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orithyia-eriphyle · 2 months ago

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summer breeze - b. barnes x reader

Summary: The one where Bucky is still adjusting to his newfound freedom, and you are his light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: Swearing, non-sexual nudity, injuries, and blood.

Reader has sun/solar-based abilities.

6.1k words

Bucky Barnes was a man of few words. He said only what was necessary and hardly spoke unless spoken to. Steve seemed to be the only person who could ever get Bucky to talk freely. Sam was a close second, although he teased Bucky more than once until the soldier was grumbling expletives under his breath with a clenched fist.

However, Bucky was a creature of habit.

He woke at dawn every day to go on a run with Sam and Steve, not before drinking a hot cup of black coffee. After his jog, he would train in the gym for two hours and then leave for a shower. He would then make himself a simple lunch and catch up on work. Lastly, Bucky ended his night by reading a book of his choice to help ease his mind.

When Bucky began to deviate from said routine about two months ago, it did not go unnoticed.

It started not too long after Bucky had moved into the tower. Bucky had been placed on the same floor as you, his bedroom right across the hall from yours.

You would wake as he was coming back from the gym, usually catching him on the way back to his ensuite bathroom for a shower. You would greet him with the same sugary sweet smile and voice that almost tempted the super soldier to crack from his usual brooding and smile back.

But he never did. At least, not until recently.

You knew that Bucky had nightmares. You could hear him at night. The screams of pain, terror, guilt. You name it.

Every time his nightmares woke you up, the only thing you wanted to do was help. However, Steve and Tony advised against it. They reminded you that Bucky was still unstable, and it was best to let him ride out his nightmares alone, no matter how terrible they may sound.

You hated it.

Some nights, you would stay up staring at the dark ceiling in your room, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at the sound of his yells. It would never last longer than a few minutes. But those few minutes were enough for you to feel your heart break for him.

After roughly a month of only seeing Bucky in passing, he surprised you.

You and Natasha had been on a week-long mission across seas and were scheduled to return home that night. You had practically stumbled off the Quinjet, your bones and muscles aching with exhaustion. You walked past the medbay despite Natasha’s protest to at least get checked on. Instead, opt for a hot shower and your warm bed.

What you didn’t expect was to find Bucky sitting at your shared kitchen counter, a hot plate of spaghetti set on the bar across from him.

As soon as the elevator doors dinged open, his gaze shot to you. You tried to ignore the way it roamed over your body, as if assessing for any injury, as you approached the kitchen.

Seeing Bucky in the kitchen wasn’t an unusual sight for you. However, it was well past midnight, meaning it was well past Bucky’s unspoken bedtime.

“What’s this?” You ask quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence that enveloped the two of you.

Bucky glanced at the food, then back to you. His face never changing. “It’s for you.” He spoke, his voice coming out gruff as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Which it probably hadn’t.

You quirked a brow at him but took a seat in front of the plate. This was an unusual display from him, and the last thing you wanted to do was embarrass or scare him off.

You swirled the noodles around your fork and took a bite, savoring the taste as it melted against your tongue.

“You don’t eat after missions.”

Your eyes shot to Bucky at the sound of his voice. However, he was looking at the counter and not at you.

“It doesn’t really cross my mind.” You reply, returning to your meal.

“You need to eat.” He responded firmly. The clipped way in which he spoke made you not want to argue.

“I might be more inclined to eat after a mission if I came home to home-cooked meals every time.” You attempted to joke with him. He didn’t even smirk.

He pointed at your plate, “Eat.” He said before stalking off back towards his room.

Your gaze followed his broad shoulders. “Thank you!” You remembered to shout down the hall, not missing the way his footsteps halted for hardly a millisecond. You smiled down at your food, glad to see that he cared in his own, quiet way.

The next mission you came back from, there was a hot plate of food already waiting for you on the counter.

You shoot awake in your bed at the sound of a scream followed by loud bangs. You knew who it was. Bucky’s nightmares were bad, but he had yet to get violent.

You sat in your bed and stared at your bedroom door as if willing yourself to see through the walls separating the two of you.

Every instinct in your body screamed to help him. Help him not suffer anymore. But the voices of Steve and Tony rang in your head, warning you against it. You contemplated as the violent noises didn’t let up, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

Fuck it. You’re an Avenger. If he tries to kill you, then you’ll figure it out.

You slipped out of bed, the cool air hitting your bare legs. You snapped your fingers, a small glowing ball forming above your hand and lighting up the surrounding area. You pushed your bedroom door open and crept across the hall to Bucky’s room. You paused in front of his door, taking a deep breath as your heart thrummed unsteadily in your chest.

You pushed the handle down slowly, pushing the door open and extending your makeshift light into the room to see. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but then you saw him, and the sight in front of you just about broke you.

His usually large form was made small against the corner of his room. His knees were folded to his chest and his head tucked down. You could see his body tremble violently from where you stood in the doorway.

“Bucky.” You called out, gentle yet firm.

He didn’t seem to hear you, his head still tucked and his body shaking.

You took another deep breath, scolding yourself for being stupid before stepping further into the room and towards the soldier. As you got closer, you could make out the sound of his stuttered breathing and the occasional hitch. Your frown deepened.

“Bucky? Bucky, it’s me. (Y/n).” You spoke again, slowly kneeling in front of the man.

Still no response.

You breathed out a long breath through your nose before closing your eyes briefly.

You reached a hand out to him, slow and careful. As gently as you could manage, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

Before you could even react, your body was slammed to the floor, and an arm was pressed across your chest, holding you down.

Bucky stared down at you with wild eyes. His forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his breathing was labored. His arm on your chest was firm, but you could feel the way that it shook against you.

“Bucky! Hey! It’s me!” Your voice rose slightly despite you trying to stay calm.

Bucky’s hold on you didn’t let up. All he did was continue to stare at you with that blank stare, as if he weren’t all there.

Your chest heaved as you tried to think, looking around the room. Suddenly, it hit you.

You evened out your breathing and reached a steady hand out to him. His eyes darted between you and your hand, but he didn’t stop you.

You gently placed your hand against his stubble-covered cheek. You spoke to him softly. Like a mother calming down her frightened child.

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m right here. You’re safe.” You paused as you felt the pressure on your chest let up a bit. You continued, “They can’t make you do anything here, Bucky. I’m here. (Y/n) is right here with you. I won’t let them hurt you again.” You whispered, softly running your thumb over the curve of his jaw.

You watched as the light slowly returned to his blue eyes, and his breathing began to slow again.

“(Y-Y/n)?” Bucky croaked out, his voice rough from yelling.

You smiled at him. “Yeah, Buck. It’s me.” Your hand never left his face.

Buckt seemed to finally realize the situation you were in, and he retracted his arm like he had been burned. He scrambled backwards until his back hit the side of his bed.

“Y-You need to leave. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stuttered out, his eyes not meeting your own. You smiled at him gently and scooted towards him.

“But you didn’t, Buck. You didn’t even come close.” You stated, placing a firm hand against his vibranium arm.

“But-”

“No buts. I’m okay. You’re okay.” You interjected, not wanting him to linger on the prospect of accidentally hurting you any longer.

There was a brief pause between you two as Bucky’s breath finally evened out fully. “Why are you in here?” He questioned gruffly.

You tilted your head at him as if he should know the answer to that already. “I was worried and wanted to help.” You responded, never raising your voice over a whisper.

Bucky let out a self-deprecating scoff. “I can deal with the nightmares on my own.” He said, once again avoiding your gaze.

You grabbe his jaw once again, ignoring the way he stiffened for a second and tilted his eyes up to meet yours.

“You don’t have to deal with them on your own.” You reassured him, your gaze unwavering. Bucky swallowed as he stared at you. You realized he might be uncomfortable being so close to someone he hardly knew, so you scooted away and dropped your hand from his face.

Bucky tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt.

Since that night, you and Bucky had gotten noticeably closer.

He lingered around the compound more and followed you around like a lost puppy. He would do small things for you. things he wouldn’t do for anyone else.

He would grab things for you off the top shelf that you couldn’t quite reach. He waited for you outside the gym so he could walk you back to your shared floor. He would make an extra pot of coffee in the morning for when you woke up.

The others began to notice.

One day, Sam and Steve were visiting Bucky on your guys’ floor. You were out with Wanda and Natasha and would be returning anytime now.

Bucky stood at the oven, the sound of food sizzling on a pan bouncing around the kitchen.

“I didn’t take you for a chicken tender guy, Barnes,” Sam stated as he sat at the kitchen bar with Steve. Bucky didn’t even glance over his shoulder before responding.

“(Y/n) likes them.” He said in his usual gruff tone.

Sam looked at Steve, who just shrugged. Sam continued with his teasing.

“So you’re making lunch for (Y/n), who isn’t even home yet, and won’t make any for us?” Sam said with a quirked brow.

This time, Bucky threw a quick look at the two men over his shoulder before turning back to the stove. “(Y/n) likes my cooking.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Right on cue, the elevator doors opened, and you walked through. “Hey, boys.” You greeted casually as you beelined straight for Bucky. They didn’t miss the small quirk on his lips as he watched you approach him.

“Hey, Buck.” You greeted him separately, placing a gentle hand on the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades. You looked down at the pan of chicken. “You makin’ yourself some lunch?” You questioned quietly. Bucky shook his head lightly.

“It’s for you…if you want it.” He said in an almost timid manner, afraid you would reject his cooking despite never having done so before.

Your smile was blinding as you looked back up at him. “I could never say no to your cooking, Bucky. Thank you.” You said, a sincere grin stretched across your face.

Sam and Steve watched the almost domestic interaction before excusing themselves and heading to the elevator.

“Man, did you see that?!” Sam questioned with an incredulous wave of his arms as soon as the doors of the elevator shut.

“I haven’t seen him act that comfortable around anybody but me,” Steve replied, brows furrowed. “I figured they would warm up to each other eventually due to the proximity, but I never expected it to happen this quick,” Steve stated. His mind was running a mile a minute to figure out what you possibly could’ve done to make Bucky act so… peaceful.

Sam shook his head as the doors opened to another floor, and they stepped out. “As curious as I am, I’ll take this as a win. It’s good he’s opening up to someone.” The man said to Steve, who gave him a firm nod.

“Let’s hope it progresses from here, then.”

“You are going to pace a hole into my floors, Tinman,” Tony said sarcastically as he watched Bucky’s large frame lumber back and forth in front of the large doors of the landing pad of the tower.

His gaze snapped up to Tony. “Her comms are shut off, and she was supposed to be back an hour ago.” He said, his voice hoarse. Tony sighed in understanding. Despite his playful demeanor, he too was worried about you.

“That’s why we sent Rogers and Romanoff out 30 minutes ago. They’ll get her, and everyone will be okay.” Tony said in an attempt to calm the anxious super soldier.

Suddenly, Natasha’s voice crackled to life over the intercom of the room they were in. “We found her. She’s unconscious and bleeding. The rest of the men have been taken care of, and we’re taking her back to the jet.” Natasha spoke with an emotionless tone. The tone she uses when she doesn’t want to break.

Tony was the one to reply, but it was all white noise for Bucky.

Bucky felt like the world was crumbling around him. His small, quiet world he had just barely managed to build.

In the year that Bucky had been living with the Avengers, living with you, he had grown an undeniable fondness towards you. He knew it, and so did everyone else. You were his sun, and not just because of your abilities. You reached out to him when he felt like he was drowning. Every moment spent with you felt like breathing.

Each night that you came into his room and calmed him down from whatever terrors that lingered in his mind meant so much to him. Each time, you invited him to watch a movie with you. Something so simple, but you didn’t have to. Sometimes, he would wake up to the credits rolling and his head in your lap. Your delicate fingers running through his long hair.

He clung to your natural warmth like it was the only thing he knew. You were the most gentle being he ever met. He was only reminded of your strength when out on the battlefield, watching you tear through the enemy forces like it was second nature.

His breathing grew heavy as every sweet memory the two of you shared crossed his mind. All he could think about was you. Your voice, your laughter, the way your hair fell against your shoulders, the glint you got in your eyes when you teased him, the way you would hum him to sleep after a particularly rough dream.

Bucky decided then and there that he couldn’t live without you. Couldn’t live without the warmth you brought to his cold heart.

“...nes! Barnes!” Bucky’s head shot up at the sound of Tony’s voice. The billionaire was looking down at the trembling man.

“You need to get it together, pal. They’re almost here, and we need your muscles to get her to the medbay.” Bucky’s open mouth closed as he nodded and stood.

“Did something happen to Steve?” He questioned, knowing that Steve was plenty capable of carrying you himself.

Tony held his chin between two fingers. “Bullet wound in the abdomen. He’s awake and stable but in no condition to carry anyone.” Tony said as the quinjet came into view and began to descend onto the landing pad. Tony looked to Bucky, “She’s top priority.” Bucky nodded. He didn’t need to be told that.

As soon as the doors opened, the two men descended upon the quinjet. Natasha stepped out with Steve’s weakening body slumped against her body, supporting his weight. She looked to Bucky, “She’s laid out on the seats. Bleeding’s been stopped.” Bucky gave a curt nod and rushed to your unconscious body that was draped over the quinjet’s seating.

He scooped you into his arms as Tony followed behind, relaying your visible condition to the doctors via the communications device in his ear.

Bucky’s heavy footfalls thudded throughout the hall as he ran to the medbay. He glanced down at your face every so often. “C’mon sweetheart. You gotta wake up.” He mumbled to himself as the medbay doors finally came into view.

The attending doctors rushed out the doors to guide Bucky to the surgical table. He set you down gently and watched as the doctors swooped down on you, scissors cutting open your gear and clothes.

Tony placed a hand on his chest, “C’mon, Barnes. We gotta leave so they can help her.” Tony showed an unusual gentleness, understanding Bucky’s feelings.

Bucky didn’t put up a fight. He knew he’d just get in the way if he stayed. He exited the doors and walked to the room where Steve was being fixed up.

The doors slid open, and he met the gaze of Natasha and Steve. His eyes were cold as he stared at them.

“You said it was just a recon mission. There shouldn’t have been that many people there.” Bucky spoke to Steve, his voice unwavering but gruff.

Steve huffed, his gaze fixed on the linoleum floors. “It was an ambush. More men than she could handle on her own.” He stated. Bucky didn’t reply, his gaze flickering over to Natasha, who was worrying her lip between her teeth.

“What happened to her?” His voice was quieter now, unsure if he wanted the answer.

Natasha responded this time, “She got overwhelmed. They had some new tech. Something that subdued her powers enough for them to get close.” Natasha’s voice faltered as she continued, “Four gunshot wounds to the torso and a lacerated spleen due to a knife.”

Bucky swallowed down the lump in his throat. He had taken more gunshots, more knives to the torso than he could remember. But you were you. You didn’t have some fancy serum running through your veins that healed you faster like he and Steve did.

Bucky almost didn’t want to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but he did. “Do you think she’ll be okay?” His voice was quiet and strained.

He took note of the hesitance in both Steve and Natasha’s faces. Finally, Steve replied. “We’re unsure. She was unconscious by the time we got to her, and we don’t know how long she was like that.”

Bucky’s whole demeanor changed. His already stiff shoulders tensed considerably, his jaw locked, and his gaze became steely.

“If she dies–” Bucky choked out, not able to finish his sentence. His vibranium fist clenched so hard the metal groaned under the pressure.

He turned and stormed out of the room.

You were out of surgery soon enough and were wheeled into a recovery room. You were stable, and the doctors said you would be okay. But you were yet to wake up.

Bucky sat next to your bed, his right hand laced with yours. He wanted to feel the unnatural warmth you always had. But now you felt just like everyone else.

It had been two days since your surgery, and Bucky had only left your side to use the bathroom and to eat.

Bucky’s eyes shot to the door as Steve walked in. He took in the sight of his best friend. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes were sunken due to exhaustion.

“Buck.” He said gently, “You need to rest up and shower.”

“I can’t. What if she wakes up?” He asked. His voice was hoarse and broken.

Steve sighed. “I’ll be right here, and you’ll be the first to know.” He reassured him. However, Bucky didn’t move.

“C’mon, Buck. You know she won’t want to see you like that.” He said, stepping closer. “She won’t be able to focus on recovering if she’s too worried about you.”

Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s. He was right, you couldn’t see him this way. He stood from his chair, his eyes never leaving your face as he walked to the door.

“Promise me you’ll tell me as soon as she wakes up.” He said, not looking at Steve.

Still, Steve smiled, “I promise, Buck.”

Bucky was quick in the shower, feeling no need to linger.

Now, he laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had no desire to sleep. He didn’t deserve to. Not when you were suffering on your own. However, the exhaustion from being up for two days straight and worrying about you finally creeps up on him. He tried to fight off the sleep, but his eyelids only grew heavier and heavier until he drifted off.

“... Sergeant Barnes.” The artificial voice rang throughout his room, causing Bucky to shoot up from his bed.

“FRIDAY?” He croaked out. His voice thick with sleep.

“Captain Rogers asked me to inform you that Miss. (L/n) is awake and is requesting to see you.” The robotic voice explained.

Bucky didn’t need to hear anything else as he stumbled from his bed and to the door of his room. His breathing was heavy and rough as he sprinted to your recovery room. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to move faster, get to you quicker. As if you would disappear if he didn’t.

Bucky began closing in on the doors of your recovery room, not bothering to slow down, opting to barrel through the cracked door.

His quick movements came to a halt at the sight of you. You were sat up in your bed, Steve’s hand on your back to keep you stable. There was a doctor in the room with a clipboard, presumably talking to you before being interrupted by Bucky’s dramatic entrance.

Bucky’s breathing was labored as your eyes locked on him, and despite your situation, despite all the pain, you grinned. “Bucky.” His name came out of your mouth in a quiet whisper.

He stalked over to you and felt his hand tremble as he reached for yours. “Hey, doll.” He said quietly, attempting to match your smile with a shaky one.

Steve nodded to the doctor, who got the message and turned to leave. Steve spoke next. “You two catch up for now.” He said, then turned to you, “Let us know if you need anything.” He spoke more gently now.

You smiled up at him. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve nodded and left the room.

You looked back to Bucky, your fingers slowly gaining back their warmth. “Hi, Bucky.” You said, your grin not leaving your face.

Bucky let out a disbelieving laugh. “How can you be grinning right now?” He asked, his smile gentle and sweet.

You shrugged and ran your thumb over the back of his hand, tracing the scars. “Well, I’m alive, aren’t I? I couldn’t have asked for better.” You spoke to him.

Bucky shook his head. “I would’ve preferred for you not to be sitting here, injured.” He said, his eyes glancing over your every feature. He couldn’t be happier to be talking to you right now.

“Bucky?” Your small voice echoed between the two of you.

His eyes never left your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I want to take a shower.” You stated plainly.

Bucky laughed increduously at your simple request. “Baby—” The pet name slipped out, but he didn’t notice. “You are in no condition to leave this bed right now.” He said.

