#how that resonates with eyrie too

[impossible-rat-babies]

I wanna like. gpose eyrie and zero

[qualxon]

When he, Ramoth and Emrys had returned from the temples, Ddraig's feet had barely touched the ground before Valkor - an old friend of his - approached them in the tunnels. 

"Your father wants to see you, Ddraig - now," he said quietly. 

Something tightened in his chest, and he couldn't quite stop himself from taking a fleeting nervous glance at his younger brother. Ramoth's eyes were alight with something halfway between fear and anger as he fixed his gaze on Valkor. The Drake with the dull golden scales either didn't notice this or didn't give much thought to it. Instead, he kept his eyes on Ddraig. A heavy silence fell upon them.

Eventually, Ddraig spoke: "Just me," he said. It wasn't a question.

Valkor nodded grimly. Morsen was in a bad mood.

Ddraig turned to face his younger brother fully, and with a feigned air of confidence he told him: "You and Emrys go on - I'll catch up to you afterwards."

Ddraig could tell that Ramoth didn't like the situation, regardless of how familiar it was. He'd been a liar if he said he didn't feel the same. 

Slowly, Emrys led Ramoth away and down one of the tunnels, and Ddraig stood with Valkor, watching them leave. 

"He knows about the plan," Valkor muttered. "Morsen, that is. He knows you three are planning to leave the Eyrie."

Ddraig's blood ran cold in his veins. 

How? How could he know? They had always been careful to never mention the plan to leave within earshot of anyone else, leaving the Eyrie and discussing it on the wing or talking in a secluded area far away. 

"A spy?" Ddraig asked Valkor.

"I wish I knew."

Ddraig shook his head in frustration and began walking in the opposite direction to where Emrys took Ramoth. Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he looked over his shoulder at Valkor.

"If things go wrong in that chamber," he said in a low, hushed tone, "take Ramoth and Emrys and get out of here. Go to the surface - Morsen would never follow them there."

Valkor's body visibility tensed.

"We're about to go to war," he replied. "Tensions are high, and you know how Morsen feels about rule-breakers."

"Ddraig - !"

"If I'm not back by nightfall, or if there's any other obvious sign that I'm..." Ddraig let out a shaky breath, and fought to keep his voice steady. "Just... promise me you'll get them out of here - go with them if you can."

Valkor stepped towards Ddraig, and with a steely resolve that Ddraig always admired his for having, nodded. "I promise."

                                      <•°•>

Ddraig said nothing as he stood before Morsen.

His heart hammered in his chest so hard he feared it would break his ribs from the inside. But he still remained silent, not quite making eye contact.

"You are set to be king," Morsen said at last. His voice was as dark and commanding as his demeanor, making it very clear how he had remained as king for as long as he had.

Again, Ddraig did not speak.

"You have every tool at your disposal to make yourself a powerful ruler, and yet...you are more concerned with frivolous antics."

The silence returned.

"I can see that you are not weak, Ddraig. However, your will is too easily swayed by your brother." He almost spat the last word.

...

"He must be removed."

Ddraig's head snapped up.

"What do you mean?"

A low growl resonated from Morsen's throat. "He is a weak link. He cannot be allowed to continue influencing you. He must be culled."

No...no. This couldn't be real, he told himself. Ddraig had expected his own life to be on the line, but Ramoth? His little brother?

"You must be the one to do it." 

Ddraig's voice was little more then a breath. "No."

"What?"

"I won't kill Ramoth." His voice was louder now - not quite a shout, but still fuelled by the same fear and anger he saw in Ramoth's eyes. "He's my brother."

"That means nothing!" Morsen raised himself up to his full height and spread his wings wide in one fluid motion.

Although he was by no means small compared to Morsen, Ddraig had never felt so dwarfed by his father's stature.

"I killed more than just my brother to get to where I am!" Morsen snarled, revealing huge teeth that appeared to gleam. "Perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps you are weak. If you won't kill Ramoth, then I certainly will."

