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⋆˚࿔ Venomous Surrender ⋆˚࿔

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader ₊ @hotd2025bingo ₊

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ • ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

wc. 0.7k

tags. [sfw] toxic relationship, poisoning, slight mentions of sex and dub-con, angst, dark love.

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The woman could have sworn that she was different from him. She really would have. She would’ve gambled the soil at her feet, her ability to enjoy the warm water of the stream that the Red Keep hides and her favorite winter duvet. 

Eventually, though, she had to come to the realization that she would have made a fine Targaryen. It must have rubbed off, after all those years of marriage. 

It started as a funny, harmless idea at first. 

She saw the way his eyes darkened when he spoke of the throne, noticed the cruel, judgmental gaze upon everyone but himself, heard the rumors about her husband’s plotting with Ser Criston Cole. And, she got a glimpse of Aegon’s decaying body, too. 

When the news reached his wife’s ear, in a moment of blissful innocence, she allowed herself to thank the Gods for Aemond’s safety. But when she saw the King’s burnt, fragmented body, it hit her. Who else could have possibly done that? And while her husband had always been devoted and kind, and she had grown to be madly in love with him, she still feared the old Targaryen legend that folks told. 

A coin, flipped, tossed in the air. Was his husband turning? If that was the fate he had prepared for his own brother, —albeit a cruel sibling—, his own blood, what could be thought of her? If she ever strayed in his path?

It frightened her, of course. She threw a fit of quiet panic as she watched him turn into something monstrous. But it was something strangely familiar. She supposed she had always known what type of man he was, but it did not matter, as long as he loved her. What harm could someone do if they are devoted to your cause? To your future together?

The problem expanded when his attentiveness branched out into a distant land, foreign to family matters, foreign to marital matters. A rather vain reason, perhaps. But it was the honest truth. Aemond’s wife feared that he loved the thrill of power more than he loved her, and that he, suddenly enlightened, would decide that forming a family and spending time with his wife had become inconsequential matters, unfit of a wise, unattainable ruler. 

And it’s not like she did not try other options. She really did. The woman orchestrated passionate appeals to his late promises, to old memories of devotion. These often ended with her falling down on her knees, with shameful tears running through warm cheeks. 

She desperately tried to kiss the malice off his skin, making silent pleas to the meat that covered his heart. She tried to reason and compromise, taking an oath to never interfere with his antics, if it meant that they could have those long conversations again, if they could dance and laugh again, if she could feel his tender gaze and feel his protective hugs just once more. 

None of it worked. 

Had all those moments, all those years been a lie? 

And then she saw them grow in the garden. Insidious, small, poisonous. The thought of hurting him had never crossed her mind, but she did wonder what it would be like to slow him down for a split second, just enough for him to have the time and energy to lower his gaze and look at her again.

A part of the woman even hoped that she had been mistaken, that they wouldn’t have the intended effect. But oh, they did. And for a couple of days, Aemond was hers again. All of him. He turned into the boy that she had learned to love so many years ago. And she turned into the girl who would stop at nothing to see him content. 

Of course, the guilt was extreme and it was there. And she made up for it. Or, at the very least, she tried to. 

She would not pry in his atrocities, she would be a decorative statue, but now and then, when she missed him, when she wanted him to feel some semblance of humility, she’d slip a tiny dose of belladonna in his drinks, in his food. And he’d be pure again. Like it was supposed to be. 

Naturally, Aemond knew. He was anything but stupid. And Aemond let her. He loved getting nursed back to health, he liked relenting control, he liked how intense her devotion was afterward. Although she did take it out on her. Whenever they went to bed after he’d been sick, he’d be particularly rough. But when the poison would settle in, she’d used him as a prop and ride him until she was satisfied. It was a dance. One of balance.

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Notes. Another prompt done! I was super inspired by the Fathom Thread. This is far from finished but i promised myself i would post again

— Sidey xo

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Could we PLEASE get a part 2 for Handmade?? I need them to realize that they are smitten with each other and kiss!!! 😭❤️

it's been ages i am so sorryyyy :3 but it is finally here pretty anon!

