The Blood of the Seven Kingdoms (Jacegan, Series): What if Jacaerys Velaryon lived to be crowned King Jacaerys, First of His Name, with Lord Cregan Stark beside him throughout it all?
Jacaerys Velaryon
What A Feeling to Thank You, My King (Jacaerys Velaryon x Betrothed!Reader, Oneshot): As the betrothed of King Jacaerys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, you want to thank him for so many things, and you pick a daring moment to do so. And what a feeling it is to thank your beloved king.
Cregan Stark Headcanons
Cregan Stark - Oneshots
I Might Hold You With My Hands Tied (Show You I'm the Right Guy to Figure You Out) (Cregan Stark x Bolton!Reader, Oneshot): When your brother, the Lord of the Dreadfort and House Bolton, betrays Lord Cregan Stark and the North, there must be consequences. Your fate hangs in the balance - a fate tied to Cregan himself.
You Like It Wet, And So Do I (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): Sequel to Your Gray Wolf of the North. When your husband, Cregan Stark, must make an important decision, he asks for your counsel. And he also asks you to meet him in the hot springs below Winterfell. You hope he wants more than just your opinion - you hope he wants to make you wet too.
Your Gray Wolf of the North (Cregan Stark x Glover!Reader, Oneshot): As the widowed Lady Glover, you find stepping into your late-husband's role to be painful, especially when you're surrounded by men who remind you of all that you've lost. Comfort comes unexpectedly from Lord Cregan Stark himself, and a friendship blossoms between you - and perhaps something more.
Mama's Boy (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): Kiergan, the direwolf of your husband, Cregan Stark, has been acting strange lately - always by your side, even more than normal. It causes you great concern, and Cregan too. But there is a reason that Kiergan has been so attentive to you lately - a surprise that you and Cregan welcome with joy.
There Goes My Heart Beating, 'Cause You Are The Reason (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): As he and his wife take a ride through the Wolfswood, Cregan Stark thinks about how much he loves her, how happy he is now, and what that means for him. He works up the courage to share his thoughts and feelings with her, and she shares something with him too.
We Know That We Can Treat You Better Than He Can (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader x Reader's Twin Sister, Oneshot): Your twin sister, Carra, is being neglected by her husband, Lord Royce - her pleasure especially. It breaks your heart to see her so upset and unfulfilled, and you have a wild idea on how to help her. But you need your lord husband, Cregan Stark, to help you help her.
'Cause, Baby, Now We Got Bad Blood (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): Your husband, Cregan Stark, is a patient man, until you try to thwart his authority, sure that you're right and he's wrong. You're furious with each other, but you won't back down, and unfortunately, neither will he... Until he does.
One Of Me Is Cute, But Two, Though? Give It To Me, Baby (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): Cregan Stark - your loving, protective husband - has never been able to say no to you. But sex while you're pregnant? Will he say no to that? You just need to convince him. You just need to show him.
Watch Me Watch You (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): What can you learn about your husband, Cregan Stark, when you watch him find his pleasure? And what can he learn about you?
Say You Can't Sleep? Baby, I Know (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): Your husband, Cregan Stark, can't find sleep - his responsibilities and duties are keeping him awake at night. You find a new way to help him relax.
I Wanna Make Ya Hungry, Then I Wanna Feed Ya (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): You have been teasing your lord husband, Cregan Stark, all day, and he is hungry. Perhaps you should let him have a taste. That’s it. That’s the plot. 💋
I Was Made for Loving You (Cregan Stark x Sister!Reader, Oneshot): Cregan Stark is the Lord of Winterfell, and your devoted brother. What does it mean to serve at his side as the Lady of Winterfell, if you are not his lady wife? And what does it mean when you hear the song in his heart, the same one yours sings for him?
Taste You on My Tongue (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): Your lord husband, Cregan Stark, has always been generous with the affection and pleasure he bestows on you, his head happily nestled between your legs at any given time. But you’ve never had the chance to return the favor, and you’d like to change that.
The North Is My Home, As Are You (Cregan Stark x Cerwyn!Reader, Oneshot): When your brother arranges an unwanted betrothal for you, you plead with Cregan Stark for help.
If You Snap at Your Wolf, He Might Bite Back (Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader, Oneshot): Not you getting cunty with your husband, Cregan Stark, so much so that you’ve gotten on his last nerve and he bares his teeth and growls at you and you’re like oh yeah I married a wolf. And later that night he’s got you on your hands and knees and reminds you that you married the Wolf of the North.
Hellooo! I wanted to take some of your news, so how are you?? I miss you so much you and your writing!!
Have you watched the new show? A knight of the seven kingdoms?? If yes, do you plan on writing on some of the characters??
Love uuuu❤️
Hi there, that’s so kind of you to say. Thank you ❤️ I’m doing well, and I hope you are too.
I watched the first episode of AKOTSK, and I thought it was well done, especially considering the bad feelings between HBO and GRRM.
But because there was so much awful drama I had to deal with towards the end of my active involvement in the HOTD fandom, watching AKOTSK brought up some uncomfortable feelings for me. It’s a shame how toxic people in fandoms can ruin shows for you. So, I haven’t watched any more of AKOTSK because of it, and I won’t be writing for any of the characters. Sorry about that. I’m sure there are many new fic writers who’ve entered the scene anyway! It’s their time to shine.
But for me, I doubt I’ll ever write for any ASOIAF characters/shows again. It’s just not worth the drama that came with it.
I mean, I think it’s like second to last on my WIP list, so… I have other WIPs/ideas I’d get to before working on this one, if and when I write for Cregan again.
my apologies if I’m wrong but did you not have a fanfic about Cregan x reader that was inspired by mulan?
Ahh that is a fic idea on my long WIP list, requested by someone (sorry, I can’t recall who!). I have maybe 5 pages written? Loosely based on the Mulan theme where a woman needs to disguise herself as a man and serve as a warrior under Cregan. He finds out she’s not a man, etc. 😅
Also, I feel what you're saying about the fandom being quiet but I hope if we get more news about s3, it may change🥹
I really hope so. I'm wondering if I should put more effort into being active here, maybe it would encourage others to do the same and we might breathe a bit more life into the fandom?
8. WIP I started because someone else's fic inspired me (tag them and mention the fic!)
An older Cregan x younger reader, very much inspired by @still-jon-snow who wrote a oneshot with that same trope a while back! Since then I've been fantasizing about older Cregan 🥰 linking the fic here.
11. WIP I started to dip a toe in a new ship
Currently working on two female x female oneshot, one for Alicent and one for Helaena, both with female readers ♡
Pairing: Cregan Stark x Jace's twin reader x Jacaerys Velaryon
Tags: war time angst, arranged betrothal, sex outside of marriage, threesome, sexual/romantic tension, smut, oral sex (female and male receiving), daisy chain (not the flower crown), Jacegan, fluffy ending
Wordcount: 4,745
Distressed by the harsh reality of war and battle, you spend a night of respite and pleasure in the arms of your betrothed, Cregan Stark, and your twin brother, Jacaerys.
Cregan Masterlist · Jacaerys Masterlist
Snow was falling in sparse flakes over the valley, coating it in a damp layer that turned the dirt to mud as the Northern armies were settling for the night, the camp vast and wide across the plain.
Sitting atop your dragon who had just landed on the overseeing hill, your twin brother Jacaerys in the saddle of his own winged beast, you were observing the men as they set up their tents for the night.
The afternoon was turning into evening quickly, as it did these days—winter was following you down the region, icy winds and morning frost that fell over the land as you progressed further south.
The Hightower armies had been spotted by a scout earlier today, prompting Lord Stark and Lord Tully to order their men to settle here, where they still had an advantage. In a day or two, both armies would inevitably face one another, and you and Jacaerys would fly above the Northern one, supporting their attack.