As Morsen turned away from him and began stomping towards the chamber's exit, Ddraig felt as though his heart had stopped beating. His mind was racing, yet he couldn't think. He was so preoccupied with trying to formulate a single solid thought that he didn't notice himself moving until, with a roar of fury, he sank his teeth deep into Morsen's leg.

In a flash of movement, Morsen spun around, yanking his leg from Ddraig's grip. Ddraig leapt back just before Morsen caught his head between his teeth, but failed to see one of Morsen's massive wings swinging towards his head until it collided. The impact sent Ddraig's head careening to the side as his vision flashed white.

Then, a searing pain, starting at his throat and ending above his spine. Ddraig struggled, thrashing wildly with his wings until he struck what he could only assume was Morsen's eye, and the pressure around his neck released.

He didn't hesitate in swiveling around to bite again at Morsen. His teeth gripped Morsen's snout, but the hold didn't last long before the larger drake shook off Ddraig.

Before he could do anything else, Ddraig was shoved bodily to the side and crashed against the ground. He tried to scramble back to his feet, but a pressure - right where his head connected to his neck - pinned him in place. He glared upwards at Morsen's face as thick, hot blood dripped from his snout.

"You fight well, Ddraig," he growled, panting slightly. "But not well enough."

Panic gripped Ddraig once more, drowning out all the rage he had felt moments before, as Morsen shifted his talons further up Ddraig's head.

"Any final words?"

"I'll kill you," Ddraig hissed as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. "I'd sooner die than let you kill Ramoth."

"That can be arranged."

Morsen drove his talons into Ddraig's skull, right over his eye, and pulled downwards quickly and with little effort. The pain was immeasurable, but it didn't last long before Ddraig's world went dark.

                                      <•°•>

Ramoth couldn't move. His entire body ignored every instinct that told him to run and flee the sight before him.

His brother's body lay at Morsen's feet, with one eye all but gauged out from the wound trailing down his face. Morsen stared at Ramoth as he stood in the chamber's entrance, and his lips curled into something like a sneer.

Finally, his legs moved, and Ramoth began trying to back away, but Morsen was faster as he lunged forward. He reached out with his talons, raking them down the right side of Ramoth's face. Ramoth screeched in agony as the pain exploded like an inferno.

He expected to feel Morsen's teeth around his neck, tearing out his throat, but nothing happened. Through his good eye, he could see Valkor dragging his claws along Morsen's wing as his teeth struggled to find purchase in his thick hide.

Ramoth didn't know when Valkor arrived, or how. All he knew, in that moment, was the blazing pain on his face and his brother's corpse on the other side of the chamber.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, when a pair of familiar blue-and-yellow eyes appeared in front of him, and a voice spoke to him.

"We have to leave. Now." Emrys began pushing Ramoth out of the chamber as quickly as either of them could move, away from where Valkor kept Morsen locked in battle. "Go, go!"

Numbly, Ramoth obliged, following Emrys as she led him through the winding tunnels. Eventually, they approached an opening to the wide open sky, and they stopped.

"We have to fly, Ramoth. We need to leave. I don't know what happened in there, but we can't stay."

Ramoth still didn't move as he stared into the middle distance, and Emrys persisted.

"Ramoth!" She pushed him towards the ledge as a deafening roar came from the tunnel behind them.

"What about Valkor?" Ramoth asked slowly. He tried to ignore the fact that he wouldn't even be asking that if he hadn't rushed headlong towards the chamber.

"He'll know where to meet us."

Another roar.

Emrys all but shoved Ramoth off the ledge to get him into flight, and followed right beside him.

The mere fact that he was able to keep himself steady enough to fly came as something of a miracle to Ramoth. The burning marks down his face made it nearly impossible for him to even remember his own name.

They flew on in silence for some time. Neither of them said anything as they entered the same temple they had left earlier that day. Even as the light faded outside they sat together in silence while Emrys tenderly cleaned the three harsh gashes over Ramoth's eye. Ramoth didn't want to talk about any of it, and Emrys didn't want to pry. The next time either of them said a word was when Valkor, bloodied, bruised and limping heavily, found them in the temple halls. He said he'd take them to the surface, but that he wouldn't be able to stay with them for long, since his mate was still at the Eyrie and he couldn't leave her behind.

