my name is jade | in my late twenties | the first in my bloodline to have a blog
most awkward girl at the function | nerdy about asoiaf | probably drinking some coffee
my writing masterlist, and my request rules below the read more. thanks for being here!!
blog rules
my blog is strictly 18+ minors and blank blogs please do not interact with my work or my blog. do not copy, translate or repost my work here, or on any other platform. do not put my work into any form of ai
asks, thoughts, and requests are open
please be kind and respectful on my blog
i take requests but i only write about consenting adults, nothing outside of that
masterlist
daeron
tell me lies | daeron targaryen x reader
touch starved daeron thoughts
smoking weed with modern!daeron
daeron throwing you over his shoulder
daeron is a boob man
daeron overstimulation thoughts part 1 part 2
modern!daeron missing his girlfriend
modern!daeron being a loser bf
modernboyfriend!daeron headcannons part 1 part 2
thinking about daeron drunkenly choosing your room as a good place to pass outâŠ
thinking about daeron loving being manhandledâŠ
thinking about daeron knowing you are with child even before you doâŠ
just a taste | daeron targaryen x reader
damn you | daeron targaryen x reader
a dragonâs hoard | daeron targaryen x reader
i will always find you | daeron targaryen x sister!reader
i'll beg if i have to | daeron targaryen x sister!reader
like real people do | modern!daeron targaryen x sister!reader
modern!daeron targeryen x sister!reader fluff
aerion
itâs all a game to aerion
fire and blood | aerion targaryen x reader
aerion overstimulation thoughts
obsessive loser aerion
modernboyfriend!aerion headcannons part 1 part 2 part 3
thinking about aerion being just the right amount of roughâŠ
thinking about killing aerion with kindnessâŠ
thinking about aerion angrily choosing your room as a good place to cool downâŠ
how to tame your dragon | aerion targaryen x oc
i owe you a black eye and two kisses | aerion targaryen x oc
dunk
horse girl dunk
where art thou, why not uponeth me? | ser dunk x princess!reader
some times husband!dunk tells you ânoâ and times he says âyesââŠ
dunk when travelling companion falls ill
no use crying over spilled tea | ser dunk x reader
husband!dunk headcannons
cute dunk thoughts and chewing mint
adorable modernhusband!dunk
dunkâs wife is cold
dunk meeting your family
valarr
valarr being a lover boy
cregan
husband!cregan headcannons
cregan asking his wife to bite him
an all consuming love
man's best friend | cregan stark x reader
summary: you watched your husband and son train, and you couldn't help but feel your heart ache with longing. your firstborn was already holding a sword so firmly, and you missed the time when he was just a helpless little bundle with rosy cheeks. you had always dreamed of a daughter, and so had ormund. but lately, the thought had become too persistent. do those who pray well to the gods get what they desire? or do those who pray well to their husbands get what they desire?
word count: 3.2k
tropes: married couple â established relationship â soft dom husband
warnings: 18+ audiences only â smut â breeding kink â oral sex (fem .á receiving) â p in v â unprotected sex â creampie
a/n: i'm addicted to ormund hightower, and also to the idea of him and his wife having a breeding kink. the reader is ormund's first wife, and honestly it's a little sad to know that the fourth pregnancy of lady hightower ended badly... but let's not think about that for now
You were still clutching the skirts of your dress, caught in some strange state. Your fingers gripped the fabric with desperate intent. Unspoken words froze on your lips. Your maid looked at you with the most timid gaze, like a sacrificial lamb.
"M'lady, is everything alright? You don't like the dress? You're staring at it so strangely..."
She timidly handed you a small mirror of polished brass. The girl smiled encouragingly.
"Look how pretty you are!"
Though the maid was visibly flustered, melting before her mistress, she still insisted on her words. Her voice trembled, but the conviction with which she mumbled her praise could not help but stir gratitude in you. You smiled at your reflection in the metal surface.
"Our Lord Hightower is smitten with you," the girl declared, her cheeks flushing.
You nodded slightly, knowing perfectly well that your husband found you dazzling whether you were in a dress or not. The second option was probably far more preferable to him.