“Are you afraid?” you asked Jace, your dragon taking a step forward, closer to the steep slope. At your side, Vermax shook its large frame to shake the cold. With a gloved hand, your twin followed the curve of his dragon’s neck, soothing him.
“I admit I am,” he replied with a frown. “The Hightowers certainly have called the Lannisters to reinforce their numbers by now, but Cregan Stark is a skilled tactician. I’m certain his planning will prevail in the end.”
“Do you trust him?” you asked, smiling to yourself as your beast nudged its brother with its large snout, and both beasts purred.
“With my life,” came the confident reply, and your private smile grew fondly.
Such trust was hard to earn, you knew, but if there was a man deserving of it, it was Cregan Stark. You had heard stories and rumors of his serious demeanor and even harder character, throughout the years, but the man you had met two moons ago had been quite different.
Upon setting eyes on the man your mother Queen Rhaenyra had sent you to negotiate with, you had been surprised at how young he really was, and reverent towards both yourself and your twin brother, who had accompanied you.
Jacaerys had spent good time with the Northerner, both before and after your betrothal had been acted. It had been suggested by your mother before you flew north, that you would offer your hand to the Warden if and only if he was agreeable to you—you had doubted you would find a kindred spirit in him, but you had been proven wrong.
“What is it?” Jacaerys asked, no doubt sensing the shift in your mood.
He chuckled as you dipped your chin, hiding your expression behind the thick curtain of your hair. Despite the heavy atmosphere around you, and the fear that was no doubt rising in you as much as it was rising in him, Jacaerys was pleased to see you flustered over your betrothal.
“He kissed me, before we left the Twins,” you confessed. “He pulled me behind a pillar as his men were marching out. He said that he didn’t know if he would get the opportunity again once we reached the open fields and that he wouldn’t forgive himself if that was the case.”
“That is uncharacteristically sentimental of him,” Jacaerys commented, both surprised and delighted. “He is fond of you.”
You felt a flush of warmth going through your stomach and chest at that, along with a pang of something akin to guilt. You had grown up familiar with the idea that you might wed your twin, although it had never been formally decided, and finding another soul to bind yourself to instead of him felt like a betrayal of sorts.
Jacaerys had seen the way the Northman had immediately taken to you, treating you with respect far beyond what he owed to a princess of the realm, all the while never crossing the line that would have made his behavior an obvious advance.
“He’s a good man. I am glad it’s him,” Jacaerys concluded before Vermax shook his frame again, and pushed himself forward to take up flight.
It was almost a fortnight later when the Northern armies found rest and shelter again. They had reached Raventree Hall, but not without meeting a detachment of the Lannister host, along with an unexpected blue shadow flying behind it.
The camp was settling in and around the castle, in its courtyards and against its ramparts, every wall and porch used as shelter, along with tents set up as though a siege was underway.
The men were invigorated by their temporary victory, but they knew more vicious battles would come, and that this respite would likely be the last before a long while. Temporary barracks were being made in every room of the keep, dining rooms lined with cots and hallways used as storage facilities.
It was nearly evening when dragons landed, making the ground shake and the flaps of the tents fly in the wind. Cregan had been touring the camp, making sure his men would be fed a hot meal at supper and would settle well enough to spend a restful night.
As the two young beasts touched down on the frosty ground, Cregan walked towards them carefully, still wary. He watched Jacaerys jump from the saddle, not waiting until Vermax had lowered his shoulder closer to the ground, and sprint towards your dragon—at which Cregan’s heart picked up and he hurried towards you as well.
It was with difficulty that you dismounted, visibly shaking as Jacaerys helped you land on your feet.
“Is she wounded?” Cregan asked as he reached the two of you.
“No,” Jacaerys was quick to reassure him. “Not her body, at least.”
“Whose beast was it?” he asked.
A dragon had met them on the battlefield earlier in the day, unexpectedly shadowing the Lannister armies. It had not flown too close, no doubt unwilling to engage the two beasts that would meet his one, but a few warning flames had been spat over the fighting men, deterring the blue-winged beast from engaging further.
“Our uncle Daeron,” Jacaerys replied.
“I hurt him, I think. Burned a hole in one of Tessarion’s wings,” you confessed to Cregan tearily, looking up at him, hoping to find forgiveness and perhaps salvation on his handsome face. He seemed a bit bruised and dirty, but not wounded.
“You did what you had to do to protect yourself,” Jace assured, his hand still gently cradling your arm.
“You promised to come back to me safely,” Cregan reminded you, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead, the chivalrous gesture making you want to weep. Uncaring for the men around you or the presence of your brother, you pressed up on your toes to catch his lips.
Jacaerys watched as the broad man melted into your smaller frame, the serious set of his brow fading into a gentler line, his large hands holding your face as though you were made of crystal. His upper lip lingered when he pulled away, keeping his kiss chaste—his eyes remained closed as he pressed his forehead to yours, and Jacaerys swallowed the lump in his own throat.
Cregan’s eyelids opened on two storms when he briefly looked up over your shoulder, a silent dialogue between him and Jace while you sought his mouth again. Jacaerys was frozen in place, watching Cregan press back into your kiss, unable to look aside, captivated by the way the northman’s eyes fluttered shut, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheek.
Even with his eyes closed, Cregan could feel Jace’s burning gaze. He had noticed him observing his every interaction with you, and at first had taken it for the protective nature of a brother towards his sister. Now he could not hide behind willful ignorance any longer, and had to face the inevitable, forbidden conclusion—it was longing.
Raventree Hall offered a bit of comfort in the form of a room for the night, a warm bath and maids to wash clothes. You were relieved to be offered a fresh nightgown and simple robe from Lady Alysanne’s own wardrobe. Cregan had said nothing as your twin had remained with you as you had washed and changed.
Room and privacy were scarce as they usually were in war, and even if the occasion to have a room to himself had presented itself, Cregan would have refused. He was glad for the company of Jacaerys and the opportunity to keep an eye on you. The room had belonged to Alysanne’s father when he still lived but had long been rid of his personal effects. Cregan was grateful for the rather large desk in the middle of it.
You had finally fallen asleep, curled up on the large bed, hidden by pelts. Jacaerys had spread maps on the table and the two men spent most of the evening discussing in what direction the Northern armies would march next and what potential obstacles they would meet.
“We need to win this war quickly, Cregan. I am afraid it will crush her,” Jacaerys said after a while of silence, where the both of them had just stared at the fire, sipping the hot cider a maid had brought to them.
“On the field men draw courage from each other,” Cregan said, in his usual quiet wisdom. “Up there in the skies you are alone with your beast.”
“We must devise a plan, I would not put her in the line of fire again,” Jacaerys said, and Cregan liked his determination to protect you. He found it aligned with his own instincts.
“You love her,” he said in a quiet tone.
“She is my sister, my twin,” Jacaerys was quick to reply.
Cregan contemplated staying silent, but in the end chose the path of truth, no matter how bluntly it would have to be said. “That is not what I meant.”
Jacaerys took a deep breath, his chest rattling with it, doubt and sorrow crawling up his throat. “It does not matter, she is yours. My mother will not go back on her oath,” he assured him.
“I surely hope not. I care for her…” he marked a pause, and the depth of his eyes made Jace swallow again lest he choked on his own nerves. “As I care for you.”
Jacaerys blinked in quick succession, surprised. “As twins, we’re used to sharing everything,” he said rather clumsily, but Cregan did not seem offended.
If anything, he seemed a bit amused, and the corner of his lip raised. Jacaerys flushed, hiding his nerves in a sip of cider, but before he could speak again, give himself a chance to explain what he had meant, he heard you shift under the sheets.
Cregan heard you gasp a word in High Valyrian, then you shot up, reaching out in front of you as though you were pulling a rein. Jacaerys rushed to your side, calling your name and other words he could not understand—the ancient language was beautiful, powerful in a way he could barely grasp. It was the language your beasts responded to, the language you both carried in your blood.