He led them outside and they once again took to the skies, traveling farther and farther until they came across a deep, wide cave in the ground. They landed beside it, and Valkor instructed Ramoth and Emrys.

"You need to go through here," he said. "And whatever you do, don't look back. Once you reach the surface, find somewhere to live, and live well. If you're struggling to find a sanctuary, find Rodan - he's a creature who is just as part of the molten earth as it is of him. Some call him the Fire Demon; you'll know him when you see him. Tell him you're Ddraig's brother, and he can help you."

He didn't let them say another word before he took off, back towards the Eyrie.

After a long moment, Ramoth and Emrys began their slow descent into the cavern, eventually emerging on the surface.

The gojira on the surface were less than welcoming to them, and after many restless days of aimless travel over oceans and land alike, they eventually found the Fire Demon Rodan in his volcano. Ramoth briefly recounted what he knew of Ddraig's death when Rodan asked, and with a sorrowful nod, he directed them to a mountain range up north, where the newly-evolved humans and gojira alike couldn't reach them.

[charmtion]

I somehow missed the fact that you don't watch GoT, so now I'm really curious about how/when you fell in love with Jonsa? Is it a "crack ship" for you or one you genuinely like the idea of/think will happen in the books?

I have probably watched a grand total of approx. 11 minutes (🙈) of screen-time from various YouTube clips and gifs and the like on this site! I adore the aesthetic of GoT, the imagery, the little show-snippets I catch from time to time… but I’ve got no burning desire to watch it till the books are finished — a naïve hope, I know — could be waiting a looooong time. But I am nothing if not patient! Now! Onto the ask... *clears throat*

Book-verse Jonsa is a different beast to show-verse Jonsa, in my opinion at least. George R.R. Martin is a master world-builder. Master word-weaver. Master plotter. There are no lingering looks that burn on-screen. No subtle stares translated via cameras. No fuck-me eyes and fiery arguments in tents and solars. For one, Jon and Sansa are hundreds of leagues apart even by the end of ADWD. Probably still years apart from being reunited. They are also younger than their show-verse equivalents. Their trajectories are very different. Their traumas are different in subtle ways, too. Yet despite these differences in circumstance and distances in space and time, they occupy — share — a really fascinating territory: a reciprocal reality.

This reciprocity of their lived experience(s) has always resonated with me — as has the outright reversal that takes place between them. High-born daughter to a lowly bastard of rocks and sheep-pellets. Bastard-born boy to a capable and respected Lord Commander. Reversal, to be true — but reciprocity, too. Crow and little bird. Stone and Snow. Lady and Commander. Queen and King(?????) This innate circling of each other’s place in society, the sidesteps their character-arcs take… ultimately I think the edges of their circles will meet to form a new one.

Why? Because in many ways they are each other’s mirror. Sansa starts as Catelyn reborn. But she grows into something different than her mother’s miniature. Sharper. Stronger — gentler, too. She has tact and courage. She knows how to survive. She is so clever it is startling — especially the subtle things and treasons she picks up on in any and all exchanges between lords in the Vale. Now Jon. Jon starts as Ned. Wants to be Ned. Looks so much like Ned it makes Catelyn sick with fury. But he moves on. Becomes something different. Something sharper. Stronger — gentler, too. He has tact and courage. He knows how to survive — even if survival means shedding honour and choosing to bend to spite and vengeance. He is so clever it is startling — especially the way he twists situations to his best advantage, how he plays kings, makes parlays, switches babes. You see where I am going here with the two of them? They are a mirror-image in many ways. Two halves of a circle. Brave. Gentle. Strong.

