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Hello there! I absolutely adore your Cregan fics, I was so happy to find yours because you write him so well. I have an idea to share with you and whether you use it or not is totally up to you. My idea is about Cregan and Reader who have both been previously married but after the death of his wife, Cregan obviously needs to be wed again and since Reader is a widow it works out well since they’ve both been through this before. I was thinking about a reader who even though she was wed, hasn’t really experienced any pleasure from her now dead husband. It was very much duty that never really went anywhere else. So on their wedding night she expects the same thing from Cregan, like reader just lays on her back in the center of the bed and Cregan is obviously confused or something because he knows she’s been wed before but after figuring out what she had thought he teaches her about pleasure and makes her feel good.

This is just an idea I had and wanted to share, don’t feel pressured.

Endure

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

{Cregan Stark x f!Reader} You know how to endure. You've had years of practice. But when Cregan finds you braced on your back, eyes closed, waiting for it to be over, he shows you that marriage was never meant to be survived, but enjoyed.

3.8k words - Warnings: smut, praise, oral sex (f!receiving), teaching, arranged marriage, discussion of past abuse && a cosy fire...

𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗑 𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇!𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 3.4𝗄 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖿𝗒𝗋𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗌 4 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗌 (𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗈𝗇, 𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗋𝗒𝖼𝗄, 𝗌𝖺𝖾𝗋𝖺, 𝗋𝖺𝖾𝗒𝖺), 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅, 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗂𝖺𝖿 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗒𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗇 + 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗋𝗅𝗅𝗒! 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗅. 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌

I love love your writing! It’s beautiful truly

You deserve the very best 💕💕💕

Would love more pregnant wife reader with either Jace, Cregan or Gwayne honestly

💐 flowers for you!

little wolf | c.s

Pairings: Cregan Stark x Wife!Pregnant!Reader

Summary: a normal night with your family

WARNINGS: pregnancy, fluff

A/n: Oh my god thank you so much<3 I hope you like this!

masterlist | wc: 2.6k

THE STORM raged relentlessly over Winterfell, wrapping the Stark stronghold in a grip of rain, wind, and darkness. The sky was a single expanse of leaden clouds, so dense that they erased any trace of the moon, while the wind crashed against the high stone walls with furious force, slipping between the towers, sweeping along the battlements, and making the ancient banners tremble, now soaked through with rain. The downpour fell without pause, thick as a curtain, striking the great windows of your private chambers with such violence that it sounded like a hail of tiny pebbles. Each gust made the glass shudder and carried with it the deep howl of the wind, a sound that echoed the call of a pack of wolves hunting through the forests of the North.

And yet, within your chambers, everything felt different. The great hearth burned steadily, spreading a constant warmth, its flames dancing and casting soft, flickering shadows across the walls. The scent of slowly burning pinewood mingled with that of wool and furs that furnished the room, creating an intimate and familiar atmosphere.

Northern Frights

Cregan Stark x F!Arryn!Reader

Synopsis: After organizing a tea party for his lonely newly wed wife, Cregan must rush to comfort her in the wake of ghost stories gone wrong.

Warnings: pet names (little lady, sweet girl, darling), reader cries, ghost stories (though I hope they’re not truly scary!) awkward convos with newhusband!Cregan, maybe ooc Cregan, fluffy, cheek kissing, cuddling, husband/wife/my lord/my lady used in conversation. no smut, no use of y/n, not proofread.

dividers by @uzmacchiato

The first thing you had noticed about Winterfell was its unique silence. In the Vale, your true home, silence had never truly existed, not like it did in the North. The Eyrie bustled, even the quietest mornings were full of the distant sounds of the waterfalls freely falling in the mountains, the cries of flacons as they soared above pale stone towers, whispers of winds swirling through gardens filled with late summer blooms. Sunlight had always spilled upon polished floors, painting every room with a warm glow. Yet in the North, these simple pleasures were lost to you. Winterfell’s silence breathed, settling into ancient stones with eerie groans. Instead of the whispering winds you were accustomed to, the breeze seemed to screech, alive with some sort of archaic energy. Wolves in the woods howled late into the night, their voices carrying over the great expanse of the keep, rattling you to your core. You wondered if you would ever grow used to the sound.

Standing before your bedchamber window, you wrapped your icy hands around a steaming cup of mulled cider and watched as fat flakes of snow drifted lazily through the gray afternoon. You had lived at Winterfell barely three weeks. Just three weeks, and you had begun to understand why the Northerners measured time by winters. The Great Keep itself was magnificent, older than any keep you had ever seen. Beyond it, the rest of the castle was vast enough to lose oneself in, its winding halls humming with history. Everywhere you looked there were reminders that generations of Starks had walked these halls before you. Sometimes, it only made you feel smaller.

A soft knock sounded at the chamber door, breaking you from your thoughts. “My lady?” One of the maids, her name escaping you, entered carrying thick wool gowns draped carefully across her arms, “I’ve finished your new dresses, my lady.” You smiled politely, ‘thank you.” The girl returned your smile, but nothing more. No idle chatter, no gossip, no questions about your settling in. She set the dresses away and excused herself with a curtsy scarcely a minute later, leaving the room to fall silent once more. Maybe it was a tad overzealous to expect a maid to converse with you, as the new Lady of Winterfell, though the disappointment stung all the same. Sighing, you wandered toward the fire, setting aside the cider. The large hearth was enormous, no doubt large enough to roast several pheasants if one wished it, yet even its generous warmth never seemed to reach every corner of the room. Thick pelts lay across settees and benches, practical rather than decorative. Heavy tapestries depicting direwolves and ancient battles hung where embroidered falcons or flowery landscapes might’ve hung in the chambers of the Eyrie. Everything in Winterfell existed for a purpose. Beauty, if it even existed here, came second. You missed the gardens of your home, the sunlight, even the impossible climb up the towers where the air had been so crisp it almost sparkled. Most of all though, you missed knowing people.

In the Vale, every servant had known you since childhood. Every Lady had watched you grow, every Lord smiled when you had passed by. Here, everyone bowed their heads, ever so respectful as they addressed you, “Lady Stark.” Yet you remained an outsider all the same. The Northerners were not unkind, which almost made it worse. If they had been openly hostile, you could have understood it, but they were courteous, reserved. The ladies smiled when they crossed your path, complimented your embroidery, and inquired whether your new wardrobe was to your liking. Then, inevitably, they would drift back toward one another, laughing over memories that stretched back decades. Childhood winters, harvests, marriages, and babes born, you had no place in these stories.