“You are safe, princess,” Cregan soothed as he approached, unsure if he was being helpful. Your teary eyes turned to him and you murmured his name. “We are in Raventree Hall.”
Heart galloping in your chest, the remnants of your dream were quickly chased by the presence of your brother and your intended. You could still feel a cold shiver of fear run down your spine, chilling you to the bone.
“I am sorry, my lord. I’m not usually prone to hysterics,” you apologized, and it made Cregan’s chest tighten. The next glance he shared with Jacaerys was heavy and charged—the young man had been right, you had to be shielded from this war.
“I’ve seen the toughest of men being rattled by battle. I would never judge you,” he said, and his words soothed you rather.
You were still shaking from your terrible dream, your profile pressed against your twin brother’s neck as he soothed you with gentle sounds and kisses to your hair.
A tender heat spread in Cregan's chest at the sight. He was almost overcome with the desire to wrap the both of you in his arms and shield you from the horrors of this war, coupled with the desire to kneel at your feet and worship the two of you.
For a man who admired both the male and female form, whose chest housed a fierce sort of love, you were the most perfect picture he could lay his eyes on. Resisting the urge to drop to his knees and confess his affection, he instead bent over, steadying himself on the edge of the bed to press a firm kiss to your temple.
You closed your eyes as his warm lips brought you comfort, a soft sound of yearning bubbling out of your throat when he pulled back.
“I shall leave you to rest,” he said, proper as ever, then turned to Jace. “You should spend the night with her. I will sleep with my men and we’ll devise a plan at first light.”
“I think she would like you to stay,” Jacaerys replied, his voice a bit hesitant.
“I need you here,” you instantly added, reaching out for his hand. “Your presence is grounding.”
“Of course,” Cregan heard himself say before he could think the decision through.
Your words had his chest aching, the desire to soothe and comfort you almost unbearable. Without a second thought, he bent down again and pressed another kiss to your cheek this time, chaste but lingering, and as he breathed in the scent of your soap and perfume, he could feel Jacaerys’ breath near him.
He pulled away slowly, glancing aside where your twin was observing him closely, his lips parted and his pupils blown wide.
“We both need you here,” you whispered, and Cregan swallowed as Jace tilted his head slightly, almost a question, almost an attempt.
“My prince,” he said, and you pulled at Cregan’s shoulder until he sat on the edge of the bed.
He had shed his furs and heavy armor earlier, and instead had donned a shirt the maid had brought from Lord Blackwood’s wardrobe. It was freshly washed and smelled of soap, but his own smell had started to permeate it, and it took over your senses when you pressed your forehead to his shoulder.
For a moment the three of you sat together, contemplating the situation you found yourselves in. Cregan swallowed and broke the silence first. “I would not encourage you on a path that would cause you pain.”
“I am yours by oath, nothing will change that,” you were quick to reassure him.
“You are also his by blood,” he answered, looking intensely at Jacaerys.
“Does it displease you?” you asked.
“The last thing I am is displeased,” he replied, pressing another sweet kiss to your forehead. “If you wish it so, my arms are strong enough to hold the both of you.”
“Cregan,” Jacaerys breathed, leaning closer.
A shiver broke out across your skin at what occurred next—Cregan pulled away from you and pressed his mouth to Jace’s, swallowing the surprised sound he made. Your twin surged up against the Northman, the arm that wasn’t holding you wrapping around his neck.
“I just need the two of you close to me,” you whispered, and in the next breath Cregan’s mouth was back on yours, while Jacaerys was burrowing closer to you again.
For a moment there was nothing to the room but heavy breaths as you traded kisses—Cregan could hardly catch his breath as either you or your twin would capture his mouth when the other would pull away. The stubble on his chin scratched pleasantly at Jace’s own skin, the two men more daring and rougher with each other than they were with you.
Whether it was the day’s emotions catching up with you or the overall stress of war, tension quickly rose, making the three of you more rash and impatient.
Cregan groaned in Jace’s mouth when you took the initiative and unbuckled his belt, then untucked his shirt. You swallowed a girlish giggle when it prompted Jacaerys to hurry off the bed to shed his own clothes. He pulled his shirt over his head ungainly, messing up his mop of curls. Pressing an approving kiss to Cregan’s jaw, you crawled back onto the pillows, looking attentively at the two disrobing men.
Cregan’s eyes darkened while they roamed Jace’s slim frame from face to thighs, his jaw tightening as he saw the young man’s cock harden under his gaze. Jace flushed deliciously, looking almost shyly at the Northman.
Clothes shed rather roughly, Cregan quickly stood bare for two pairs of eyes to see. He was broad, a spattering of dark hair spread across his pale skin, a thick waist that tapered into sturdy hips. You could not help the bold thought that such was a man made for pleasure.
For a moment Cregan allowed himself to be led back onto the sheets, Jacaerys chasing the taste of his mouth. He had the enthusiasm of youth, a freshness that made Cregan’s young but weary bones feel new again. Tucked alongside his body, you curled a hand around his thick length and he hissed. It had been a while since he had enjoyed the touch of another, and this simple caress made him realize how much he had missed it.
Caught between your hand at the apex of his thighs and Jace’s mouth on his, he surrendered to the will of his two lovers, infinitely proud that he had two young dragons in his bed, willing to share a moment of respite and warmth.
“This isn’t right,” he said after a minute of basking in your attention and that of your twin, when his simmering desire turned ablaze. “I should be taking care of you.”
He gently dislodged the two of you from his sides, then rose on his knees and turned around, kneeling over the two of you, his chest full of emotions he could hardly name.
For a moment he watched you, side by side on the sheets, perfect mirror images. You turned into each other’s embrace, and he saw you melt into your twin’s kiss, quick and practiced, making him wonder how far the two of you had wandered—the mere thought made his cock throb.
Jacaerys kissed you further into the pillow and Cregan lowered himself over you. You must have moaned into his mouth when the Northman’s lips found your neck, then your breasts, and sucked the peaks into his mouth one after the other, but it was lost over the rushing in your ears.
“Allow me, princess,” he quickly asked, and you could only gasp your approval for him to kiss down your body, first the valley between your breasts, then the soft curve of your stomach, to finally reach the apex of your thighs.
You cursed out loud when his tongue slid between your folds and pressed on your pearl. You bucked wildly, chasing your pleasure at his mouth. “Slow, princess,” he said, firm but loving, and the dichotomy sent delicious shivers down your spine.
“Perhaps you shall teach her patience,” Jacaerys teased, making you whine.
“You are as hurried as me,” you protested, and Cregan chuckled. He would gladly teach the two of you, he thought. Your playfulness and youthful eagerness was a delight, one he was rarely witness to.
Sitting on the sheets, watching you and Cregan, Jacaerys wrapped a hand around his cock, squeezing himself with every swipe of Cregan’s tongue on you. He kept a slow rhythm, and shuddered when Cregan’s hands came to your hips, holding you down gently. His tongue was strong and skilled, pressing delightfully into the entrance of your body, his upper lip catching on your nub, his whole mouth dedicated to exploring you.
“How does it feel?” Jace asked despite himself, biting his lip when Cregan looked up at him without breaking the rhythm of his tongue between your folds, his eyes two pools of dark brown.
“Good,” you sighed, unable to find a more sophisticated word.
You could see the way your twin was twitching and trembling, eager for the touch of another. You reached out for him and Jacaerys scooted over until you could loosely wrap your hand around his length along with his own fingers, teasing. Seeing it, Cregan made a sound against you, and you rocked back against him harder.
“Could we—” Jacaerys flushed, his cock twitching in your grasp.
“Please?” you asked, knowing whatever had crossed your twin’s mind, it would incense you as much as it seemed to excite him.
“Perhaps we could find a way…” he tried again, biting his lower lip when his words seemed too filthy to even think, and he couldn’t bring himself to voice them.