✨ [I have more to say about that central motif — brave, gentle, strong — and how it relates to the numerous characters and interactions Jon and Sansa entertain (and suffer…) throughout the books… but I won’t bore you with that — I am aware I am already rambling!] ✨

So to stop my rambling and sum up (and actually answer your question sorry sweet!!) when I first read ASOIAF — about 10 years ago now gulp — I didn’t connect the two romantically really. I read Sansa purely as a child and never focussed on who she might end up with. I adored (and still adore!) Val’s character, thought her a natural fit for Jon… but then over years of re-reading (and a fair bit of fanfic theory and dabbling) I have come to view Jonsa as a distinct canon possibility — and my absolute OTP. Do I read every passage of every Jon or Sansa chapter and make detailed inferences as much as other Jonsa book-verse shippers? Probably not. Sansa’s snow-castle passage in the Eyrie, for instance, has always carried two very distinct underlying readings for me: snow as in Snow as in Jon Snow… or snow as in Winterfell. Home. Grey and white. The North. Her heart — the place it will come to beat within, rule over, find some rest after the weary weight of years and whatever horrors WoW will sweep upon it (and us!). Do I think either reading is possible? Yes. Do I think they are reciprocal? Hell yes. Mirror-image, honey. Mirror-image. Full circle. All that jazz. Just like Jon and Sansa themselves... ⭕

I’ll stop now, sorry — but thank you so much for the ask, my dear; I hope there’s some semblance of sense in that massive word-splurge mess — and apologies if this is seems like token-knowledge not worth repeating! ❤️

[elenatria]

Tormund’s Wedding XIV

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10614180/chapters/24507048They sat in silence for several minutes that felt like hours. Silent, slow, torturous minutes. They hardly noticed the guard coming down to make sure they were secured in their cells as the horrendous revelations of Lord Glover and Lord Royce were sinking in. They just sat on the floor with the narrow corridor and the bars separating them, barely feeling the cold stones underneath them as their sore bodies grew numb. The shadows cast on their solemn faces by that single torch made them look weaker as time passed.

“So that was Littlefinger’s plan all along…” Brienne muttered unable to take her eyes off her nervous fidgeting hands on her knees. “He didn’t want to marry her off, he didn’t want to protect her by sending her to the Eyrie; he meant to deliver her to Cersei. But of course, why would he not, Sansa is not a valuable asset to him anymore. He brought the Knights of the Vale to her brother’s aid and I guess he was expecting something in return. Probably the north itself, who knows, he’s Littlefinger after all. Sansa told me he made her a proposition but she never let me in on the details, and now that the north is no longer a prospect he set his sights on King’s Landing. ”

Tormund’s face twitched with hate, his eyes fixed on the floor. “…And that old fart Royce, the honourable knight of the Vale, selling off Sansa to save the little runt,” he said bitterly. “Who knows if the boy will even survive the night.”

Brienne turned.

“That little runt is his lord and Royce has sworn to protect him as I have sworn to protect Sansa,” she said stiffly. “His vow is as sacred as mine.”

Tormund lowered his forehead as he glared through the bars.

“Tell me that runt’s life, or even Sansa’s, is worth more than yours,” he growled. “Say that to my face.”

Brienne’s lip trembled, she wasn’t expecting this attack.

“I’ve taken an oath, I’ve-“

“To hell with your oaths, to hell with everything!” he snapped. “Tell me their lives are worth more than yours. SAY IT.”

His voice echoed in the dungeon, thunderous and vibrant like a bell. A loud outburst like that would normally make the guards come back and beat them to silence but no one seemed to bother. There was no breaking out of those cells, they were in the Dreadfort, and evidently Tormund’s rage wasn’t enough to bring down those walls.

Brienne stood up, mad with fury.

“It is my duty to protect Sansa and this is what I’m here for. If I am to die protecting her so be it, at least I’ll die knowing I did everything in my power.” She was almost shaking with rage. “You have no say in it, no say whatsoever.”

Tormund didn’t make a single move to get up, he just sat there, arm on his bent knee.

“I never said you shouldn’t do what you were meant to do,” he said resigned. “All I said was you shouldn’t justify everyone else’s actions even if their intentions are noble, not when your life is at stake.”

His tone had grown softer now. “There comes a moment in life when you have to decide for yourself. You’re not a pawn in anybody’s game, Brienne, and you’re nobody’s shadow. You’re you. Your life is worth as much as the lives of those you swore to protect. I’m just mad those fuckers convinced you they were more important than you.”