[sideysvault]

⋆˚࿔ Handmade 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ (pt.2)

Cregan Stark x fem!reader ₊ read part one

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ • ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

wc. 1380k

tags. [nsfw] no smut but mentions of breeding, arranged marriage, fluffy, mutual pining, happy ending. (requested)

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Despite the feelings of unworthiness, she had to admit that it was a beautiful life. It exuded purpose. The Princess had made a habit out of accompanying her husband to duty. Cregan, understanding and indulgent as he was, usually let her do whatever she wanted. 

He initially was a little hesitant, specially before they visited The Wall together for the first time. 

And so, the training began. As soon as Cregan mentioned his intentions, his wife’s head perked up and her eyes sparkled. The Princess had always wanted to try the sword, although she later admitted to him that this desire was based solely on the fact that she wasn’t allowed to, but her brothers were.

Cregan was a great swordsman, but even he couldn’t fix her inability to yield any type of knife with any sort of efficiency. Instead, he taught her how to use the bow and arrow. If she wished to accompany him, he said, she ought to learn how to defend herself. 

The Princess felt rather deflated after her futile attempts at the sword, but as soon as her new training began, all the shame was forgotten.  

Stark carefully positioned himself behind his eager wife, trying to stop thinking about the way her ass was pressed against his crotch, failing to stop his pants from tightening around his cock. He guided her hands with tender precision. 

His voice, unusually soft and unsteady as he adjusted the Princess’s stance, his fingers lingering over her body longer than necessary. “Relax your grip,” he murmured.

The Princess could feel the skin of her neck come alive against her husband’s warm breath, and a shiver ran through her spine. Somehow, his touch both was both grounding and profoundly exciting. 

Time and time again, his wife would land the arrow shy away from the target, and then she would turn around to face him, with a wide grin adorning her face. And time and time again, he would speak words of encouragement, urging her to continue practicing. In all earnestness, his wife was rather talented with the bow, but he couldn’t get enough of their archery lessons. The air between them felt like an unspoken promise, and her touch and excitement was nothing if not addicting.

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Regardless of her knowledge on the myths, nothing could have prepared her for its greatness. 

It was a colossal fortification that stretched along the Northern border, separating the realm from the domain of the wildlings who live beyond. The majestic Wall was made of solid ice. It was supposedly constructed using both magic and mundane means eight millennia ago

After talking to his advisors and the Lord Commander, he found his wife trying to hit different targets down at the patio, all while hearing the stories of the men’s lives. Laughter and chatter could be heard all throughout the Shadow Tower. He smiled. After all, he couldn’t blame them. The Princess was a beautiful, charming woman. And, he probably looked just as boyish and excited when he was around her.

After noticing how smoothly things had gone the first time, she had begged her husband to take her there more often. She enjoyed drinking with the men and hearing their stories. After all, no matter how tragic, or violent, they all found solace in the camaraderie of the night watch. 

Cregan, of course, indulged her. His excuse for it was that she was good for morale.

But it wasn’t only the unexpected softness of it all that had changed her. Her recent devotion to her new life also came from less honorable sources. 

Since the royal couple had yet to be able to produce an heir, they had the most pertinent excuse to go to bed together as frequently as they could. At first, she was exasperated at her husband gentle manners. He refrained himself from fucking his wife daily. He argued that he wanted to protect her body from soreness and a lack of libido. So they only became intimate a few times a week. The Princess begged him until she had her way. She talked about the necessity of producing an heir, about the urgency this trying times presented to them.

The Lord of Winterfell never called her by anything other than title, even in bed. Despite this, she could almost feel his desire for intimacy hidden between every encounter. It went far beyond the efforts of procreation; They were long shifts, filled with laughter, moans, and sweat. 

She could not yet explain the intoxicating feeling of the sweet, warm cum of his husband slightly dripping out of her pussy, falling down to her ass. It was pure bliss to her.

The best part of those nights, however, were that it absolve them of the expected stoicism; they could just lay together, hugging one another, feeling the warmth of their skin melting away with the night.

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The next few weeks were spent between stolen glances and held breaths. The Princess prayed at night for her husband to remember the occasion, and Cregan was struggling to foresee his wife’s reaction towards the unexpected, gentle gift.

When the day finally came, Lord Stark approached his wife with a boyish, timid grin adorning his face. He was holding something behind his back, and she thought he looked extremely endearing, almost innocent. He carefully showed the gift to his wife, without saying a word, his eyes transfixed in the stone floor. 