You pouted. “Bucky, I feel so gross. I can’t live like this.”

He rolled his eyes at your whining but kept smiling. “As soon as you’re cleared, doll, I’ll get you a shower. I promise.” He said gently, as if he were placating a child.

Your smile softened. “Okay, Bucky. Thank you.”

Bucky’s head tilted slightly as he looked at you. “Anything you want, doll, it’s yours.”

It took only two more days for you to be cleared to walk around and move back into your room. You were to report back for daily checkups and were on strong antibiotics.

Bucky stood next to your hospital bed as you shimmied your shirt over your head. He turned away to protect your modesty but stood close in case you needed his help.

“Bucky.”

He turned back around at the call of his name, his gaze raking over your body. It was refreshing to see you in something other than a hospital gown.

“Ready to go?” He asked, extending his vibranium hand out to you. You nodded. You took his hand and stood shakily. His flesh hand was placed gently on the small of your back as he helped you stand. “Let me know if you need me to carry you.” He said firmly, not wanting to risk you getting injured any further.

The two of you walked out of the room. His usual quick strides were slower in shorter to keep pace with you. Slowly but surely, the two of you made it to your room. You sat on your bed to catch your breath, having not been used to walking so far, let alone at all.

Bucky watched as your gaze lingered on your bathroom door. “Shower?” He asked you. You looked to him with a small smile and nodded.

Before you could bother trying to stand, Bucky was walking to your bathroom. You listened to the sound of the shower as Bucky turned it on. He came back to the room and rummaged through your drawers, looking for comfortable clothes. He went back to the bathroom to place your folded clothes on the counter for you. He was quick to walk back out to your side, hoisting you up gently.

“You don’t have to do this, Buck.” You spoke softly.

Bucky didn’t look at you, too focused on watching your footing. “Don’t start with that. I want to.” He replied, leaving no room for argument.

The two of you made it to the bathroom, and he slowly dropped your hand.

“Do you need help?” He asked, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

You glanced over at your shower. It was a walk-in, so it should be manageable. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” You replied and turned to look back at Bucky.

You could still see the worry swirl in his eyes, but you knew he wouldn’t stop worrying until you were completely healed. Eventually, he nodded. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside the door.” He said.

You smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Bucky. I will.”

His gaze lingered on you before turning to leave, closing the door with a quiet click behind him.

You turned to the shower and took a deep breath. You took off your clothes slowly, ignoring the searing pain in your torso as you lifted your arms over your head to get your shirt off.

You had finally managed to get your clothes off and stared at yourself in the mirror. You frowned at your wounds that were stitched closed and traced a finger over them. They would scar.

You sighed and walked slowly to the shower. You felt the temperature of the water, smiling to yourself when you realized Bucky had it set to just the right temperature. You stepped in and groaned in pleasure at the feeling of the warm water beating against your skin. Your muscles began to relax as the water cascaded gently against your body.

You decided you couldn’t keep Bucky waiting forever and decided to begin washing yourself. You leaned over for your shampoo but winced and grabbed one of the wounds on your side. It seemed it didn’t agree with the movement. You powered through and grabbed the bottle, opening the lid and squirting the soap into your hand.

You reached up to your head, ignoring the pain that racked up and down your body, and began scrubbing.

Your teeth are gritted painfully together, the white hot pain becoming unbearable. You couldn’t hold your arms up, let alone move them, for long due to your body being littered with deep wounds. You became frustrated, dropping your arms as the soap dripped down your hair and hands. Tears sprung to your eyes, angry with your own helplessness.

You took a deep breath and shut the water off.

Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion at the sound of the water stopping. That was way too quick, especially considering your condition.

“Bucky?” Your small voice echoed from behind the door.

Bucky sprang up and paused right outside the door, hand already on the handle. “Doll? You alright?” He called out, his face etched with worry.

No response.

“Sweetheart, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to come in there.” He could hear the worry in his voice as he spoke.

Once again, no response.

Bucky’s breathing faltered, and he pressed down on the handle, pushing the door open with ease.

His gaze immediately locked on you. Your arms were crossed over your chest, your body trembling. Either in pain or due to the cold on your wet skin. He couldn’t tell. However, he felt his heart clench in his chest at the sight of your wet eyes and your shaky bottom lip.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He breathed out, reaching you in three quick strides as his hands raised to cup your face gently.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asked in a whisper, as if speaking in a normal voice would hurt you further.

Your water eyes looked up at his, and you drew in a shaky breath before speaking. “I-I can’t–” You swallowed before continuing. “I need your help.” You said, “Please?” You choked out, meek and scared.

Bucky felt his heart shatter. In the year he has known you, he has never seen you like this. So small and sad.

Bucky brushed a tear from your cheek as it fell. “Of course, sweetheart.” His hands moved from your cheeks and to your shoulders. He nudged you back into the shower and turned the handle. The water came back to life, still warm. It trickled down your body as you stood there.

Bucky smiled at you softly. “Are you okay with me taking my clothes off, doll?” He asked, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable than you already may be. He watched as you gave him a quick nod, the tears still not leaving your eyes.

Bucky made quick work of his clothes before stepping into the shower right behind you. “Is it okay if I touch you?” He asked calmly. You responded with another nod of your head.

Bucky drew in a breath before reaching for your hair and scrubbing in the rest of the shampoo. He was gentle and careful, treating you like a doll. His doll. He turned you around to rinse your hair in the water but paused when he saw the tears running down your face and your lip still trembling. His frown deepened as he took in your smaller form.

He cupped your face again. “What’s wrong, honey? Where’s it hurt?” He questioned, his gaze dropping slightly to look at your wounds before he locked his eyes back onto yours.

You shook your head at him, and his brows furrowed in response. “You gotta talk to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what's wrong.” He chided gently, egging you on.

You drew in a shaky breath before speaking. “I was so scared, Bucky.” You looked down at his chest, wanting to avoid his gaze. “I-I thought I was going to die.” You choked out.

Bucky’s shoulders tensed as he realized you were talking about that day. You hadn’t spoken of it since you woke up. No one pressured you, knowing you needed time. Bucky was about to respond, but you cut him off.

“And all I could think about—” You hiccuped, practically choking on your own emotion. “All I could think about was you.” You finally got out.

Bucky froze where he stood, his eyes widening slightly.

“All I could think about was what you would do if I died. Who would comfort you when you had a nightmare—” You were speaking too fast now and tripping over your words. “And then, I sat there. Bleeding out, in pain, and my consciousness beginning to slip.” You paused. “All I thought about was how I was going to die here, cold and alone, never getting to tell you how I felt.”

Bucky’s heart pounded hard in his chest as you rambled on. His grip on your face tightened slightly. “Doll—” He croaked, but you cut him off again.

Your eyes locked with his. The color in them more vibrant with your tears. “I love you, Bucky Barnes. And I have to tell you now, or I’ll regret it forever.” You said resolutely, your voice more steady than it had been since he had entered the shower with you.

Bucky could feel his own hands tremble. Could feel every beat of his pounding heart against his ribcage.

“You l-love me?” Bucky choked out, his own eyes beginning to water.

You nodded, nuzzling your face into his open palm. Your eyes were still wet, and your lips still trembled.

Bucky rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He took in a steadying breath as he felt your lips brush his. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered.

You responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

Bucky sighed before slotting his lips against yours gently. He poured every ounce of love into that kiss. Every feeling you’ve ever made his cold heart feel. One of his hands dropped to your waist, the other to the side of your neck. He pulled you against him, his lips working over yours slowly. He groaned as one of your hands made their way into his hair, pulling gently.

You pulled away first, gasping for air as you rested your forehead against his chest. Bucky’s hand gently chucked your chin, directing your gaze towards his. His eyes were so soft, so different from the usual look they held.

“I love you too, doll.” He whispered.

You felt your face split into a smile. Your tears were long gone. All you felt in that moment was love and joy.

You tucked your face back into his chest as your body began to heat in giddy embarrassment due to your power. You felt the rumble of Bucky’s laugh against you.

“You can’t be embarrassed now, Sweetheart. I’ve already seen you naked.”

You responded with a smack to his chest and glared up at him. He only continued to smile at you before leaning down and capturing your lips into another kiss. This kiss was softer, slower.

He pulled back and mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”

divider creds: @aquazero

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lola-writes · 11 months ago

Text

Duty Is Sacrifice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Velaryon/Strong!reader

Word Count: 2,6k

Themes & Warnings: Winterfell, pov. first person, feelings realization, fluff and smut, fingering, orgasm

Summary: Queen Rhaenyra sends you to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. In him you find not only an ally, but something deeper as well…

Song: Skin and Bones (Cinematic) - David Kushner

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

The wilderness beyond the Wall sprawled before me atop the outlook, an uncharted immensity dripping with anathema. A frozen wasteland, it held a cold that seemed to seep into your very soul, promising to turn your bones to ice with a single, lingering glance.

The stories from the seasoned rangers down below had painted a vivid picture, but this, this was a masterpiece beyond mere words. The frigid air, a living entity, tore at my dark hair and the borrowed furs – those very furs my stubborn pride had initially dismissed. Now, the only thing missing from mirroring those same hardened rangers was a permanent furrow etched between my brows, a testament to countless nights spent battling the elements.

Their Lord was a wall of warmth which prevented the gnawing chill from consuming me. His massive form broadened at my side, his very presence thawing me. Turning to him, I observed the furrow deepening between his brows as he regarded me, though it wasn’t a testament to the cold, but rather something concerned.

“Winterfell beckons, Princess,” he said, his timber thick with northern accent, “Let us return to warm you.”

His gloved hand, rough yet surprisingly gentle, reached out for me. Relief washed over me as I grasped it, the worn leather a welcome anchor against the treacherous turret steps.

“Blazing fires. Hot stew. How’s that sound?” His stoic expression nearly cracked to the rumble in my stomach. I noticed I was still supported in his grasp well beyond danger, when I felt his thumb tracing reassuring circles on the back of my hand, sending a delicious shiver snaking down my spine.

Gently, I returned it to my side. “That would be most pleasant, thank you my Lord.”

Days had bled into one another at his side, treating, feasting, drinking, strategizing, and though I had no doubt I had fixed him as an ally to my mother’s claim, some other heat beneath the veneer of alliance had begun to simmer in his gaze, a spark that mirrored the disquiet blooming in my own chest.

The iron cage groaned its descent down to Castle Black, echoing through the black shaft like cries of the damned. From the moment I stepped foot in Winterfell, he’d woven a tapestry of comfort. He recalled every detail I mentioned in passing, and behind his every effort to make me feel at home was a gesture conforming to something I’d previously told him I enjoyed – a steaming mug of my favorite herbal tea, a book on a subject I’d once expressed interest in. He was unlike any man I’d encountered. Each word he uttered was a silken caress, so gentle it felt like he feared his own timber could bruise me. But a heavy weight had settled in my chest. My replies had now become clipped, mere whispers that barely escaped my lips. There was so much more at stake now beyond my desires. Duty loomed heavy on my shoulders. I feared any careless words or lingering glances could brittle the alliance with the Starks to pieces.

We mounted our horses and begun our nigh-on two days ride back to Winterfell. Though not as biting as the Wall’s teeth, the wind on the Kingsroad still carried a relentless edge. The only warmth to be found radiated shyly from the small fires Cregan’s bannermen had built, and the thick fur I wove tightly around myself at night.

As the colossal granite form of Winterfell finally clawed its way up from the horizon, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me, settling heavy in my bones. Dismounting was an ordeal. Every muscle in my body throbbed in protest from the days’ ride. My legs, leaden weights, buckled before I could even consider lowering myself.

But before I could hit the ground, strong arms, surprisingly gentle, encircled my waist, and lifted me from the saddle before I could even think to react.

We stood there, my body swaying slightly in his arms, our eyes lingering on each other for a second beyond my comfort. His eyes, normally the clear blue of a summer sky, were now a stormy gray, swirling with unspoken concern. A tremor of something akin to fear danced in my chest, battling the unexpected flutter at his touch.

“Apologies, my Lord,” I stammered, cheeks flushing with a heat that had naught to do with exertion. “Dragon saddle is one thing, but I fear horseback is another entirely.” I smiled apologetically.

Cregan’s fingers lingered on my waist, a gentle caress that singed through my leathers and into my very skin, sending a jolt through me. He withdrew them slowly, and my side ached from their absence.

“Fret not, Princess,” he rumbled, his voice a warm current, “Two days on horseback have felled men twice your size.”

I giggled to his obvious attempt at comforting me. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” I replied, taking trembling steps toward the castle.

Once in my chambers, I collapsed onto the bed; sleep, thick and heavy, stealing the day. When I finally opened my eyes, the only light in the room spilled from the dying embers in the hearth.

A gnawing hunger, cold and insistent, hollowed my gut. With a deep breath, I rose, and dressed in my house colors, the fabric thick with responsibility. Then, I descended the steps in my hunt for scraps.

The massive oak doors of the Great Hall ground open, revealing a cavernous space bathed in the flickering, golden glow of a roaring fire. Laughter and the murmur of rough voices hung in the air. Fur cloaked figures huddled around the immense hearth at the far end, casting dancing shadows on the towering walls. Lord Stark sat amidst his bannermen; tankards raised in boisterous revelry.

The merriment dipped as I entered. Heads swiveled my way, some splitting into knowing grins. The bannermen rose in unison, scattering like startled crows, their boisterousness replaced by a respectful chorus of greetings and a flurry of curt bows.

“My regrets for missing supper,” I said, drawing Cregan’s heavy gaze. His shadowed form, a giant even in the flickering firelight, rose with a quiet grace that belied his imposing physique.

“You need not worry,” he said, ladling steaming stew from a small pot over the fire and offered me the bowl with one hand. A grateful smile lit my face as I accepted it.

“You grow quite comely as a serving girl,” I jested, a flicker of triumph igniting in my chest when his mouth quirked up into a faint smirk, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes, a rare concession on his normally stoic face.

I settled onto the bench beside his chair and began devouring the stew, its meat and vegetables soothing the ache in my belly. As I ate, I stole glances at Cregan, his face bathed in the rich firelight, a mask of unreadable emotions.

Regret, sharp and unwelcome, tightened in my chest as I observed him. I had a duty fulfilled, but a heart unsatiated. I had come to Winterfell to remind him of the oath his house swore to my mother, and he had not left me wanton. Yet, the journey back to Dragonstone loomed large in my mind. The prospect of leaving him, perhaps for a very long time, cast a long shadow. Unless he too agreed to join us.

“The Queen’s sworn allies are too few to win a war for the throne,” I declared, my voice tight with the weight of responsibility, “She needs your men.”

His jaw clenched, his stoicism returning like a steel mask. “Cursed be the Hightowers,” he growled, venom lacing his voice. “But winter is coming. War of dragons is never a small ordeal. If the Queen is in need of my men to defeat the usurper, you must allow me to wait out the winter.”

Despair clawed at my throat. Memories and tales of past winters surfaced, stretching on for months, even years. Without the full support of the North, we could be crushed before winter even loosened its icy grip. Perhaps reduced to cinders beneath the wrath of the dragons.

“It will be too late,” I pleaded, the urgency in my voice cracking the carefully constructed façade I had built.

Cregan met my gaze, his eyes a stormy gray. “It’s the best I can do, Princess. I hope you will forgive me.”

A spark of anger ignited within me, battling the tendrils of despair. “You swore an oath, Lord Stark.”

He held my stare, unwavering. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, “You will have two thousand greybeards that can be ready to march at once.”

“What of you?” My voice trembled, tears welling up before I had the strength to stop them. “What if this is goodbye?”

Understanding suddenly dawned in his eyes, and his brows furrowed in what I thought was despair. He came to sit beside me, the wood groaning under his weight. His large, calloused thumbs painted the tears across my cheeks.

“I assure you, Princess,” he said softly, “This is not goodbye.” His hand came up to grasp my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting it up to meet his intense gaze. “I swear it,” he vowed, steel threading through his words. Hope surged through me; a lifeline cast into the churning sea of anguish.

Starks do not forget an oath.

“The Hightowers were doomed the second they put the imposter on that throne,” Cregan rumbled, his voice a low caress.

The space between us seemed to have dissolved, his calloused hands engulfing mine in a firm, reassuring grasp. Silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions, tension dripping like honey. I waited for him to say something else, but he remained still, quiet, his fingers slowly and gently exploring mine, each touch sending sparks of lightning up my arms. I met his gaze, my breathing shallowing as I realized his lips were but a whisper away, his dark eyes shimmering with heat, flickering with an unspoken hunger that seethed beneath my skin with each second.

“Their betrayal…” His voice was barely a whisper, his fingers ceased their dance with mine, and began their path up my arms, “…will not go unpunished,” he said thickly, his hands now grazing my upper arms, up my shoulders, ceasing at the curve of my neck, the movement sending a sizzling sensation through my blood.

With the cold that had plagued me so these last few days, I began to fever. My lips parted as if I was suddenly short of breath, and I felt a curious pulse that drifted between my thighs. My whole body, like to an unseen force, drew closer to him, and he tensed beneath his leathers. His frame vibrated with desperate restraint, the fire in his eyes warring between duty and sacrifice.

“I am a man of honor,” he groaned. My stomach tightened as his hands inched up my neck and traced the line of my jaw, his coarse thumb brushing across my lips.

Something tugged on my stomach from the inside as the fiery heat of his fingers burned through my skin. My breaths came out ragged and shallow while he remained silent, as though he was immersed in concentration.

Without knowing the full implication of my words, I whispered, “Dishonor me.”

For the storm, only just contained, raged wild in his eyes, a low growl sounded from deep in his chest before he crashed his lips to mine.

I received them with a low, beckoning gasp. My palms came up to his neck, my nails running the length of it as he explored my lips, the roof of my mouth, my teeth, and under my tongue. Then his lips traced my jaw, finding my ear, breathed his warm air into it, nibbled my lobe, then covered my throat in wet kisses. I tilted my head to grant him access, as low, sensual mewlings poured from my lips, something carnal infiltrating my veins.

His hands came down to my waist, and I gasped in surprise when he lifted me and placed me in his lap, my legs latching around his back.

He was so big and warm and hard. His eyes were lazy and dark as his fingers began to lightly trace down the side of my neck, then hooking into my dress to bare my shoulder. He kissed it with an open mouth and moving tongue, and I quivered beneath his touch. Then, with a sharp sound of a tear, he had pulled my dress all the way down my abdomen.

He groaned at the sight of me, his lips slightly parted, his hands delicately cupping my breasts as if he’d found treasure. When the cold made me shiver, he leaned into me to lend me his warmth, while his lips tantalized me, drawing close to my hardened nipple, blowing it with hot air, then backing off, kissing across my breastbone to the other, until I forced his mouth to it.