Brienne felt uncomfortable. For the first time she was listening, and she was listening to him. He knew so little about her, how could he possibly give her advice on how she should live her life and which way she would choose to end it?

End it.

And then it dawned on her; she was choosing suicide all these years, she was choosing death. That thought scared her to the core.

Tormund rested his weary head on his hand digging his fingers in his hair. “You can follow these lords and ladies all you like but there comes a time when you must say enough is enough, a time when one living day of yours is worth more than ten living years of theirs. I followed Jon Snow into battle, I did, with all my heart. But when the Bolton army was closing in on us I said fuck it, I’m not going to waste my life for a lost cause so I ordered my men to retreat. I swear I would have fled if it wasn’t for that cunt intercepting me, what’s his name, Smallpecker… Smallsomething… Umber, that’s it.”

“Smalljon Umber, yes. The one whose throat you chewed off?”

“The same,” he nodded.

 “I’ve heard stories, didn’t know they were true.”

Tormund smirked, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Always believe the stories about me, always. When they’re told by anyone else but me you know they’re true.” And there he was, the good old Tormund who could laugh even when his life was hanging by a thread. “They call me a Tall-talker with good reason.”

Brienne remembered how beautiful it was to hear him laugh, to see his handsome face beam like the sun. She felt a pang of remorse observing the caked blood on his forehead and his bruised cheekbones, realizing that very moment she wouldn’t see that face again. But it was all his fault, wasn’t it? He had followed them here, Jon Snow’s orders or not. It was his decision.

“You said my life is worth more than the lives of the lords I serve but here you are, serving these lords yourself,” she said gloomily. “What’s your excuse, why are you here?”

“Because I LOVE YOU!” he barked furiously, his hoarse voice resonating in the empty dark cells around them.

Brienne froze in shock.

So that’s what it felt like.

It wasn’t fair. All her life she yearned to hear those words, to have someone say them and mean them. And now that her wish had finally come true it was at her darkest hour. She couldn’t act on those words, she couldn’t reach out to the man saying them so freely, so effortlessly, she could barely discern his eyes in the dark. Maybe that was a good thing because he would see how scared she was, and Brienne had never been so terrified in her life.

“I’m sorry, Tormund…” she breathed helplessly.

“For what?”

“You were not supposed to be locked up with me. I’m the one who brought you here.” Her voice echoed the deepest despair.

Tormund looked surprised, as if an apology was the last thing he expected to hear from her.

“You didn’t bring me here. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth and you know it.”

“For all the good it did you…”

Tormund leaned back on the wall never taking his eyes off of her.

“If I am to die at least I’ll die by your side,” he said simply. “There are worse ways to go. And we’ll give them a good fight you and I, won’t we?”

“You weren’t supposed to die, Tormund,” Brienne protested. “You were supposed to live. You were supposed to…To put those baby names of yours in good use.”

“What baby names?”

“The ones you told me about when we left the inn. Names for the babies you’d have with your wife.”

“Ah, the babies...” Tormund chuckled at the memory. When he looked at her again she could clearly see the green of his eyes that felt as soft as newborn grass and shone like the rarest gem. “But it wasn’t her I was thinking about, Brienne.” His words sounded as if they had been long prepared. “She’s my wife but she’s not my woman. There’s only one person I was hoping to end my days with and she’s right here. So in a way I got my wish.”

Brienne was at a loss for words. Him telling her now how he felt, now that they had no hope of getting out of there alive, was like getting a garland of blue roses on her grave.

 “You… you could have said no,” she frowned.

“To what?”

“To marrying Lady Karstark,” she dared say as she lifted her head; she was finally able to look him in the eye. She knew right there and then that admitting what hurt her the most was admitting defeat. “You made a choice.”

Tormund looked confounded. “And then you would have said yes?” he replied. His bitter sarcastic smile didn’t make things better. “Would you have me then?”

Brienne was furious. “This is not about me.”