A smile appeared immediately on her face as she opened the small wooden box with all the care in the world. She was astounded to find a beautifully lavish ring staring back at her. It had clearly been handcrafted, polished with care, and the stone was of her favorite shade of red.

Her eyes sparked with excitement, before being quickly being put under control as a peculiar sight danced before her. That of the wife of the Wolf of Winterfell, sitting alongside austere lords, banner men and counselors late into the night. What would they whisper behind her back?

“Oh, you,” the woman took a quick glance at the beautiful stone before averting her gaze from the temptation, “, shouldn’t have. I do not know if it’d be appropriate to wear around court”

He said her name with a tenderness she had not known until then, “You are my wife. Part of this House. You ought not to punish yourself by avoiding innocent pleasures” 

Carefully cupping her face with his hands, for just a moment, all he could think about was the soft feeling of her tender skin against his hardened palms. Lord Stark couldn't help but noticed a sense of disappointed, situated deep in the pit of his stomach. She had, after all, rejected his gift, even if he understood the sinless frustrations from which the dismissal came from.

Cregan rested his forehead against hers as he murmured, “I do not wish for you to lower your standards just because I am not quite fit to meet them”

She laughed, ignoring the pinch of sadness she felt. Did her husband really think she was that superfluous?. The Princess caressed his hand as she laughed and raised her gaze to meet his own, “You don't understand, husband. I am raising them.”

Mildly, he raised his eyebrows and for a moment said nothing. Until that very moment, he had not yet noticed how tender they were being with each other. His chest expanded with a warm, fuzzy feeling that, for a second, made him feel eternal.

He smiled, and his breath shakes while whispering her name as he put the ring on her finger.

“I love when you call me by my name” she said, stumbling into his chest, “You say it like you think you are doing something wrong.”

Cregan was taken over by a whimpered, a sense of need that he could no longer ignore. Before he knew it, his hands were already tangling in his wife’s hair. Desperately pulling her in for a kiss. Despite their inexperience, the kiss was filled with certainty, and a need of taste. They sloppily crushed against each other, finally being able to release all the tension of guarded secrets. Between sealing kisses, bites and desperate tasting each other's neck, they told one another how they really felt.

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Notes. The writer's block is finally melting away!. And my friend's idiot father finally got her out-of-town, so the kidnapping threats are futile, and she's finally safe!!.

I'm sorry for disappearing for so long, anon. It has been ages, but I'm so glad you requested a second part, it was so fun to write.

Anyway, as usual, take care of one another,

-Sidey xxo

cregan taglist. @damneddamsy

[sideysvault]

Is anyone else pit pilled?

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⚘. Dr. Frank Langdon ⚘. moodboard!

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

“There's a certain amount of ego to that and a certain amount of pride, but also an incredible amount of responsibility. I have to be excellent because if I am not excellent, people die.”

— Patrick Ball on his character, Frank Langdon.

[sideysvault]

Updates <3

Hi there! IDK if anyone cares, but here are some life updates and rants. A friend of mine got credible kidnapping threats, going to the university I've always wanted to go is being jeopardized by my depression, and my dad was let off of one of his jobs because he's Mexican and the US government doesn't wanna work with us! (Thankfully we all live in Mexico, this was a remote work and we are facing little financial hardships).

This blog has been my backbone and my safe place since I began writing, and I do not wish to stop any time soon. But I've been so sad and tired that I write little to nothing at all (Nothing of quality).

I'll try to slowly work on my request before putting other projects out (but i won’t be viewing them chronologically, rather ill write the request that inspires me the most). But rest assure that ill answer them all.

Anyway, things are so terribly bleak Rn in Mexico, and in America, and in Palestine, and the global south and... IDK. It gets tiring. Stay safe everyone, my dms are open if you ever need anything.

As usual, take care!

-A paralyzed by sadness, Sidey xxo.p

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reader LIKED the fic? reader left thoughtful comment because they thought there was something worth analyzing? oh! oh! love for reader! love for reader for one thousand years!

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Am I the only one falling pathetically in love with Mark S from severance???