A log shifting in the hearth diverted your attention as you stared into the fire, the ache behind your ribs easing into something more manageable. Homesickness was unbecoming of a newly wed lady, your mother had told you as much when explaining the alliance between you and Lord Cregan Stark. A wife does her duties without complaint, mother had said. You intended to, you truly did. The heavy wooden door of your chambers opened once more, this time without ceremony. Heavy boots crossed the threshold, scattering specks of snow and dirt onto the stone floor. You turned just in time to see your husband stood framed by the doorframe, broad shoulders stretched beneath a fur cloak. Chilled air followed him inside before you hurried to close the door again. Facing him once again, Lord Cregan Stark looked as if he was made of winter itself. Tall, solid, his dark hair damp where snow had melted into it, chilled cheeks flushed red. He paused upon meeting your eyes with his own gray ones. “Wife,” He said, voice low and roughened by the cold, “you’re awake.” You blinked, awkward still during conversation with him, “I should hope so, my Lord.” A flicker so brief you almost missed it, passed across his face. Amusement. “I only meant you’ve not been out. I thought you to be sleeping still,” he replied. “Oh,” you said, glancing toward the window, “I must’ve lost track of the hour.” Cregan grunted softly in reply, setting aside his gloves. It had taken you several days to realize that your Lord husband possessed an astonishing number of meanings behind these gruff noises. There was agreement, disapproval, indifference, the occasional ones of approval. You had already begun to distinguish the different meanings among them.

Cregan crossed the room towards the fire, holding out his chilled hands toward the warmth. For several moments, neither of you spoke. The marriage had begun much as you had expected, respectful and careful. He had never been cruel, never dismissive. Yet conversation between the pair of you had often felt like crossing a frozen river. Each sentence testing uncertain footing before daring another step. After a length of time, Cregan asked, “did you see? The snow has eased today.” You nodded, arms crossed against your chest, “I noticed.” He spoke again, observing, “you like the view from the window here.” Nodding again, you looked to him in response, “I do.” Another thoughtful grunt left him before silence settled again. You wondered if all Northern marriages were like this, if affection simply grew so slowly one scarecly noticed it, or whether this stiffness would endure forever. You shuddered at the thought. At last, Cregan reached for the iron poker at the side of the hearth and adjusted one of its burning logs. Without looking at you, he said, “the maids tell me you’ve spent most afternoons here.” Heat rose to your face at the observation. Did he disapprove? “I hope that isn’t improper. It’s simply that I finish my duties so early in the morn, I know of little else I may occupy my time with, my Lord,” you answered. “It’s acceptable,” he replied, setting the poker aside. “Though,” he continued, “Winterfell is large.” You smiled faintly, “I have seen.” Cregan turned to you, still bent before the fire, “You should see more of it, wife.” You swallowed, throat thick with worry that you had disappointed him. Men disappointed in their brides ought to be rid of them, your father had told you. Quick to remedy whatever dissatisfied thoughts that may run through his head, you replied, “I intend to, once I know it better.” Standing, Cregan glanced at you once more. Not mocking, merely considering. “You could ask the other ladies to walk with you,” he said. You hesitated, unsure of whether or not to tell him how much of an outsider you truly were. “I could,” you considered, bringing your arms down from your chest to fold your hands in front of you. “Though,” you continued, “I do not want to get in the way of anyone. I have never been fond of feeling like a nuisance.” Cregan spoke suddenly, almost cutting off your sentence, “you would not be a nuisance." He had spoken simply then, as though stating a fact. Matter-of-fact and entirely sincere. Something in your chest loosened, “I will do good to remember that, husband.” He nodded once in reply.

The conversation might have ended there. Instead, after another long pause, Cregan asked, “and the ladies, have they been keeping you company?” You searched for the politest answer, loathe to let him down. “They have all been so perfectly gracious,” came the reply you settled on. It wasn’t untrue, though he studied you for a heartbeat longer than usual. You smiled again, nervous and careful, “really, my Lord, they have.” There was another pause before he inclined his head, apparently satisfied. “Well then. I’ve some matters to attend to before supper,” he stated, “Of course,” you had replied. He collected his gloves once more, crossing the room, before stopping in the doorway. “Shall there be anything you desire, wife,” he said, back still turned to you, “tell me.” Then he was gone.

The chamber seemed to quake in the wake of his absence. You stared after the closed door for several moments before returning in front of the hearth. Unbeknownst to you, before the evening was over, Cregan would seek out half a dozen noblewomen throughout Winterfell with a request. “My lady wife has had little company,” he had said, “see to it that’s she’s welcomed.” Certain that the matter was now settled, he would think no more of it. You would, entirely unaware of his quiet interference, go to tea the following afternoon believing you had finally been invited into the company of the castle’s ladies of your own accord.

At first, the tea before supper had been wonderful. The ladies entertained you with talks of embroidery, flowers that grew through snow, and other such things. Lady Umber had even delighted you with a quick instruction on how to preserve herbs in the harsh winter. As you had slowly begun to relax into the conversation, Lady Manderly spoke up, “speaking of winter…” Another Lady’s voice rose to answer her, “Lady Stark, have you heard of the woman who walks beyond the Wolfswood?” The mood shifted then, something darker settling amongst the table. One by one, the women begin to trade stories, stories of things that chilled you to the bone. You are unsure if they meant to terrify you, or if they were simply entertaining themselves.

With nervous giggles and hushed voices they tell you of the witch beyond the woods, the Moss Mother they call her. “Her dwelling stands atop twisted tree roots, and runs like a horse!” One of the younger women had said, spinning a tale of a haggish woman who stole hunters and wandering maidens alike. “Oh but the Moss Mother is far less fearsome than the White Widow!” Lady Manderly replied. “They say she lost her husband to a brutal winter, and now she appears among blizzards to exact her revenge. If you follow her ghostly call out into the snow, well…you’re found frozen when the storm clears, heart torn from your chest by a great claw,” she said, voice deepened. You bring your handkerchief up to your mouth in shock, sickened bile threatening to spill over in the face of such gruesome details. Before you could collect yourself, another Lady spoke up, “Such poppycock! We all know the Hidden Walker is the most menacing. A creature that remains hidden behind the trees, never seen directly. Whenever you turn, my Lady, it's behind another trunk! All of us here know, it follows lonely travelers for miles. Though, once you hear its breathing over your shoulder, you never turn back.” Your heartbeat quickened, daring to break through the bodice of your dress. As you attempt to find a steady breath, the stories only drew on. “Truly you must know that the Hidden Walker is just another name for what roams beyond the Wall. You know, my grandsire encountered it years before the tale was told,” Lady Umber said. At this, the ladies fell silent, even the women whose giggles had, just a moment before, filled the chamber. You noticed immediately, left to wonder if all the tales had been true. The younger lady from before spoke after a moment, “we exaggerate, Lady Stark…mostly.” She had tried to ease the worry etched on your face, she had failed. “Don’t fret, my Lady, it’s just- well, it's best not to walk the grounds at night,” she added. Your stomach dropped, throat tightening. Every creak of old stone suddenly deafens you, the whine of old stone mingling with the calls of the creatures beyond the walls. Wind whistles, and branches scrape the windows. You panic, trying to remain calm, but faltering. “I must excuse myself, Ladies. Suppertime draws nearer and Lord Stark will want me to freshen up,” you squeak, rushing to stand and scurry out the door in a flurry of skirts and furs. “Was the poor dear crying? I do believe we terrified her with our old wive’s tales” Lady Manderly inquired. “Lady Stark is from the Vale, after all.” Lady Umber replied.