You sighed again, barely hiding the slight frustration that had taken hold of your thoughts. Your maid fussed around you, adjusting the sleeves of your emerald-colored gown. Mentally, you kept returning to the image of your husband gripping his sword tightly. Ormund looked so resolute and proud as he watched your firstborn deftly dodge his strikes. Your son beamed just as brightly. He looked like a polished knight's helmet. Fortunately, he was still too young to wield a real dangerous and sharp weapon, but Lyonel was no longer the little boy who trustingly pressed against your side, seeking protection from something he didn't understand. You missed those times when his cheeks were still plump and pink like roses from the bushes. He was your tiny baby, following you everywhere and flinching at the sudden sound of a bird taking flight. Now Lyonel no longer needed your care as fully as before. At his age, he already considered himself grown, or at least approaching adulthood. Young Hightower probably had no idea how deeply he wounded his mother's heart when he dismissively waved off your advice. Now he clung to his father more and more, eagerly questioning him about the burdens of being head of the house. Your other two boys were also growing rapidly. It had been a long time since any of your children with Ormund had knocked on the heavy doors of your chambers in the dead of night. No one jumped into the parental bed, trembling and occasionally feigning fear, swearing about a monster they'd encountered under the bed. Martyn now considered it his duty to tease his younger brother for his cowardly complaints, and Garmund would impatiently lunge at him with his still-fragile little fists, almost growling with frustration. Now their squabbles occupied them endlessly. Garmund would catch his brother's gaze and lower his blue eyes in shame. Your gut told you that your youngest was torn between the need for maternal tenderness and the need for brotherly acceptance. When he so sweetly asked you to sing his favorite lullaby, you could barely hold back tears of emotion. For you, each of them, your three troublemakers, was still a baby, even with newfound ambitions worthy of their father's character.
But on the other hand, when you recently, in the heat of play, scooped up your two youngest sons, you felt that those little bundles with wrinkled faces had changed. They were so sturdy and heavy. Gods, those boys seemed to be filled with cast iron. All three took after their father in the most shameless way, inheriting all his features. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't spot even a trace of yourself in them. Little copies of Ormund Hightower. It sometimes made you uneasy how your eldest smiled at the master-at-arms' daughter. Lyonel had inherited his father's charm and used it expertly, it was unclear when and where he had acquired this experience.
So absurdly, you had recently prayed to the gods that your eldest son would be obedient and steady, that his head would be cold as ice, and that no frivolous thoughts would cloud his heart. The way he made eyes at that awkward girl did not let you rest. Then you prayed to the gods for the well-being of your husband and your other sons, and lastly, you left one final cherished wish. Fervently, tenderly, you begged the Seven to grant your house a little Lady Hightower, your daughter. Perhaps a little vanity had taken hold of you when you thought about stroking the silky hair of your little angel, whose curls would be exactly like yours.
Your thoughts were interrupted when the maid, with some apprehension, shook your shoulder. She always seemed a little afraid of you for some reason. There was no clear reason for it, but it didn't bother you much. She performed her duties well, almost nimbly.
"M'lady, are you unwell? You seem like a different person."
You smiled reservedly, touching your heavy earrings attached to your earlobes. Your husband never stinted when it came to jewelry. You, in turn, considered it a great honor to wear his gleaming gifts every day.
"I feel wonderful, I just got lost in thought about a few things."
The maid straightened up, burning with curiosity, but her lips were tightly sealed, as if any careless word could cost her her head.
"But it's none of your concern," you added sternly and quickly. "Better bring me that new nightgown of mine."
The girl was first confused and looked at you as if you were mad, since she had just fully dressed you, preparing you for the promised walk. The sly squint of your eye said much more.
"I need a private meeting with Lord Hightower," you licked your soft lips, mentally encouraging yourself to carry out your cunning plan. "Now don't just stand there. And bring the jasmine oil."
Your fingers were already buried in your hair, untangling the knots with newfound agility. You sincerely and fiercely wanted to get what you desired, and that pushed you to decisive action. Your husband might call it strategy, and it was. You knew perfectly well that he loved that scent, enveloping your body in the sweetest embrace, making Ormund openly want to devour you.
A little temptation, a little negotiation, and a little fulfillment of a cherished desire. The plan you had conceived was crystal clear and simple, and you had no doubt that Lord Hightower's restraint would burst the moment he found you in that silk nightgown with a little bow on your chest. You looked like a promised gift, which Ormund would unwrap without delay and perhaps without proper tenderness.
The maid closed the door behind her, wearing an understanding and supportive smile on her face, but you didn't need her blessing. You knew perfectly well the power you possessed. Your husband went weak in the knees simply because you smiled.
A few days ago, you had asked to be given separate chambers from Ormund. You had argued not too seriously, but perhaps a bit of drama guided you when you gave that capricious order. For a few days, both your bed and his had remained empty. Only stubbornness kept you from speaking again. You had even planned your walks so as not to witness their training, but then you secretly watched the whole scene from the window of your cold chambers.
You glided through the castle corridors as if floating on a glass lake, your nightgown billowing behind you. Some would have called you a vengeful ghost. Such was your determined gaze. Others, the most charming swan, because it was hard to look away. You moved swiftly, unable to avoid the cold biting your bare feet.
Your hands gripped the forged rings firmly attached to the wooden door, reaching up to the ceiling. You snorted in annoyance. You didn't quite like that the doors didn't open on their own. And frankly, you were a little angry at your husband for not being the first to visit your chambers.