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Hello, a very short request, but how about Targ!reader being betrothed to Cregan Stark, and has to learn that normal people are terrified by dragons, unlike on Dragonstone

Maybe reader is surprised by people screaming when they see her big dragon flying, for her it’s just a normal Thursday. Maybe the lords of the north are concerned by the dragon’s presence, and maybe even Cregan is weary of it

Your work is scrumptious, keep slaying my friend ❤️

omg this is an amazing compliment <33333

here is the link of the posted work!

enjoy, pretty anon! tanks for requesting ᥫ᭡

[sideysvault]

.𖥔˚ NEW SURROUNDINGS.𖥔˚

Cregan Stark x fem!targaryen!reader ₊ requested ₊

Tags. [sfw]; Arranged marriage, ‘cultural’ differences, misogyny, fluff, happy ending, dragonrider, weaponized fasting.

Wc. 0.8k

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Everyone had heard such stories. It was known that unsuspecting, kinder houses produced girls that despite aristocratic breeding, their innocence and ill preparation made them feel totally at sea in the deferential hierarchy of political marriage. 

The Targaryen Princess was nothing more than a child at the horizon of puberty, with something more akin to distaste rather than horror when she first bled. And while she’d been aware of what that meant for a woman, she desperately became aware of the danger this might put her in. There were many tears in those first months and many more to come after that. 

Weight simply dropped off, as well as her white hair. Plagued with the knowledge that outside the Targaryen's protective niche, she was determined to a less glorious fate than she had imagined when she had become a dragon rider.

And then came the preparations. In fact, it was her late cousin’s advice that helped her successfully avoid getting married in its entirety. At least for a few years. The technique was rather simple; If the Princess would get word that her husband to be was ill-mannered, brutish, stubborn or violent, the woman, in order to guarantee compliance, or to avoid the marriage, was to initiate a fast until a change of circumstances arrived. Not as a form of self mutilation, but as a means to stop the fertile blood from running between their legs, This, naturally, would only be successful as long as a male heir wasn’t yet produced, or if the princess isn't yet married.

She had even heard stories that certain houses even encouraged this behavior. All to guarantee that the husband was willing to listen to the whispers of his wife, assuring the will of her lineage.  

This technique, of course, had severe downsides, if taken too far, the body would stop tolerating food, making the wife immobile, dead, or worse; Infertile. 

However, some people denounced the practice entirely. Those who are keen to self-sacrifice for the political and economical greatness of their lineage, who saw conceiving themselves to a life of child bearing as a form of honorous martyrdom. Like her mother. 

But, when her family let her know that she was to be betrothed to Cregan Stark, she knew that all of her efforts were not in vain. His reputation preceded him. Handsome, honorable and just. 

She truly felt a sense of genuine relief. Neither the backwards ways of the Northerners nor their reluctance to respect people from the South could dissipate her enthusiasm. Despite her best efforts, The Reed Keep was never really a home to her.

The Princess, of course, had failed to foresee one important detail. The people of the North felt a genuine aversion towards her dragon, probably one of the few kind, loyal things to have been gifted to her by the Targaryen lineage, it had become somewhat of a family to her. While she was aware of the strong, devastating power Maegor possessed, all her soul saw whenever she interacted with it was all those magnificent flights, all of those years of training, and the rather small, innocent look her dragon had when it was young.

All they saw, nonetheless, was an extraordinary beast covered in scales and spines, the horns that framed the edges of Maegor’s face, running along the back of that skull that had never truly seemed to stop growing. It filled them with pagan horror. 

From common folk, who were rendered immobile by its appalling black profile dancing through the skies, children and adult alike screaming and gasping, to the highest members of the council, whose clenched jaws and tight fists were evident despite their best efforts to hide them. -Although, she supposed their terror had something to do with its rider, a foreign invader - 

Dear Gods, even her husband flinched around it. Of course, he had graciously tried to compartmentalize his fear as soon as he saw the way his wife's eye brighten when she hoped onto the riding chair and looked at the sky above them, how excited she seemed to the prospect of sharing that experience with him, how terribly tender she was with Maegor and the sweet offer she had made to the Maestres to help them map out the territory for their cartography efforts. 

It hadn't taken as much time as he had thought to become pleased with her presence. While Cregan was weary of her at first, he noticed how hard she was trying to accommodate to the region's costumes, how quick her wit was, how curious she was about the world.