Supper time had come and gone, with no sight of you. You had not turned up in Cregan’s solar, nor accompanied him on his evening walk, as was customary. Odd, he had thought, though maybe you were worn from your evening of socializing. After a few more circles walked around the Godswood, Cregan decided to return to your shared chambers. He smiled to himself as he recalled how the ladies doted after their time with you over supper. Lady Umber had even told him of how radiant your smile had been. It had been worth arranging in secret, he thought. The North could be an isolating place, Cregan knew that all too well. It must’ve been especially lonely for a lady such as yourself, born under gentler skies. He knew how you missed the familiarity of the Vale, even if you never complained. So where had you gone? As he walked down the hall, he caught one of your maids, who, after being questioned, told him that you’d retired early after your time with the other ladies. Frowning, Cregan made his way to your shared quarters. Pushing open the door, he noted the room was dim, lit only by the fire and a handful of scattered candles. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn over the window, and at first glance it seemed as if you had abandoned the room entirely. Then he heard it, a sniffle, then another. With knitted brows, he called out into the room, “wife?” He was met with silence, then the unmistakable sound of someone trying to suppress another sob. His heart lurched as he slammed the door and crossed the room in three quick strides. Upon reaching the bed, he noted a small, shivering form encased in a mountain of furs and blankets. “Wife?” The trembling froze as he lifted back the edge of one of the pelts. Two enormous, watery eyes stared back at him. Your cheeks were stained with tears, hair hopelessly tangled, lower lip wobbling so pitifully that Cregan swore his heart ceased to lurch and instead shattered. You looked utterly miserable.

“Gods,” he whispered, moving to sit beside you, “what has happened?” You only made another tiny broken sound before burying your face back into your mattress. “Were you harmed? Insulted? Are you unwell?” He asked, voice wrought with concern. You shook your head vigorously, refusing to answer. “Then please, tell me, what is the matter?” He asked. Silence stretched through the room as he waited for your reply. Eventually, with a quivering tone you answered, “you will think me foolish, my Lord.” Cregan did not know how, but his shattered heart seemed to only break further. “Never foolish, never. Tell me, girl,” he whispered, gray, helpless eyes boring into your own. You slowly emerged from your cloth sanctuary, until your eyes and nose peaked over the furs. “The ladies, they…told stories,” you replied gravely. He only blinked, “stories?” You nodded dismally, “terrible stories. Of things that wander beyond the walls. Ghosts who freeze and tear out hearts in blizzards, witches who snatch up maidens, and Hidden Walkers who follow in the woods! And-and Lady Umber said it all to be true!” Your words rushed out in one breath, hiccuping, you continued, “they even told me not to wander after the sun goes down!” By the end of your explanation, you were practically wailing. Cregan stared down at you for a heartbeat before he realized. They terrified you, a sweet girl from the East who knew nothing of monsters or gremlins. A lonely girl who had only wanted to befriend others and instead found herself horrified by Northern superstition. If Cregan’s heart was somehow still beating within his chest, surely it had been crushed away now. He settled himself among the various pillows stuffed against the headboard, stretching out over the comforter. “Come, sweet girl, come here,” he whispered, careful of his volume. Slowly, you moved up the large bed, setting yourself next to him. He turned to look at you, still so pouty, and slid his hands under your arms. Tugging, he settled you and your tangle of blankets and furs into the cradle of his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

The sudden contact was shocking at first, but the safety of Cregan’s arms around your fluttering form was a welcome protection. He let you adjust quietly before he spoke once more, “those tales, we tell them to the children. No wandering in the woods, staying indoors during storms, avoid travel through strange wilderness. They are a way of warning, but I am sorry they frightened you, wife. Truly, I am.” You sniffled, hiding your face further into his neck. His scent was that of pine, cider, and something undoubtedly warm. “Tis I that should be sorry then, husband. I was spooked by children’s stories,” you whispered, breath tickling his skin. Just then, a log shifted in the hearth, sounding off with a loud CRACK. You yelped, pulling a fur over your head and grasping Cregan’s tunic with such fury he was sure your knuckles paled. He began to chuckle, before he felt the hot, wet slide of your tears down his neck. “Oh my little lady,” he croaked, patting the expanse of your lower back, “I’m here.” With much of his willpower and strength, Cregan looked down at your face hidden by the reddish brown pelt covering you. A careful thumb came up, smudging a salty tear into your cheek. “Please don’t cry, it is alright. I am here,” He said, a faint smile stretching his lips. “I am sorry. I am being silly. Rattled by silly prattle and noises in the night,” you whispered. You were melting into him now, and he couldn’t help but adore you for it. Only three weeks ago, you’d arrived in Winterfell as his bride. Dutiful, quiet, painfully homesick. You’d barely known each other then, but now Cregan realized he’d do whatever it took to protect you, comfort you even. He reached out once more, slowly enough that you could retreat if you wanted to. Instead, you leaned in, allowing him to wipe away another tear before he gently kissed your cheek. A tingling heat broke out over your face as he kissed the spot again and again, feather light. “You are not silly, they are convincing stories,” he said against your cheek, a large hand still cradling your head. “Stay with me?” You asked, the question so quiet he almost missed it. Cregan’s expression softened, “Of course. I am here to ward off those ghouls,” he jested. You giggled at his poking of fun, relaxing little by little until you were draped across him. After a long silence, he spoke again. “It is I truly who should be sorry. I arranged the tea so that you may make friends amongst the other women. I had not intended for them to get carried away. I am sorry to see you this way, I had hoped it would ease you, but it did not,” He admitted. You only nuzzled into his hold. “I liked the company, and I am most appreciative of your careful planning. Though, I could’ve done without the witches and phantoms,” you giggled. “Yes,” he agreed, “no more sorcery and ghosts for you, darling wife.” You smiled brightly and giggled again, the sound filling the bedchamber far better than the shrieks of goblins ever could. Outside the winter winds howled against weathered stone, but inside beneath thick blankets and in the warmth of Cregan’s arms, you decided that perhaps the North was beginning to feel a little less lonely. And if you had insisted on sleeping with every candle lit that night, Cregan would never complain.

#cregan stark x reader #house stark #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #cregan x y/n #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #house of the dragon #cregan x you #cregan stark #cregan fluff #winterfell #winter is coming #fem reader #dire wolf #HONEYEDSTARK

"Prey" - Cregan Stark

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You loved your husband. Truly, you did. He did everything in his power to make you feel good, treating you as the most delicate flower, his little deer. But you wanted him to know you weren't all that easy to break.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT (18+); a bit of primal play; loving husband Cregan who just wants to make you feel good; rough(er) sex per reader's request

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: No description of the reader (except that the reader has hair), no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume. I finished and beta read this while extremely tired, so please do not even start with me, okay? Enjoy <3.

𐔌 . ⋮ 𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒶 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Thinking about Cregan Stark again and the way he touches you… cares for you.

He follows a step or two behind you- never in front of you, his hand close enough to the small curve at the bottom of your spine for you to feel his heat. even with his gloves and your fur cloak. It never really touches you but you feel it.

His hand at your elbow when you turn to leave without a proper send off, or when a splotch of ice catches you by surprise and he steadies you with just a hand.