What you saw stole your breath away. Ormund lay in a copper bath, bathed in morning light, sprawled out like a lion in the sun. A servant poured water over his tired, knotted shoulders with a ladle. Your husband didn't even raise an eyebrow when he saw you at the threshold, your chest heaving and your eyes burning dangerously. Lord Hightower barely smiled with the corner of his lips and closed his eyes, as if silently saying, "I knew you'd come." The servant, in turn, dropped everything. The rough sponge fell to the floor as the man bent into a frightened bow.
"Get out," you snapped impatiently, hastily covering your chest with your palms.
Only now did you realize how absurd your plan was, one that in no way included this poor servant. You nearly pressed yourself against the wall by the door, watching him hurriedly retreat from your chambers faster than the wind.
Ormund chuckled quietly, deeply, as if pouring velvet. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a tired but satisfied look.
"If you wanted a memorable entrance, I can guarantee our servant will never forget it."
He turned his gaze to you, slowly, leisurely, his eyes traveling over your body. His tongue darted out slightly, moistening his lower lip. When he waved his hand, rebellious drops of water fell straight onto the stone floor, creating a tinkling melody.
"But I would kindly ask you, on your next visit, to spare the poor man's heart, for the neckline of your very innocent nightgown carries utter ruin, my dear wife."
Ormund laughed again, this time louder, his laughter echoing off the walls of the room. Pulling your hands away from your chest, you clenched them tightly into fists.
"If there's something to show, why hide it?" you thrust your chest out proudly.
You stepped carefully on the stone, returning a detached expression to your face. You deliberately swayed your hips, knowing this mischief would have an effect on Ormund and wipe that insolent smile off his face. Your hand touched the strap of your silk nightgown, letting it fall gently, as if the wind had licked the fabric, shifting it a few inches. Your garment was already semi-transparent and left nothing to the imagination, every curve was clearly defined. The circles of your nipples peeked playfully, hardened from the cold.
His face soon changed. His wet fingers gripped the edges of the copper bath. Lord Hightower's jaw tightened with tension. Inside, you rejoiced as you spotted that familiar, unrestrained, hungry look. You knew you didn't need much, just to fan the fire a little more so it would blaze intensely.
You brushed the second strap aside, so the nightgown hung at your hips, but then coyly covered your bare chest with your hands.
"Or should I hide it?"
Ormund swallowed audibly, already ready to curse you and your damn games.
"Why hide what belongs to your husband?" he rasped impatiently, his hands already reaching for you, his whole body tensing and rising to meet you.
Drops of water raced down his torso too beautifully and slowly, capitulating as they fell. Your eyes gleamed with desire, no less than Ormund's.
"Come here," he said with authority in his voice, but seeing you back away slightly at the command, he softened. "Please, my love."
You chuckled softly. He always obeyed, without question, whispering his "pleases" like a puppy. But as soon as you were close enough to be caught, his demeanor ceased to seem at all pitiable. Ormund pulled your hands away from your chest demandingly, hungrily. Without a moment's hesitation, his large, hot palms covered your breasts and squeezed them firmly. He rubbed your nipples with his thumbs and index fingers, teasing cruelly. His hands felt so masculine, slightly rough from holding not just your soft female body but also rough steel.
Your moan was a loud, mewling sound when he caught your pearl-hard nipple with his lips. His hot tongue traced the bud, playing with it. You grabbed his head, pressing him to you imperiously. He tended to each of your breasts carefully, kneading them and biting the tender skin, reminding you who you belonged to and how unbearably desirable you were in your games.
His hand made its way, roughly pulling down the nightgown. The luxurious garment let out a pitiful squeak, tearing slightly, already clearly unwearable for the wife of Lord Hightower. Ormund wrapped his arm around your waist tightly and lifted you off the ground effortlessly, even though he himself was sitting in that damn bath, smelling of some kind of pine. You squealed and panicked, grabbing his shoulders, but very quickly the room was filled with a different sound, one that treacherously escaped your lips.
Ormund kissed your pussy with his open mouth, wetly and greedily. He couldn't wait any longer. You exuded that sweet scent, teasing him to his limit. He licked your folds with such pleasure painted on his face. His tongue became flexible and firm as it circled your clit and struck it, making you push into his face. The water in the bath sloshed, creating stormy waves in the copper giant. You called his name, not knowing what you expected from your husband, who consumed you with such appetite. Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs from the flood of emotions this intimacy in the narrow bath, certainly not designed for two, gave you. Your thighs trembled with a humiliating ache. Your knees barely held you up. This position was not comfortable at all, as you stood slightly bent over, while your husband looked like a feasting man, submerged in warm scented water.
Ormund's fingers plunged into your dripping pussy, curling inside you, stealing the most obscene, unrestrained sounds from your mouth. Your lashes were wet with the strain of the orgasm that was so close. You were ready to scream his name when he pulled away abruptly and lifted his head to look at your face.