Once he discovered how charmed he was with her personality, he was quick to notice how beautiful she was as well. Targaryen features had always seemed too alien to him. But on his wife? He adored the lavender haze in her eyes and the moonlit hair.

The Princess always laughed when she thought about it. She had found warmth and comfort in the coldest corner of the entirety of the Seven Realms.

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Notes. I've been pretty offline for some time but here is the request! Hope everyone likes it. As usual, take care, and tell me if you wanna be added to the Cregan fanfic taglist! -Sidey x

CreganTaglist. @damnedamsy @prose-before-hoes-blog

[sideysvault]

I just totally binged Ad Astra Per Aspera, holy cow your writing is incredible! i had to double take so many lines and passages I was absolutely amazed! i just wanted to say incredible work & i adore the way you write Aemond 🤍

This is quite literally the sweetest comment I've ever received ⋆˙⟡

⋆˚✿˖° Thank you anon, I've been having a hard time, but this reminded me why I love to write! Glad you enjoyed ad Astra! Take care <3

[sideysvault]

“[..] Southern evangelical tendencies towards the small, soft decoratives that are made anything but subtle by their sheer repetition.”

Sometimes I write something and I’m like woah woah that’s kinda good

[sideysvault]

⋆✴︎˚ Sweet Vacuum ⋆✴︎˚ series masterlist

pairing.The Mandalorian x fem!reader

total wc. 1,300k

themes. slow burn, fluff, angst, drama, smut, co-parenting, friends to lovers, hurt-comfort.

warnings. mature themes, depictions of abuse, mentions of death, foul language, sexual innuendo.

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- Part One. → Per Diem; 1,300k

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[sideysvault]

⋆✴︎˚ Sweet Vacuum ⋆✴︎˚ (PT.1)

Per Diem

pairing. The Mandalorian x fem!reader

wc. 1315k

tags. Slow burn, fluff, angst, drama, smut, co-parenting, friends to lovers, lighthearted, hurt-comfort.

full series masterlist. Read p.2 (c. soon)

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It took some time for her to get accustomed to it all. The constant, seemingly imperceptible buzz of the ship had been the reason for her insomnia. The hellish gray color of the walls plagued her vision with mockery, even if she tried to cover it with any trinket, colorful sheet or painting she could afford to buy. In the very first weeks, the woman would be so afraid of being out in the open space, held safe only by a piece of junk put together by mere faith and luck, that she would have to duck inside her bunk bed and close her eyes until the tears stopped, and her breath regulated on its own. The classic symptoms of her easily agitated disposition haunted her. Sour stomach, wretched nerves, clock inching tediously slow. 

She thought of calling out for help, of course. But she was too embarrassed to ask Mando for any. 

The woman was of mainland by birth, and as she had recently discovered, by nature. Being out in space was too challenging of a concept for her simple, primitive mind to attend to. So she imagined herself to be on a bullet train, a cruise, a submarine, anything, anything but a flying ship surrounded by nothing but a void of matter.

Oh, yes. The first months had been rather excruciating. Her only company was The Mandalorian, who seemed to constantly remind her of her inadequacy. The man was skillful, Stoic, and smart. And he generally acted as if the person who he lived with did not exist. For someone as energetic, talkative and flirty as her, being alone with him on that ship was comparable to a cage. She was safe and all her needs were met, and yes, she would be endlessly indebted to him. But this way of life wasn’t for her.

At first, the woman acted in eggshells around him. But once she realized that The Mandalorian truly meant no harm to his allies and that he was a fundamentally good man, she learned to loosen up. She was often guilty of projecting all of her boredom on him, playfully flirting and fighting as one would do on a soap opera. But what could she do, given the lonely circumstances. He never took a break. They never stayed long in one place, and he rarely let her tag alone on his missions. Being polite enough to talk about security and protection, when in reality, he just did not want to have her around. 

But It all changed when she met that little green guy. 

Despite all of his interminable silences, his traditional ways, and the annoying enigma, the woman had to give it to him; He was a genuinely kind soul. 

Kinder than she could ever be. 

The truth was that she would have gotten scared of the commitment and dropped Grogu off at whatever orphanage had the best reputation. But not Mando. He had taken him in, promised the child the closest thing to a family, while he helped him find his genuine kin.