“Whatever my prince wants, right, princess?” Cregan said, pressing a light kiss at the top of your pearl, where the skin was thinnest and softest, a most gentle tease.
Under your scrutiny, Jacaerys complied and guided both you and Cregan with silent nods and stretched hands. The man looked at Jacaerys with attention, following his every movement.
Your twin lowered himself to the sheets slowly, catching his weight on his elbow and bringing himself down until he came to rest his forehead against the Northman’s thick thigh. Cregan seemed to understand where the young man’s head was at and breathed an amused laugh.
“You shall take care of me, and let your sister take care of you?” he suggested.
It took some adjustment, but after a few hesitant breaths, the three of you found comfortable positions and an easy rhythm, each curled into the other’s body in a perfect loop. Head carefully nestled against Cregan’s large thigh, Jacaerys was sucking the head of his cock into his mouth, making the Northman moan against your cunt.
In turn, your own pleasure could be felt in the way you stroked Jace’s cock, your tongue occasionally coming out to lick the bitter taste from its tip, making him hiss and whimper every time.
“Having trouble focusing?” you asked after a little while, breathless and teasing.
Curled into Cregan’s body, Jacaerys had lost himself again to the sweetness of your mouth, the rhythm of his own ministrations faltering. His skin was too tight from the combined effort to please his lover and restrain himself from thrusting deeper past your lips.
“No, I can do it,” he replied, but you knew your twin better than himself, and you propped yourself up on your elbow, running a hand at his hip, concerned.
“Let me take over,” Cregan offered gently and you nodded, following his silent guidance as he looked pointedly at you—you laid back down on the sheets obediently and the corner of his mouth lifted in a pleased smile.
He then turned to Jace, tangling his fingers into his sweaty curls, but not before stroking the back of his knuckles along his cheekbone—your twin was flushed, looking up adoringly at your betrothed.
“Just breathe, my prince,” Cregan guided him, a firm but gentle hand at the back of the head.
He guided Jace’s head to rest comfortably against his thigh, tucked into the crease of his hip, his mouth grazing the tip of Cregan’s member. You bit your lip watching your twin’s rosy lips part and the tip of his tongue lap up the pearl of moisture at the head, and Cregan groaned his appreciation.
“Just focus on her touch, and I shall take care of the rest,” he said, and everything from his gentle tone to his confidence melted your very bones.
Your own hand slithered between your legs, grazing your sensitive pearl as you watched avidly. With a slight angle of his hips, Cregan could effortlessly push his length past Jace’s lips, who only had to breathe through his nose and trust that the other man would not give him more than he could take.
The three of you fell into an effortless symphony, each following the rhythm of the other, Cregan guiding you gently with a confidence that made you feel safe and cherished. He was patient, thorough, slowly bringing you to new heights, his own control tested by the sweet heat of Jace’s mouth. The young man was happily floating, his head swimming with the feeling of your lips around his tip and your hand leisurely stroking his length.
Your whole body was tingling, waves of warmth going through your limbs with the slow, torturous ascent towards your peak. When you reached your breaking point, this time it was you who could not keep up anymore—you gave up on Jace’s pleasure and threw your head back, hips arching under Cregan’s mouth. You covered your cries with the palm of your hand as he curled his tongue inside of you, then pressed it back up against your pearl.
It made satisfaction ripple down his back, to feel you fall apart under his tongue. Hips stuttering and back arching from the bed, you were lost to the world so long as waves of pleasures crashed through you, finally unsettling the knot of tension at the pit of your stomach.
When you were finally able to look back down at your lovers, Jacaerys was licking the taste of you from Cregan’s mouth, the both of them focused on each other while you recovered from your high.
The older man lowered your twin back onto the sheets, and soon you had the pleasure to watch the Northerner take him apart. Hips nestled between Jace’s parted thighs, Cregan took their cocks into one of his large hands and started a strong rhythm, his fingers on the tighter side, a twist of his hand pulling shivers from the younger man.
Head thrown back, eyes closed and brows pinched, Jacaerys lost control of himself little by little, his mouth dropping open as he moaned his pleasure.
Above him, Cregan was drinking him in, eyelids heavy with the need to close them, but determined to commit every single second of this to memory. Your chest swelled with affection, seeing the tender way he was looking down at your twin, clearly endeared by the soft moans falling from Jace’s lips.
“That’s it, my prince,” he praised, his voice rough, his mouth pulling at the corner when your twin sobbed out loud, one of his hands reaching for you.
You intertwined your fingers together and the pressure almost hurt when he tensed and finally, pleasure crested over, spilling in thick ropes over Cregan’s fingers and his own stomach. Cregan fell forward and tucked his face into Jace’s neck, panting into his flushed skin, his thrusts losing their coordination.
The sight of him adding to the mess on Jace’s belly made one last shiver strike your core—they were beautiful, each in their own way, and they were both yours, by oath and by blood. Without a word you climbed down the bed and fetched a cloth, dipping it into the jug of water that sat atop the dresser.
Cregan took it gratefully to wipe Jacaerys clean, and then himself.
“Will you sleep, now?” Jacaerys asked when he could find his words again, slightly breathless, to which you nodded.
Satisfaction was seeping into your bones, settling your worries and pulling you back into slumber, and you had the utmost certainty that as long as you were held by these two men, you would be safe. You nestled back into the sheets, warm from your couplings, and expected your lovers to settle on either side of you.
Instead, you were pleasantly surprised when Cregan came back to the bed and laid in the middle, slipping an arm under you to place him as his side as he wished, and inviting Jacaerys to settle next to him as well. His chest was warm under the palm of your hand, and his shoulder a solid mass under your weary head as you rested it, close enough to hear the thumping of his heart.
On the other side of the Northman, your twin brother did the same, and the two of you shared a look that spoke of many nights to come.
“Sleep, my dragons,” Cregan murmured, his tone warm. “I shall guard you ‘till dawn.”
Dividers by @zaldritzosrose. Thank you to my darling @still-jon-snow for beta reading the first draft of this oneshot ♡
Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, this is how we keep stories alive on this platform. Likes and comments are equally appreciated.
Are you still active on here? Whats your upcoming novel about?
I come on here maybe once a week to check on mutuals, but for the most part I’m inactive as far as posting fics and such. Not much point to fic posting atm, imo, since it’s pretty quiet around here. But I’ve also blocked so many users over the past few months too that I bet some of the quietness is of my own making lol. I’m sure things will pick up again for a lot of us writers when new blood joins the fandom for season 3.
My novel is about a king who must make hard decisions to protect those he’s sworn to defend, all while trying not to let secrets and lies upend everything he’s sacrificed for. Also, there’s unicorns (and a whole host of other magical creatures/beings, and a lot of smut for the humans in the story). 😅 It’s more complicated than that, but this gets at the heart of the story.
PSA to all gifmakers. This person (previously @/aegonsangel, now @/valyriandream) downloads and reposts gifs, mostly of Aegon it seems. Block them if you don't want your content stolen.
To all the reposters out there. Fuck you. Downloading and reposting gifsets is like copy/pasting a fanfic. You're using someone else's work to get notes. Pay for your own Photoshop, make your own screen caps and spend hours coloring, and then we can talk.
Summary: with your father, brother, and husband dead, and with a young son, you're declared the sole heir and lady of House Bolton's Dreadfort. With that comes a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Word count: 2112
A/N: thank you so much for @spider-stark for actually giving me the final push to make a fic writing account lmao <3 there is more to come after this that has already been written so be prepared, hehe. Also got inspired by Domina's first episode bc I am not immune to girldad's in period dramas.
WARNINGS: Lord Bolton is a #girldad, third person POV, death, pregnancy but literally only a bit, reader is a young mom, some House Stark bashing, mean reader lol, lowkey, reader and Cregan match each other's freak fr, death (???), reader is described as having long hair, open-ending (not a happy one but not really bad???), reference torture and poisoning. I think that's it!!! Also fixed it up and added some stuff to make it flow better!