Lord Hightower shamelessly licked your moisture from his lips. His chin still glistened, not letting you forget the intimacy so ruthlessly interrupted.
"Should I continue, or have the kitten's knees gotten tired?"
You wanted to hit him, but all your limbs were trembling and weak as rags. The next thing you wanted was to scratch his face, to paint red, stinging lines across it to remind him how unkind it was to anger your mistress. But you did none of those things and simply sank slowly into the water. Your hair clung to your neck and the back of your head, your cheeks burned with nervous excitement.
"I want a child," you blurted out, frustration settling all over your face. "A girl who will trust all her secrets only to me, her mother."
You pushed his chest with your foot, not hard, or perhaps Ormund simply didn't show it.
"I'm tired of begging the gods for a child."
Lord Hightower ran his fingers along the rib of your foot, sliding it off his body elegantly but gently.
"My love. The gods are merciful, but I think we don't need their blessing. We do just fine together."
Ormund smiled slyly before standing up. The water rushed away from his body in protest. His muscles were solid, firm, as if carved from marble. They rolled under your hungry gaze.
He didn't cover himself, and it would be a ridiculous lie to say that his erect cock wasn't noticeable. The head glistened, and his entire flesh seemed to ache, demanding to be wrapped around your soft body.
Ormund climbed out of the bath languidly, not even bothering to dry off. He offered you his hand like a gentleman, as if he hadn't villainously robbed you of your orgasm a few minutes ago. Your nightgown lay orphaned on the floor, hardly resembling its former seduction. Drops falling from your husband's body landed right on the silk. You looked at that garment and thought that his defiance had defeated your cunning.
Defeated, you offered your hand. Your husband helped you escape the copper bath, dragging you along. You collapsed onto the bed heavily. The fabric clung to wet skin, but that was nothing compared to how your bodies clung to each other. All grievances drowned the moment your lips met in greedy, unending kisses. You bit his lips as he kneaded your skin with his fingers. Your thighs hooked around his waist desperately as he guided his cock, running it through your still-sticky folds. He gathered the moisture that seeped from your desire.
"Do you want this? A child?" Ormund asked softly, touching your lower lip with his thumb, pulling it back slightly.
You whimpered and nodded, rubbing your thighs against his groin, making him hiss from the restraint that overflowed.
"Wouldn't a good husband do this for his sweet wife?" he whispered, wetly kissing your temple.
Lord Hightower couldn't wait another moment. He pushed into you softly before filling your greedy cunt gradually, almost tenderly. You gasped, moving sharply to meet his hips.
"Are you a good husband?" you asked in a strained voice, biting his earlobe.
"If coming in my wife's pussy makes me a good husband, then I suppose yes," he growled, thrusting deep into you.
You clung to him helplessly, surrendering to the passion of his movements, and couldn't tear yourself away from your husband's lips, whispering sweetly and tearfully.
"Then do it. I want this. I want this."
It was hard to describe your state when the peak hit you so suddenly, roughly, taking all your strength. You clenched all over, unable to let go of your husband. Your pussy spasmed, contracting around his cock.
Ormund stopped, but only for a moment, looking into your eyes, his palm stroking your cheek tenderly, caringly. His hips slapped against yours with less force. His movements took on a softer, more loving tone.
You buried your face in the curve of his neck, feeling him come deep inside your pussy, spilling hotly. His breath tickled you as his lips touched your ear.
"There's nothing more pleasant than coming in a wife who begs so sweetly."
Ormund didn't pull out right away, and you both savored the aftertaste of your love, the warmth that spread through your body, or rather, in the pit of your stomach.
"We'll keep trying. One attempt is probably not enough, my love," he whispered with a soft laugh, stroking your lips with his. "And you should come back to our bed. I get a little lonely without my sweet wife and her sweet outfits."
You hugged him as tightly as you could, forcing your husband to press you down with his not-inconsiderable weight. You didn't want him to leave, and you couldn't stop thinking about how intimate you were right now. His cock was slowly softening, and his seed trickled down the inside of your thigh. But in the end, he rolled off, still afraid of simply breaking you. Ormund's palm spread across your still-empty belly. His fingers traced small circles. And something inside you told you that your desire had been fulfilled.