He hummed with throaty satisfaction, latching onto it and giving it one slow suck, grazing the skin with his teeth. I threw my head back with a gasp. White heat shot like lightning between my thighs, before pulsing into an empty ache. I swayed into him, bucking my hips into his groin, feeling him harden beneath me. He suckled my other breast in warm, slow pulses, circling the areola, drawing panting moans out of me, before he found my lips again.

Gathering my skirts, he moved his hands underneath them, gripping the fullness of my thighs, kneading them, squeezing them, to the point it pinched me, and I bit his bottom lip in protest.

Cregan Stark was a gentle giant in all matters but things salacious.

A throaty sigh escaped his lips as his hands found my buttocks, kneading the flesh between his fingers. Hot, slick tingles pooled between my thighs, and my fingers curled in his hair. My body hummed in anticipation as his finger slid downward, a groan pouring out of me as he grazed over my wet opening.

“Oh, Princess.” The words were like magic on his lips, shooting through my core in throbbing pulses.

His other arm snaked around my waist, locking me to his body as he explored and moistened my folds, leaving me a bucking, moaning mess in his lap.

I felt empty and sickly. A fog had infiltrated my vision, my skin, my mind, my inhibitions. I coveted him. I needed him, more than I needed anything else. His eyes alone could touch inside of me, but I could not explain the pulsing, throbbing, delirious effects of his hands, his mouth, his tongue, and I ached for more. I felt unfinished, incomplete.

Until he slid a finger deep inside me, and I gasped. Hot, sweet pressure filled me, and once I adjusted, he introduced another, threatening to overfill as he fingered me.

Fast and then lazy.

Over and over.

The room filled with wet squelching noises and my moaning squeals. His deeper, throatier moans vibrated through his chest and lit me on fire, burning in my lower stomach, blazing, desperate for feed, or I would disintegrate.

My nails dug desperately into his shoulders, as any attempts of filling myself up to completion were in vain by the power of his grip around my waist. He trailed every inch of my neck, kissing it as it if were my mouth, with lips, tongue, and teeth. His fingers penetrated deep and curled inside of me, rubbing something within that sent pressure bursting into tingles and flames, my veins burning up like dragon fire, and stars sparkling behind my eyelids. I cried out with the purest ecstasy as my body shuddered and clenched around his fingers, and he groaned against my skin with dark satisfaction as I clung to him desperately.

Once my trembles ceased and I managed to catch my breath, he took my cheeks in his hand and kissed me fiercely, passionately, his fires still boiling for release.

“I am coming with you,” he declared.

Tag list: @koyaa66648 @longlivemyblues @melsunshine @urdadsfavs @the-great-ladyg @barackosteaa @elysyannemimi @80sstradlin @hgyura @telltale-vixen @nyxbranwenn @tortargaryen @naxal-jlt @flowercrownsandherondales @red-hydra @lanadelray1989 @crumbledcastle28 @midnightcrw @prismaudee @nsr-15

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peachessndreamss · 7 months ago

Text

A Dark & Stormy Night

Summery : A storm rages over Winterfell and the Stark children look for comfort with their parents.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings : None

Word count : 1K

A/N : Short and disgustingly sweet. All my Cregan pieces can be enjoyed alone but are all interconnected and feature the same Lady Stark their children.

peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

Night was falling early on the North, and before the final rays of watery daylight had leached from the sky Cregan Stark had looked out from the highest chamber of the Library Tower and seen the tops of the ancient Wolfswood trees disappearing into the great grey swell of clouds that rolled over the land and lay over it like a blanket.

When the night had fully fallen and an eerie stillness settled over the land. It was the hour of ghosts and Cregan was finally ready to sleep. He closed the heavy tome he’d been reading from and placed it back on it’s shelf, the beeswax candle he’d been using to read by was now spluttering and spitting as it came to the end of its life, he took the candlestick in his hand as he moved from the library, through the halls of the silent castle, to the bedroom he shared with his wife.

Lady Stark was already asleep, only the top of her head visible from where she’d buried herself so deeply under the furs on their bed. Cregan set the dying candle on the table next to his side of the bed and quickly stripped off his outer clothes and slipped beneath the furs in just his undershirt. He sighed contentedly, finding the bed warm from his wife’s sleeping body and the air heavy with her scent, he pinched out the candle, plunging the room into complete darkness and closed his eyes.

Cregan felt like he'd been asleep for seconds when he woke suddenly. On first waking he had no idea what had roused him but after a few seconds of confusion the sky outside the window was split by a bright fork of lightning, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Cregan groaned softly and rolled onto his side, slipping one arm over his wife’s waist, and splaying his hand across her warm stomach.

A second, louder rumble of thunder rolled through the sky and rattled the glass in the Winterfell windows. Cregan sighed quietly, closing his eyes again, ready to sink back into sleep. There were more flashes of lightning that he could see through his closed eyes, and deep rolls of thunder that made the earth shudder. Lady Stark slept on, completely untroubled by the storm that raged outside her window, Cregan was envious of her deep sleep and he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

He was almost asleep again when there was a new sound which had him fully awake in less time than it took to blink. The creek of the bedroom door had the Lord of Winterfell sitting bolt upright and reaching for the dagger he kept beside the bed.

Cregan was just about to demand who was entering their chambers when a flash of lightning illuminated the room and he saw the two frightened faces of his children huddled in the door, clinging to each other. The fear that had gripped his heart vanished and instead of reaching for a weapon he held his arms out to the children.

“Come here, it’s all right,” he whispered, his eyes adjusting to the dark just enough to see the two small children shuffling toward him.

His daughter, Aly, led the way, her hand holding tightly to her younger brother who followed behind, his thumb in his mouth and his eyes still full of sleep.

“We’re scared,” Aly said.

Cregan rather thought she was the one who was scared and had dragged her younger brother along for moral support.

“Come up here then,” Cregan soothed as they reached the foot of the bed.

Aly helped her younger brother, who was still new to walking and unsteady on his feet onto the bed before climbing up after him. Their son made a direct line to Lady Stark, who had finally woken up and rolled onto her back to see what was going on.

“What’s the matter darling?” she asked softly as she reached out to the boy, pulling him toward her.

“Scared of the storm,” Aly answered as she wriggled up the bed toward the space in between her parents.

“Would you like to sleep with us then?” Lady Stark asked as the boy settled his head against her chest and closed his eyes. He made a few small noises as he snuggled his face into the crook of her neck and grabbed at a handful of her hair.

Lady Stark glanced at Cregan who was holding the furs back as their daughter crawled in between them and rested her head down on the pillows.

“Will you tell us a story papa?” she asked as Cregan relaxed back on his pillow, tucking the furs around his little girl.

“No my love,” he said softly, “it’s very late so you should just close your eyes,”.

“What about the storm?” she asked with a pout.

Lady Stark had relaxed back against her own pillows, the weight and warmth of the child against her chest making her sleepy again.

“You'll be safe with us,” Lady Stark said softly, kissing the boy's forehead.

Another fork of lightning split the sky followed by a great roar of thunder, a look of fear crossed Aly’s face and she cringed away from the window and against her father. He wrapped one arm around her slight frame and pulled the child close. Letting his chin rest on the top of her head.

“Papa, I'm scared,” she whispered, her voice only loud enough for him to hear.

Cregan smiled to himself, he dreaded the day when he'd wouldn't be able to protect his children from the things that frightened them, but a storm he could keep them safe from and he gave Aly a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I've got you,” he breathed, “I'll keep you safe,”.

He wrapped his hand around her tiny fist and brought it to his lips, kissing her tiny fingers as her eyes closed and she started to breathe deeply.

Cregan glanced over at his wife who was already sleeping with their son curled against her chest. There was another bright flash of lightning but the thunder sounded distant, muted and unlikely to wake the sleeping children.

When he awoke again the wintry sun was streaming through the windows, the sky clear and bright with no sign of the previous night's storm. He brushed at his face, pushing his daughters hair from under his nose and tucking it back behind her ear as she slept on. He turned his head and caught his wife's eye from the other side of the bed. She gave him a sleepy smile.

“Did you sleep well my love?” She asked softly, stroking their sons back as he slept on.

“Never better,” Cregan replied with a smile.

PS: Well done on finishing this truly dreadful and worthless piece of fanfic Ten kisses for you.

#cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x female reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfiction #tom taylor #fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #house stark #cregan #cregan fanfic #cregan x oc #cregan x reader #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark x you #cregan stark headcanons

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entitled-fangirl · 4 months ago

Text

Mind and Body.

Cregan Stark x chronic illness Targaryen!reader

Summary: Cregan visits King's Landing, spotting a princess who'd been hidden away due to her constant illness. He's enamored.

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

...........................................

"Lord Stark," Alicent greeted. "How wonderful for you to journey so far."

There was an agreement for the Warden to visit every five years to ensure his loyalty to the Realm and vice versa. Not that King Viserys was ever worried about Cregan. But the North was far and it was important to each side to check on the development of the other.

"'Tis only my duty to the North," he answered.

The two walked quietly to the council room. Viserys had quickly grown ill, so most business would be conducted there. When he was well enough to go.

Which meant Alicent and Otto were in charge of their meetings when the king was absent.

…

The initial greeting was pleasant, even if the king was slowly decaying in front of him.

But Cregan had been free to wander around the castle as their guest. The next talk of business would not be until the morning, so he decided to take advantage of that.

The sun was beginning to set, just a hint of the dark creeping onto King's Landing. Cregan stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Even their cold nights here were hotter than the chill of a warm Northern day.

"Princess, surely you should rest!"

His head snapped back towards the open doors behind him. His curiosity was beyond peaked. Princess Helaena was fine. He'd given her a brief nod and a polite acknowledgement hours ago.

And soon enough, a ghostly presence passed by the doorway. Cregan felt his breath catch.

Silver hair. Grey complexion. And a gown and cloak that dragged with every step.

He was struck.

Her guard followed behind, a resigned look in his eyes.

"I feel fine," her voice softly commented. It was weak, like she never used it.

As they journeyed down the corridor, the voices faded and Cregan found himself following them.

"You've still yet to regain your strength from your scare last week. You'll catch a chill," her guard reprimanded. His armor clunked together with each step, a reminder of the life he abided by.

She was like a gust of wind that chilled you from the bottom to top of your spine. And Cregan quite enjoyed the cold.

"I only wish to leave my chambers for a moment." Her movements were slow and lethargic, yet graceful and calculated.

"You should have waited for me to gather your boots. I have no doubt the stone is freezing over. Please."

Cregan noted just how comfortable this guard was with telling the Princess off. They'd obviously gotten to know one another well.

She released a ragged sigh, pausing in her steps to look over her shoulder. "I-" She froze completely at the sight of Cregan behind them. She hadn't even heard him following, and he didn't make himself known.

Her guard followed her line of sight with ease, immediately moving into a defensive position at the sight of the large stranger.

"Forgive me," Cregan immediately covered, holding his hands out to show he wasn't a threat. He took cautious steps forward more into the light of the nearest window so he could be more seen. "My curiosity got the better of me."

Her guard turned, relying on the princess for her answer to the situation. It was up to her, after all.

Her head tilted to the side and she stepped past him to close in on Cregan.

As she neared, he noticed just how shallow her cheeks were sunken in. The grey in her complexion was an unwelcome one. Her eyes held a dullness to them, despite the intensity of their gaze.

"Cregan Stark, my princess," he greeted, tipping his head down and holding out a hand. He only hoped she'd accept it.

She stared for a while before remembrance ran through her. "Stark of the North. Right." She took his invitation, a shaky hand falling on his.

He noted how cold they were. But he stashed that fact away and kissed her knuckles gently as any gentleman should.

He also noted the ready look in the guard's eyes. Like he'd pummel him just for stepping a toe out of line.

"I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting you," Cregan continued, letting her hand fall back to her side. "How the Crown has hidden a pretty girl away, I cannot understand."

For once, her lips quirked up on the ends, a soft breath escaping her nose. She finds his comment humorous. "You mustn't lie."

True, she's a bit worse for wear, but she still holds the Targaryen beauty that's so coveted.

"I have not yet," he insists. "Nor do I intend to."

She gets antsy, unsure what to say. Her guard catches on and steps up to the pair. "Excuse us, Lord Stark. Princess Y/n much needs her rest."

"Of course. Excuse my ignorance. Please." His last word is directed right at her as if assuring she'd understand that he meant no harm in his actions before.

She still doesn't speak, only staring as her guard gently turns her back to where they were coming from. "Please start moving back to your room. I will catch up with you in a moment."

She doesn't fight, beginning the willowy trek back to her room. Slow steps once again.

Both watched until she turned the corner, and her guard's worried face switched immediately to questioning. "Ser Criston Cole, Commander of the City Guard," he introduced himself. "Might I ask your reason for following the princess?"

"I only saw her pass through the doorway. Curiosity truly got the better of me. I've not seen her around-"

"-and you won't," Criston finished. "Between you and I, it would be better if you forgot her entirely."

The Stark was thrown off by Criston's sudden aggression. And so he got defensive. "The Crown cannot simply hide away a vital member of its lineage!"

Criston grabbed Cregan's collar with both fists. "I'd warn you to walk away from this now." He was older than him, clearly trying to use that as an intimidation tactic.

Too bad nothing intimidated the Wolf of the North.

"And if I do not?"

"The Crown doesn't take it lightly when its weakest member is targeted."

"What is wrong with her?"

Criston, realizing his intimidation is doing nothing, lets go of him. He gives a glare that clearly says 'none of your fucking business' and begins to walk off in the direction of the princess. "Stick to snow and barbarianism, Cregan Stark!" He calls over his shoulder.

If anything, the guard's gall encourages Cregan. He loves a challenge.

…

The next time he spotted her was while sparring. The training courtyard of King's Landing was very different from that of Winterfell, but he took the opportunity to train with gratitude.

It was quite amusing to see Cregan sweating profusely in a thin tunic while the others wore multiple layers.

Not that he would brag about his adherence to the cold. Out loud, anyway. In his head was different.

And when his eyes wandered up the castle walls, there she was.

Seated in a comfortable chair on her tiny balcony that was clearly drug in and out every night she sat. She was covered in a thick fur, but there she was. Maybe the outdoor air brought her comfort. Her handmaiden brushed through the woman's overly shiny locks.

It was hard to tell exactly what she was looking at, but it was clearly in his direction, so he did his best to avoid staring.

Easier said than done.

Every few hits, he'd find himself looking up to make sure she was still there. She truly felt like a ghost, potentially disappearing now that he'd spotted her.

But she didn't. She only watched from above.

…

By the fifth day of meeting with Alicent and Otto, he brought it up.

"I also couldn't help but notice the princess you keep hidden from sight. I want to ask about her."

Alicent had been waiting for this. Criston had tattled on the man that first night.

Otto was more amused. "Ah yes. I believe it's time we spoke of her. For once."

The queen gripped the chair tightly, earning a small 'tsk' from her father. "What is there to say? She's sickly."

Cregan leaned forward in his chair. "Why keep her locked away from the people?"

"She is not-" Alicent calmed herself and began again. "She is not 'locked away.' She is too ill to attend matters. That is all I wish to say of it."

"Humor the boy," Otto reprimanded. "Once you've spotted her, she's hard to forget."

"Forgive me for my bluntness," Cregan continued. "What illness does she carry?"

Alicent forced herself to keep speaking. "The maesters don't know. We've brought in every kind of maester and septon we could find. It just… comes and goes like the tide. You've not seen her at her healthy side, and for that, I am sorry. She can be a joy when she feels alive."

"She looks like death, no doubt," Otto asked Cregan.

"Like she's seen through its eyes," he agreed. "But not completely dead. There's still a small flame."

Otto liked that answer, smiling. "I like that. Now, back to the North…"

Cregan couldn't wait for the next sighting.

…

Had he stayed up late in the library, just hoping to see a glimpse of her during the dark hours? Yes. But he wouldn't admit that to anyone.

But it paid off.

Like clockwork, she journeyed through the open doorway to the library, pausing when she spotted Cregan.

And she changed her course, moving into the room.

He felt that gust up his spine again, though it eased within moments.

She looked a little better. There was just a tiny increase of color to her cheeks than the last encounter.

Perhaps she was getting better.

"Do you always watch the men train from your balcony?" He braved to ask. He wanted the answer. He needed to hear if it was a special occurrence for him.

"No," her soft answer came.

He felt thrill warm his face. "Then why do it now?"

"I had to… cool myself. I was feverish."

Well, now he feels like a dick for trying to flirt with a woman close to death.

"Forgive me. I meant no offense."

"'S alright." Her attention turned to the vast shelves aligning the walls.

He looked around too, though not in that direction. "Where's Ser Criston?"

She manages a smile and gazes back at him. "Think I can't outrun my guard dog?"

He exhales with a guilty look. "I truly don't believe you can, Princess."

"Good. You're right." She moves past him. "He was excused for the night. I snuck out during guard change."

"Quick," he remarked, watching her journey one of the large wooden tables there and sit. "I want to know more about you."

"There is not much to know." She rested her head in her hand. "Though, I can entertain your questions enough."

"Alright. Your age."

"Eight and ten."

He nodded. That was only a two years difference. "Have you always been sick?"

"No. I developed a horrid fever when I was four. No one thought that I'd make it. And I never really recovered. I've been stuck in this… state."

"And the kingdom just… forgot?"

She shrugs. "When the King never announced the recovery of his daughter… they make assumptions."

"Do they believe you to be dead?"

"I don't know what they believe. I don't talk to them."

A sadness filled Cregan at her declaration. He was beginning to realize just how much he takes his health for granted. He couldn't imagine a day without greeting his people. It felt like a stake in his heart. "Then I apologize for disrupting that when I spotted you in the hall that night. I should have kept to myself."

"No," she mused. "I'm grateful that you did not."

His head tilts. "Truly?"

She grows a tired smile. "I've never met a Northerner."

"And now that you have?"

Her eyes lazily travel over his body, taking her time to appreciate every part. When her eyes met his again, her smile only grew.

…

Cregan's three week stay was now entering its final week. He had found himself over and over again running into the silver-haired princess.

He tried to keep their meetings stashed away in his mind, but the look Otto gave him over dinner had told him he'd done a poor job of it.

So, there they all sat. Cregan Stark and the Targaryen dynasty- Otto and Alicent, Aegon II, and Aemond. Helaena found herself often staying within her chamber, eating with her young children. Sometimes eating with her ill sister when the two grew lonely.

Cregan was never good at small talk. He was a man that always got straight to the point. And the arrangements between the Crown and the North were at a standstill. It caused a light tension over the food.

They just couldn't agree. With the death of Viserys nearing, Cregan wished for reassurance that the next King or Queen would hold the North's arrangements. Alicent's word wasn't enough to reassure him. He needed more.

But that argument was hours ago, and now they all sat awkwardly over their plates.

Cregan had managed to bond with Aemond briefly over discussions of blacksmiths and longswords. It was something he knew well, and the prince clearly had an interest in it. It was better than sitting in silence.

Aegon had no interest whatsoever. He drank away his worries, no doubt planning his next trip out into the night.