Tormund sighed and shook his head. “Of course… Well let me explain how things were. I didn’t know what this ‘marriage’ thing was, I hadn’t the foggiest idea. It’s a kneeler madness, it is. Beyond the Wall we never got ‘married’, we just took our women to live with us, we fucked, we had children, that’s all. Ever since we crossed the Wall things got too complicated. Jon Snow talked about alliances and giving me lands and making me the head of a great northern house so that there would be no more hostility towards my people from the other lords. No one would dare lay a finger on the Karstark heir or his people, that’s what he said. But ‘marriage’ meant I had to be with a woman I didn’t know, a woman I didn’t… love.”

He gave her the same wounded look he had given her on his wedding night as she was walking up the stairs towards Sansa’s room, when they were both feeling like the two loneliest people in the world. “When he explained it all to me I wanted to piss off, I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But you were so cold, so remote. I was hoping you’d give me a sign, you would object with all your heart and soul. I was wrong.”

 He took a deep breath and looked away. He was almost talking to himself by now.

“I should have known, you’re unlike any other woman or man I’ve ever met. You’re unpredictable as a storm, stubborn as a mule and sturdy as a rock. I took a risk and I lost. That should have taught me a lesson but I decided to take one last risk following you on your journey, and here I am. It’s the one risk I don’t regret.”

For all his disheartenment his smile was still warm.

“You always take full responsibility even when you shouldn’t,” Brienne murmured.

“Well someone has to. It’s what I always do when I’m faced with stubborn children,” he teased her and shrugged.

He looked regretful now, as if them being captives was his fault entirely.

“I always thought I’d tell you all this after having spent a wild night with you,” he admitted. “Or… I don’t know, after having spent years and years fighting together or during one long evening trying desperately to put our baby to sleep. Now none of that will happen; I don’t think I’ll even get the chance to hold you tomorrow before they put a noose around our necks.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“My mind must be in the darkest pit right now…” he muttered as he rubbed his forehead. “It’s giving me beautiful dreams instead of focusing on our imminent deaths. Gods, I should be planning out our escape and all I can think of is that I don’t even know what your teats look like, can you imagine...” he chuckled.

For a moment Brienne looked thoughtful. She knew there was no escape, and the next time they would see the light of day would be their last.

With confident moves she tugged the cord at her neck.

 “That can be fixed,” she replied.

Tormund opened his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked nervously sitting up.

 “I’m trying something,” she said in a nonchalant tone.

 “Stop,” Tormund breathed as he looked around licking his dry lips. “The guards will barge in, I’m sure they can smell teats from a mile away. You-you don’t want to provoke them, Brienne, don’t do this.”

“The guards didn’t barge in when you shouted your lungs out, I don’t see how my silent unlacing can provoke them,” she quipped loosening the laces of her gambeson. “As long as you manage to keep relatively quiet...” Her smile was pure lust and mischief.

She went back to unfastening the cords.

“Please, don’t…”

Brienne raised her brow. “Do you want me to stop? Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“This is not a game, woman,” he gulped trying not to panic.

“…or do you want me to touch myself over my clothes? They won’t see anything. Will that make you feel safer?” she said ignoring his plea.

Tormund gasped in shock. Her boldness left him speechless, her words had spoken directly to his heart – and to his cock. There was nothing he could do but stare in amazement, his fists clenching and unclenching the bars in fearful anticipation.

Brienne broke into a satisfied smile and slouched against the wall. She shut her eyes and let out a long meaningful sigh as she leisurely opened her legs. Her hand climbed up her gambeson and started fondling her breast. It felt so good, so damn good, and the fact that he was watching but couldn’t touch her excited her even more. She bit her lip and dropped her head on the side giving him a clear view of her lustful expressions. Her other hand slid between her thighs, traced her sweet spot over her trousers and slowly rubbed it making her wet.

“Ah…”

She moaned and gasped lasciviously as she licked her lips, pressing and squeezing her covered breasts until Tormund couldn’t take it any longer.