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LOVE THE THEME CHANGE, STUNNINGđđđ so beautiful!! and congrats on 500+ followers!! i love your blog and your writing so much, you deserve each and every follower and more than that <33 genuinely, im such a big fan of everything you do, wish you all the best, jade!! love uđ
dear roline, thank you so much my pookie!! i adore all of your creations too. this is just the sweetest message ever <3 i hope you have a great day <333
thank you so much for 500 followers! i have some yum drafts brewing to say thanks... anyone who has ever read and enjoyed my posts, sending you the biggest hug <3 ily!
cw: (mdni+18), monsterfucking!!, dubious content, oral(f!receiving), primal play, biting, feral werewolf!cregan, scenting, predator/prey dynamics, kissing, choking, humping, scruffing, mounting, fluff, pregnancy mention, nipple play, lactation kink, pregnant sex, knotting, p in v, breeding breeding breeding, period sex, blood kink, squirting, public sex (godswood, cave), praise, body horror, marking, rough sex, aftercare, overstimulation, (3.3kw).
a/n: in my au, werewolf!cregan has two forms! one closer to man and one closer to direwolf. the first one looks something like this, but with more fur! the second one looks closer to this! hope that's not too confusing. wrote this in between errands so i'm sorry if there's any errors! will proofread again tomorrow. thank you underworld franchise for making me what i am today, a shameless pervert. this is PURE FILTH, so read at your own discretion!
werewolf!cregan stark who was reluctant to let you witness him in such a way, furred and massive and dangerous, thinking you would resent him, banish this ancient, feral form he can take at will. but you did not. to his utter surprise, you embraced it fully, saying that loving your husband before gods and men means accepting him as is. cregan believed your words not to be true, until one night when you demanded he take the form of the beast and settle in bed next to you for warmth. he was powerless to deny you, wanting more than anything to be accepted and welcomed by you, despite his reluctance, which dissipated into ash when you burrowed into his furred chest, nuzzling along his neck and wrapping yourself around him as if he were a plush to sleep with. you were not afraid of him, and it rattled cregan to his very core. even more when you demanded he turn fully, more direwolf than man, and lay next to you as if he were one of the beasts prowling around winterfell than your husband. you argued he was warmest that way, and you liked how his paws kneaded at the fat of your hip and patted at your thighs even in sleep, as if in search of more of you.
werewolf!cregan stark who loves chasing his pretty wife through the woods, snapping his jaws at the hem of your skirts just to make you gasp and run faster. you just look so good like that: skin warmed from exertion, chest heaving, mouth parting to breathe properly. he could catch you at any moment, but the view of your body swaying and jiggling as you quicken your pace, of the way you yelp and whine when your delicate bare feet scrape against the dirt and pebbles on the ground... gods, it makes his maw water, fangs aching to sink into any part of you.
werewolf!cregan stark who plunders your mouth, clawed paw willing your jaw open as far as it will go so he can lap inside, slow and filthy. he is uncaring of the way it must look, towering over you, maw pressed close, his textured tongue licking the inside of your mouth, tasting you fully. spit and drool running down your chin, and lower, glistening against your neck and dirtying your clothes, but you do not mind. not when your husbandâs thick, long tongue is reaching the back of your throat, thrusting it as deep as it would go, fucking your mouth and making you choke around whines of pleasure. the feeling is debauched and sinful, but the growl of approval you get from the beast every time you struggle around the insistence of his kiss makes you preen.
werewolf!cregan stark who calls you pup in private, when itâs just the two of you, and he still has the sense of speech with him, more man than beast, crooning it into your ear, rumbled from deep in his chest. at first, you thought it was a means to make jest of you, but cregan wouldnât dream of using such a special endearment with anything but aching devotion. âso pretty for me, pup,â heâll mouth against your cheek, nuzzling into the warm flesh as he holds you close after another night of giving your bodies to one another. âdoes my pup want more?â your husband would ask seeing you eye the now empty plate of lemon cakes onto the table at supper, a pout onto your lips. âno, pup. we canât afford such luxuries today,â he regretfully murmurs before pressing an apologetic kiss to your cheek. âbe good for me, pup. donât fuss.â cregan would growl against your nape as he held you down beneath him, ceasing your squirming.
werewolf!cregan stark who lets himself be the ancient, feared beast in the sanctity of your chambers. massive, furred, and dangerous, but never one to hurt even a hair on your pretty head unless you wished it. at times, you ask for the animal yourself, needing to prove to your husband that you love every inch of him. that, and having a hulking, panting mountain of a man-wolf wanting nothing but to lose himself in you makes your cunt shamefully wet. you know most people would find you mad, to feel and desire such a thing from a beast who could tear your throat out in one swift movement, but you cannot help yourself. for that is still your husband, and knowing that even like this, changed and wearing the skin of a wolf, he still wants for you in the most primal of ways, wills your thighs to spread open and present yourself to him in a heartbeat.
werewolf!cregan stark who takes you to the godswood late into the night and tells you to run as fast as you can, for he will give you a wide berth before catching you. the night air is so cold, and youâre wearing nothing but his cloak around you, since your husband wanted you bare and ready for him when heâll get his claws on you. clothes are bothersome, and the beast is hungry, but he, of course, allows his wife the decency of a warm furred cloak, not wishing for you to freeze before the hunt even began. watching you move through the trees, giggles falling from your mouth as you make sure to sway your hips from side to side as you move further and further away, cloak billowing behind you, offering cregan flashes of soft skin and lush flesh he wishes to sink his fangs into. he had never transformed faster, bones creaking, flesh tearing to make room for fur and muscle and brawn, growling as he leaped into motion on all fours to follow your trail. his prey was waiting for him, and he could already sniff the slick of arousal between your thighs calling out to him like a spell.