"We all heard the rumor," Aemond mused through his quirked lips.

"Rumor?" Stark asked, sipping from his cup.

At the sudden question, each of the royals heads tipped up. They needed to know the truth.

Aemond smirked and leaned forward. His voice lowered. "That you killed a bear with nothing but a club and your hands."

He looked around the table, seeing everyone's eyes on him. He cleared his throat and set his goblet down with a light thud.

A nod.

A collective intimidated breath fell across the table.

Aemond was impressed. He tipped his cup to the Northman and took a swig.

"Your Grace," a guard interrupted, bowing his head. "Princess Y/n," he announced.

Cregan didn't catch the others reactions, instead turning as much as he could in the direction of the door.

He'd feasted with them for over two weeks and only now did the ill princess join them.

She had color to her cheeks now, the light pink standing out beautifully. Lively.

She was finally in a gown fit for a princess, deciding to uphold her appearance.

She clearly wanted to be there.

It was quiet as each step echoed until she reached the seat next to Aegon. The prince reached out, tugging her chair back to encourage her to sit.

Now seated across from Cregan, her eyes met his.

And she smiled.

"It's good to see you up," Otto announced. "I didn't dare to think you'd recovered this well."

She watched the servants tend to her. "Neither did I, but Criston was nearing the idea of simply locking me in my room to get me to rest."

They all found that relatively amusing. Except for Alicent, who only stared with a guilty look. They all knew the queen was sleeping with the Commander of the Guard. She ordered him around like a dog, having him watch her ill daughter like a hawk.

"It is," Cregan spoke, clearing his throat again, "It is good to see you." His voice was softer, clearly meant for her. His eyes took her in a way the gods would scorn. Like she was something to worship.

When healthy, he thought she was a version of the earth itself. Like the warmest day in Winterfell when the wind was just cool enough to remind you to be awake. Or the beauty of falling snow. It bites when you get too close, but he wouldn't be frightened of death in its embrace. She was not sunshine or light, but she was beautiful in her own way, dragging death alongside her wherever she went.

His eyes only left hers when he heard Aegon clear his throat obnoxiously.

"Sister, I thought you were dining with Helaena tonight?"

"The twins were… rather tiring today and she wished to rest instead."

He nodded, accepting that answer, but his eyes were trained on Cregan now, squinting as if he could read him. His fingers picked the meat off of a bone on his plate absentmindedly.

Alicent was about the same, recognizing the longing look in the Wolf's eyes.

…

The princess had excused herself early from dinner, still not entirely up to the usual standard of supping like the others.

That gave Cregan no excuse when Alicent dismissed everyone except for him.

So here he is, stuck sitting at the large table and Alicent paces around it like a lion and its prey.

"I don't like the way you look at her," she started. "She is ill. Have you no morals?"

"Like what?" Cregan challenged. "Look at her in what way?"

"Like you want her."

Her bluntness is not something he expected. He's a bit thrown off. But the queen isn't entirely wrong. "Your Grace-"

"-Do not give her false hope," Alicent says in a lower tone. A pleading one. "She cannot take a heartbreak. She cannot take any outside occurrences tormenting her. She'd surely die."

In truthfulness, Cregan had not considered what would happen if she did grow attached, only for him to leave. The thought hurts. "I mean no harm to her. She is magnificent."

Alicent pauses like the words were poison. "Do not lie to me." Her anger grows. "She is ill. She will always be ill. She'll spent her life in her chamber, in her bed. Do not act like that is not the case."

"Meaning what, my queen?"

"That she could never be a wife."

…

The queen's words had haunted Cregan more than he cared to admit. He mostly hated that she might be right.

When he saw the princess again the next day, she was more chipper than he'd ever seen her before.

"Lord Stark!" She greeted, her steps a bit quicker than before, though still not he'd consider fast.

He gave a brief smile, continuing his walk down the corridor.

Her face fell a bit. "I-Is something wrong?"

"No. I'm only rushing to meet with your mother."

She sighed, trying to keep up with him. "I thought you did not meet again until the morrow."

"You'd be correct in that."

His tone was matter of fact, no room for the gentle pronunciations he'd used before. It was clearly hurting her. It hurt him, too. But he was on a mission.

So she stopped, watching the Northerner walk away with heavy footsteps.

…

He threw the doors open, not waiting for the guards to do it. "I've decided you're wrong."

It was a bold move, causing the Queen to stand and frown. Not many challenged her, especially in this way. To arrange a meeting midday and then enter in this fashion? Suicide.

Otto was amused, not moving from his seat. He gestured to a chair in encouragement.

But Cregan stood, his hands flat on the tabletop. "You've promised the agreement will continue to the next ruler in line, and I said I could not take your word. That I needed more proof of your insistence. Well, I know what I want."

"I appreciate a man who is bold, Lord Stark, but I implore you not to make demands of the Crown," Otto tried to ease.

"No," Cregan began again, his anger turning to Otto. "Though I doubt there will be much fight to this demand. After all, it seems you will not notice its absence."

"And what is that?"

He paused. "The princess. The one hidden away from prying eyes. I will make her my wife. If she'll have me."

Otto was genuinely not expecting that. Alicent grew angry. "That is my daughter! You will not take her away like a bartered cow!"

"That was not my intention. But fine. Let me rephrase." The Wolf rolled his shoulders back, standing tall before the two. " I wish to court your daughter. No alliance involved. No quill to parchment. No deals. This is not part of our agreement."

"How is it not?"

"If you let me court her, it means you have faith in the North. In me. I don't need a parchment to say that."

Otto sighed. "Let me get this clear. You wish to marry a princess of whom will spend her life half dead?"

Cregan shrugged. "Half dead is half alive. And I like the odds. I like her."

"Surely she won't last in the North," Alicent reasoned. "The second the air seeps through your window, she'll die."

"The same way she's dying here?"

That shut Alicent up.

"There are great maesters in the North. They know the effects of the cold on the body. I have no fear of that. I'll tend to the fires in her chamber myself if I must- even collect the wood myself if you're so frightened. I am no idiot. I can keep her alive and happy."

The two considered the man's proposal. It was a strange one. But they recalled the look between him and her at dinner the night before.

"She'll never give you children," Alicent said with remorse.

He nodded. "I'm prepared to deal with that."

Otto look to the Queen, giving a tilt of his head.

She sighed. "If she wants you, she's yours."

…

Three days left in his stay, and he had spent two days without seeing her.

He didn't wish to go to her chamber. She deserved the privacy. That and… he didn't know where it was.

So instead, he resorted to staying up late, hoping she'd appear.

She didn't.

…

Criston Cole passed Cregan, a glare in his eyes.

Cregan followed, grabbing the guard from behind and pinning him against the wall. "Where is she?"

Criston hissed through his teeth. "Why do you assume I've hidden her?"

"Tell me."

He spit in the Wolf's face.

Cregan only blinked, the rest of his face unflinching. "Where is she?"

"In her room. Where she always is," he seethed.

Cregan's head tilted menacingly.

Criston continued. "West wing. Up the stairs, the door at the end."

He slammed the guard against the wall one more time for good measure, then stormed off.

…

He knocked on the door, and her handmaiden answered. "Oh. You're not the maester."

He frowned. "The maester?"

A soft voice came from inside the room, catching the handmaiden's attention. She nodded and opened the door for him.

He stepped in.

The princess laid on her bed, looking quite literally like death. It was worse than the first time he'd sighted her.

She was thinner, her cheeks sunken in again, her skin the dull grey he hated. Her hair was greased with sweat. Yet at the sight of him, she tried to give a weak smile.

Nearing her side, he sighed. "I had… I had no idea, Princess."

Her handmaiden moved to the other side of the bed, going back to dabbing the princess's forehead with a wet cloth.

Y/n hummed at the chill. "'S alright."

"So, these are the ill spells you were speaking of." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes," she sighed. "'S so sudden."

"I see that." He reached out to her hand, brushing his fingers over hers. He didn't want to overstep. But she was the one to intertwine their fingers.

He spent the rest of the day in there, leaving when the maester entered. He stopped him, leaning in to speak lowly to the doctor. "I want you to feed her meat. Lamb, pig, I do not care. But have it brought to her."

…

The maester did as he commanded. And the next day when Cregan visited, she was chipper.

Was she entirely well? No. But the protein had her sitting up in bed, speaking to her handmaiden as her hair was being braided.

It warmed Cregan.

He grinned when he entered, sitting at her side comfortably now. "You look much better."

"I feel better," she smiled. "The maester said you helped."

"That's ridiculous. What do I know about health?"

But they both knew. They all knew.

"Mother told me something odd."

He froze. "Oh?"

"That you wish to marry me."

He took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm his nerves. Perhaps she's rejecting him.

"Is that true?"

He nodded, his fingers playing with hers. "It is. If you'll have me."

She smiled, gently waving her handmaiden off now that her hair was done. The girl left with a knowing grin.

"I'll have you, Cregan Stark."

He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over the light pink in her cheeks. "Then I am a lucky man."

…

And in the North, she blossomed.

He kept a steady diet of red meat for her, watching as she no longer spent every day in their chamber, even getting to journey out to the courtyards and sit through petitions.

The two spent every night cuddled under the furs of their bed. The fire always burned, he made sure of it.

Her mind loved Cregan, and now her body could too.

................................................

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multific · 1 year ago

Text

The Wolf and The Rabbit

Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: The meeting between the wolf and the rabbit never ended well. The wolf would devour the poor rabbit in seconds. And yet, this wolf would never harm the poor bunny.

When your betrothal was announced, it came as a surprise to you.

Cregan Stark is a feared warrior and for a reason.

He was brutal and killed men without a flinch. His sword drowned in the blood of men.

And yet, it was you he chose as his wife.

You have only met him once, when you were very young, both of you were actually. At the time, he called you a scared little bunny.

You didn't pay much attention to him, you only stayed in his father's Kingdom for a couple of days.

Sure, your house might not be as strong as his, but you held a great name. With a proud father and mother, you were a true Lady.

A Lady who was now declared to become the wife of Cregan.

"But Father, why me?" you asked your father who looked so proud.

"The word came from him, he chose you as his future wife."

"But... why?" you asked rather quietly as you looked at your mother.

"It doesn't matter why. He chose you, it is all that matters." your mother replied.

And soon, you were in a carriage, being delivered to him, wearing your finest dress.

You looked out of the small window of the carriage, letting out a long sigh.

"Why me?" was the question in the back of your head at all times.

As the carriage moved down the road, in between the trees, heading further and further North.

You knew he would be waiting for you.

He would be standing there.

You wondered how he looked, how he had been since you had last seen him.

From the tales, you knew he was fierce and strong. You couldn’t imagine what he looked like. As a young son, he was often told how he would be handsome.

You couldn’t see it. But you were only a child, now you were a woman.

Things might have changed.

You at least hoped they did.

You let out a sigh as you got closer and closer. The nervousness grew deeper and deeper in your heart as you got closer.

Soon, you arrived and the door to your carriage opened. The cold immediately hit you.

It wasn’t the kind of cold when you could see your breath, but you knew what was coming.

Winter.

Not so different from your home.

Home.

This was your home now.

This will be your home now.

You grabbed the servant's hand as you got out and soon, you saw him.

His hair was shaved on the sides. He was handsome.

Damn him.

Even from afar, you could tell, he looked handsome.

He wore fur over his clothes, keeping him warm as he stood tall and proud.

He rolled his shoulders back as he saw you. You could see how he let out a sigh.

“Lord Stark, I am here to announce you, Lady Y/L/N from the House of Y/L/N. As you wished, your bride is presented to you.”

You bowed your head as you were introduced to him. You didn't look up or anywhere, but soon, you did look up.

Your eyes locked with him for the first time in a long while.

How cold and dark his were.

“How could I forget this Little Bunny.” He said with a smirk for a smile.

You just kept your eyes on him.

“My Lord.” You said as you waited for him to lead you into his home.

Lord of Winterfell had a home which looked incredible.

Snow has melted in some places, yet it is still present.

You liked it.

You were left in the hands of a servant who showed you the castle, The Great Keep.

And finally, your room.

"Lord Stark was very adamant about your sleeping arrangements," she said before she opened the door to his chambers. It was his. There were no questions about it in your mind.

The room felt and smelled like a man. It made you very nervous.

You were about to be a wife, his wife. It was up to you to make the Stark name strong and give him children. And that petrified you to no end.

“Why me?” you still asked yourself.

Even when you were left alone to catch a breath, your mind was running.

Soon, you were asked to join him during dinner.

You sat in the chair right next to him, to his right as he sat at the head of the table.

It was a feast, so many different food was placed in front of you, fruits you have never seen.

"I had them make everything as I do not know what you like, as of yet." his voice sounded strangely soft.

It almost didn't fit him.

And yet it did.

His eyes didn't meet yours, he only focused on the food in front of him.

"Thank you." you suddenly said, surprising both of you as you began to eat.

"Wine?" he asked and you nodded as a servant poured you a glass. "It is one which your father sent. Hopefully, it will make you feel more at home."

"Thank you," you said once more as you continued to eat. What felt like the first time in forever, you ate as much as you wished.

"You sure can eat." he suddenly said and you became aware of everything all at once.

"I'm sorry," you said as you pushed your plate and looked at him. "It is just... delicious."

"I'm happy you like it, I didn't mean to make you stop or anything," he said as he pushed the plate back in front of you.

"Oh, okay," you said as you continued to eat. Occasionally you looked at him, only to see that he was avoiding your eyes.

You wondered why he was doing it. You wanted to ask, ask how he ended up choosing you from all the women he could have chosen, he chose you.

Out of all the princesses and ladies, he wanted you. But why?

You will have to find out one way or another.

But for now, you were taken to get washed even if you insisted that you were more than capable of doing it yourself.

You were quick to learn that Cregan Stark didn’t like the answer no.

And so, as you were bathing you asked one of the servants, “What kind of a man is Lord Stark?”

The servants looked at you with a smile.

“He is a wonderful ruler.” One of them said.

“I wish to know the real answer, not a political one, please.”

“He is a good man. A true warrior, he is always practising his sword, and he is a great leader. He always keeps his word. He will be a good husband.”

She did look as if she was telling the truth. At least that helped you to some degree.

But even if it wasn’t true, you feared that she would have not told you. After all, who would?

You knew the two of you would share a room, maybe you could get to know him more intimately.

At least you hoped to, but as soon as you got into bed, the soft furs embraced you and you almost immediately began to fall asleep.

You woke up the next morning.

His side of the bed was cold, which made you wonder if he even slept.

You were dressed in warm and beautiful fur as you headed out to the garden.

Although winter was almost here, and every tree and flower lost their colour, you still enjoyed the garden very much.

The lady who showed you around kept telling you stories about the garden and soon, you entered the training grounds.

"My Lady, we probably shouldn't be here," she said but you just dismissed her and continued on.

You didn't want these men to think that you were only a decoration, a pretty little thing too afraid of some blood and sweat.

But what you found rather interesting was Cregan. He was in the middle of practising his sword and all you could focus on was his muscles as he moved.

"Princess," he said when he saw you.

You were not a princess, you told him before, but he didn't care.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"I'm having a walk. L-"

"Let me show you around," he said as he left to quickly put his sword down. You looked at the servant who had been walking with you, she simply bowed and left without another word.

You stood there as the men kept staring at you. You tried to softly smile at them as they kept murmuring between one another.

You knew those looks too well.

It made you so uncomfortable.

Finally, Cregan arrived back and you two quickly left the training grounds as he guided you back to his home.

"Do you believe in soulmates, Princess?" he suddenly asked and you looked at him in shock.

"Soulmates?"

"When I was a young pup, my mother told me a story. She said that every person is born as a half and it is up to them to find their other half. You see, she said in the beginning, men and women were one, but we angered the Gods and they separated the whole into two. It is said all of us a doomed to find our other half. And many of us don't while others do."

"I do remember my mother told me the same story."

"Then you must understand my feelings. When I first saw you. We were young and I didn't know back then what my feelings meant. However, now I do. We were meant to be. We are soulmates."

"You must be joking, Sir Stark. How can you believe that?"

"I believe it because I feel it. Do you not?"

"I-" You didn't want to say no, because truth be told, you never actually thought about it. But if you were honest with yourself, you did feel a certain pull towards him. "I'm not sure. Is this why you chose me as your bride?"

"Who else could I choose but you?" weirdly, you understood him, you should have thought he was crazy.

And yet you didn’t.

In your heart, this all felt so right.

“I used to watch you, Princess. Even as a young boy, I knew, there was something special between us. I asked for your hand in marriage because of this connection which I believe in. Do you also feel it?" he looked so hopeful.

His eyes shone as he took a step closer and held both of your hands in his.

"I asked your father for your hand but now, I ask you, Princess. Will you marry me?" you took a deep breath.

"You say such sweet things. Talking about destiny and love, Lord Stark, but how do I know you are truthful? How do I know your words are more than a deception to get closer to my family?"

"I had a feeling you would fear as such. It is why I tried to best my home with the things you like, to properly welcome you. Since I cannot share my feelings with you. I had a new library put in, since a garden in this weather would not hold."

"I will be your wife, Lord." you suddenly said. "Not because of your library or garden, but I do feel the same you claim to. And I'm tired of pretending that I don't. Ever since we were children, I never forgot about you. Even if it was so long ago." you looked into his eyes and they shined with happiness.

"My Love, I promise you will not regret being open about this. I plan on keeping you safe and happy. And tomorrow, after our wedding, I will give you an eternity filled with joy and love."

You believed him, you really did, after all he sounded extremely sincere.

You placed your hands on his chest as he pulled you in for a hug.

You knew this was the beginning of your forever with him.

---

The wedding went well. Suspiciously well.

You expected some kind of disaster.

But nothing.

You two were wed, and celebrated along with the guests.

Your parents were proud of you, you could see it in their eyes, but they also told you multiple times.

You danced, drank and had an amazing time at your wedding.

It was the very first time your husband kissed you and it felt as if everything just fell into place.

As if all of your hidden feelings came to the surface.

Then, years passed.

You heard of a war coming and you feared the worst.

You were with your first child when the news about the Dance of the Dragons came to Winterfell.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon came to ask your husband for his help during the war.

Of course, Cregan promised the Prince his men and sword.

"What bothers you, My Love?" he asked the same night, in the dark of your chambers as he sat on the bed while you stared at the fire.

"I fear my child will grow up without a father."

"I know how much you hate war, My Queen, but-"

"No buts Cregan, I understand why war is coming and I understand why you choose to partake."

"Then you must understand, I am doing it for our child and their future." he stood up and knelt on the floor in front of you. "I promise you, I will be back before our son is born."

"Or daughter." he laughed a little.

"Or little princess. You are right."

You put your hand on his cheek, running your thumb along his cheekbone.

"I love you, My Wolf."

"And I love you, My Wife." he moved his head and kissed your palm before he picked you up and carried you to your bed.

It might have been a simple story. A simple love story.

But it was yours and you knew it was special.