"Father?"
You opened the large door slightly, peaking in on your father, the candle lighting the large room.
"Little Bear?" Lord Bolton looks up at you and smiles. “Can’t sleep?”
You shake your head. "No."
Your father smiles before patting the side of the bed. You quickly climb in.
"Scared for tomorrow?"
You shake your head. "No."
"Good. You’re fifteen, almost sixteen. Lord Dustin is a good man and so is his son, he will take care of you. You’re a woman grown and as such you must marry, you’ve been putting it off for almost two years."
"I know my duty father."
"That’s my girl." He kisses the top of your head. “Now, what do I say?”
"A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man, none."
"Your mother would be proud of you, Little Bear," he says.
You nod in agreement. Your late lady mother, Lady Sheria Mormont, was a fierce woman who was very much missed. By her stepson, Roose, a child that had come to be from before your father married her but who loved him like he was her very own, your father, and of course, you, most of all. You would even sometimes, late at night, try to picture what she would look like right now. Would she have grey streaks in her hair? Would she have laugh lines?
A few months after the wedding to Lord Dustin’s son, Ser Erik, you come up to your father, who was talking with two of the many servants within the Dreadfort and with Roose.
"Father, what’s going on?"
"Lord Stark has told Roose he must go to the wall."
"What about you?"
"I will be handling it."
"And me?"
He takes you by the shoulders. "As of now, you are Lady Bolton."
"But–"
"Lord Dustin has agreed you may keep the Bolton name. As my only legitimate child, son or not, you are now my heir, Little Bear. Anything that will go on in this castle will go through you."
"They will never allow it. As a woman–"
"Doesn’t matter. You have Bolton blood, you have my blood. Dreadford is yours."
You think you stop breathing for a moment. “Nadia thinks I might be with child.” Nadia was your Handmaiden and your best friend, she was practically your sister and dabbled in herbs and so-called magic. Not that you believe in all that.
"A grandson?"
You shrug. "I wouldn’t waste your time with a girl, would I, father?"
Your father, ever the loving man, sighs and smiles before cupping your face and kissing your head. "If she’s anything like you, Little Bear, I would happily call her my granddaughter."
*** SIX YEARS LATER ***
About a year later, your husband had got sick and died and soon after that, you received news that your brother had been executed for running from the war and your father, and father by law, had followed suit after he tried to gather men to try to take on House Stark. It also seemed like House Stark wasn’t as honorable as they tried to make people believe as the now Lord Cregan Stark’s uncle, Bennard wasn’t all that thrilled to give up his lordship to his young nephew and had to, along with his sons, be imprisoned. It was truly laughable.
And now here you are, six years later, entering the wolf’s den. But maybe it’s something different as it’s now Stark who is entering the Dreadfort.
Cregan’s men’s eyes linger too long when they enter the hall.
As the regent ladyship of the Dreadfort, there were clear instructions to speak for your House, to play the part, and negotiate peace between House Bolton and House Stark, if you can. While you did agree, as you are the head of it, and because someone had to, peace is not your language. Starks are nothing but wolves dressed in honor and tradition. You don’t believe in their purity and self-righteous shit they preach. You believe in survival, in strength, and remembering exactly who bled for what and who walked away clean. The Starks have always pretended their hands were washed in snow. But you knew the cold truth.
Holding your hand is Robb, your now five-year-old son. You’re dressed in furs, and your long hair is in a tight braided bun, making your face sharper and more stern looking. You’re also wearing a silver Valyrian steel circle crown with rings adorning your fingers. One in particular is your mother’s, which is on your right middle finger, and your father’s, which sits on your left index finger.
Cregan lowers his head in respect. "Lady Bolton."
You do not.
"Lord Stark."
Your voice is cold, and you can’t bring yourself to care.
Cregan Stark does not look away from you the entire meeting and barely says anything, but of course, he doesn’t need to. Men like him try to win arguments with silence and stare you into obedience.
You were different, however.
You were born into a House where silence means danger, not power, and you never learned to flinch. Your father, while loving to you and your half-brother, and who never raised a hand or his voice to his children or wife, could be absolutely terrifying when he wanted to be. You take after him in that way; you speak with words to provoke, to test, and to watch Stark’s composure shift. He does not rise to it. Not yet.
But you can feel it.
Every conversation with Cregan Stark ends with tension so thick it chokes the room, and you are more than glad when it ends. And when it ends, you instruct the maids to have your son and his son, Rickon, to be taken to another room so as to not be around when you and Cregan inevitably come to blows.
Cregan remains standing while you sit at the table with your arms crossed.
"I heard about Ser Alaric," Cregan states coldly. "You tortured him. broke his feet and fingers."
You shrug. "Hm."
"Is that all you have to say, my Lady?"
"What else is there to say, Lord Stark? He was going to poison you and release your uncle and put him as Warden of the North. . .not that I could blame him."
"And Ser Langly? I heard you posioned him."
"He threatened my son."
"How so?"
"As you know, my son, husband, and I went into exile after everything, and we got taken in by Lady Sonya. Her son, Langley, said, and I quote, "poor Robb, should have left him to die in the mountain side." So, I took care of him."
"Aye, I probably would have done the same. I understand now why I've heard stories about the Bolton Ice Queen."
"I take that name with pride, Lord Stark."
"As you should, but you know, you may not want to admit it but we're more alike than we would like to admit."
"Oh, is that so? Do tell. Where I'm standing, we can't be more different."
"We're both parents, we love our children, our fathers are dead, we have illegitimate half-siblings, and we're both leaders of our Houses."
You say nothing as you continue to stare down Cregan.
Cregan clears his throat. "I’m sorry to be here under such circumstances, my Lady," he says softly. "It’s my understanding that you had nothing to do with the rebellion of your father."
So, this is how it’s going to be then?
Alright then.
"I may be in the Bolton’s seat of power but I'm your prisoner, my lord. What does that matter?"
He’s silent for a moment, as if choosing his next words with care.
"It matters a great deal to me,” he says. “It matters to me that you were not a part of your brother or father’s rebellion. And you’re not my prisoner."
Your jaw clenches sharply. "Then what am I?" You snarl and the big bad wolf visibly recoils from your harshness.
"That’s up to you." His reply is calm, which irks you more.
"Oh, is it?” you ask. "Up to me? You come into my home and kill my brother and father. So, do tell me, is it really up to me?"
Cregan nods. "You’re a noblewoman, and one who has done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t judge a sister by the sins of her father or brother. . .or husband." he explains. "But what I do offer is a choice. Two choices."
You wait.
"You can work with me to repair the reputation of House Bolton and bring peace to our realm or leave the North and all of this all behind forever. If you choose to stay as head of House Bolton, you must remain chaste."
You leap up from the chair, making it fall backwards onto the stone floor. "Let me get this straight, my Lord Stark; you come into my home after murdering my brother and father, demand I either leave my home and leave my son to be raised into a man by you and your brood of mongrel dogs, or remain chaste? If you mean to make me grovel to you, forget it. I don’t grovel. Not to you, or to your stray mongrels or to any man, not to anybody. As for leaving the North and leaving my son to you, you can forget that as well, my Lord."
"I’m offering you my hand in marriage."
In shock, your arms drop to your sides. "Marry you? You insult me."
“We might heal the North together. I am in need of a wife, as my own Lady Wife had died in the childbed and I know your husband had also died. From a sickness, I heard. If we married, we could make a stronger North. It’s where you belong. Where you and your son belong.”
“Marry you?” you repeat. You tried not to laugh but you couldn’t help it. It was truly laughable. “You imprisoned your own uncle and cousins and beheaded my brother and father. My House and family are destroyed, and you think, my lord, that I would willingly marry you?” you laugh. You actually laugh in Cregan’s face.