werewolf!cregan stark who finds you no long after, but doesnât pounce yet. instead, he circles. prowls through the trees, allowing you to see flashes of him, hear the rumbles of his need, and the snapping of his maw. your breath hitches, and your chest heaves with heavy breaths of exertion from running, but it does not compare to the delicious ache you feel between your thighs, pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing, the thrill of the chase spiking your adrenaline, steadily weening it into lust. and cregan smells it, willing him into getting closer, making himself seen, paws digging into the damp earth as he approaches enough to snag at the cloak with his claws and nip at a flash of bare calf that got too close to his maw.
werewolf!cregan stark who tackles you into the ground, tearing away the cloak from your body, impatience eating away at the little restraint he has, words ceasing to exist now, all that remained being the low sounds of need from a beast whose cock hangs heavy between his legs, needing to be sheathed inside your cunt as soon as possible. he covers you fully, pinning you belly first into a pile of leaves and dirt, jaws parting to close around your nape, scruffing you, as a wolf would a misbehaving pup, keeping you beneath him as he molds his furred body against the length of your back. the bite doesnât draw blood, but wills you into obedience, limbs melting, surrendering yourself fully to the beast above you, which draws a growl from deep within his chest, a sound of satisfaction at your subservience. youâre already so, so wet, dripping down your thighs, and cregan cannot help but hump against your ass like a dog in heat, claws scraping against the earth on either side of your head from the feeling. heâs a bow drawn tight, and the way his big, girthy cock rubs between the fat cheeks of your bottom makes his fangs ache.
werewolf!cregan stark who feeds the head of his cock into your hole with a snarl muffled against your nape, holding back from howling from how snug your pussy is around his weeping length. he should be ashamed that he is knotting the air, gorged flesh already pulsing at the base of his cock, but canât bring himself to when you squeeze so deliciously around him, pulling him deeper and deeper inside. cregan takes you like what he is: a beast. growling and panting against your skin, scruffing you firmly as he pounds into you with fervor, drooling against your nape from how good it feels, blanketing you with his massive, furred form, rutting into your pussy hard enough to jostle you back and forth against the ground.
werewolf!cregan stark who wishes words were still given to him in this beastly form, only able to enunciate the delectable pleasure youâre giving him with nothing but growls and croons and rumbles, hoping those are enough for you to know that your cunt is the best gift you could bestow upon him, next to your heart. your moans and wanton cries delight him, only coaxing him to fuck you harder, faster, deeper, nudging his knot past the opening of your hole and stuffing you so full of him you swear your soul ascends to the gods for a mere moment. the beast rumbles when you squeeze him tight, only able to give sharp grinds into your pussy now, the knot binding you both together. cregan unlatches his maw from your neck, rough tongue lapping at the indents his fangs have left behind in silent apology, but preening with pride at having left his mark upon your skin. you babble incoherently, so lost in pleasure you barely can form a word, tears running down your cheeks from the sheer mounting pleasure youâre given, which cregan licks sloppily, tasting salt and wife on his palate.
werewolf!cregan stark who pins you down and makes you take it, knowing you can, knowing you want it, even in the dirt, and breeds you so full it leaks out of you, dripping between your thighs and onto the ground, even staining his fur. it irritates and delights him in equal measure that your body is smaller than his, not being able to take all his cum into your womb, but loving to know that he is giving you so much of his seed, his potency and virility so strong that your hole cannot keep all of it. a shame, really, to waste it away, but that is alright. cregan will only have to breed you again to make up for it, like he always does. your womb is made to take his litter, to have his pups, and he will make sure he prepares your body for it accordingly, giving it what it needs for the seed to catch.
werewolf!cregan stark who loves to press a heavy paw against the pudgy flesh of your belly, right above your crotch, to feel the head of his cock kissing your womb. to feel the slight roundness of your stomach after he has pumped you full of his cum, the flesh protruding a little from the sheer amount of it. or, to apply pressure in time with his thrusts, making you feel every inch of him as he ruts into you like an animal.