When he comes to you in the gods wood, a frost settles over your shoulders and hair while you recite your prayers. He holds out a gloved hand to help you up, drapes his cloak around you while he walks you back to your chambers.

He’ll stop by wherever you may be throughout the day, on his way to petitions or the stables to go out for a ride. He adjusts the collar of your robe, hands lingering by your jaw.

It took months after your wedding for him to finally kiss you on the cheek after centering the stark sigil holding your furs over your shoulder.

He could feel the heat from your cheeks under his lip and hear the hitch of your breath.

If we wakes before you he’ll sweep your hair back and land a soft kiss on your cheeks with a whispered, “stay warm, wife.”

He’ll stay for just a minute to hear your mumbled reply, smiling as he pulls away and leave you to sleep just a little longer.

When you’re having a tough day and he drapes a fur blanket on the chair by the hearth only to take it once it’s warmed enough by the fire and envelope you within its creases. But that’s not enough, he’ll take you wrapped in fur and blankets into his arms. Head tucked under his chin, hair tucked behind your ears by his fingers, and kisses pressed to any place he can reach.

——————————————

No joke I need this man.

#cregan x you #hotd cregan #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #hotd x reader #hotd #x reader #cregan x y/n #cregan fluff

The Stark men love to dote on their wives until they’ve woken up in the morning.

Cregan dotes with his lips, kissing her cheeks hands and arms. He praises her softly as she stirs, turning her toward him when she tries to squirm—a plea to sleep in longer falling on deaf ears. Sometimes, though, he caves. The triumphant smile she lets slip is always worth the irritated words of those waiting on him.

Ned dotes with his hands. A firm, calloused hand rubbing on her sides and back gently to stir her, a routine her body remembered far before she did. He can always tell when she’s just pretending to sleep now.

Robb dotes with his liveliness. He purposely rouses her by opening the curtains and letting the sun flow in, he’s found that irritation wakes her best. Said irritation didn’t last long, anyway.

And Jon dotes with his eyes, far long before it’s truly time to wake. His hands don’t move from where they were when he first stirred awake, and he thanked the gods for how heavy she slept beside him, because he only ever spent his mornings with eyes so full of love, he often found them watering.

no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to you

cregan stark x reader , part 1: before there was you, there was her

summary: a year following a rumor that tore apart you and Cregan’s strong foundation, you and your husband find yourself as strangers in your union, constantly at odds with one another. when the truth comes to light, you and Cregan must rebuild your trust within each other to conquer the enemy you’ve both always known.

cw: smut mwahaha, angst to fluff, inaccurate dance of dragons timeline (aka canon divergence) , brief mentions of pregnancy, mean/angry/slightly toxic reader. erm that’s it i think

taglist: @whotftookalltheusernames1 @pearldaisy @chaotickittenanchor @evajzcks @angel-faced-heartstopper @cloudyzip

The nightmares had started the day you found out,

and they only grew worse.

They were different each night, but occasionally you saw a repeat of one you had previously. Sometimes they were long, sometimes they were short; but every time they sent you into a panic, and in each one there was always him and her, together.

She would look at you, moaning his name, all while you stood frozen, unable to move or scream. Tears would stream down your face as it felt like you choked on the air around you, and when you would finally find the strength to speak his name all he would do was smirk.

And that was just before your father died. After that, they only grew worse; spreading, like the roots of a tree, your grief only giving your nightmares power.

Yet, every night without fail, he was there to comfort you, and tonight was no exception.

You sat straight up, screaming, hand clutching your chest, fingers feeling for the necklace you no longer wore, and hadn’t worn in almost a year. So instead, your fingers clawed at your sternum for relief, fighting to come back to reality.

“My love, hey, hey.” Cregan says, pulling your hands from your chest. “I’m here, just relax.”

My love. Must’ve been a slip of the tongue; he didn’t usually call you that anymore, but he was panicked too. You normally woke up from the nightmares crying and gasping, but you didn’t usually wake up screaming.

“I-It’s nothing, I’m sorry.” You say, out of breath, feverishly waving your hand. He catches it softly, setting it against your stomach.

“Are you feeling alright? It seems like they’re growing worse lately.”

“I-I just am a little warm is all. I’m fine.” You lie. Your other hand unconsciously comes to your stomach, resting on top of his.

You hated him sometimes, if not most times. You couldn’t even stand to look at his stupid, handsome face anymore. But, in times like this you yearned for his comfort.

“You do feel a bit warm.” He says, rubbing your stomach. “The babe might be making you sick.”

“Probably.” You say, hoarsely.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, still catching your breath. He was probably right. This pregnancy already wasn’t going smoothly, and it only made sense you would catch a chill just weeks from being due.

If there were gods, whether they be the new or old, the seven or the drowned, they hated you. A pregnancy following your husband’s affair? On top of the death of your father? Oh yes, they hated you so.

“Do you want some water?” He asks you. You look at his stupid face, sneering. You may have been good about keeping your emotions silent, but you were not very good at hiding them from your expressions.

“Okay.” You said, voice laced with attitude. He ignored it—he’d gotten pretty good at that—stepping out of bed to get you a glass of water.

Precious moments he had with you were few and far in between these days. You’d made it pretty clear you couldn’t stand him most of the time. But, every once in a while he woke up and you were in his arms, or you woke up scared, yearning to know he was still beside you, your hand touching his for confirmation. Sometimes, you even said a quick ‘love you, bye’ in passing.

Most of the time when you were cold and angry he brushed it off, but there had been times he lost his temper and showed you the same behavior, which only escalated to screaming arguments that all ended up back at the same root: his affair.

You believed if he just admitted it that you both could find a way to move past it with time. But the longer he carried on the lie the more bitter you grew, and the more love you lost.

Cregan believed Willow had made up the lie out of spite, jealous to see he didn’t make her the Lady of Winterfell, even though she had been the one to break his heart. Either way, he refused to admit to something he didn’t do, even if that tore his marriage apart. He thought if you didn’t believe him, then you never truly trusted him. And, honestly, maybe you hadn’t. You came from a place where even the most noble men had countless bastards with whores and cheated on their wives every night. Why would the north have been different? It was a double edged sword in his case; Admit to the lie, then he really is lying. Don’t admit, and you still see him as a liar.

He brought back the water, and you held out your hand for it. But rather than hand it to you, he set it on your night table. You wanted to strangle him, and your hands fisted the sheets. You’d seen the little smirk he tried to hide as he walked to his side of the bed. He thought he was so clever.

You were gonna let it go, let him win this battle so that you could go back to sleep, but a sharp pain in your stomach made you drop the water on the floor, gasping in pain.

“Princess, what is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, panicked, rushing to you beside the bed

“I-I don’t know.” You managed to choke out, hardly even able to breathe. He lifts the blanket off you, blood pooling between your legs.

“I think it’s coming.” He says, worriedly, lifting you off the bed.

“No, no, it’s too early. The maester said there’s still a fortnight left!” You cried.

“I think he’s wrong.”

The maester had been wrong.

About a day or so after, you had pushed out what felt like the fattest babe ever.

It was you and Cregan’s first boy together, who you both decided to call Jonnel.

