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Mood Swings

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“My little crow...” Tormund crooned to Jon as his husband lay crying in their bed. “What’s wrong now, my sweet? Has someone wronged you? Who do I need to kill?”

“No one!” Jon sniffled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes to rid himself of all of the evidence of his tears. “I’m fine, Tormund.”

“You’re not.” The wildling chief snorted protectively, reaching his strong arms around the smaller man’s body and pulling him close. “Tell me what’s troubling you, my little crow. For the baby’s sake at least.”

A massive hand rested itself gently against Jon’s rounded belly, carefully rubbing over a spot where their unborn child had placed a few kicks just a moment before.

“I can’t do anythin’ right anymore.” Jon sighed, his eyes beginning to water again before he could dry them completely. “I’m as big as a house and I can’t swing a sword. I can’t even see my feet...I’m just useless like this.”

“Useless?” Tormund scoffed “You aren’t useless, my little crow. You’ve got my baby in your belly. You’re going to give me a son.”

“Not for awhile yet.” Jon sniffed, resting against Tormund’s chest as he was held tightly by his much larger husband. “And until I do, what am I good for?”

Tormund chuckled wickedly against Jon’s throat as he pressed a few soft kisses there, making a trail down to the younger man’s collar bone.

“You’re good for plenty of things, my little crow.” He assured his husband. “Would you like me to show you?”

Jon managed a small smile, though a few renegade tears managed to free themselves from his eyes once again.

“You can try.” He agreed while Tormund unlaced the front his trousers.

“I’ll do much more than try.” The big man whispered into his lover’s ear, nipping the lobe and earning a short laugh from Jon.

It seemed that his efforts were already a success.