his cock kept hitting that soft spot inside of you. It made you grip onto his shoulders roughly, 

“I am?” He asked sweetly, seemingly not knowing the effect he had on you. His sweetness made you clench hard around him, making him hiss, “You feel better than anything I’d ever felt.” He moaned out, “I could cum right now, i-i-i just need you to cum on me first.” He said straining to keep his control. 

“Choke me-” You said trying to hold in a moan, he looked at you with worry, not wanting to hurt you, “It’s okay, I trust you, just please-” You said and he obeyed, pressing down on your throat slightly. Just enough for your pleasure to spike, and your cunt began to spasm around his cock. 

You felt your hips bucking against your will. Your heat rose, and your moans intensified. You felt the growing tension in your stomach beginning to snap as your release covered Podrick cock. 

As soon as Podrick felt the hot release covering his cock he knew he was about to be spent, “I’m gonna-gonna” He whined as he pulled out and began to use your release as the lubrication he needed to pump his seed out and onto the fallen snow that laid everywhere. 

You watched as he came, hard, there was so much of it you felt almost jealous of the snow that received it.

You looked up at Podrick, completely spent and cock drunk, “I almost forgot how marvelous you are at that.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: Ya know when I said this one would eat… I didn’t mean it would be good. I meant he would eat. Any whoooo enjoy. K, love you… xoxo 

Bambi

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