“Those are my terms."
"Your terms humiliate me, Lord."
"I can’t undo what I’ve done, I also can’t undo what your father and brother tried - and failed - to do to me and the North. But I can ask for your forgiveness, and the chance to prove it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I will agree to your request, so long as you agree that, if you do decide to leave the North, your son is raised with me as my ward, to be raised in Winterfell, to learn the ways of the North.” He now is watching you as you take in his words.
You feel your blood begin to simmer as what he says sinks in. You stare at him. “You’d ask me to give up my son. . .to be raised by you?” Your hands tighten into fists.
“As he is your heir, and with your family’s history, I would need to guarantee that your son would be taught well.”
Your eye twitches. “I am raising my son as I see fit because I’m a Bolton, as he is a Bolton on my side.”
“I’m the Warden of the North,” Cregan retorts. “I could teach him the ways of all northern houses. To be honorable."
“You don’t know anything about being a Bolton or honor. I do. He should be raised by me. I am his mother.” you snap, your words, even if you can’t see it, cut Cregan deep and your tone sends a shiver down his spine. “Or do you wish to make me suffer more? To turn my son against me?”
“I’m trying to help you. Why must you refuse me at every turn?”
You’re practically snarling at him now. “You’re not trying to help me; you are trying to control me.”
“I am trying to help you, my lady. You and your son belong in the North, but if you do decide to leave, he will have to be–”
His words are cut off and replaced by the loud sound of your palm colliding with his cheek, ringing clearly through the quiet room. You breathe hard, watching his skin redden from where you’ve just slapped him. He looks furious.
“I want you to leave,” you cut him off sharply, taking another step towards him. “I want you to leave, and I want to never see your face again.” When your men come in after you call for them, you don’t take your eyes off of Cregan. “Prepare a wheelhouse and make sure Lord Stark here is escorted out of the Dreadfort."
I am going to ask you to delete this fic immediately because you have copied my oneshot I Might Hold You With My Hands Tied (Show You I'm the Right Guy to Figure You Out).
How dare you copy my hard work. A fic I spent weeks writing - an idea I shared and discussed with so many mutuals and followers. Did you think no one would notice??? How DARE you claim this as your own. You should be ashamed of yourself. This is something you think is okay??? This is how you wish to start a writing blog, by copying MY HARD WORK?
Delete this fic NOW. You will be reported for this, and believe me when I say this is NOT tolerated in the HOTD fandom.
I just read your fic and I see the similarities, I most likely read it a little while ago and got inspired by it and forgot. I will delete it immediately and rewrite it. Once again I'm so sorry.
Thank you for agreeing to delete this fic. Please be careful in the future with how you write, because “taking inspiration” is a slippery slope to copying the hard work of others. This is absolutely not tolerated in this fandom, and is 100% not tolerated by me. If you can’t handle reading fics and not copying them, on purpose or by accident, you have no business writing fics of your own.
Summary: with your father, brother, and husband dead, and with a young son, you're declared the sole heir and lady of House Bolton's Dreadfort. With that comes a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Word count: 2112
A/N: thank you so much for @spider-stark for actually giving me the final push to make a fic writing account lmao <3 there is more to come after this that has already been written so be prepared, hehe. Also got inspired by Domina's first episode bc I am not immune to girldad's in period dramas.
WARNINGS: Lord Bolton is a #girldad, third person POV, death, pregnancy but literally only a bit, reader is a young mom, some House Stark bashing, mean reader lol, lowkey, reader and Cregan match each other's freak fr, death (???), reader is described as having long hair, open-ending (not a happy one but not really bad???), reference torture and poisoning. I think that's it!!! Also fixed it up and added some stuff to make it flow better!
"Father?"
You opened the large door slightly, peaking in on your father, the candle lighting the large room.
"Little Bear?" Lord Bolton looks up at you and smiles. “Can’t sleep?”
You shake your head. "No."
Your father smiles before patting the side of the bed. You quickly climb in.
"Scared for tomorrow?"
You shake your head. "No."
"Good. You’re fifteen, almost sixteen. Lord Dustin is a good man and so is his son, he will take care of you. You’re a woman grown and as such you must marry, you’ve been putting it off for almost two years."
"I know my duty father."
"That’s my girl." He kisses the top of your head. “Now, what do I say?”
"A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man, none."
"Your mother would be proud of you, Little Bear," he says.
You nod in agreement. Your late lady mother, Lady Sheria Mormont, was a fierce woman who was very much missed. By her stepson, Roose, a child that had come to be from before your father married her but who loved him like he was her very own, your father, and of course, you, most of all. You would even sometimes, late at night, try to picture what she would look like right now. Would she have grey streaks in her hair? Would she have laugh lines?
A few months after the wedding to Lord Dustin’s son, Ser Erik, you come up to your father, who was talking with two of the many servants within the Dreadfort and with Roose.
"Father, what’s going on?"
"Lord Stark has told Roose he must go to the wall."
"What about you?"
"I will be handling it."
"And me?"
He takes you by the shoulders. "As of now, you are Lady Bolton."
"But–"
"Lord Dustin has agreed you may keep the Bolton name. As my only legitimate child, son or not, you are now my heir, Little Bear. Anything that will go on in this castle will go through you."
"They will never allow it. As a woman–"
"Doesn’t matter. You have Bolton blood, you have my blood. Dreadford is yours."
You think you stop breathing for a moment. “Nadia thinks I might be with child.” Nadia was your Handmaiden and your best friend, she was practically your sister and dabbled in herbs and so-called magic. Not that you believe in all that.
"A grandson?"
You shrug. "I wouldn’t waste your time with a girl, would I, father?"
Your father, ever the loving man, sighs and smiles before cupping your face and kissing your head. "If she’s anything like you, Little Bear, I would happily call her my granddaughter."
*** SIX YEARS LATER ***
About a year later, your husband had got sick and died and soon after that, you received news that your brother had been executed for running from the war and your father, and father by law, had followed suit after he tried to gather men to try to take on House Stark. It also seemed like House Stark wasn’t as honorable as they tried to make people believe as the now Lord Cregan Stark’s uncle, Bennard wasn’t all that thrilled to give up his lordship to his young nephew and had to, along with his sons, be imprisoned. It was truly laughable.
And now here you are, six years later, entering the wolf’s den. But maybe it’s something different as it’s now Stark who is entering the Dreadfort.
Cregan’s men’s eyes linger too long when they enter the hall.
As the regent ladyship of the Dreadfort, there were clear instructions to speak for your House, to play the part, and negotiate peace between House Bolton and House Stark, if you can. While you did agree, as you are the head of it, and because someone had to, peace is not your language. Starks are nothing but wolves dressed in honor and tradition. You don’t believe in their purity and self-righteous shit they preach. You believe in survival, in strength, and remembering exactly who bled for what and who walked away clean. The Starks have always pretended their hands were washed in snow. But you knew the cold truth.
Holding your hand is Robb, your now five-year-old son. You’re dressed in furs, and your long hair is in a tight braided bun, making your face sharper and more stern looking. You’re also wearing a silver Valyrian steel circle crown with rings adorning your fingers. One in particular is your mother’s, which is on your right middle finger, and your father’s, which sits on your left index finger.
Cregan lowers his head in respect. "Lady Bolton."
You do not.
"Lord Stark."
Your voice is cold, and you can’t bring yourself to care.
Cregan Stark does not look away from you the entire meeting and barely says anything, but of course, he doesn’t need to. Men like him try to win arguments with silence and stare you into obedience.
You were different, however.
You were born into a House where silence means danger, not power, and you never learned to flinch. Your father, while loving to you and your half-brother, and who never raised a hand or his voice to his children or wife, could be absolutely terrifying when he wanted to be. You take after him in that way; you speak with words to provoke, to test, and to watch Stark’s composure shift. He does not rise to it. Not yet.