With a strong and dedicated husband, who would go to war for the future of your child and you.

Who trained a dozen wolves to protect you, who always made sure to not only tell you that he loved you but prove it to you in any and all ways that he could.

House of the Dragon Collection

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angelltheninth · 4 months ago

Note

You know how guys have the happy trail? What do you think the MCU men's is like?

Gonna tell you something Anon, I love it when guys have that. It's cute and attractive.

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Thor, Loki, James “Logan" Howlett, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, Tony Stark, Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, suggestive, body worship, teasing, muscles, established relationship

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Probably one of the most attractive things on guys. At least to me. Other than strong hands.

Steve keeps himself very neat, not really because of you, not at first, it's just a habit that he still has from his army days. That being said he didn't miss the way you look at him when he does it. He knows you're looking so he takes his time.

Bucky is a bit more clumsy with it since losing his arm. His new one is good but it's cold on his skin when he needs to groom himself and be nice. But... maybe you can give him a hand when he needs it.

Clint doesn't bother with it much because he doesn't have much of a visible happy trail. It is there when you really look or run your hand down his abs. That being said he doesn't quite see why you like it so much, it's just body hair.

Thor never quite cared to keep himself overly well groomed or to cut down on any body hair. When he tried his hair grew back rougher, which you can feel as you touch his stomach. To him it was never something he had to think about, besides you like it.

Loki brags about how good he looks. Every part of him, even the happy trail which he always keeps well maintained. As he gets ready for bed he might take it slower, to give you time to look.

Logan has always been covered in a lot of rough, bushy hair and his happy trail is no different. For him it's like a path that you can follow as you kiss his body. In fact he has referred to it as that numerous time, making you blush at the implications.

Remy often gets asked if his hair is red everywhere, and yes it is. He chuckles when he tells you that you should check for yourself. Despite how he may seem he does keep himself well trimmed, from his belly all the way down.

Kurt does have a bit more hair there and it's quite soft and fluffy. It's one of the rare parts on his body that's not as cold as the rest of him. But it is quite dark, almost black in contrast with his blue skin.

Tony wants you to look at him as he gets changed. He wears his pants a bit lower when he knows he can work from home. Seeing you ready to kiss every inch of him won't make work easier.

Peter has a happy trail but it's a bit sparse. He doesn't have much body hair on his belly and is a bit ticklish when you touch him there. It's one of his weaknesses so he always blushes when you do it.

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mercurial-chuckles · 5 months ago

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Sappy Sunday Thought!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Warnings: Sap | Overloaded fluff | Language | Bucky being such a little shit Word Count: ~500 A/N: My hubby and I went to a friend's house for dinner. They have a three-year-old boy who is absolutely adorable. When I knelt down to greet him with our usual high-five and fist bump, he blushed and shyly looked away. They told me the little guy has a massive crush on me! He talks about me all day, asking when I'll come over and waiting eagerly. My poor heart! 😍💕🥹🫠 Even on his dad's birthday recently, he apparently asked when my birthday was. It completely melted my heart. So darn cute! Not to mention, my hubby playfully glared at him and told him he couldn't marry me because I belong to him. The poor kid almost cried, and it took both me and his parents to pacify him afterward! The whole ordeal sparked a little blurb idea for me! 💕🤭 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! GIF credits to @upcomingactress Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

If you wanna read more, here's a follow-up: Bucky Barnes vs Ethan Stark

♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

Indulge Away!

"Stop it, Bucky," you warned, pulling the tiny form of Ethan away from your husband's arms.

"Hey," Bucky snickered, swatting your arm away from the kid playfully.

"NO. NO," Ethan yelled, clinging tightly to your knee, making everyone around you laugh.

"Oh, now you're just being mean, boy. Leave her alone. She's mine," Bucky said, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

"MAMAAAA!" Ethan shouted, his voice surprisingly loud for a three-year-old.

"It's okay, baby. Uncle Bucky is only joking," Pepper cooed from the other end of the living room, gently fixing Morgan's hair.

"Yes, Ethan, Uncle Bucky's just having fun. Right, Bucky?" you asked, throwing a warning glance his way. All your husband did was shrug and flash you a bright smile.

"No, I'm not. You can't have her, Ethan. That's that," Bucky whispered, further aggravating Ethan's plight. You responded with a not-so-light punch to his right bicep, but he only chuckled, leaning closer to kiss your cheek.

Ethan was on the verge of wailing, so you turned, picked him up, and sat him on your other side. Tony approached, leaning down to meet his son's eyes.

"You've got no chill, Bucky," you muttered over your shoulder.

"Tell you what," Tony began, drawing Ethan's attention. "We can always get Beebee to fight Uncle Bucky and keep her with us," he said. Ethan instantly brightened and looked to you for confirmation.

"Sounds good to me," you whispered to Ethan, earning an enthusiastic fist bump from the now-happy toddler.

"Now, who in the world is Beebee, Stark?" Bucky asked, frowning.

"Let's not tell him, yeah?" Tony replied, winking at Ethan as he lifted him into his arms. "Keep watching over your shoulder, buddy," Tony added, walking away.

"Buddy, Beebee's comin'," Ethan echoed over Tony's shoulder in his adorable little voice.

You turned to Bucky, giggling at his half-exasperated, half-stunned expression.

"Seriously? I can't have you roaming outside our home with a STARK-LEVEL PROBLEM," Bucky groaned, emphasizing the last part as he shouted after Tony and Ethan.

Leaning in, Bucky pecked your lips and whispered, "What the fuck is Beebee?"

"It's the giant bot Tony's been working on," you replied.

Bucky rolled his eyes, scoffing at the idea of a massive robot chasing him off just so Tony's son could kidnap you.

"I'd like to see it try," he muttered.

If you wanna read more, here's a follow-up: Bucky Barnes vs Ethan Stark

This is a part of ♡ Weeklong Thingamajig ♡

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3

Tag list: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @jvanilly @feynightlight @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8 @stuckysgal @slowlyshycomputer @avengersfan25 @blackhawkfanatic @notsostrangerthing @awkwardgiraffe726 @iamtamera @pebbles20 @starsrfun @read-just-cant @iwudbutnah @tasersloth

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valyrianvibranium · 1 year ago

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SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader (Part 2 here)

"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons

WORDS: 4.8 K

NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other.

It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant.

But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?

For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids.

Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting.

But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after.

You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either.

Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for.

You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.

“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men.

Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”

Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”

You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”

Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”

“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”

The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company.

His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”

His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it.

“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”

You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North.

Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“

“And what if I don‘t want to?“

“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“

You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”

He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.”

Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl.

Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more.

“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders.

But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks.

“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”

You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said.

“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”

“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”

You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”

“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”

Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move.

There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words.

And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room.

Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground.

Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss.

He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips.

“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence.

“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you.

It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown.

“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.

You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”

Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately.

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders.

“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet.

“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one.

Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing.

Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”

You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame.

“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”

Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him.

“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”

Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat.

A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs.

He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin.

Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady.

The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you.

As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact.

“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl.

He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?

He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss.

Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him.

Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time.

You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion.

While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination.

There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back.

Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”

His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood.

Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead.

He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you.

With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting.

The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.

“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame.

Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans.

“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.”

You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you.

Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.

An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”

“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more.

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him.

His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping.

“Then I just might,” he grunts in return.

Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”

It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice.

With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.

You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you.

The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face.

Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.

His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.

“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence.

A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”

His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.

The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”

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aeralux · 6 months ago

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"Brother's Best Friend" - Cregan Stark

Modern!Cregan Stark x Jace's Sister!Reader

Summary: You simply wanted a ride home from your brother, Jace, after his hockey practice. But as usual, he takes a long time to get ready. Luckily, his best friend, Cregan Stark, comes to your rescue.

Warnings: SMUT; rough sex; anal; degradation; name calling; fingering; dirty fantasies of each other; Cregan is (lowkey) a pervert; oral (f!receiving); aftercare <3

Words: 7.9k

Notes: As always, no descriptive language of the reader is used. English is not my first language.

-- aera xx

Another day passed uneventfully, the steady hum of the library providing a comforting backdrop as you immersed yourself in your homework. The scent of aged paper and fresh ink filled the air, mingling with the muted whispers of other students absorbed in their tasks. You waited for your brother, Jace, to finish his practice, your mind wandering as you glanced occasionally at the clock, its ticking echoing the passage of time. Jace, already armed with a car and a license, rendered the thought of walking home laughable; there was no way you’d put in that effort when a free ride was merely a call away. After all, he was your brother—taking care of you was part of the deal.

The thought of watching their practice crossed your mind briefly, yet you found little motivation. Sure, all of Jace's teammates were undeniably attractive, with toned physiques and charming smiles. But the reality was that you soon grew weary of the spectacle. The image of muscular young men gliding across the ice, shouting playful taunts at one another as they executed rapid-fire plays in their crisp white jerseys, didn’t hold your interest for long. And the fact that they weren’t even topless made it feel like a missed opportunity; you couldn't help but think, what was the point?

Today was supposed to be your practice too—though the coach’s unexpected illness had dashed those plans. Instead of lacing up your cheerleading sneakers and perfecting routines, you were surrounded by textbooks and loose sheets of paper. You were a cheerleader, after all, well-known among your peers for your spirited enthusiasm and infectious energy, much like Jace was celebrated on the ice.

Every so often, you forced your attention back to your studies, but your thoughts drifted again. You glanced at your phone, its screen illuminating the cramped table, as you saw it was nearly time for Jace and his crew to wrap up. With a resigned sigh, you gathered your things, shoving your books and scattered notes into your bag. A sense of anticipation bubbled within you as you headed toward the ice arena, the cool air from the rink already beckoning as you walked.

Cregan felt utterly spent after practice. Each muscle throbbed from the exertion, and droplets of water trickled down his skin, remnants of a quick shower that had done little to wash away his fatigue. As he stepped out of the cool, tiled locker room, the scent of soap mingled with the lingering smell of sweat—a familiar yet comforting aroma. His dark hair hung in damp strands, framing his face and accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw.

When he spotted you waiting by the entrance, his eyes widened in surprise. It was unusual for you to show up during practice. You had always preferred to stay away, opting for the comfort of your own space.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a blend of confusion and curiosity. He took a few steps closer, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

You hadn’t expected him to question your presence, but as you took in the scene before you, amusement bubbled up inside. Cregan looked different from the guy you usually saw—more vulnerable, more real. The way his hair clung to his forehead and the ruggedness in his features made your heart flutter unexpectedly. His musky, fresh scent wrapped around you like a warm blanket, causing a blush to creep across your cheeks.

“Did you need something from Jace? I think he's still in the shower,” he continued, slowly walking closer, his gaze drifting over you for a brief moment. There was an undeniable intensity in the way he looked at you, and for a second, you thought you caught a hint of admiration in his eyes.

Cregan couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked, even in your casual outfit. You tried your best to maintain a relaxed demeanour, but he could sense the slight tremor in your voice and the way your eyes flashed, betraying the undisturbed facade you were attempting to uphold. At that moment, he hoped you hadn’t noticed the way he was drinking in the sight of you, drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame.

Cregan felt a twinge of guilt as he realised he had been staring. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling the heat rise to his face.

"Sorry, I'm just tired from practice." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Cregan couldn't help but notice the way your low-cut top hugged your curves in all the right places. His eyes lingered on the tantalising swell of your cleavage for a moment too long before he forced himself to look away.

"So, uh...need a ride home?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "I can give you one if you want. Jace might be a while yet."

He hoped you would say yes. The thought of having you all to himself in his car was both thrilling and terrifying. Cregan knew he shouldn't be thinking such things about his best friend's sister, but he couldn't help himself around you.

You were just so fucking gorgeous. Cregan had jerked off imagining all the dirty things he wanted to do to you more times than he could count.

But you were off limits. Untouchable. Jace would probably kill him if he ever found out.

Still, Cregan couldn't stop himself from wanting you. From craving you like a drug. He ached to bury his face between your thighs and taste your sweet nectar. To pound into your tight little cunt until you screamed his name.

You looked up at Cregan, noticing his unusual nervous demeanor which made you smirk. "A ride home?" You asked teasingly, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You think it's gonna take Jace that long?"

You paused for a moment to think, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Jace does take awfully long in the showers, doing a full curl routine every single time.

"You know what, why not," you said with a huff as you picked up your bag and stood up to face him. Your short skirt clung to your thighs as you moved, drawing attention to your legs. "That man takes ages in the shower."

You met Cregan's gaze, a coy smile playing on your full, pouty lips. "Besides, I wouldn't mind spending a little more time alone with you," you purred, running a delicate hand down his firm arm.

Cregan's heart raced as you agreed to let him drive you home. He tried to play it cool, but inside he was freaking out. This was his chance to finally make a move on you.

Cregan couldn't help but let his eyes roam over your body as you stood up, taking in the way your shirt hugged your ample breasts and your short skirt accentuated your ass. He felt his cock twitch in his pants and had to adjust himself discreetly.

"He really does," Cregan agreed, trying to sound casual despite the lust coursing through him. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Walking to the car in silence. As he opened the passenger door for you, Cregan couldn't help but stare at your ass as you bent over to get in. Your tiny skirt rode up, giving him a perfect view of your lacy panties.

He had to adjust himself discreetly as his cock twitched in his sweats. "After you." He said gallantly, hoping you wouldn't notice the way his hands trembled as he fought the urge to grab your ass.

"Thanks," you said with a smile as you slid into the seat. Cregan nodded, trying to keep his cool as he closed the door and walked to the driver's side.

Once you were settled, Cregan slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The rumble of the motor filled the tense silence between you. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So, how's cheerleading going?" He asked, desperate for anything to distract himself from the filthy thoughts running through his mind. He didn't trust himself to look at you, so he kept his eyes glued to the road.

As you drove, Cregan couldn't shake the image of you bent over in your tiny skirt, your perfect ass on display. He imagined flipping that skirt up and burying his face between your cheeks, tongue delving deep into your tight asshole as you moaned and begged for more.

Unaware of his dirty thoughts, you turned to him, a warm smile spreading across your face. "Really good, actually. Thanks for asking," you replied, your voice brightening the moment. You glanced out the window, seeing the grey clouds hanging low in the sky, but the outlook didn’t dampen your spirits. "Today was cancelled, which is a bummer," you continued, your brow slightly furrowing as you bit your lip in contemplation. "Our coach caught the flu, so…"

You trailed off, momentarily lost in thought about the practice you were looking forward to, but you quickly shifted the conversation. Your gaze locked onto his, your wide eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Jace mentioned you have a big game coming up, right? Against the Hightower team, if I remember correctly." You leaned in slightly, genuinely eager for his response.

Cregan's eyes flicked to you at the mention of the upcoming game. Pride swelled in his chest at your interest in his match.

"Yeah, next Friday. It's a big one," he confirmed, nodding. "Hightower's been our rivals for years. We're gonna kick their asses."

As he spoke, Cregan couldn't help but notice the way your plump lips glistened as you bit them. He imagined those lips wrapped around his throbbing cock, your warm mouth sucking him off as you looked up at him with those innocent eyes.

"We've been practising hard for it. Gotta put those rich fuckers in their place." Cregan said with a smirk. He loved talking shit about the rival team.

He shifted in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust his rapidly hardening erection. Fuck, he was getting too worked up. He needed to calm down before he embarrassed himself.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips as you look at him. You can hardly believe how hard they’ve been pushing themselves in preparation for the upcoming match, your brother among them.

You couldn't help but look at Cregan. The fabric of his fitted t-shirt clings to his muscular physique, accentuating the definition of his biceps and the broadness of his shoulders. Every movement he makes showcases the hard work and dedication he's put into his training. You can practically see the strength in his posture.

You bit your lip as you let your gaze travel over Cregan's strong, muscular form when he shifted his attention back to the road. Your eyes widened when they landed on the very prominent bulge straining against his grey sweats.

Fuck, he's huge. You always suspected Cregan would be packing based on his fit physique, but seeing the evidence of his impressive size makes your cunt clench with need. Suddenly you crave nothing more than to kneel between his legs and worship his thick cock with your mouth until he coats your face with his hot seed.

Burning with shame and arousal, you quickly avert your eyes, not wanting Cregan to catch you ogling his crotch. But you can't stop fantasizing about choking yourself on his fat dick, gagging and drooling around his length as he fucks your face. You squirm in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache between th

Cregan shifted in his seat again, trying to hide his erection. He knew you had seen it, but he hoped you hadn't noticed how big he actually was. He didn't want you to think he was some pervert who got turned on by his best friend's little sister.

Even though he totally was.

"So, uh...how's school going?" Cregan asked, desperate for a distraction from the ache in his groin. He kept his eyes firmly on the road, not trusting himself to look at you right now.

Cregan couldn't stop thinking about the way your eyes widened when you saw his cock straining against his pants. He wondered if you were imagining what it would feel like inside you, stretching your tight little pussy open.

The thought nearly made him lose control of the car. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road and not the filthy fantasies running through his mind.

Your hands trembled slightly as you bit your lip, trying to maintain composure. The thought of Cregan's massive cock splitting you open sent a shiver down your spine.

"Good, mhm," you mumbled, nodding distractedly. The words came out as more of a whimper than intended.

Biting the sleeve of your jacket, I tried to subtly rub your thighs together. The action only served to heighten your arousal, wetness seeping through your panties and sticking to your sensitive folds. The discomfort was almost unbearable, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop. All you could think about was Cregan's thick cock.

Cregan's cock throbbed painfully in his sweats as he struggled to concentrate on the road. Your whimper sent a jolt of lust straight to his groin and he had to resist the urge to adjust himself again.

He could tell you were aroused too, the way you squirmed in your seat and bit your lip. It took every ounce of willpower not to cum in his pants.

What he wouldn't give to pull this car over and shove your head down onto his lap, making you choke on his cock until you gagged. He bet that pretty mouth would look amazing wrapped around his shaft, stretched obscenely wide.

His balls ached with the need to cum, but he gritted his teeth and focused on driving. If he blew his load now he'd have to explain why there was a wet spot on his pants.

And Jace would definitely know if he fucked his sister senseless in the car. As much as Cregan wanted to, he knew he couldn't risk it. Not yet anyway.

"Almost to your place," he grunted, the strain clear in his voice. He hoped you couldn't hear how worked up he was.

With a shaky exhale, he pulled into your driveway and killed the engine. Cregan's heart pounded as he watched you get ready to leave. Part of him wished you would stay, let him take you right here in the front seat. But the rational part of his brain knew that was a bad idea.

Reluctantly, he opened his door and stepped out, need still burning through his veins. Cregan walked around to open your door for you like a gentleman, even as his cock strained against his zipper.

You tried to compose yourself as you gathered your things, desperate for some relief from the ache between my thighs. But you couldn't let Cregan fuck you senseless in his car where anyone could see. Jace would definitely know if you came home with your brains fucked out by his best friend.