werewolf!cregan stark who gives in to his most primal desires, feral from the full moon, and fucks you into a cave at the outskirts of winterfell, at the foot of a mountain. itâs cold and damp and primitive, but your husband is too far gone to care, driving his cock into your sopping wet cunt, pressing you into the floor of the cave, only cushioned by his cloak. he claws at the rocky, rough surface, leaving indents behind on the ground on either side of your head as he mounts you like a beast, one paw lifting your hips up and backwards to meet his thrusts, presenting you to him, arching your body as far as it would go, like a cat in heat, ready to give him what he needs. your ass jiggles with every snap of his furred hips, and he howls in delight as his knot nudges deep into your hole and rubs against your gummy walls. your mouth is open and drooling onto his cloak as you leave yourself in his clawed paws to do with as he wishes, moving you as he wants you, pulling you onto his cock again and again while you moan and take it, warm cheek flush against the hard ground of the cave. cregan is mad with need, filling you with his seed until your belly swells with it, crooning against your throat as he nips at it enough to sting, then laps the pain away, only to do it again. his precious, gorgeous mate, spent under him, mewling and hiccuping wanton whines of pleasure as you let him use your pretty hole, even squirting around his cock, dampening his fur, marking him back. it satisfies a sick feeling in his chest, willing you to do it again and again, delirious with overstimulation until his fur is drenched in your juices and you are so spent you cannot string more than two words together.
werewolf!cregan stark who croons so sweetly as he cradles you under him, gentle as he turns you around to see your pretty face, your dazed, drowsy gaze, your drooly lips. and he swears there is no better sight in all the seven kingdoms and beyond. your husband is so careful as he curls beside you, using his massive, furred body to offer you warmth, paws maneuvering you slowly until you are pressed to his chest. his maw nuzzles against the top of your head, the length of your throat, the valley between your breasts, rough tongue lapping lazily at the sweat-slicked skin, offering comfort. cregan always handles you as gingerly as he can after heâs wrung every ounce of pleasure from your body, thanking you in his own brutish way for allowing him to have you, even like this, more beast than man. he grooms you, as a wolf would a pup, nuzzling and licking at every patch of skin he can, sweeping dirt and tears from your cheeks, crooning as he lulls you into drowsiness, your body lax and pliant against his hulking frame.
werewolf!cregan stark who begrudgingly allows his body to will itself into the form closer to a direwolf at times, at your request, growling as he listens to you argue that it is better for keeping you warm on the colder days and allows you to curl around him better than his other, more ferocious, towering form. you will never admit how fond you are of your husband like this, all furred and fluffy, a perfect candidate to hold and snuggle to bed, to his utter dismay. he gets more playful like this, nipping at your skirts and nosing underneath them, receiving countless scoldings from you, which the beast only responds to with a flicker of his ears and a swish of his tail. cregan can be a bastard at times, and he enjoys toying with you, lifting one of his forelegs to paw and knead at your ass or thigh when you least expect it. or smack it. whatever fancies him in that moment.
werewolf!cregan stark who has a hard time allowing you to be at your desk, foreseeing scrolls and letters for more than half an hour before he noses his way under your skirts to lap at the soft skin of your thighs and nip at your small clothes, tearing them away so he can get to your cunt. there is not much you can do when a beast is pushing his maw against your pussy, snout pressing against your slit, panting and drooling as he sniffs at the curls that hide his favourite meal. your husbandâs rough tongue has no shame as it laps at you, parting your folds to taste you fully, furred ears twitching in delight as your slick floods his mouth and makes his fangs ache. his tail wags incessantly as he licks at your pussy, growling into the heat of you, uncaring of the work that needs your attention. your skirts are pooled over your waist, your wolf is between your legs, and youâre powerless to push him away, fingers coming to weave through the fur between his ears, petting fondly, eliciting a pleasant rumble from him.
werewolf!cregan stark who has no qualms in pressing his snout right against your crotch when he can sniff your moon blood has befallen you, whining needily, akin to a pup, until he can get his big, furry head under your skirts so he can lick away the blood between your thighs, lapping at it greedily, tail wagging in delight as the beast feasts. you are absolutely horrified the first time it happens, pushing at him and yelping as you try to scramble away, but big, clawed paws hold you still, pitiful whines and growls rumbling from his maw as he pleads, in his own way, for you to let him ease the pain and ache between your thighs, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, cramps becoming merely dull afterthoughts under the care of your husband. looking at him afterwards always makes you ashamed, the fur around his jaws stained red with your blood, dripping down his neck, marking him. he licks at his chops, preening under your gaze, ears twitching. the bastard.
werewolf!cregan stark who is the first to know when his seed has taken root inside of your womb, circling you as he sniffs at every inch of skin he can press his snout against, crooning so deep you swear you feel it in the marrow of your bones. youâre going to have his pups. his litter. and he is utterly obsessed with keeping you close as much as possible, foregoing his duties when the north allows it so he can spend his time curled up next to you, nosing at your belly and lapping at the growing pudge, nuzzling it as he croons and purrs. your husband sleeps with his head onto your belly, or one heavy paw kneading ever gently at the skin there, needing to know every sound, every shift.