The labor was horrendous, but Cregan didn’t leave your side once. At one point you screamed at him, “Get out, I don’t want you here.” which broke his heart more than any thing ever could, but when you seen the hurt on his face you immediately pled, “Wait, I changed my mind, please don’t leave me.”

You’d wanted to be with Jonnel all the time, but you were limited. Your hand was still damaged from your rage in Cregan’s war council nine moons ago, and your fingers couldn’t do most things like changing and carrying for long periods. Not even to mention the scar you still bore from Alicent, which had permanently damaged some of the nerves in your other arm. You could still do everything okay most of the time, but your arm got tired quicker than it used to, and sometimes there were spots in your arm where you felt nothing at all. You sobbed when the maester told you that you needed to not push yourself, lest you ruin all the work you had done to restore the function of your fingers.

But, you were bitter watching Cregan get to hold Jonnel all the time. You knew you shouldn’t have been, Jonnel was his too, after all. But, your jealousy and anger about his affair made you want your son all to yourself. The pregnancy had been tedious, and even though Cregan had been there to help every step of the way that you allowed, you still felt he had less of a right than you did. Your emotions were spiraling out of control, just as they had when you were first pregnant and didn’t know it, the maester blaming it on the hormone changes that occur with pregnancy.

But, as moons passed, your emotions regulated and your jealousy faded. Your hand recovered with each day and with the help of the maester, allowing you to hold and care for Jonnel more. All this anger and resentment you held towards Cregan shifted to sadness and hopelessness.

Your union remained tense, nonetheless. Cregan shifted further away from you now that you were no longer pregnant, and some days you didn’t see even see him, which only harbored your belief there may have been other maids he was entertaining.

You looked down, fiddling with the necklace you no longer wore; the one Cregan had gifted to you when you were first wed. You were both so young and awkward then, so blind to the hell that would become your union.

Tears threatened you, and in the isolation of your room, you allowed them to break free, your fingers gripping the necklace in agony. You just wanted things to go back to how they were before you knew. You just wanted your husband back; the one who was sweet, kind, and caring, the one who didn’t sneak around, the one who didn’t go back to his first love, the one who made love to you and only you.

Every time he showed his love or concern now it felt so performative, like he was trying to prove he didn’t do it when you knew he did.

You rest your head in your hands. Part of you wondered if there was a chance you were wrong, if all of this really was a rumor. But the letter felt too incriminating, and the fact the maids whispered and knew of her, and then when she came to see you in King’s Landing. Anger coursed through your veins again at the thought.

Cregan says your name.

“What?!” You snap, looking up, not bothering to wipe the tears off your face.

“Why are you yelling?” He asks, calm but irritated.

“Oh my gods, what did you come in here for?” You ask, voice lowered but still agitated.

You were wearing his patience so thin, but he hid it well.

“There’s a feast tomorrow. I really would appreciate if you came so that the other northern houses will aid me when I have to go to King’s Landing.”

“It’s the middle of winter. Why are you having a feast for that?” You spit.

“Can you come or not?” He asks, fidgeting. “This is to help your sister’s claim.”

“Obviously I’ll come.” You say, looking back down at the necklace in your hands. He doesn’t say anything, but also doesn’t make a motion to leave, watching you stare at the necklace. He was surprised to see you holding it, his eyes fixed on your scarred hand.

“Did you need something else?” You ask, rudely. You break his focus and he huffs, turning and slamming the door as he walks out. There was no point in trying to talk to you, comfort you, ask if you were okay. He’d tried so many times before, and each time you only pushed him away.

The next night, you donned one of the best dresses you owned for the feast. The neckline was low, revealing much of your chest, and your corset was strung so tight you could hardly breathe. You may not have been a northern beauty, but you were a southern one, and the men would be gawking at you all night long. Whether they meant to or not.

You had no intentions on fornicating, but you wanted Cregan to know you had the choice. You wanted him to know choosing his first over you was a mistake.

Cregan sat at the head of the table, your seat next to him empty, as he politely greeted each northern lord that came in.

He was livid. He’d specifically asked you to come because he needed you to help prove to these lords why sparing men to fight for your sister was pertinent to the north. If Aegon remained in power, who knew how badly he would mess with the dynamics of the north? You knew politics, knew the properties of war. With your help these men would be practically begging to go march with Cregan.

And while you did know those things, you intended on gaining their allegiance in much easier ways.

You pushed the doors open loudly, an hour late to the feast, making your appearance known as the knights at the door announced your entrance. Hundreds of men and their wives turned to look at you, but your eyes stared down the middle of the hall, right at your husband. He sat in his chair, eyes glaring right back at yours.

Men bowed as you walked past them, with you finally breaking eye contact from your husband to look at them as you passed. Cregan was already mad before, but now he was raging. His fingers gripped the handles of the chair, nails scratching the wood, but his face remained composed, as if he wasn’t even fazed by you.

But gods, he was.

You looked divine. Your hair was in northern braids, sneaky and intentional on your part, the neckline of your dress hung low, leaving almost nothing to imagination, and your dress was tight, hugging your curves in all the right ways.

He shuffled, trying to keep his length from growing at the mouth watering sight of you. He wanted you so bad, wanted to bend you over that table and show every lord drooling at you that you were his. It’d been too long since he had you, had to have been at least a full year by now. But, he couldn’t stand to go any longer. Hells, he started contemplating admitting to the affair if it meant you could be his once again.

You came beside him to the empty chair. “Lord Stark.”

He whimpered a little, trying to hide it as he stood to formally greet you.

“Princess.” He said, kissing your cheek for appearances, but his hand gripped the back of your neck. You knew he was pissed, and you loved it.

He pulled your chair out for you as you sat beside him, both of you smiling out at the lords in the halls. The facade of a happy and thriving union.

Still smiling, he leans close to you, making it appear to everyone else as if you’re both having a normal conversation. “Where have you been?”

“Around.” You look into his eyes, smiling.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago.” He whispers, laughing angrily.

“I don’t fucking care.” You whisper back, pretending to laugh as if he said something funny, hand holding his on the table.

He sighs shakily, his fake-happy exterior deteriorating. “I’m trying, gods I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying to be cordial with you, but you’re- oh, you pretty little thing-” His fingers grip your cheeks, tightly, a warning to you but a display of affection to others. “You’re wearing my patience so thin.”

“Oh, my dear husband,” You say, leaning in close to his face. “We’ve just barely even started.”

You pinch his cheek, laughing as you stand to go greet the lords.

“Sit down, sit down.” He whispers, but you ignore him, patting his cheek before pushing his forehead.

He tilts his head away from your hand, watching as you gracefully walk to go mingle with the lords. His eyes didn’t break from you, no matter where you went.

Each lord was a nervous wreck when you approached them, stuttering and shuffling to avoid staring too long at your chest. But, the more you talked, the less intimidated they became. Your charisma flowed effortlessly, enchanting them as their wives jealously watched. You tapped into the patriarchy— playing the dumb princess act— when really you were smarter than every man in the room. You knew about the dynamics of politics, war strategies, history, but none of it mattered when you were talking to a man. To only talk about those things would bore them, but to give them a show while you talked about them? You were playing the game of thrones, and you were winning.