But you can feel it.
Every conversation with Cregan Stark ends with tension so thick it chokes the room, and you are more than glad when it ends. And when it ends, you instruct the maids to have your son and his son, Rickon, to be taken to another room so as to not be around when you and Cregan inevitably come to blows.
Cregan remains standing while you sit at the table with your arms crossed.
"I heard about Ser Alaric," Cregan states coldly. "You tortured him. broke his feet and fingers."
You shrug. "Hm."
"Is that all you have to say, my Lady?"
"What else is there to say, Lord Stark? He was going to poison you and release your uncle and put him as Warden of the North. . .not that I could blame him."
"And Ser Langly? I heard you posioned him."
"He threatened my son."
"How so?"
"As you know, my son, husband, and I went into exile after everything, and we got taken in by Lady Sonya. Her son, Langley, said, and I quote, "poor Robb, should have left him to die in the mountain side." So, I took care of him."
"Aye, I probably would have done the same. I understand now why I've heard stories about the Bolton Ice Queen."
"I take that name with pride, Lord Stark."
"As you should, but you know, you may not want to admit it but we're more alike than we would like to admit."
"Oh, is that so? Do tell. Where I'm standing, we can't be more different."
"We're both parents, we love our children, our fathers are dead, we have illegitimate half-siblings, and we're both leaders of our Houses."
You say nothing as you continue to stare down Cregan.
Cregan clears his throat. "I’m sorry to be here under such circumstances, my Lady," he says softly. "It’s my understanding that you had nothing to do with the rebellion of your father."
So, this is how it’s going to be then?
Alright then.
"I may be in the Bolton’s seat of power but I'm your prisoner, my lord. What does that matter?"
He’s silent for a moment, as if choosing his next words with care.
"It matters a great deal to me,” he says. “It matters to me that you were not a part of your brother or father’s rebellion. And you’re not my prisoner."
Your jaw clenches sharply. "Then what am I?" You snarl and the big bad wolf visibly recoils from your harshness.
"That’s up to you." His reply is calm, which irks you more.
"Oh, is it?” you ask. "Up to me? You come into my home and kill my brother and father. So, do tell me, is it really up to me?"
Cregan nods. "You’re a noblewoman, and one who has done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t judge a sister by the sins of her father or brother. . .or husband." he explains. "But what I do offer is a choice. Two choices."
You wait.
"You can work with me to repair the reputation of House Bolton and bring peace to our realm or leave the North and all of this all behind forever. If you choose to stay as head of House Bolton, you must remain chaste."
You leap up from the chair, making it fall backwards onto the stone floor. "Let me get this straight, my Lord Stark; you come into my home after murdering my brother and father, demand I either leave my home and leave my son to be raised into a man by you and your brood of mongrel dogs, or remain chaste? If you mean to make me grovel to you, forget it. I don’t grovel. Not to you, or to your stray mongrels or to any man, not to anybody. As for leaving the North and leaving my son to you, you can forget that as well, my Lord."
"I’m offering you my hand in marriage."
In shock, your arms drop to your sides. "Marry you? You insult me."
“We might heal the North together. I am in need of a wife, as my own Lady Wife had died in the childbed and I know your husband had also died. From a sickness, I heard. If we married, we could make a stronger North. It’s where you belong. Where you and your son belong.”
“Marry you?” you repeat. You tried not to laugh but you couldn’t help it. It was truly laughable. “You imprisoned your own uncle and cousins and beheaded my brother and father. My House and family are destroyed, and you think, my lord, that I would willingly marry you?” you laugh. You actually laugh in Cregan’s face.
“Those are my terms."
"Your terms humiliate me, Lord."
"I can’t undo what I’ve done, I also can’t undo what your father and brother tried - and failed - to do to me and the North. But I can ask for your forgiveness, and the chance to prove it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I will agree to your request, so long as you agree that, if you do decide to leave the North, your son is raised with me as my ward, to be raised in Winterfell, to learn the ways of the North.” He now is watching you as you take in his words.
You feel your blood begin to simmer as what he says sinks in. You stare at him. “You’d ask me to give up my son. . .to be raised by you?” Your hands tighten into fists.
“As he is your heir, and with your family’s history, I would need to guarantee that your son would be taught well.”
Your eye twitches. “I am raising my son as I see fit because I’m a Bolton, as he is a Bolton on my side.”
“I’m the Warden of the North,” Cregan retorts. “I could teach him the ways of all northern houses. To be honorable."
“You don’t know anything about being a Bolton or honor. I do. He should be raised by me. I am his mother.” you snap, your words, even if you can’t see it, cut Cregan deep and your tone sends a shiver down his spine. “Or do you wish to make me suffer more? To turn my son against me?”
“I’m trying to help you. Why must you refuse me at every turn?”
You’re practically snarling at him now. “You’re not trying to help me; you are trying to control me.”
“I am trying to help you, my lady. You and your son belong in the North, but if you do decide to leave, he will have to be–”
His words are cut off and replaced by the loud sound of your palm colliding with his cheek, ringing clearly through the quiet room. You breathe hard, watching his skin redden from where you’ve just slapped him. He looks furious.
“I want you to leave,” you cut him off sharply, taking another step towards him. “I want you to leave, and I want to never see your face again.” When your men come in after you call for them, you don’t take your eyes off of Cregan. “Prepare a wheelhouse and make sure Lord Stark here is escorted out of the Dreadfort."
I am going to ask you to delete this fic immediately because you have copied my oneshot I Might Hold You With My Hands Tied (Show You I'm the Right Guy to Figure You Out).
How dare you copy my hard work. A fic I spent weeks writing - an idea I shared and discussed with so many mutuals and followers. Did you think no one would notice??? How DARE you claim this as your own. You should be ashamed of yourself. This is something you think is okay??? This is how you wish to start a writing blog, by copying MY HARD WORK?
Delete this fic NOW. You will be reported for this, and believe me when I say this is NOT tolerated in the HOTD fandom.
okok, super glad Tumblr didn't eat my ask!!! (p.s I will try to also get the part two of the Benji one out!!!) here goes nothing!!
-💌
TW: Nothing really?? death, pregnancy but literally only a bit, reader is a young mom, some House Stark bashing, mean reader lol, lowkey, reader and cregan match each other's freak fr, death (???), reader is described as having long hair, open-ending (not a happy one but not really bad???), and I think that's it!!! enjoy!!!
***
“Father?”
You opened the large door slightly, peaking in on your father, the candle lighting the large room.
“Little Bear?” Lord Bolton looks up at you and smiles. “Can’t sleep?”
You shake your head. “No.”
Your father smiles before patting the side of the bed. You quickly climb in.
“Scared for tomorrow?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“Good. You’re fifteen, almost sixteen. Lord Dustin is a good man and so is his son, he will take care of you. You’re a woman grown and as such you must marry.”
“I know my duty father.”
“That’s my girl.” He kisses the top of your head. “Now, what do I say?”
“A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man, none.”
“Your mother would be proud of you, Little Bear,” he says.
You nod in agreement. Your mother, Lady Sheria Mormont, was a fierce woman who was sadly missed by her stepson, Roose, a child that had come to be from before your father married her, your father, and of course, you, most of all. You would sometimes, late at night, try to picture what she would look like right now. Would she have grey streaks in hair? Would she have laugh lines?
A week after the wedding to Lord Dustin’s son, you come up to your father, who was talking with two of the many servants within the Dreadfort and with Roose.
“Father, what’s going on?”
“Lord Stark has told Roose he must go to the wall.”
“What about you?”
“I will be handling it.”
“And me?”
He takes you by the shoulders. “As of now, you are Lady Bolton.”
“But–”
“Lord Dustin has agreed you may keep the Bolton name. As my only legitimate child, son or not, you are now my heir, Little Bear. Anything that will go on in this castle will go through you.”