The kid changed everything. She had always secretly wished for a child, but the woman thought she would not be any good as a mother figure. Grogu, however, brightened her days, made the endless possibilities of travelling something fun again, and it gave her someone to be brave for. It gave her a purpose. Beyond mindless jobs, bounties and metal parts.

She knew the cruelty of her thoughts, but on some days, when she watched the kid crawling around, happily giggling, she could not help but wish for him to stay with them forever. 

“Hey, captain-”

Mando physically flinched every time she called him that, but she couldn't help it. Sir was too dreadful of a word, not to mention that they were roughly the same age, —at least, that was what she thought to be true— and her parents were military. 

Some of that had stuck around, even after all her efforts to get rid of her old ways. At some point, she just stopped fighting it, mainly because It made her feel like she was still back home. Family still alive. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear her brother calling their mom “Lieut” only for him to be playfully smacked by her mom, showing off that big smile of hers.

But she had no smile anymore. And all she had left now was Mando and the kid. 

Technically, he wasn't her captain. The Mandalorian functioned as a pilot too, -and an occasional, disastrous mechanic- but she still called him so, and the woman could practically see his rolling eyes behind the helmet. That was the best part of it. 

“Remember, don’t go to overly crowded spots-” The woman absently nodded at his rambles while picking up the kids toys, she probably wouldn't “Come to the ship before noon-” Time was known to fly in beautiful places like this, so she couldn't promise that, either. 

“And Stars, don't let him eat any frogs” 

Mando’s last request, though, made her turn around in offended disbelieve. The woman dropped the toys she was picking up, exaggeratedly gasped, and hugged the child as she stuck her tongue out to him. Dear Gods, What type of nanny did he thought she was? Of course, she wouldn't.

“Yes, Yes” he came closer to lovingly tap the child's head as she continued to ramble on. The woman found this shows of preoccupation endearing at first, but they could drag forever. “Captain, here we are. Lovely. Fine. Thank you so much -beautiful landing, real smooth — but oh well, noodle-oh, fuck off, yes, bye-” While she planned to slam the door shut, finally being able to dance her way out of the Mandalorian’s concerns and towards the door, she suddenly heard his modulated breath behind her. It was so close, that she could hear the robotic vibration. A shiver ran through her spine as she felt his big right palm slowly searching her waist. The woman had forgotten about it once. Just once. And ever since, he always padded her down to make sure that she was carrying a weapon. She didn't know if it was the isolation, but the combination of the shame it made her feel, and his slow, steady hands on her waist were too much to bear. With an uncontrollable warmth rising through her neck, she turned around and gave him a quick peck on the part of his helmet that hided his cheek, and promptly walked away with the kid, trying to ignore whatever primal instincts Mando aroused, focusing on what a happy occasion was to touch the soil with her feet again. 

The Mandalorian watched the woman twirl around with the kid. Her walk? Almost as childish as she was. They were heading towards the south, where the downtown area was. 

As their figures were getting smaller, Mando noticed the tight fist his hand had turned into, and sighed. He would never get used to her offhanded affection. Even if he knew that he would never feel the touch of her lips on his actual skin, even if he knew that she was nearly touching the metal barrier that protected his identity, he still wasn't able to convince his nervous system  to stop shutting down at her smallest touch. Mando smiled to himself. The seclusion was really getting to him. As much as he tried, he was still humane. 

After a while, he sighed and shook his head, trying to get rid of the sting of guilt that always washed over him when he saw her being happy in the mainland. She didn’t belong locked up in a ship. Especially not with someone like him. 

Before finally making his way out, the Mandalorian silently checked if he was carrying all the necessary gear, and quickly cleaned the woman's lipstick off the Beskar.

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Notes. OMG I think my very first ao3 searches were of Mando, Javier Peña and Steve Grant. Full circle moment lol.

[sideysvault]

What are Cregan Stark’s favorite sexual positions with his wife?

Hi pretty anon! It’s finally ready <3

[sideysvault]

୨ৎ Favorite Positions ୨ৎ

Cregan Stark x wife!reader ₊ requested ₊

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ • ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

wc. 0.8k

tags. [nsfw] smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, unprotected, cum play, and Cregan has slight breeding kink.