Cregan watched every moment of it, eyes burning through your skull, and it was impressive. You had these men drawn in, nodding and drooling at your every word. You’d easily won every house in the north that night. Cregan found himself smiling at you with pride as the night progressed…

until you had too many drinks in your system.

He was trying so hard not to intervene, to let you do what you felt like you needed to win these houses, but then you got physical.

The lines for you were blurring, your fingers would gently graze their arm, making a comment about the loyalty and strength of their ancestors, or touch the sigil on their chest plate, admiring the symbol of their house. You’d laugh harder than necessary at their jokes, your voice grew in volume, your balance became uneven as you practically leaned into them for support.

He knew what you were doing. You were playing this ditsy princess act, and it was cute at first, but now it was aggravating. These lords didn’t care about their wives. If you told one of them ‘take off my clothes and fuck me’ they’d do it right there, in less than a heartbeat.

But as far as Cregan knew, you were a woman scorned. You had nothing stopping you from fucking one of these lords if you so pleased. You were princess of the seven kingdoms, the youngest realm’s delight, babe of Viserys and Aemma. What was stopping you from getting whatever you wanted?

But, then you looked at Cregan.

He was what you wanted.

The one man you yearned for more than anybody in the realm. Despite him wronging you, you wanted him so bad, wanted to break the oath you made to yourself that you’d never be with him again. Your fingers gripped your cup at the thought of him on top of you, just like old times.

But, the one hand, your barely healed right hand, unconsciously rested against the arm of a Lord… Lord… Who was this again? Lord Karstark, right. Cregan’s cousin. Your other hand gave his arm a mindless squeeze at about the same time you gripped your cup, and Cregan noticed, no longer able to bear the sight.

He stood, coming down from his seat and walking straight towards you.

“Cousin.” Lord Karstark broke his gaze from your chest, greeting Cregan with a pat on the back. “Your wife was just telling me about a hunt you went on recently. Said you-”

“Yes, right, that’s great, Brandon.” He interrupts, then addresses you. “Can I have a word with you?”

“I’m busy.” You say, not even looking at him.

“I’m not asking.” He says, leaning in closer so only you could hear.

“Well, I don’t care.” You say, giving him a dirty look. He leans back, eyes still locked on yours as you both challenged each other silently.

“Lord Karstark.” You say, looking back at him with a smile. “Tell me more about your trip a few years ago to King’s Landing. What was it for, again?”

“It was for my brother.” He says. “One was about to be wed so he wanted to, uh, go to the all the brothels there.”

“Alright, we must be getting on now.” Cregan says, hooking his arm with yours to give you a tug, but you plant your feet, unmoving.

“Interesting, tell me more.” You say.

“L-Like what, princess?” He laughs a bit, shuffling.

“The whores?” You say, laughing as if it were obvious. Cregan was stunned. You hated prostitution, said you hoped your sister outlawed it when she took the crown. So, to hear you asking about it? “Which girl was your favorite?”

Cregan’s cousin looked at him, almost like asking for reassurance to speak.

“A-A blonde.” He says, and you give his chest a soft tap.

“Pretty close to Targaryen.” You tease, and Cregan snaps. He reaches to grab your cup from your hand, but your fingers are locked.

“Let go.” You whisper.

“You’re finished.” He says, hand still trying to pull the cup from your grasp.

“Fine!” You say, letting it go. The motion slingshots Cregan’s hand backwards, spilling the cup on his chest.

The facade had faded, as people nearby noticed, but thankfully only a few.

He sighs, dropping the cup on the floor as he looks at you. Your hand covered your mouth, stifling a laugh, which only angered him more.

“Excuse us, Lord Karstark.” You giggle out, waving Cregan’s cousin away.

“You think this is funny?” Cregan asks, and you nod, letting your laughter spill out.

He grabs your arm, pulling you into him as you gasp. Your hand falls to his chest for balance, and he looks down at you, saying nothing.

“You’re drunk.” He whispers. And in that moment you found yourself yearning for him, so, so bad.

“No, you are.” You whisper back. His gaze falls from your eyes down to your plump lips, then down to your chest on full display. He laughs softly.

Oh gods, help me. That laugh.

The silence between you is so intense it’s almost tangible. For a second, you both forget you’re in a crowded room of people. His fingers gently graze up and down your back.

“Stop.” You whisper.

“You want me to stop?” He teases.

“Yes.” You whimper, blatantly lying.

“I don’t think you do.” His fingers move to grip your waist. “Now, go to bed.”

He twists you around, giving you a soft push to walk away. But, you stand firm.

“Go. Seriously.” He warns. You smirk, unmoving. “You’re not going to like it if I have to make you.”

“On the contrary,” You say, turning back to face him. “I think I will.”

He sighs, picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder as you laugh, maybe you really were drunk. He carries you all the way to your bedroom, mumbling under his breath as you giggle.

He tosses you on your bed, looking down at you as you’re a giggling mess.

“Come here.” You smile at him.

“What?”

You sit up on your knees, pulling him by his collar towards you.

“Come here.” You repeat, fingers lacing in his hair as you pull him in to kiss you.

He’s hesitant to kiss you back, but slowly, his fingers find their way to your cheeks, and his tongue seperates your lips, deepening the kiss. He lifts you up, hands snaking under your dress to hold you by your thighs.

“My love.” He whispers into your lips. “Why have you been flaunting about to these other lords?”

“Sh. Don’t worry about that.” You whisper. “Just lay me down and take me, Lord Stark.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. He drops you on the bed, making you giggle again, as he strips his layers.

“Take this off me.” You say, referring to your dress. He flips you onto your stomach, rushing to unlace your corset.

“Gods, why is this so fucking tight?!” He yells, ripping the corset down the middle in frustration.

“This is a good dress!” You cry out.

“Don’t worry, I know.” He says, “Me and everyone else in the fucking north.”

You slip the torn dress off, spreading your legs as he hovers over you. He kisses you again, rough and deep, biting your lips fervently, fingers digging a bruising touch into your waist. You whimper into the kiss, fingers scratching his chest.

“Fuck me, please,” You beg, in between kisses. “Do it so hard I’m screaming.”

“Oh my gods.” He moans at your lascivious words, pushing himself inside you. Shivers run up his body at the feeling. It had been so long, too long. He didn’t realize how badly he’d been aching for you until now.

You felt the same, cunt leaking around him, staining the furs beneath you. Your heart may have rejected him, but your body was begging for him.

“I can’t believe you.” He moans out, “Embarrassing me in front of all those men, flaunting about like some scarlet.”

“Me a scarlet?!” You yell, and his hand covers your mouth.

“You’re going to let me talk.” He says, slowing his thrusts. “Or I’ll stop.”

“No, fine, fine.” You plead, underneath his hand, which moves to grip your cheeks.

“I asked you one thing, one thing. Be at the hall, on time.” he pants, still thrusting. “And you show up late, looking so fucking good, knowing you’re getting me and everyone else in there worked up, putting their wives to shame. Why? Why would you do that?”

You smirk up at him, and he drops his head, gripping your waist tighter.