"Yeah, thanks..." you murmured softly as you stepped out of the vehicle. Opening the back door, you bent over to retrieve your bag from the backseat, putting your ass on full display for him. Your red lace thong did little to conceal how wet you were, the damp fabric clinging to your swollen folds.

You held the pose a moment longer than necessary, hoping the sight would push Cregan over the edge. Maybe he would finally make a move and finger you in his backseat as you sucked him off.

Cregan's breath caught in his throat as you bent over, giving him the perfect view of your dripping pussy. He could see your swollen lips peeking out from under your thong, glistening with arousal.

The urge to bury his face between your thighs was overwhelming. He wanted to rip your panties off and feast on your sweet cunt until you screamed his name.

He had to grip the door frame to keep himself upright, his knees threatening to buckle under the strain of his lust. Cregan's cock throbbed painfully, straining against the confines of his jeans.

"You, uh...you need help carrying anything inside?" He asked, his voice strained. He hoped you couldn't hear the desperation in it.

Cregan's hands twitched at his sides, aching to grab your hips and bury his face between your cheeks. He imagined the taste of your sweet pussy on his tongue, your juices coating his face as he ate you out.

But he couldn't. Not here, where anyone could see. He had to hold himself back, no matter how badly he wanted you.

"I can help," he offered again, hoping you would say no. Because if you said yes, he didn't know if he could control himself. He didn't trust himself not to pin you against the wall and fuck you senseless the second you were alone together.

You pouted in annoyance as Cregan maintained his composure, that annoying bulge in his sweats doing nothing to deter his gentlemanly demeanour. You had hoped the tantalizing glimpse of your barely-concealed pussy would make him lose control, but no such luck. Frustration bubbled up inside you.

Plastering on your most saccharine smile, you batted your lashes at him. "Oh, could you? They're so heavy," you simpered, even though you knew full well you could handle them yourself. But you needed Cregan to snap. To stop playing the part of the perfect gentleman and just take you already.

Your body throbbed with need, aching to be claimed by his strong hands. You shifted your hips, letting your short skirt ride up to reveal more of your soft thighs. Cregan's gaze flicked down briefly before darting away again, damn him.

"Please, Cregan," you purred, your voice dripping with false innocence. "I'd be so grateful."

Cregan's resolve crumbled as you batted your lashes at him, your voice dripping with false sweetness. He wanted to throw you over his shoulder and carry you off caveman style, but he settled for grabbing your bags instead.

"Lead the way then," he grunted, his voice rough with lust. As he followed you inside, Cregan couldn't take his eyes off your ass swaying in front of him. His cock throbbed with each step, pre-cum leaking and soaking through his boxers.

The second the front door shut behind you, Cregan dropped the bags and pulled you flush against him. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he growled against your skin. His hands roamed your body greedily, squeezing your ass and tugging at your clothes. "I need to be inside you. Now."

In a blink, Cregan had you spun around and pressed against the wall, his hips grinding against your ass. He dry-humped you roughly, his hard cock sliding between your cheeks.

"You want this, don't you?" He panted in your ear, one hand groping your breast while the other disappeared beneath your skirt to rub your clit through your soaked thong. "Want me to fuck this needy little cunt raw?"

Cregan slipped a finger under the fabric to stroke your slick folds, groaning at how wet you were. "Dirty girl, getting this turned on in front of your house. What if someone saw us?"

He nibbled your earlobe, his hand working faster between your thighs. "Would you like that? Getting caught with your panties off and my cock buried in your slutty hole?"

You gasped as Cregan suddenly spun you around, pinning you against the wall with his strong body. Your back arched instinctively, pressing your ass against his hard hips. Your head felt like it was spinning from his intense touch. You were utterly lost in a haze of desperate need, craving him inside you more than you ever had before.

Loud, high-pitched whines escaped your lips as you ground your hips shamelessly against his large hand. You were completely putty in his skilled fingers, unable to resist the pleasure he was giving me. Your pussy throbbed and clenched, aching to be filled by his thick cock.

"Mmmh..." You let out a slutty moan, mewling like a kitten as you rubbed yourself all over his big palm, shameless in your need. You could feel your juices soaking through your thin thong, making a mess of your inner thighs.

"Fuck, you're so wet," Cregan growled, feeling your juices drip down his fingers. "This cunt is fucking drenched. You're such a needy little slut, aren't you? Getting off on nearly getting caught."

He rubbed your clit harder, making you cry out and grind against his hand desperately. The wet sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the air.

"I bet you'd love to have Jace walk in right now and see his best friend fingerfucking his sister," Cregan said with a dark chuckle. "See how wet I make this slutty hole before I split it open on my cock."

He added a second finger, stretching you wider as he thrust deep. Your tight walls clenched around him, trying to suck him in further. Cregan could feel his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans, leaking pre-cum and making a sticky mess.

"Please," you whined, too far gone to care how desperate you sounded. You just needed more. More friction, more stretch, more everything.

Cregan obliged, curling his fingers to hit that special spot inside you. He rubbed it mercilessly, making your leg shake and toes curl. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, making you convulse and gush all over his hand, dripping all over the floor and soaking his hand.

"That's it, cum for me," Cregan commanded, working you through it until you collapsed bonelessly against the wall. "But we're not done yet. I'm going to fuck this pussy so hard you won't be able to walk straight for a week."

Your body trembled with anticipation as you watched Cregan lower his pants, revealing his massive cock. It sprang free, thick and hard, the tip glistening. You licked your lips, your pussy clenching at the thought of that huge dick stretching you out.

"Please, Cregan," you begged, your voice high and needy. Your hands pressed flat against the cold wall as you arched your back, presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. The rough texture of the wall scraped against your sensitive nipples, making them even harder.

You couldn't believe how desperate you were. How you were basically throwing yourself at your brother's best friend, begging to be used like a cheap slut. But you didn't care. All that mattered was feeling Cregan's cock splitting you open, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

"I'm yours," you moaned, looking back at him with hooded eyes. "Use me however you want."

Your hole wept with arousal, clear fluid dripping down your thighs. You ground your ass back against him, trying to take him inside you without his help. But he held you in place, denying what you needed most.

"P-please," you whimpered pathetically, your pride forgotten in the face of your overwhelming desire.

"You want this dick that bad?" Cregan growled, rubbing the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds. "Want me to wreck this tight little cunt?"

He pressed forward, the tip catching on your entrance. Your pussy stretched lewdly around him, struggling to accommodate his girth. Cregan groaned at the feeling of your slick walls clinging to him.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, pushing in inch by excruciating inch. "Gonna ruin this hole, make it fit my cock perfectly."

Then with one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, so tight he thought he might cum on the spot.

"Shit!" Cregan rasped, fighting the urge to blow his load right then and there. He pulled back slowly before slamming in again, setting a cruel pace that left you shaking and gasping.

The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed through the entryway as he pounded into you, each thrust making your tits bounce. Cregan gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to fuck you even deeper.

"Take it," he commanded, punctuating with sharp snaps of his hips. "Fucking take it."

Cregan changed his angle slightly and you both cried out as he hit your G-spot dead on. Electric pleasure sparked up your spine, making your eyes roll back and tongue lolling out. "There it is," he panted, hammering that one perfect spot over and over.

Your nails scrape tracks into the wallpaper, each thrust jolting you forward like a rag doll. Whimpers spill from your lips, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. You've never felt so violently, deliciously used. His thick cock beats your tender flesh, each plunge sending shockwaves through your quivering body.

A desperate cry wrenches free as he suddenly withdraws. "No!" You sob at the emptiness. But his wicked grin tells you he has other plans.

"Not yet, princess," he rumbles darkly. "I'm going to claim every hole before I let you soak my cock."

Your legs tremble, barely holding you up as you try to process his threat. He wants to violate your other virgin hole? Oh gods, you don't know if you can take it. But the thought sends a forbidden thrill straight to your core.

You bite your lip, eyes pleading. "Please, Cregan," you pant. "I've never... I don't know if..."

Cregan's eyes darkened with hunger at your pleas. "That's right baby, you've never had a cock in this tight little ass before," he purred, trailing a finger teasingly over your puckered hole. "But don't worry, I'll open you up real good."

He spread your cheeks, exposing your most intimate area to his hungry gaze. "Gonna make you scream for it," Cregan promised, circling your entrance with his thumb. He pressed inside just slightly, breaking you for the first time.

Using the abundance of wetness from your soaked cunt, he worked his thumb deeper, scissoring and stretching you open gradually. He knew he had to prepare you carefully for his thick cock.

"Relax for me," he soothed, crooking his thumb to rub your inner walls. "Gonna feel so good when I split you open on my dick."

Cregan pumped his thumb faster, feeling you start to loosen up. He couldn't wait to bury himself in your virgin ass, to claim every inch of you.

"Beg for it," he growled, pulling his thumb out abruptly, leaving you empty once more. "I want to hear you beg me to ruin your tight little fuckhole."

You whimper desperately as Cregan teases your untouched entrance, spreading your most intimate area with his skilful fingers. Your knees quiver, barely supporting you, but you don't care about anything except having him fill you completely.

"Please Cregan," you beg, your voice high and needy.

As you plead, you find yourself arching back, presenting yourself shamelessly to the man who holds your heart in his hands. The thought of being claimed so thoroughly sends a forbidden thrill through your core, making your neglected slit weep with desire.

"Make me yours. I'll beg if you want me to."

"That's a good girl," he purred, giving your ass a sharp smack. The sting made you gasp and clench, your untouched hole flexing needily. He pressed two fingers now against your slick entrance, teasing at your rim.

The pressure increased as he started to work his fingers inside, stretching you open. Your untouched walls resisted at first, unused to the intrusion, but slowly your body began to yield to his insistent touch.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Cregan groaned, pumping his fingers deeper. "Gonna feel so good squeezing my cock."

He twisted and spread his fingers, opening you up as much as he could. Your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled, as your other hole was claimed by his digits.

"Ready for me yet?" He asked darkly, fingers still buried knuckles deep in your ass. "Or do you need more time to open up this hole?"

Your body trembles as Cregan's fingers stretch you open, invading your most sacred depths. It's so wrong, so dirty to let him claim you like this in the open hallway. Jace could come home any minute and catch his best friend fingering his sister's virgin rear.

The thought makes your neglected pussy clench and weep, dripping down your thighs. You're more aroused than you've ever been in your life, ready to let him take you in the most depraved way imaginable.

"Please," you whimper, too far gone to care about propriety or consequences. "I need your cock in my ass. Want you to fill me up like a dirty slut."

Your hole spasms needily around his fingers, trying to suck him in deeper. You arch your back, presenting yourself shamelessly, silently begging him to claim you.

His fingers slipped out of your ass with a wet sound that made you whimper needily. You felt so empty and abandoned, your virgin hole clenching desperately around nothing.

"You want my cock in this tight little ass so bad?" Cregan growled, spreading your cheeks to expose your gaping rim. It fluttered helplessly under his intense gaze. "Want me to stretch you open and ruin your slutty fuckhole?"

"Yes!" You cried out, tossing your head back in wanton desperation. You didn't care how depraved you sounded, begging to be sodomised by your brother's best friend. "Please Cregan, I need it. I'll do anything, just please. I want to be your filthy anal whore."

Cregan pressed the fat head of his cock insistently against your tiny, puckered entrance. You were terrified at the prospect of taking something so huge in your untouched passage. But your desperate, leaking cunt clenched at the thought of being utterly dominated and claimed by him.

With a slow thrust, Cregan buried himself balls deep in your ass. "Oh shit," he breathed, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. "Fucking hell, you're tight."

He gave you a moment to adjust to the sudden intrusion before starting to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. Wet squelching noises filled the air as he pounded your hole, the obscene sounds making your face burn with humiliation.

But it only turned you on more, knowing how depraved you were being. How you were letting your brother's best friend violate your most intimate place.

"Oh fuck!" You cried out, your voice guttural and animalistic. Your legs shook violently, barely able to support your weight as Cregan filled you so completely. You threw your head back, eyes rolling back in their sockets as you submitted to the overwhelming pleasure.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, lost for words as his massive cock stretched your virgin hole to its limits. You had never felt so full, so deliciously stuffed. It was like he was splitting you open, claiming every inch of you in the most primal way possible.

You were utterly lost to the sensation, your mind blanking out as he pounded into your tight rear passage. All you could focus on was the delicious drag of his cock along your sensitive walls, the obscene wet sounds of his hips slapping against your ass.

Your untouched slit wept with arousal, wetness dripping down your thighs as your clit throbbed almost painfully. You were so close to coming just from having your ass violated, something you never would have thought possible.

"Take it all," Cregan grunted, gripping your hips tightly as he slammed into your ass. The wet, filthy sounds of skin smacking against skin reverberated through the room. "Fucking take every inch like a good slut."

He angled his hips, making sure to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside you with every thrust. The electric jolts of pleasure made you see stars, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"Gonna cum," you keened, eyes rolling back as your peak approached. "Gonna cum on your big cock wrecking my ass!"

"That's it, cum on my cock," he commanded roughly.

Cregan reached around to grab your bouncing tits, squeezing and twisting your nipples. The sharp sensation mixed with the overwhelming fullness in your ass, sending you hurtling towards orgasm.

"Do it," he ordered. "Cum for me like a dirty whore."

With a few more brutal thrusts, Cregan buried himself deep and exploded. His cock pulsed and throbbed inside you, pumping you full of his hot seed. The feeling of being marked so intimately pushed you over the edge.

"Fuck yes, that's it," he groaned as he felt you clench and spasm around him. Your hole spasmed desperately, milking his spurting cock for every last drop. "Good girl. Such a perfect little fucktoy."

Cregan held you steady as the aftershocks wracked your body, keeping you pinned on his softening cock. He reached down to rub your clit, drawing out your pleasure until you were a limp, mewling mess.

Only then did he pull out with a gush of cum, leaving you feeling empty and used. Cregan tapped your abused hole, admiring his work.

"Mine now," he stated possessively. "This ass belongs to me."

Your body shudders uncontrollably as you collapse to the floor, sobs tearing from your throat. Tears blur your vision, rolling down your flushed cheeks as you struggle to regain your breath. The lingering ache between your legs throbs painfully, a brutal reminder of the intense fucking you just took.

You can feel your combined releases leaking out of your ravaged holes, trickling down your inner thighs and pooling beneath your knees on the hardwood. The obscene wetness makes you flinch with shame even as your abused cunt clenches needily, craving more.

You must look like a complete wreck - hair mussed, makeup smeared, the very picture of impurity. Your thighs are slick with the evidence of your coupling, your swollen pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks. You know you should feel ashamed for letting Cregan use you so thoroughly, but all you can think about is the pleasure he gave you.

You look up at him with big eyes, eyebrows slightly raised as you wait for him to say something. Looking at him like a puppy would look at its master.

Cregan looked down at you sprawled out on the floor, your hair dishevelled and your legs splayed out obscenely, showing off the cum dripping out of you. His cock twitched at the sight, still semi-hard from the intense fucking.

He stepped closer, towering over your smaller frame. With a smirk, he reached down to wipe the tears from your cheek. Cregan brought his fingers to your mouth.

"Clean it up," he ordered gruffly, pushing his fingers past your lips. "My good little dove."

You obeyed immediately, sucking his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the digits, lapping up your salty tears eagerly. Cregan groaned at the erotic sight, his cock stiffening further.

"That's it, be a good girl," he praised, pulling his fingers out to caress your cheek softly. His demeanour entirely different after fucking you.

"Look at you," Cregan chuckled darkly, stepping back to admire the perverse picture you made. "So filthy. And all for me."

"Yeah," you sighed softly, your body completely spent from the extreme fucking Cregan had just given you. Every muscle ached deliciously, a testament to how thoroughly he had used you.

All you wanted now was to stumble to the bathroom, wash away the sticky remnants of your coupling, and collapse into bed. The adrenaline crash was hitting hard, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids.

You tried to push yourself up, but your trembling legs refused to cooperate. Cregan's seed continued to leak out of your abused holes, trickling down your thighs. The cool air felt good against your flushed skin, helping to ground you somewhat.

"C-can you help me to the shower?" You asked shyly, glancing up at Cregan through your lashes. Your voice was hoarse from all the screaming, your throat raw. You knew you looked utterly spent, hair matted with sweat, makeup smudged. But you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You just wanted to bask in the afterglow with the man who had claimed every inch of you so thoroughly.

"Think you can manage to stand on your own two feet?" he teased, offering you a hand.

You nodded, accepting his assistance. He pulled you up effortlessly, his large hands engulfing your smaller ones. Cregan kept an arm around your waist as he guided you down the hall, steadying you.

"I've got you, princess," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Cregan led you into the bathroom, his arm still securely around your waist. The cool tiles felt good against your overheated skin as he helped you into the shower.

"Lean against the wall," he instructed, turning the water on. Steam began to fill the room as he adjusted the temperature.

Obediently, you braced yourself against the wall, letting the warm spray cascade over your body. It felt heavenly, soothing your aching muscles. You could feel Cregan's gaze on you as he stepped in behind you, his hands joining you under the water.

"Let me," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble. He grabbed a washcloth and soap, lathering it up. Gently, he began to wash you, running the sudsy cloth over your arms, your breasts, your flat stomach.

His touch remained tender as he cleaned you, a stark contrast to the rough, dominant way he had fucked you. You couldn't help but lean into him, relishing the feeling of his strong body against your back.

Cregan moved lower, washing your thighs and calves thoroughly. When he reached your most intimate areas, you felt your face heat up with embarrassment. But you didn't protest as he carefully cleaned away the evidence of your coupling, his fingers brushing against your sensitive flesh.

"All clean," he declared as he rinsed you off. Cregan pressed a kiss to your shoulder before shutting off the water. He grabbed a fluffy towel, wrapping it around you and guiding you out of the shower.

"Bed," he said firmly, leading you out of the bathroom. "You need rest."

You smiled sleepily, leaning into Cregan's strong embrace as he walked you to your bedroom. As he waited on your bed while you changed, you couldn't help but voice your curiosity.

"Why were you so rough with me?" You asked softly, peering at him with shy eyes. "I mean, I liked it, but I was just wondering..."

Your voice trailed off and you bit your lip, feeling a bit nervous about bringing it up. You had known each other for a while now, and while you had always found him attractive, his sudden aggression caught you off guard. But it had been so intense, so passionate...

"Why now, after all this time?" You finished, your cheeks flushing pink. You couldn't deny the thrill his dominance sent through you, but you wanted to understand what changed.

Cregan's expression softened as he regarded you standing there in your pyjamas looking vulnerable and uncertain. He sighed softly before speaking.

"I've wanted you for a long time," he confessed, his deep voice husky with emotion. "Ever since I saw you at our practice waiting for your brother."

He stood up from the bed and came to stand in front of you, cupping your face gently. "But I never acted on it because of Jace. He's my best friend, and I respect his wishes."

Cregan's thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making you shiver. "But I couldn't hold back any longer. Seeing you today, I...."