“They will never allow it. As a woman–”
“Doesn’t matter. You have Bolton blood, you have my blood. Dreadford is yours.”
You think you stop breathing for a moment. “Nadia thinks I might be pregnant.” Nadia was your Handmaiden and your best friend, she was practically your sister and dabbled in herbs and so-called magic. Not that you believe in all that.
“A grandson?”
You shrug. “I wouldn’t waste your time with a girl, would I, father?”
Your father, ever the loving man, sighs and smiles before cupping your face and kissing your head. “If she’s anything like you, Little Bear, I would happily call her my granddaughter.”
*** SIX YEARS LATER ***
About a year later, your husband had got sick and died and soon after that, you received news that your brother had been executed for running from the war and your father had followed suit after he tried to gather men to try to take on House Stark. It also seemed like House Stark wasn’t as honorable as they tried to make people believe as the now Lord Cregan Stark’s uncle, Bennard wasn’t all that thrilled to give up his lordship to his uncle and had to, along with his sons, be imprisoned. It was truly laughable.
And now here you are, six years later, entering the wolf’s den. But maybe it’s something different as it’s Stark who is entering the Dreadfort.
Cregan’s men’s eyes linger too long when they enter the hall.
As the regent ladyship of the Dreadford, there were clear instructions to speak for your House, to play the part, and negotiate peace between House Bolton and House Stark, if you can. While you did agree, you are the head of it, and because someone had to, peace is not your language. Wolves dressed in honor and tradition. You don’t believe in the purity and self-righteous shit they preach. You believe in survival. In strength. In remembering exactly who bled for what and who walked away clean. The Starks have always pretended their hands were washed in snow. But you knew the cold truth.
Holding your hand is Robb, your now five-year-old son. You’re dressed in furs, and your long hair is in a tight braided bun, making your face sharper and more stern looking. You’re also wearing a silver Valyrian steel circle crown with rings, one in particular is your mother’s, which is on your right middle finger, and your father’s, which sits on your left index finger.
Cregan lowers his head in respect. “Lady Bolton.”
You do not.
“Lord Stark.” Your voice is cold and you can’t bring yourself to care.
Cregan Stark has not looked away from you since you arrived and barely says anything but he doesn’t need to. Men like him try to win arguments with silence and stare you into obedience. But you were born in a house where silence means danger, not power, and you never learned to flinch. You speak with words to provoke, to test, to watch his composure shift. He does not rise to it. Not yet.
But you can feel it.
Every conversation with Cregan Stark ends with tension so thick it chokes the room. You are glad when it ends. And when it ends, you instruct the maids to have your son and his son, Rickon, to be taken to another room so as to not be around when you and Cregan inevitably come to blows.
“I’m sorry to be here under such circumstances, my Lady,” he says softly. “It’s my understanding that you had nothing to do with the rebellion of your father.”
So this is how it’s going to be then? Alright then.
“I’m your prisoner, my lord. What does that matter?”
He’s silent for a moment. He must be choosing his next words with care.
“It matters a great deal to me,” he says. “It matters to me that you were not a part of your brother or father’s rebellion. And you’re not my prisoner.”
Your jaw clenches sharply. “Then what am I?” You snarl and the big bad wolf visibly recoils from your harshness.
“That’s up to you.” His reply is calm.
“Oh is it?” you ask. “Up to me?
Cregan nods. “You’re a noblewoman, and one who has done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t judge a sister by the sins of her father or brother,” he explains, taking a hesitant step closer to you.
You step back.
“But I offer you a choice.”
You wait.
“Work with me to repair the reputation of House Bolton and bring peace to our realm, or leave the North and all of this all behind forever.”
You cross your arms. “Work with you? What does that mean? If it means you want me to grovel to you, forget it. I don’t grovel. Not to you, or to your stray mongrels or to any man, not to anybody.”
“I’m offering you my hand in marriage.”
In shock, your arms drop to your sides. “Marry you? You insult me.”
“We might heal the North together. I am in need of a wife, as my own Lady Wife had died in the childbed and I know your husband had also died. From a sickness. If we married, we could make a stronger North. It’s where you belong.”
“Marry you?” you repeat. You tried not to laugh but you couldn’t help it. It was truly laughable. “You imprisoned your own uncle and cousins and beheaded my brother and father. My House and family are destroyed, and you think, my lord, that I would willingly marry you?” you laugh. You actually laugh in Cregan’s face.
“I can’t undo what I’ve done, just like I can’t undo what your father and brother tried to do to me and the North. But I can ask for your forgiveness, and the chance to prove it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I will agree to your request, so long as you agree that, if you do leave the North, your son is raised with me as my ward, to be raised in Winterfell, to learn the ways of the North.” He takes a slow sip of his ale, watching you take in his words now.
You feel your blood begin to simmer as you stare at him. “You’d ask me to give up my son. . .to be raised by you?” Your hands tighten into fists.
“As he is your heir, and with your family’s history, I would need to guarantee that your son would be taught well.”
Your eye twitches. “I am raising my son as I see fit because I’m a Bolton, as he is a Bolton on my side.”
“I’m the Warden of the North,” Cregan retorts. “I could teach him the ways of all northern houses.”
“You don’t know anything about being a Bolton. I do. He should be raised by me,” you snap. “Or do you wish to make me suffer more?”
“I’m trying to help you. Why must you refuse me at every turn?”
You’re practically snarling at him. “You’re not trying to help me–”
“I am. You and your son belong in the North.
But his words are cut off and replaced by the loud sound of your palm colliding with his cheek, ringing clearly through the quiet room. You breathe hard, watching his skin redden from where you’ve just slapped him. He looks furious.
“I want you to leave,” you cut him off sharply, taking another step towards him. “I want to leave, and I want to never see your face again.” When your men come in after you call for them, you don’t take your eyes off of Cregan. “Make sure Lord is escorted out of the Dreadford.”
BESTIE..!!!
girl dad bolton?? incredible. honestly. and the little moment of the reader imagining her mother, the grey streaks and the laugh lines? absolutely touching and turned me into this emoji 🥹 bc THAT IS SO SAD BUT ALSO SWEET IN A WAY?
idk i just loved the description of how she was dressed when Cregan comes in and she's with her son? i can perfectly envision it and she is looking LOVELY (and also dangerous, as every Bolton should look)
incredible bolton!reader characterization. composed, yet willing to lash out in a way that demonstrates that sharp edge that all Boltons seem to have. she's not like Ramsay (which honestly, thank god for that, cause i love my boy but he's wild with a capital W), but she does remind me of Roose? with the exception that she seems more willing to lay at least some of her cards on the table, whereas Roose holds them a bit closer to his chest? UGH idk if you get me but hopefully you do
if you ever write more, please send it my way. ALSO?? bestie, please tell me you're posting these somewhere! they're incredible and you deserve all the notes, comments, reblogs, kudos, etc etc etc!!
Is this person serious???! They have stolen exact words from my oneshot I Might Hold You With My Hands Tied (Show You I'm the Right Guy to Figure You Out)
@spider-stark I’m requesting that you delete this ask immediately. This is infuriating. I work incredibly hard on my fics and I have a disclaimer at the end of this fic that prohibits it from being copied in any way. Please be respectful on my work and delete this ask.
Do you think you'll ever write another creganxsister smut? I loved the one you have!!
Hi! Awww thanks so much! That means a lot to me. ❤️
Yes, I definitely have a sequel planned for I Was Made for Loving You. Cregan will have a kid with his sister in the sequel 🫠
But I have taken a break from posting fics for Cregan Stark (and Jacegan) though since the fandom is pretty quiet and it doesn’t seem worth my time to go through the process of writing, editing, and posting for the minimal amount of notes. Once season 3 drops, I’ll definitely post for Cregan again. 🥰