“Can’t I have my own paramour?”

“Don’t even fucking say that.” He says, wrapping his hand around your throat. You moan, and put your scarred hand over his. His eyes fall on it, a wave of guilt washing over him. “I don’t have one.”

You slap him across the face, “Liar!”

“I don’t!” He yells, and you slap him again. You go for a third, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the bed. “When will you believe me?”

You want to answer, but the way he’s holding you and fucking you just right makes it hard to get out anything besides a whimper. He looks into your eyes, searching for the answer, but they’re so clouded with lust it’s impossible.

“I hate you.” You moan, looking at him. “You didn’t just break my heart, you broke my soul. I hate you more than anything.”

He was suspicious that you’d felt that way for a long time, but you never actually said it, confirming his worst fears.

“But, I love you.” He moans, tears brimming his eyes, fingers caressing your cheeks. “I love you so much, my princess.”

“Can we just forget about everything else for once?” You plead the sentence slowly, gasping between every other word. “Just be here with me. Forget about what I did, what you did, forget about what I’ve said, forget about her-”

“There’s only you, there’s no her.” He says, tears falling down his eyes. “When I die and they lay me to rest no grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to you.”

You sob, pulling him down so his chest was touching yours, arms wrapping around him. His head rests against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses to your skin.

“Cregan, I can’t hear anymore of this.” You plead, pushing his hips with yours to try to remind you both where you were. It all just felt like a lie, like a sick and twisted lie. Your fingers scratched his back, trying to anchor yourself.

He lifts his head, locking eyes with yours, cupping your cheek. “Then, let me kiss you.”

Your lips meet his, both of you fighting to dominate the kiss. His hands play with your chest, wanting to feel every part of you, assuming as though it would be the last time.

Your body shakes, tightening as you feel your release coming. “Please, oh gods, please don’t stop.”

He listens, fighting his own release, sweat dripping down his forehead. “I’ve got you, my girl.”

You kiss him again as you cum, tears stinging your eyes at the feeling that lights through your stomach, making your legs shake in ecstasy. You’re lightheaded as you come down, stomach still fluttering as Cregan continues. You want to tell him pull out, to cum on your stomach or your cunt, but as your hand rests against his chest, fingers grazing his skin softly, you decide against it.

But, he was already one step ahead, pulling out with weak groans and whimpers as he released onto your stomach, fingers digging into your hips. You looked at him, eyes shut tight as he relished in the feeling, his hands shaking against you.

When he opened his eyes you were already looking at him. You looked so beautiful, cheeks red and flushed, hands twitching from the comedown, and your big doe eyes yearning for more. But, you were silent, and so he was he. And the room was tense again, awkward even.

“You should probably go back out there.” You say, quietly.

“I don’t have to.” He says, sitting beside you. “I can stay here and we can just sleep, we can forget about everything outside of here for just one night.”

“I don’t want you here.” You lie. “Haven’t I made it clear enough? You’ve broken me, I don’t love you.”

He squeezes his temple, standing to dress. “You’re delusional.”

“Excuse me?!” You say, covering yourself with your robe.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He says, no longer hiding his defeat. “I’ve tried so hard to prove to you that you’re wrong, that you’re believing in a lie. But, after all I’ve done, all I’ve said, nights I got on my knees and begged you to believe me. Your husband who loves you, who’d kill for you! If you don’t believe me after all that, then you never truly loved me.”

“What am I supposed to do with a handwritten letter addressed directly from your whore?!”

“Trust me! I worshipped the damned ground you walked on! I’d never betray you! Not then, not now, now ever! Not even when you curse me, and tell me you hate me, and look at me like I’ve…” His voice trails off.

“Like you’ve what? Broken my heart? Slept with a woman who disrespected me?” You ask bitterly.

He stares you down, silent for a moment as he contemplates his next words.

“Fine.” He says, lowly. “I did it.”

“When?” You ask, voice quivering, but not breaking.

“When we went to King’s Landing.”

“And how long before that? The whole time we’ve been wed? The whole time I was pregnant with Aemma?”

“Sure.” He lies, but it was what you wanted to hear.

“You stupid fucking-” You yell, throwing anything you could find at him. “Get out!”

He covers his head to deflect a few items thrown, but eventually turns and walks out, slamming the door.

You follow him out, grabbing him by his arm.

“Don’t come out here making a scene.” He commands you, lowly. But, you don’t care, smacking and punching his chest and as you sob.

“Bastard! You’re a bastard, Cregan Stark!”

He gives you a gentle push away from him, leaving you to walk back to the banquet hall.

You turn and sob, fist slamming against the wall as you sink to the floor, crying in your hands. You couldn’t move from the wall, didn’t even have the strength to try it. So, you stayed. Stayed like that until the tears dried and sleep overwhelmed you.

Cregan was surprised when he came back a few hours later to see you asleep there. The maids had checked on you, but you shooed them all away.

He sighed, lifting you up and carrying you to your bed, making sure to cover you with the furs. You’d cried yourself out pretty good, because when he lifted you all you did was snore.

He looked at you in the bed, admiring how peaceful you were when you weren’t cursing his name, pressing a soft kiss to your tear-stained cheeks. You were hardly ever that anymore, instead always looking angry or sad. He didn’t blame you, he just hoped telling you this lie would bring you peace.

A moon had passed from the feast, and you and Cregan had exchanged maybe a total of 15 words in the entire duration. And your relationship only grew more strained.

You both slept separately now, ate separately, spent time with the kids separately. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even see him; and the children weren’t blind to it. You and Cregan’s divide made Rickon stressed and anxious, no matter how much you both tried lying to bring him comfort. Aemma and Jonnel, while too young to understand the strain, still felt the tension between you and their father, only making them fussy and cranky.

Feeling at a loss, you made a risky decision to go see your sister on Dragonstone. Thankfully, shortly before your father’s death, you had gone and retrieved your dragon from King’s Landing, making a point to not bring Cregan that time. If he wanted to see his paramour she would have to come to him.

You knocked on his war chamber door, softly. He almost didn’t hear it. “Come in.”

When he looked up from the letter he was reading, you were the last person he had expected to see.

“Hi.” He said, surprised.

“Hi.” You said, mindlessly playing with your hands.

A silence filled the air for a moment.

“May I sit?” You ask, and he nods, moving aside letters and pens so that you could sit across from him.

“How are you?” You ask, trying to butter him up for what you were about to ask him.

“Fine.” He says, laughing softly, trying to hide his confusion. “How are you?”

You shrug, giving him a nervous smile. “Me too.”

“Did you come in here to ask me something?” He says, already suspect. You felt caught.

“I, um… would like to go visit my sister.”

He immediately shakes his head, putting down the letter. “No, no. You can’t.”

“Cregan, please-”

“No!” He laughs, incredulously. “You have no idea what is going on in the south right now.”

“Oh, you mean since you’ve stopped telling me?”

“Exactly.” He leans back in his chair, folding his hands on his lap.

“I’m not asking.” You say.

“So, then why’d you come ask?”

“I was trying to not go over your head.”