 “Shit, Brienne… Are you going to lead me on and leave me out in the cold like the last time you were on top of me?” he grunted squeezing the iron bars as if he was trying to bend them. “You’re on top of me now, girl, you just don’t realize it.”

“I’m not leading you on…” she cooed unlacing her gambeson down to her stomach. She knew she had his attention now.

“Oh no, you won’t trick me, not this time. I’m not even looking.”

But he was. He was eating her up with his hungry eyes. He couldn’t look away from her playful hands, their subtle repetitive movement, her fingers teasing her sensitive skin, making her moan with pleasure and longing. She had never looked more beautiful or more desirable, and he was getting harder with each passing moment. It shouldn’t be her hands making her moan. It should be him.

Brienne was relentless. She pulled the gambeson over her shoulders exposing her freckled bosom for him to see. Her breasts were white as milk and the nipples were already hard, inviting, perkier than he had pictured in his wildest, wettest dreams. He let out an impatient sigh as his hand moved down his torso without a second thought.

“You don’t have to look if you don’t want to,” Brienne said softly. “But you will listen. You will listen to every little sound I make as I pleasure myself, every hitched breath, every desperate sigh. You will hear the wet sound of my lips as I fuck myself with my fingers, you will hear my moaning as I form circles around my bud and make myself come in front of you. You have nowhere to go so you will listen. You said you heard me outside your door that night at the inn. Would you like me to tell you what it was like to feel the burning between my legs as I overheard you playing with your cock, what it was like to push my fingers inside me imagining it was your huge manhood ravishing me again and again?”

Tormund was unable to form a proper sentence. He was leaning back against the wall, his hand already massaging his crotch. All he could do was moan at every naughty phrase, at every luscious sound coming out of her lips. His fingers were moving up and down his hard on that was suffocating in his pants, rubbing his eager tip in an effort to soothe the delightful itch; his eyes were trying hard to stay open while he listened to her dirty tantalizing whispers.

But she wouldn’t let him get off lightly.

At least not before she got him off for real.

Brienne stood on her knees and leaned against the bars, her small breasts pressing against them. She started caressing her nipples with both hands while letting out little excited sighs with every delicious pinch. She licked her fingers slowly just to smear her nipples and make them all slick, and that made her gasp for air and crouch in a spasm of delight. Tormund was already trying to dig his hand in his trousers, his leather belt not letting him go any further, not by a single inch, and his thumb, having nowhere else to go, helplessly twitching on his stomach. He wouldn’t untie his belt though, he wouldn’t let go; that belt was keeping him safe. He would just watch, nothing more.

Brienne stopped touching herself, sat on her knees and pushed back her hair. Tormund opened and closed his mouth twice before he could muster a reply.

“Please…” he breathed.

“You’re not playing fair, Lord Karstark. I want to see you. I want to see your cock, that huge cock you’re so famous for, see what all the fuss is about. I squeezed it between my thighs that night on the yard while we were sparring when we should be fucking. I felt it. Now show me how big it is. Show me I was right.”

She was driving him insane with her words, words that made him so flustered and impatient that under any other circumstances he would push her over the first table he could find and shove it in her violently without a warning, violating her, making her scream.

With a defeated look he untied his belt and buried his large hand in his pants to pull out his throbbing erection.

Brienne gave a triumphant grin. “Not just a rumour after all.”

“Not everything you know about me is exaggerated,” Tormund smirked as he started stroking his member with a hypnotizing rhythm.

“Indeed… One day you’ll have to tell me about that bear,” she joked and resumed making love to her breasts with one hand while she pushed the other between her legs.

Tormund tried to laugh as he glanced at her through his half-closed eyes but all that came out of his mouth was a deep blissful breath. His hand was now moving quicker up and down his shaft but that perfect sensation didn’t distract his eyes from her delectable nudity.

Brienne licked her lips, she was enjoying this too much, the power she had over him without even touching him. All this time he had teased her fiercely, endlessly. Now it was her turn; and she would make him pay.