His hand slid down to your neck, gripping lightly. "I wanted to mark you, claim you, show you that you belong to me now."

Cregan leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "And the way you responded, the sounds you made... Fuck, it drove me wild. I lost control, couldn't be gentle with you even though I wanted to."

He pulled back slightly, gazing into your eyes. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, love. That wasn't my intention. I just needed you so badly, wanted to make you mine in every way possible."

You hummed softly as Cregan's words washed over you, your heart racing in your chest. He wanted me?

The knowledge sent a thrill through your body, pooling heat low in your belly. You gazed up at him through your lashes, feeling small under his intense stare.

"You like me?" You breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks flushed pink as you awaited his response, hardly daring to believe this was happening.

"Of course I like you," Cregan said softly, his gaze tender as he cupped your face gently. "I've liked you for a long time now. It's been torture keeping my feelings hidden."

His thumb stroked over your bottom lip, making you shiver. "You're beautiful, kind, clever... Everything I could ever want in a woman. And the way you took my cock earlier, the sounds you made... Gods, you drive me wild with desire."

Cregan leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning over your face. "I want to be with you properly. Take you on dates, make you mine in every way possible. Will you let me do that, princess? Will you be mine?"

You let out a small whine at his words, feeling desire washing over you again. "Yeah," you whimpered, pulling him into a soft kiss. You stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips met.

His strong arms encircled you, holding you close as the kiss deepened. You melted into him, your body moulding perfectly against his muscular frame. Cregan's scent surrounded you, masculine and intoxicating.

Cregan's large hands gripped your hips as he returned your kiss hungrily, his tongue delving into your mouth. He backed you up towards the bed until your legs hit the mattress, never breaking the passionate kiss.

When the back of your knees hit the bed, Cregan gently laid you on the bed. Your soft body shaped against his hard muscles as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair.

"Fuck, I can't get enough of you," he groaned against your lips. Cregan nipped at your bottom lip before trailing kisses down your jaw and neck. He sucked hard on your pulse point, determined to mark you as his.

His hips rocked up, grinding his stiffening cock against your core through your thin pyjamas. You could feel the heat and hardness of him even with the layers between you.

He quickly stripped off his clothes. His impressive physique was on full display, muscles rippling as he joined you on the bed.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, baby," he promised darkly, kissing down your body. "Gonna worship this sexy little body all night long."

Cregan pushed your pyjama top up and latched onto your breast, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh. His large hand palmed the other, kneading the soft mound. He lavished attention on your breasts, making you arch into his touch with needy whimpers.

You moan breathily, sounding like a coquettish little girlfriend as Cregan lavishes attention on your sensitive breasts. Your hands tangle in his hair, holding him close as he suckles and nips at the tender flesh. Each pull of his lips sends sparks of pleasure straight to your aching core.

Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking friction. The heat between your legs grows unbearable as Cregan worships your breasts with his skilled mouth and hands. You're docile in his grasp, completely under his spell as he reduces you to a writhing, needy mess.

"Please," you whimper, your voice high and desperate. "I need more."

Cregan smirked against your breast as you squirmed beneath him, your needy whimpers music to his ears. "Patience, princess," he murmured, giving your nipple a final nip before moving lower.

"I'm going to take my time with you," he promised darkly, kissing down your quivering stomach. "Worship every inch of this sexy body."

Cregan hooked his fingers in the waistband of your pyjama pants, tugging them down slowly. He exposed you to him inch by tantalizing inch until you were fully bared to his heated gaze.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned appreciatively, drinking in the sight of you splayed out beneath him. "So goddamn beautiful."

He settled between your thighs, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet folds. Cregan grinned as you shuddered and clenched at the teasing touch.

"Fuck, you smell so sweet," he groaned. "Can't wait to taste this pretty pussy."

Cregan spread your legs wider, exposing your glistening sex to his hungry gaze. He licked his lips before diving in, his hot tongue dragging up your slit. You cried out at the intense sensation, your hips bucking upwards.

He lapped at you eagerly, savouring your sweet flavour. Cregan focused on your clit, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly with the tip of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for his feasting mouth.

You bite your lip hard, trying to muffle your needy moans as Cregan's tongue works between your thighs. Your fingers grip the sheets, knuckles white as you fight the urge to rock your hips against his face.

His mouth feels too good, sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you with every teasing lick and suck. You're lost to the sensations, all thoughts fleeing as he devours your pussy like a man starved.

Tears of ecstasy prick at the corners of your eyes as he focuses on your aching clit, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your belly, your walls fluttering around nothing.

"Cregan, fuck!" You whimper desperately, your voice high and needy.

He just hums against your sex in response, the vibrations making you see stars. His hands grip your thighs harder, pushing them wider as he feasts on you like a man possessed.

"You taste so fucking good," Cregan growled against your drenched folds, his words vibrating through you. "Can't get enough of this sweet cunt."

He sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking the sensitive nub rapidly with the tip of his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs bruisingly tight, holding you open for his feasting mouth.

Cregan slid a thick finger into your empty channel, groaning at how easily it sank into your sopping wet heat. He pumped it slowly, curling it to rub against your G-spot.

"Gonna make you cum on my tongue," he promised darkly before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard.

Cregan added a second finger, stretching you open as he finger-fucked your fluttering walls. He scissored them inside you, spreading your tight heat wide.

"That's it, fuck my face," he encouraged, his deep voice muffled against your sex. "Ride my tongue, princess. Cum for me."

He could feel you getting close, your thighs starting to tremble around his head. Cregan doubled his efforts, pistoning his fingers faster as he lashed your clit with the flat of his tongue.

"Let go," he commanded, locking eyes with you. "Cum on my face, baby. Give it to me."

You were teetering right on the edge, your moans rising in pitch and volume as Cregan devoured you so skillfully. Your entire body was wound tight, ready to snap at any moment.

Just as you were about to let go and tumble into ecstasy, the sound of a slamming door made you jolt.

"Hey, I'm finally home-" Jace's voice boomed, cutting off abruptly. "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?!"

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cregansdingdong · 6 months ago

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ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘʟᴇꜱꜱ.

Cregan Stark x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, outdoor sex(does a tent still count as outdoor?), swearing, Cregan has a breeding kink, semi-public?, slight brat taming, classic doggy style, ass slapping, f!receiving oral, Cregan’s gonna eat her out from the back which is truly the highlight here; so. this has been festering in my drafts for well over two months. Good luck. poison ivy by hemi moore

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

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“Are you going to explain yourself or do I have to ask why you’re speaking to me that way in front of my men?”

“In what way?” She murmurs, snappily adjusting the furs beneath her, staring above at the roof of their tent. Cregan watched in partial disbelief—and partial irritation—at the sight of his wife going to bed despite their disagreement. It wasn’t often that they argued, and especially not on account of her publicly disrespecting him. The Hunt was meant to celebrate the unity of the North, among other things, and yet she’d been cold to him most of the late afternoon and early evening. They were meant to be setting an example. He couldn’t understand what he’d done to agitate her in the first place. “I’m not going to play this game with you.” Cregan huffs, setting down his cloak on the back of a chair. “Why have you been so cross with me today of all days?”

“I haven’t.” She counters smartly, tone filled with an attitude he wanted nothing more than to fuck out of her. “You’re being childish.” He grunts right back, earning a glare from his cross little wife. If he hadn’t been so ticked off, he might’ve actually laughed at the way her eyes narrowed in his direction—like a pup about to pounce. “I’m not a child.” She snaps, turning to adjust her pillow as he removes his boots. He snorts at that. “You’re behaving like one. Now are you going to resume your wifely duties and speak to me or must I tuck you in and read you a story?” He could’ve done without the mocking, but both their tempers had risen by that point, overspilling and soaking their marriage bed like a tempest.

She ignored him completely, reaching to blow out the candle at her bedside, rolling over to face the wall of the tent, linens and furs pulled up to her chin. As much as he was irritated with her refusal to communicate, he wasn’t going to sulk until she decided to give him the mercy of her words. Cregan continued to undress down to his small clothes, joining her under the covers despite their mutual fuming. It was an agreement they’d reached at the beginning of their marriage: angry or not, their bed was shared. Non-negotiable. He was especially thankful for that condition now—the ground did not look very comfortable if she’d decided to banish him like a hound. He faced her back, arm thrown haphazardly over her middle. Admittedly, he needed to feel her there to get a proper night’s rest. She allowed it.

The tension had seeped into their tent, clearly choosing to remain even with the terms of bedtime they’d set in place. She was still angry, he was still puzzled. Even with her back against him, Cregan could still sense her irritation. It hung in the air like a dark cloud, refusing to disperse. He’d never thought being married would sometimes feel like a storm in his own home. But the Wolf of the North was not a man to back down from a challenge. And it was becoming clear to him that his wife wouldn’t talk unless he spoke first. So he does. "You can’t keep behaving this way,” He starts, his voice gravelly but low. There's about a minute of tense silence between them before her attitude-filled reply breaks the quiet of their tent. “And why not?”

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he shifts in the bed, arm still loosely wrapped around her waist. “Firstly you’re my wife. Secondly, the hunt was meant to celebrate the North. And thirdly…” His voice trails off, his jaw clenching. He’d already said too much for his liking. Cregan was never one to give too much away, and giving an explanation for his emotions had never been a strength of his. But with her…there was a part that he couldn’t help but be honest with her. She wouldn't judge him even on his worst days. “Because I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.” His words were heavy with sincerity, which only irritated him more. The Wolf of the North was not supposed to feel so exposed to his little dragon wife’s moods.

For a moment, he thinks he's gotten through to his stubborn wife. "...we can discuss it tomorrow. I want to sleep." She grumbles into the dark. “You want to ignore it tomorrow, you mean,” He retorts, arm still refusing to remove itself from her waist despite the rejection. Cregan lets the argument drop for now, however. But only because he can tell for himself that she's not going to give way to his stubborn badgering that night. He grunts in annoyance, shifting so that his chin rests on her shoulder. “Unbelievable.” He mutters to himself. Angry or not, though, they were going to cuddle. It’s the smell of her hair that pulls him into a steady rest, his chest pressing against her back, his arm still slung over her middle like a claim. For some reason, even in his sleep, he still needs to feel her near him; a possession of the body and mind. The two of them adjust a little, the usual marital squirming in order to get comfortable. Peace even in the chaos of their argument.

On the other hand, his wife could not find sleep even if she had a map. With him snoring lightly behind her—something that always put her to sleep—both irritation and guilt chewed away at her reserve, leaving her restless. It persists. An hour passes, then two, and still, Lady Stark was wide awake, bothered and guilty. The snoring continues through the night, the Northern Lord blissfully unaware of her warring emotions. But even unconscious, he could sense the battle for sleep. The Wolf of the North stirred beside her, his arm now fully thrown over her torso, hand resting against her ribs. Cregan was in no way a light sleeper, but as her frustration grew, he seemed to be silently disturbed from his sleep. His eyes flutter open with a tired hum, his chin buried in the warmth of his wife still. He’s quiet for a few long moments before mumbling in a groggy voice, thick and raspy. “You’re still awake.”

“I can't sleep.” She mutters. It's clear that the heat of their argument had ceased to a smolder in the while she had reflected into the dark. "Probably because I'm still upset." She sighs. "And I'm a little cold...and..” As she speaks, his initial tiredness starts to clear. “And?” He prompts, shifting again to lift his head in the slightest. His hand rubs against her stomach, trying to share any semblance of his warmth with her. “...I feel…worked up. I'm annoyed but…roused.” It's laced with a begrudging admittance and Cregan opens his eyes in disbelief, suddenly more awake at her mumbled words. A rush of heat rolls through his body, his heart skipping a beat. It always does. The thought alone never failed to stop him in his tracks. His hand stills against her stomach for a moment, considering how to respond. “Well, my love, it sounds like you've had enough of keeping your anger a secret. You can tell me no matter what. Even if it's childish and silly. I'm your husband.”

"You didn't eat breakfast with me this morning." She blurts, finally revealing what had made her so irritated all day. "You gave me a kiss and then you just ran off to eat with Torrhen Manderly. Didn't even invite me.” He pauses in his caresses, a low hum leaving his chest. “That’s what caused your little temper tantrum?” He murmurs, tone still somewhat drowsy but now a bit exasperated. Affectionately, of course. He can’t fight the small smile that’s formed on his lips. A temper tantrum over him eating with the second son of the Lord of White Harbor and not inviting his sweet wife. It was such a small thing, but for some reason, it makes his chest feel tight. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in a morning meeting with House Manderly,” he mumbles in response, pulling her closer, his hand once again tracing patterns across her waist.

"I'm not, but I'm interested in sitting with you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch even more at that. A quiet huff of a chuckle leaves his lips, and he moves his chin to rest on her shoulder, warm breath lightly fanning on her jaw. “So I’m to invite you to every little meeting I have now?” He murmurs, teasing and still somehow half-drowsy. There's a very light dusting of indignation in her tone as she answers. "...not all of them, I'd be bored to death." She huffs. "But today was about unity. I didn't feel very unified with you.” He grumbles under his breath in mild disagreement. The Hunt wasn’t all about unity, it was about celebration. Of the North and of the Starks. Unity amongst the Northmen was an important facet of the feast, but it was not the entire point. But he didn’t want to argue about that, especially not when she was still so irritable with him. “You should’ve just come by and sat yourself down then. Torrhen would've liked your company, and of course I had no problems with having my beautiful wife beside me.”

"And intrude? That's embarrassing." He could hear her pout from a mile out, at least. Cregan’s chest vibrates against her back with a low laugh. “And throwing a little fit all day isn’t embarrassing?” He muses, nipping at her shoulder. "...it's more dignified than begging.” She grumbles. One of his hands suddenly moves from her stomach and up to her jaw. In almost an instant, his wife was putty in his grasp once more. He turns her head, pressing a kiss against the corner of her mouth, his tongue suddenly swiping over the skin—almost like he needed a taste of her. A low, gravelly murmur leaves his chest. “There’s no part of you that has to beg for my attention. But I’m not sure it’s dignified to pout all day over me having a morning meeting, my sweet Lady Wife.”

Before she could say something smart in return, Cregan dips his face into her neck, unable to stop himself from taking a greedy bite. She makes a small noise from the back of her throat—a mewl that sends the sleep far, far away from his thoughts. He smiles against her skin when he feels her tilt her head for more. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, taking advantage of her movement to press another open-mouthed kiss against her neck. “Pouting all day for my attention, and here you are, melting at it now.” In the quiet of the tent, he can hear the low, shaky exhale release past her lips. “I'm sorry…for being impolite to you with your men present.”

“An apology?” His voice holds his amusement, and he continues his trail of kisses up her neck, until his lips are hovering right next to her ear. “Now that is a new one. I’m sure some snow from beyond the Wall will start falling within the hour if you’re apologizing to me. Not something you make a habit of doing, my sweet wife.” He felt her smile just a little, and he mentally counted down for whatever joke she was about to tell him. “At this rate, I'm sure Winter is fleeing.” His nose brushes up against the skin behind her ear, and he lets out a barely stifled laugh. “That’s blasphemous to say in the North…but funny.” He pushes himself up on his forearms above her, looking down, eyes suddenly filled with barely contained heat—as was his usual disposition. "Still annoyed and roused?”

"Not annoyed. Just worked up." She murmurs, tracing the outline of his shoulders in the dark. He hums in acknowledgment, stomach warming at her confirmation. “You want me to tire you out? Make up for this morning?” His voice is still thick and gravelly, a testament of his deep sleep and the hunger that now had him captivated. Her response came out in a quiet ‘mmhm’, reaching for him through the dark. In one swift movement, Cregan flips her onto her stomach, chuckling at the noise of surprise she releases. Furs and linens thrown back, his hands glide over the skin of her thighs, gently raising the hem of her delicate shift. It was a slow, deliberate action, and he didn’t need to see her face to know how much she was anticipating his touch. As her nightgown rose over the curve of her ass, he could feel the goosebumps forming beneath his palms. “Arse up, face down.”

She shivered at the command. Simple, yet drowning her in want. How could she ever deny her Wolf of the North? With a near-silent grunt of effort, she raises herself on her knees, lowering her upper-half down onto the pillows. The hem of her shift pools at her mid back, exposing herself to her husband just the way he loved it. “Perfect.” He murmurs, his hands gripping the flesh of her ass like he couldn’t wait to take a bite out of her. “Look at you. Fighting me all day, and yet here you are. All but begging for me to unspool you. I should make you beg, but you’re quite lucky I don’t have the patience, wife.” Just as she thinks she’s going to feel his hot tongue, a hand comes barreling down on her rear, a loud, searing spank that was probably heard from the next tent over. Her gasp was barely stifled into the pillow.

His tongue dipped slowly between her folds, a measured pace that nearly made her lose her breath. He always knew how she wanted it. Back and forth, savoring her like her juicy cunt was his last meal in the living world. With every languid stroke forward, the tip of his tongue nudged her twitching pearl in a toe-curling rhythm. Her noises only urged him on further. He slurped up her slick like a man starved, wordlessly encouraging her movements as she rocked back against his tongue. Eyes shut, face contorted in bliss, he could only picture what she looked like in his mind’s eye. He was too preoccupied with his meal to bother to light any candles. Not that he needed them, anyway. He knew her body as if they shared a soul. His wife was unable to piece together a single word, reduced to a puddle of whines and squirms.

“All day.” He reiterates. “Talking back to me. I accept your apology, but that does not mean you’re entirely free of the consequences, pup.” And then, another. Harder than the last, and most certainly stinging. Another. Another. He was merciful enough to distribute his spanks evenly, and with every bloom of hot pain, she felt herself grow more and more eager for a release. “Please–” She mewled, on the verge of patheticism. A sixth sear spreads over her left asscheek. The rest of her plea remains locked in her throat. “I’ve had enough of your pretty mouth speaking against me.” He murmurs into the dark, hands massaging the hot skin with an air of tenderness. “Understand?” Head spinning with lust, she can barely form a coherent word. “..Y-yes.” That seemed to moderately satisfy him, and Cregan finally leaned his face down, spreading her for his pleasure.

“I’ll never tire of your sweet taste.” He rumbled against her, fingers digging into the supple flesh of her ass like he was afraid she’d run off. Not that she ever would, but the feeling of her in his hands was grounding—a reminder of who he was and where he was between every dive of his tongue. He was drowning in the tang of her. Every lap of his tongue drove her an inch closer to her peak. “Cregan—Cregan, I can’t.” She cried, on the verge of desperation. If he’d had her sitting on his face instead, it would’ve been much easier to keep her from wiggling, but she couldn’t help herself not to writhe against his mouth and nose. And frankly, he was too hungry to separate himself from her for even a moment in order to change position. No. Not even a snippet of patience. He needed her to release.