werewolf!cregan stark who fucks you slow and deep, even while youâre heavy with his pups, rutting into you as heâs pressing his hulking, furred body against your back, both of you lying onto your sides where youâre most comfortable, to not put strain onto your pregnant belly. one paw is splayed against it, holding it from the underside to ease the heaviness of it for you as he makes sure to drive his cock right where you need it, careful to keep his knot away, mindful of the way your body is too sensitive for such things now. instead, he knots the air, not nudging it inside your hole like he wouldâve done before, restrain made of iron, the safety and contentment of his mate paramount. cregan offers his cock to you whenever you wish it while youâre pregnant, knowing that pheromones can make you crave pleasure more than before, and he is more than delighted to provide his length, mouth, everything at your service.
werewolf!cregan stark who cannot help but nuzzle against your chest, nipping at the neckline of your nightgown, sniffing greedily when he catches whiffs of sweet, warm milk leaking from your nipples and staining the fabric of your chemise. his rough tongue is lapping at the pebbled peaks through the soft material, hungry and greedy for a taste, whining and snarling softly, having half a mind to rip the garment to pieces with his fangs. he canât help the rumble of satisfaction when you tug your neckline down with a huff, presenting your tits to him, heavy with milk and dripping what he can only assume is the nectar of the gods, for it tastes like so when he lets his tongue lap at your nipples like a frenzied dog, tail wagging incessantly behind him, looking more a pup tasting milk than an ancient beast thrice the size of his wife.
werewolf!cregan stark who fucks his pregnant wife with his tongue when he is too fearful to use his cock anymore, allowing you to rock against the textured surface of his palate to your delight, squeezing around it as if to milk him dry. he ruts his tongue into you steadily, giving you the pleasure you seek as you hold onto his fur and moan prettily. your husband is so good to you.
werewolf!cregan stark who will never admit how weak he gets when you let mewls of âgood boyâ slip past your lips whenever he is between your legs, his tail having a mind of its own as it wags uncontrollably, whining into your pussy from the praise, driving him to satisfy you with more vigour, leaning into the pets you offer him so sweetly.
werewolf!cregan stark who is like a sentinel when your pups are born, grooming them so carefully, licking at their downy heads and nuzzling their soft cheeks, cradling them against his furred body, cocooning them in his warmth. he scents them as often as possible, nosing at their chubby bellies and soft throats to make sure they smell just like him. so everyone knows that these precious pups are his and yours. a labour of your love.
werewolf!cregan stark who needs to leave his mark on you and his pups, scenting all of you heavily every morning before he leaves for court and duties, needing to groom and tend to his little family, crooning and purring happily when all of you nuzzle back into him. creganâs heart couldnât be more full.
Alys' delighted "Oh my," in the trailer is making me hoot with laughter. Amazon just dropped off two new toys for her to play with and she's gonna have a ball.
my husband likes the actor matt smith and i told him that matt smith did a story for quinn then i had to explain what quinn was and the first thing he asks is âis that like your smut that you read?â
The only love Cregan Stark knows is an all consuming oneâŠ
None of this is sfw someone sedate me. Content tags are mild smut, cannibalism and grossness, finger sucking, scent kink thank you for reading <3
You stand next to your husband, attending a minor Northern housesâ wedding ceremony. Creganâs massive paw rests on your low back, but only for a brief moment. It steadily lowers to the meat of your backside- muscle and fat that create an irresistible shape in the fabric of your dress. A solid grip holds your arse, the digits digging in so deeply you wonder if he is trying to tear the meat right off your bones. Itâs a tender area already. Only an hour earlier you paced in front if him, fussing over the ribbons that had come loose from your hair, and he delivered a firm swat to your arse simply for the satisfaction of feeling fat ripple underneath his touch. He had delivered the same look that he does now. Eyebrows raised, half smile tugging at his lips, a look of mock innocence. âWhat?â
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He presses his nose into your mound. It drives you to the point of insanity. One forearm lays heavy across your stomach, to keep you still. He inhales deeply, the unique scent of you, then quick exhales out his nose send shudders up your entire spine. âHusbandâ you wheeze âWhat are you doing?â He hasnât used his mouth, which somehow torments you more, just pressing his face into your sensitive cunt.
âHold stillâ he warns against your squirming. âIâd hate to bite ya hereâ
Your fingers thread even tighter in their hold on his long, brown hair. Hair? Fur? Youâve lost track.
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Cregan encourages you to be rough. You are not a predator by nature, but now find yourself married to one, and have developed a peculiar appetite for him. You gnaw at his neck (under the collar - the skin bruises easily there), bicep (when you havenât eaten breakfast yet and your stomach growls) but most often you chew his hands. Taking his index finger into your mouth, sucking, coating it in saliva. Cregan studies you, gaze never wavering from your consumption of him. He slides a second finger past your lips. âTeethâ he mutters, a simple instruction, but you know what he wants. You shift the fingers to your back molars, just enough to fill your mouth but not enough to gag you, and graze his digits against the ivory again and again.