“I want to see you touch your balls, Tormund,” she heard herself say, shocked by her own audacity. Saying his name like that turned her on even more. “Cup them gently for me. Imagine that’s my mouth feasting upon them, taking them all in. Imagine that’s my tongue licking you until you explode, until you come in my face. That’s it… That’s perfect. Now rub your cock, slowly. I want to be able to see its tip, I want to have a clear view when your hot seed spurts out of your fingers. Yes. Go on… Give me a good reason to continue, Lord Karstark.”

Tormund, unable to resist her, gave out a frustrated growl.

“I swear it to the bloody gods, Brienne…” he exhaled sharply as he played with his balls. “If we ever get out of this cell the first thing I’m going to do is fuck you senseless. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“Mmmmm you’re quite the tall-talker, aren’t you…” she sighed rubbing her clitoris with delight. “You’d better keep that promise, tall-talker.”

“Oh I will… I will.”

He was dead serious.

“What would you do to me if we got out of here?” she teased. “Tell me. I want you to go into such detail that it will feel like I’m having you inside me.”

He tightened his grip on his shaft and moved faster. “The things I want to do to you, there are no names for them.”

Brienne bit her lip in ecstasy as she pushed her hand deeper in her trousers, finding her way into her wet burning folds, squeezing her legs together.

“When I get my hands on you, you won’t get up off the floor for the days and nights to come. Oh gods. Oh gods, Brienne… Oh.”

He was getting there, he was coming. He shifted his pelvis so as to sit more comfortably and his movements became more focused, more frantic. Brienne closed her eyes; her slit convulsed as she heard his hitched breathing and the wet noises of his penis in his hand. When he gasped she opened her eyes just in time to relish his orgasmic face, his wet lips, the thick white semen spurting out wildly, overflowing his hands.

A perfect image of abandonment.

And that’s when she had the strongest orgasm she had in ages. With one hand in her trousers and the other holding onto the bars she got overwhelmed by a surge of pleasure, moaning helplessly as if it was her first time. She rested her forehead on her grasping hand as she removed the other from between her legs and took several deep breaths before she could lift her head and face him.

He was still panting, a big mess of sweat and sperm, his hand on his manhood. She could tell he was trying to come to terms with what they had just done alone in those cells. What she had done to him.

He slowly lifted his sticky hand, blinked, and broke into laughter. “I pity the guard who will try to grab me by the hands now. You know, maybe I should cover myself with it, keep those fuckers away.”

His cheerfulness was contagious. Brienne giggled like a little girl and buried her face in her hands; she couldn’t believe they could still laugh. When she was finally able to catch her breath she rested her hands on her knees and looked at the redheaded wild man in tattered lord’s clothing in the cell opposite hers, the polished savage who had just sent her to the Seven Heavens.

She smiled. She was happy.

“Get dressed,” he urged her lovingly. “Don’t push your luck, no matter how much I prefer to see you walk around naked than dressed in that black steel cage of yours.”

“Deep blue cobalt.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not black, it’s deep blue cobalt.”

“Is that right…” he nodded with fake admiration.

She complied swiftly putting on her gambeson, lacing the cords and tidying up her hair as if she was getting ready for an inspection.

“Now we must form a plan for tomorrow,” she said as if nothing had happened between them, as if the burning and satisfaction between her legs wasn’t still lingering.

Tormund raised an eyebrow.

“You are sated and refreshed now, aren’t you?” she insisted. “Now that we got past this I think we can concentrate on our survival, and rescue the lords I serve in the process.”

She was grinning now, ear to ear. Tormund couldn’t believe what she had just told him.

“Is that… is that why… Oh for the love of the gods, Brienne!”

He shook his head and let it hang. She was such a piece of work, and she’d never let him forget that, not as long as she lived. He sighed.

“You’re wicked. The first time you finished me was to help me perform my conjugal duties, or so you said. Now I guess this was a mere distraction to make me relax and focus on our escape. I wonder if you’ll ever finish me without having an ulterior motive, Brienne.”

She blinked with amusement and gave him an impish smile. “Get us out of here and you will find out.”

[impossible-rat-babies]

eyrie is so pillars of eternity coded it’s unreal