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Don't get me wrong, you love when your husband takes control. But some days, those where you feel the need to experience some sense of agency, some vague recollection of power? Well, Cregan was more than eager to give that to you. As soon as he entered your shared chamber, you would throw yourself at him, kissing him with a sense of urgent necessity, one that needed to be covered right that second, and, of course, you would order him to strip naked. You'd never get tired of the way dim lights danced upon his broad shoulders, how that dent on his bicep looked when he reached over to grab you by the neck. What a handsome, what a pretty view he was. Despite his confidence, he occasionally struggled to maintain eye contact while you straddle him, sitting on his lap and using his body for your pleasure. Cregan would always keep up, standing compliant and ready for however long you felt like fucking him that night. Such a strong, powerful man. And you had him all by yourself, whimpering like a virgin at the sight of your tits bouncing on his face. It always reminded Cregan how lovely it would be to see them swelling as you carry his child.  Riding up and down, in circles, adjusting the pace just enough to torture him with the possibility of coming. Sometimes, though, Cregan would get painfully impatient and grab your ass while you bounced on his length to control your movements. Tired of the slow lap dance, he wanted to penetrate you harder, and as deep as he could.

Despite what you may initially think, Cregan Stark is a needful man. He is often invaded by fits of desperation. It really didn't come from the impulse of showing you how grateful he was to be your husband, but a simpler, more primal desire to devour you. Cregan gets on his knees, while you stand upright, draping one of your legs around your husband's shoulders—and then, it all begins. Clit sucking, rubbing, penetrating with his fingers, Cregan would abuse your cunt for what felt like hours, not letting you cum until he was satisfied. On some occasions, he would even restrain your hands above your head, leaving you utterly incapable of moving or touching anything around you. He knew how much you loved being eaten out, but, of course, seeing you struggle with the ropes didn't harm either. Watching how hard you try not to move against his face to try to relieve your core was the true gift.

Whenever Cregan had a rough day and the need to let his frustrations out, he would grab you and throw you in the bed, with your ass towards him, as he entered your folds while towering over you. He loved to enjoy the view of his penis thrusting inside his partner, watching you squirm with each shove, hearing the wet sounds your cunt made while trying to make room for him. Cregan would also wrap his hands around his wife's naked back for extra support. 

Another one of Cregan’s favorite positions is to put his wife’s legs on his shoulders. He loved to see you laying on her back, penetrating her while he felt her calves on his shoulders, watching your tits and tummy bounce with the recoil of the thrust, seeing her pretty face moan and contract for him and him only. He could always notice when his wife was getting close to orgasm. Not only that, but he would patiently wait, listening for her breath to become short and shallow. Observing her deliciously flushed skin and slightly perked nipples were all beautiful indicators. 

But above all else? Missionary. He is an old-fashioned guy. Romantic to his core. Devoted. And it never gets boring. As you are face to face, you can maintain eye contact with him throughout intercourse. Dropping kisses on his neck and check, leaving marks on his back. It was comfortable, comfortable, almost relaxing. Plus, some Maestres say that missionary is the easiest way to conceive a child. He has his doubts, but frankly? All he wants is to see the face you make at the exact moment he fills your cunt with his warm cum. He loves to see the relief in your eyes when you realize that you have been branded, that you are his, that a part of him is held tightly to your core. Cregan needs to hold back the need to lick your pussy clean, to squeeze your folds and purify them from his seed, because the idea of starting a family with you is stronger than any of those carnal desires. On some nights, however, when you are lying on your stomach, resting after a long night, and he catches a glimpse of his cum dripping out of your pussy, he cannot help himself. Before Cregan knows it, he is already sucking his cum out of you, and your hand is rushing to the back of his head to push him further into your cunt. Your moans are heard throughout the room, and he smiles against your pussy, happy to please. 

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Notes. Thank you so much for requesting! (I suck at writing smut and it's not proofread but wtv)

Anyway, the missionary myth thing is totally false, but these were medieval times, ok?. Take care! — Sidey xo

[sideysvault]

Pls write for Kendall I beg of you like a wife headcanon like the Roman one

Hi anon! Here’s a link to the posted work <3 hope you like it!!