“Which you’re doing anyway.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Go then. I can’t stop you.”

You go to leave, but he says your name, stopping you in your tracks.

“Be safe, please.” your heart flutters a bit at his words, until he says, “My kids need a mother.”

You nod, closing the door behind you.

After saying goodbye to the children, you left a few days later.

Your sister was surprised when you showed up 3 weeks later, since you hadn’t wrote to her of your coming, at risk of alerting any enemies of your whereabouts. You stayed there for a full moon, having forgotten how beautiful Dragonstone was, finding yourself jealous that it belonged to your sister.

“It can be yours.” She says, “I can annul your union, you can bring Jonnel and Aemma here.”

“I can’t do it.” You say, looking down and shaking your head. “I’d rather live in misery than separate them from him. He loves them so much, just as I love his son.”

“How bad is it?” Rhaenyra asks.

“Bad.” You say, staring off at your dragon playing with Syrax over the ocean. “It’s as though we’re strangers, we never speak anymore. When we do, it’s just arguing and fighting. And… I miss him. I miss him more than anything.”

“I can’t even imagine.” Rhaenyra says.

“I just wish it made sense.” You admit. “I never expected it of him.”

“Neither did I, nor father.”

“Sometimes, I feel like it’s tearing me apart from the inside out.” You say, “I feel as though I see her face everywhere. I dream about her every night, with him, it’s just… I’ve lost my best friend.”

“And he still hasn’t admitted to it?”

“He did, but it just… it felt forced. As if he didn’t say it out of admittance, but out of defeat.”

“I saw how he protected you that day. He would’ve slain Criston Cole if you had let him, probably would’ve slain everyone in that room.” Rhaenyra says, “I can’t help but feel as though a man would fight for someone so hard, just to risk losing them so easily.”

You sigh, looking down. “Sometimes, I feel the same way. But, I think that’s just me hoping for a better outcome between us than what there will be.”

The night before you were set to leave, you were awoken by Rhaenyra.

“What is it?” You groaned, half asleep, waving your hand around to push her away.

“You must come downstairs with me right away.” She whispers.

“What?” You ask, waking up more.

“Sh. There is someone here to see us.”

You both walk downstairs in your robes, but you’re shocked to see none other than Alicent Hightower.

“Rhaenyra, what? I- What is this?” You ask your sister.

“Just listen.”

“I must confess something to you,” She says, “before I leave King’s Landing, leave this war behind. I… I didn’t expect to see you here when I came, but I can’t help feel like it may be fate we crossed paths at this time.”

“Okay.” You say, still confused. She looks at Rhaenyra, almost for approval it seems.

“The rumor of Cregan Stark’s affair,” She says, swallowing. “is not the truth.”

“What?” You ask.

“Larys Strong and I… we fabricated it after the fight amongst our children, as an attempt to divide your family for collateral for what happened to my sons.”

Your fingers touched the scar that was still prominent on your arm. “You… you can’t be serious.”

“I am.” She admits. “Larys found the girl working in King’s Landing through whispers. We told her to spread the lie to everyone she knew.”

“Alicent.” You say, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“No, no, you won’t.” Rhaenyra says, grabbing your arms to steady you. “I’ve promised her she can leave here safely in exchange for her confession.”

You break from Rhaenyra’s grasp.

“I need to leave, Rhaenyra.” You say, tears falling. “I need to fix this.”

“Go.”

Cregan’s eyes fluttered open at the undeniable sound of a dragon roaring in the distance.

You were home.

For the first time in almost three moons, he felt like he could finally sleep knowing you were back here safe. When you had been gone, he’d heard nothing from you. No letters of your arrival, no idea how long you’d be staying, when you’d be returning. He knew why you couldn’t send them. Any letter intercepted was a risk for both of you, but it didn’t make him worry any less.

He fell back asleep, only waking again when you burst through his bedroom door, jumping on him in his bed. The snow stuck to your furs made him gasp in shock, the wet ice freezing against his bare chest.

“What’s wrong?! What is it?!” He asked, sitting up in a panic as you sobbed against him. “Are you hurt? Talk to me!”

“Oh, Cregan.” You bawled, as he wrapped his arms around you. “I’m so sorry.”

He brushes his fingers through your cold hair, gently shushing you. “Sh, sh, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I was wrong.” You say, pulling away to look at him, your nose and cheeks red from the bitter cold. “I was wrong about you, and I’m so, so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, still confused.

“Alicent came to Dragonstone.” You sniffled. He wiped your tears, still gently shushing you. “She confessed that her and Larys Strong lied.”

“Lied? Lied about what?”

“You.” You say. “You never had an affair… You were always mine.”

“Wait, go back. Alicent came to Dragonstone?”

“Cregan, none of it matters. None of it.” You say, fingers caressing his cheeks. He shivers at your touch. “What matters is if you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” He asks, laughing in offense before yelling, “Forgive you?!”

“I’m so sorry.” You repeat, knowing it didn’t make any of your behavior right. You felt so much guilt knowing you’d hated him for all the wrong reasons, treated him like a fool. In the end, it hadn’t been Alicent or Willow that ruined your union, but you.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be cross, this is just a lot to take in.” He says, resting his head in his hands. Your cold hand touches his chest.

“Cregan.” You say, and he looks up at you. “I love you.”

It felt like the air left his body when you said that.

“You do?” he barely squeaks out.

You nod. “And I understand if you can’t forgive me, I understand if you’ve checked out. I’m so sorry for how cold I’ve been to you this past year. Because despite it all, you were still never cold to me. You stayed the best husband, the best father. You didn’t break how I had. You kept faith in me, kept faith in us, always.”

Your words felt like the sun melting the last bit of frost after a long winter, revealing the grass that was hope underneath the bitter ice. Like sweat dripping down his back in the summer, cooling him off. It was relieving, freeing, comforting, healing. Words he dreamed of you saying every night, sleep bringing him a peace he yearned for.

“I can’t even blame you for how you acted.” He admits, “I still betrayed your trust by keeping her a secret. Alicent and Larys made it work well, the odds were stacked against me. It just makes so much sense now.”

You look at him, teary eyed. He still felt angry with you, but he also felt an unrelenting love. A love that bit and nagged at him every damned day, reaching out for you as you ran. No matter how much he tried to push it down, telling himself neither of you would ever return to what once was, the love lingered.

“But, you broke my heart at times, my love. Sometimes, I wondered if I hated you too,” He says, and you bite your lip in anxiety, tears streaming down your cheeks. “then every night when you fell asleep beside me, I knew I could never hate you. My love for you is undying, it burns so my heart so badly I fear it may turn to ash.”

His hand caresses your cheek, “And now you’ve been gone, away for so long. I’ve yearned, in the most unimaginable ways, to just feel you near me. I’ve missed your soul, so, so much.”

You laugh softly, tears falling down your cheeks as he wipes them away for the last time. “Are you gonna kiss me then or what, Lord Stark?”

“I’ll do more than that.” He breathes, pulling you on top of him as he falls back on the bed, lips pressed against yours. His fingers are loving, gentle against your skin, a reminder that you both knew where home was.

He was warm, inviting,

he was yours.