“Yes, you can.” Cregan grunts against her soaked cunt, although it was less than coherent—something about the idea of getting caught made him eager to please. With all the pretty noises she was making for him, he couldn’t bring himself to attempt to quiet her. Not that it mattered. He doubted anyone would dare interrupt the Lord Paramount of the North and his Lady wife. And yet, someone walking by? Hearing the private way she cried out for her husband? Thrilling in every sense of the word. The thought alone made his blood pump, and his teeth lightly nip at her sweet pearl. More like a graze, really, but her reaction seemed otherwise. She squeals into her pillow, a throaty, rabid sound that nearly makes him peak. She was coming. And he had the absolute pleasure of lapping up all her delicious juices right from the source.

He couldn't make himself wait any longer after that. Cregan pawed at his small clothes until he was entirely bare behind her, feeling his beautiful wife tremble as he aligned his twitching cock. There was no other sensation in the living world that mattered to him more than the way her walls stretched to accommodate his size. Absolute perfection. Nothing but bliss. A noise of pleasure rumbled from his throat as he sunk into her soaked cunt. Inch by murderous inch, the Wolf of the North felt his sense of reality fade into the background. Much like an animal focused on dragging their kill home, Cregan was fixated on drowning himself inside her to the hilt. No matter how many times he'd experienced that exact sensation, he would never tire of his perfect Lady wife. Not even if she'd throw a tantrum every day for the duration of their marriage—so long as he got to kiss her goodmorning and fuck her goodnight.

“There we go…” He grunts, laying himself over her back as he eased his tip deep inside. Pulling out and back again was a torturous, toe-curling feeling, but the little mewls she whined into the pillows made it worth every teasing drag of his hips. “This is how it should be.” Cregan pants, his nose pressed against the back of her neck. “You, enjoying your fulfilled cravings, and me, balls-deep inside my woman. I hate fighting with you—but I love fucking that attitude right out.” Her thighs trembled as he rutted into her ass, an incessant, fervent type of rhythm that only came out when she truly frustrated him. And she certainly had; all day long, in fact. But his vixen of a wife couldn't bring herself to regret a thing. She knew what she was going to do in the next Great Hunt.

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#house of the dragon #hotd #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan stark smut #hotd smut #hotd fic #cregan stark x you #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #fluffy smut

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buckyalpine · 7 months ago

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I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

1K notes · View notes

shortnspidey · 26 days ago

Text

THE VOID

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 5.4K

SUMMARY: What was supposed to be a quiet family weekend getaway at the Stark cabin is quickly interrupted by New York City being terrorized once more!

WARNINGS: Thunderbolts* spoilers! Angst, slight fluff, hurt-comfort, non-sexual nudity, talks of past trauma & HYDRA PTSD

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! This was meant to be a short drabble but I couldn't help myself! It's safe to say Thunderbolts* is my new Marvel comfort movie! I hope I did this one-shot justice since we didn't get to see much of Bucky during the movie! 🫶🏻

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

As the soft glow of morning sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting warm streaks across the hardwood floor. Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the familiar surroundings, the soft lavender hue of the walls, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air, and the peaceful silence broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird outside.

A small sleepy smile tugged at your lips as your gaze settled on the delightful chaos around you, a mountain of stuffed animals piled high near the window, polaroid pictures taped to the dresser mirror, each one a tiny fragment of a life well-lived and well-loved. Shifting to your side with a sleepy sigh, you expected to find the comforting bulk of your super-soldier fiancé beside you. His warmth, his steady breathing, maybe even the soft snore he always denied having.

But instead, a mop of tousled brown hair and a small frame tucked under a fortress of blankets greeted you. Morgan. Your not-so-little sister, who had clearly claimed the entire bed as her own sometime during the night. You let out a quiet chuckle, realizing you were perched on the very edge of the mattress, less than an inch from tumbling onto the floor. The covers had all migrated to her side, cocooned around her. She was somehow an even worse bed hog than Bucky, and that was saying something.

Even Alpine, with all her feline entitlement, hadn't managed to steal this much space. Your thoughts were interrupted as Morgan stirred, her little nose wrinkling adorably in protest against the invading daylight. She nestled even closer into your side, seeking warmth and refuge. "Morning, sunshine!" You chirped with faux cheeriness, knowing exactly what kind of reaction you'd get. Predictably, the nine-year-old groaned, burying her face deeper into your ribs with a dramatic sigh that made you smile even wider.

Definitely not a morning person, another undeniable Stark trait. "Morgan," You sing-songed, dragging her name out teasingly. “Time to wake up!” She grumbled in protest, clearly trying to lull herself back to sleep or at least tune you out. A soft giggle escaped you as you gently poked her side. “The only way I’m waking up is if you make me breakfast.” Morgan grumbled, her voice muffled against your side. You gave a mock gasp, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Demanding.” You teased, though your tone was soft as you reached out, brushing a few strands of her tangled hair away from her face. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary. Her skin was still warm from sleep, and for a moment, you just took in how small she still was, despite her growing stubborn streak and increasingly bold opinions. “How about I make you breakfast,” You offered, lifting your brows with a knowing smile, “and I’ll even let you sneak a juice pop before Mom makes us lunch?”

Her face twitched, trying to stay serious, trying not to give in to your irresistible offer, but you saw the small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “Promise?” She asked, lifting her head slightly and giving you those big, brown, soul-piercing eyes that always reminded you a little too much of your dad. You nodded, solemnly holding out your pinky. “Pinky promise,” You declared, your voice dropping to a whisper like it was sacred and in a way, it was.

Morgan didn’t hand out trust easily, but a pinky promise? That was ironclad. She hooked her little finger around yours, her smile breaking fully now. “Deal!” You grinned and pressed another kiss to her forehead, this one quick and full of affection, before leaning over to grab your phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a flurry of notifications, texts, emails, a missed call from Harley, but your thumb moved instinctively to the one name that always made your chest tighten in the best way. The most recent message read:

Bucky 🖤: Made it to the Capitol in one piece. Miss you already, doll. Tell Morgan I’m bringing her that thing we talked about.

You smiled at the screen, thumbs flying across the keyboard as you typed back a quick “I love you, stay safe.” Before you could even lock your phone, Morgan was peering over your shoulder. “Why couldn’t Bucky come?” She asked, her voice softer now, her fingers still tangled in the edge of your sleep shirt. You arched a brow, turning to face her with a mock pout. “Am I not enough for you anymore?” Morgan rolled her eyes with a giggle, but her cheeks flushed pink.

“You know what I mean.” She grinned. It always amazed you how quickly Bucky had wormed his way into her heart, how naturally he’d settled into the role of her protector, bedtime storyteller, and co-conspirator in every bit mischief she could dream up. And truthfully, you loved watching the two of them together, even when you pretended to be jealous. “Believe me, sweetheart, he wanted to,” You reassured brushing her hair back again as she snuggled close once more. “But he’s just a little busy now that he has Congressman duties.” Morgan huffed.

“You should’ve brought Alpine at least.” You laughed, ruffling her hair. “If we let that spoiled cat in this bed, there wouldn’t be room for either of us. Plus, she’d steal your juice pop.” That earned a giggle from her. “C’mon,” You coaxed, stretching your arms and sitting up fully. “Let’s go make some waffles. With chocolate chips. Maybe even whipped cream, if you swear not to tell Mom.” She perked up instantly, eyes gleaming. “You got yourself a deal!” This kid was definitely going to be the death of you.

After scarfing down at least a dozen waffles between you and Morgan, each one stacked precariously with whipped cream, chocolate chips, and just a hint of syrup for good measure you both made sure to clean the flour battlefield you’d left behind. The kitchen still smelled like vanilla and melted chocolate, but the counters were wiped, dishes stacked, and evidence buried, for the most part. Just in time too, as Pepper raised an eyebrow when she entered but said nothing.

Only offering a suspicious glance toward the empty whipped cream can in the trash. With the scent of breakfast still clinging to your pajamas and Morgan cradling a warm cup of cocoa, the three of you curled up on the couch for your weekend ritual. Blankets, mismatched socks, and the faint crackle of old movie magic filled the living room. The familiar sounds of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone played in the background, Morgan mouthing lines under her breath, completely absorbed in the scene.

And then, it happened.

The screen glitched, colors flickering unnaturally before the film feed abruptly cut to a flashing Breaking News banner. Static crackled. Then came the footage. A live aerial shot of Manhattan, swallowed by what looked like a creeping black fog, only it wasn’t fog. It slithered like it was alive, climbing buildings, flooding streets, consuming everything in its path. Helicopters struggled to keep up with the growing shadow that rolled through downtown like a tidal wave of nightmares.

Your blood ran cold. A surge of déjà vu punched through your gut, memories of Thanos, of the Snap, of losing everything for a single moment in time. But this wasn’t dust. This was something else, something darker. Morgan leaned forward, her cocoa forgotten, and even Pepper tensed, lips pressed into a thin, worried line. The footage zoomed in closer. Through the billowing obsidian mass, faint shapes flickered, terrified civilians, abandoned cars and buildings.

The once-iconic Avengers Tower, half-swallowed and collapsing in on itself, like some monument to forgotten glory. And at the center of it, looming like a shadow torn from nightmares, stood a shadowy figure. He wasn’t entirely solid, more like a dark silhouette. With every movement, people vanished. Your hand trembled as you reached for your phone, a cold sweat already forming at the back of your neck. You didn’t even remember dialing, your thumb working on autopilot.

“Pick up. Pick up.” You whispered, heart hammering against your ribs, anxiety rising like bile. One ring. Two. Three, then static. Faint, fragmented screams filtered through. Car alarms. Crumbling stone. You heard staggering breath, sharp and uneven. “Bucky? Are you there?” You asked, voice cracking, eyes fixed on the chaos on the screen. A ragged exhale echoed on the line. Then voices, quick, panicked. Civilians? You couldn’t tell. “Bucky, please tell me you’re not in that mess.” You begged, voice fraying at the edges.

You weren’t even sure if he could hear you. A pause. Then finally, his voice, raw and distant. “I wish I could, doll.” Your breath hitched. “I’m sorry.” He added. Those two words carried more weight than you could bear. Every instinct in you screamed to fight, to argue, but your voice didn’t come. Not even a whisper. “Doll, I—” And then, the call dropped. Your phone slid from your hand and landed on the couch cushion beside you with a thud. Your chest was tight, lungs refusing to work properly. Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Morgan instantly wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Is Bucky okay?” She whispered, burying her face into your side. You pulled her close, holding her like she was the only anchor in the storm. “I’m sure he is, sweetheart,” You reassured softly, kissing the top of her head. “He’s strong and brave.” But even you couldn’t tell if you were trying to reassure her or convince yourself. You looked up. Pepper had already stood, face pale but composed. She met your eyes, her strength unwavering even now. “Mom—”

“I know,” She mumbled quickly, cutting you off. Her voice was gentle, but there was an iron edge beneath it, a quiet strength born from too many nights spent watching the man she loved walk into war zones with nothing but conviction and an arc reactor. Pepper Potts wasn’t a stranger to sacrifice, and now, neither were you. “Go.” You hesitated, guilt gnawing at your gut. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.” She added, her hand closing tightly around yours.

You nodded, trying to keep your face neutral even as your stomach churned. You turned toward Morgan, who stood silently by the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest like it was a lifeline. “Morgie,” You called softly, crouching down to her level as her tear-filled eyes locked on yours. “He’ll be okay. We both will. Stay here with Mom, alright? I’ll call you as soon as I find Bucky. I promise.” You extended your pinky once more. This promise felt heavier than all the others.

“Okay.” She whispered, her voice cracking as she surrendered to your embrace, small arms wrapping tightly around your neck. You held her close, kissed her temple, then leaned into her ear. “I love you, kiddo.” You breathed, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat. You felt her nod against your shoulder, and it shattered something inside you. With that, you quickly got dressed, grabbed your car keys and drove as fast as the speed limit allowed you into the void that was now New York City.

As you made your way into the city, weaving recklessly through the traffic, your hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Horns blared, lights flashed, but none of it registered fully, you were running on instinct and adrenaline. You fumbled for your phone at a red light, trying once again to ping Bucky’s location. Nothing. The screen flashed back the same message, unable to locate device.

You swore under your breath, the sickening realization hitting you like a punch to the gut, his phone must’ve been destroyed during all the chaos. There was no other choice. Without any clue where he might be, you had to go back to the apartment. Your chest ached with the weight of uncertainty, but through it all, a stubborn flicker of belief remained, he’d make it home to you. He had to. The moment your key turned in the lock and the door creaked open, the silence inside greeted you.

You didn’t need to call out to know, he wasn’t there. The emptiness clung to the walls, thick and oppressive, and did absolutely nothing to soothe the storm of fear brewing inside you. You closed the door quietly behind you, letting your forehead rest against it for a beat too long, before turning to scan the room with hopeful eyes. Then, a soft meow echoed from around the corner. “Alpine,” You breathed out, your voice cracking slightly with relief. The snowy white cat padded into view, her tail high as she trotted toward you, clearly happy to see you home.

You knelt down immediately, scooping her into your arms and pressing her warm body close to your chest. She purred against you, a soft, steady vibration that grounded you just enough to keep from unraveling completely. “Hi, sweet girl.” You murmured, your voice gentle as you carried her to the couch. You sank into the cushions, Alpine nestled securely in your lap, and stared out the window at the glowing city beyond. Every instinct in you screamed to go back out there.

To search every alley, every rooftop, every shadow, but instead, you sat still. Holding on to hope like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. After what felt like an eternity of pacing in the kitchen, organizing things that didn’t need organizing, and switching between news broadcasts that offered very little comfort and a phone that refused to light up with his name, you were unraveling thread by thread. Each second stretched, heavy and tense, your breath shallow. And then, you heard it. The familiar jangle of the doorknob.

Your heart skipped a beat, then thundered, and as the door creaked open, you let out a breath that felt like it came from somewhere deep in your soul. Your muscles, locked in anxious tension, began to loosen as you rose quickly from the couch. But the moment you turned the corner and saw him, really saw him all of that fragile relief shattered and the fear came crashing back in. There he was. Dressed in his signature all-black, the fabric of his clothes torn in various places.

Revealing angry red gashes and violet bruises beneath. His broad shoulders were pulled back in a rigid posture. His long hair was disheveled, sticking to his forehead and brushing his jawline, and his face, God, his handsome face was a map of pain. Scratches lined his cheekbones, one temple split and still weeping. His knuckles were bruised, skin split. And still, he didn’t bother to close the door behind him. His cerulean blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, time stood still. He closed them slowly, like the sight of you was too much to bear all at once.

Relief, exhaustion, maybe even guilt, it passed across his face like clouds across a stormy sky. “James.” The name left your lips sharp and clipped, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest. There was frustration in your voice, more than that, there was hurt. At the sound of his given name, his eyes opened again, more alert, more present. He knew exactly what it meant when you used it like that. But he also knew this wasn’t about being in trouble. Not really. Cautiously, he took a step forward, hand raised, vibranium fingers trembling just enough to betray the storm inside him.

He reached for your arm, bracing for the rejection he was sure he deserved. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. When his palm met your sleeve and you stayed rooted to the spot, something in him broke loose. He took another step, his other hand rising to gently uncross your arms, and you let him. You didn’t meet his eyes, not yet, but you didn’t resist his touch either. He pulled your body into his slowly, grounding you with the firm steadiness of both flesh and metal, his touch familiar, grounding. You looked away, jaw tight, holding back tears or words, you weren’t even sure which.

He exhaled slowly, then lifted a hand to your face, calloused fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tilted your head up. You didn’t want to look at him because if you did, you’d lose what little composure you had left. Still, you let him tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your temple as he searched your face like it held the only truth left in the world. Your eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you was louder than anything either of you could say. Then finally, you broke it, your voice low and rough around the edges.

“You’re still in trouble.” You grumbled, trying for stern but falling short, the corners of your mouth betraying you with the tiniest quiver. “I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice gravelly and soft in that way only reserved for you. “I know.” He rested his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as it ghosted over your skin. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness yet. He just needed this. You. “Just let me hold you.” He whispered, more of a plea than command.

And without another word, you let him.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, each breath shaky, uneven. His arms were tight around you now, no longer tentative. Flesh and vibranium wrapped fully around your waist, holding on like if he let go, everything would collapse. And maybe it would. You didn’t want to test that theory. He smelled like smoke and the faintest trace of blood, but underneath all that, you still found him. That scent you’d come to associate with home.

“Hey,” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, lips brushing your hair as he spoke. “I’m here. I’m okay.” You pulled back slightly at that, brows furrowing. “You’re not okay, Buck,” you scoffed softly, your hands coming up to cradle his scruffy cheeks. “You’re clearly hurt and you’re bleeding.” You swallowed hard as your thumbs traced the edges of a fresh cut along his jaw. “You scared the hell out of me.” His eyes closed again, jaw clenching as he leaned into your touch. You blinked quickly, fighting the sting in your eyes, but he saw it anyway.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, this time more firmly, grounding himself in the contact. Then, slowly, deliberately his lips brushed yours. It wasn’t a kiss full of hunger or urgency. It was soft yet purposeful. You melted into it instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. His lips trembled against yours, not from fear but from sheer, overwhelming feeling. He kissed you like he’d been afraid he wouldn’t get the chance.

Like this kiss was a thank you, an apology, and a promise all in one. When you finally parted, he lingered, his nose brushing against yours, eyes searching yours with that soft, open ache that always made you want to protect him, even when strongly believed that he was the one built to protect you. You exhaled shakily, resting your hands over his heart. In that moment, no words needed to be shared. You simply pulled him close, this time wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder.

After a beat, your voice now more steadier broke the silence. "I hope you know you owe Morgan a call, she was pretty shaken after what she saw on the news." Bucky let out a long breath, one hand ghosting up your back in an absent, soothing motion. "Hopefully the bear plush I brought all the way back from DC will be enough for her to forgive me." Your brow lifted, eyes narrowing slightly as amusement flickered in your voice. "Seriously, Bucky. Morgan has enough stuffed animals to fill an entire daycare."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop spoiling her," He offered a small shrug, the corner of his mouth quirking just enough to chase away some of the tension. "We should call." You nodded slowly, lifting your head from his shoulder without pulling away completely, your arms still draped around him in a gentle tether. "We should," You murmured in agreement. Your gaze swept over him, taking in the grime, the torn edges of his clothes, and the blood smeared along his jaw. "Might want to clean yourself up first."

Your fingers reached up, brushing lightly over the blood smeared on his cheekbone. The touch wasn’t firm, just the barest sweep of skin against skin, but it carried so much more than it seemed to. In that single gesture, you offered reassurance, a silent apology for whatever pain he endured, and the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone. He leaned into the touch with a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh, his eyes fluttering closed for just a beat too long. Like the warmth of your hand was more healing than anything could ever be.

His lashes lifted slowly, gaze locking with yours. The blue of his eyes, normally sharp and vigilant, had softened into something almost vulnerable. “Join me?” Just two words. So simple, but they cracked something open inside you. The sheer vulnerability behind them wrapped in a quiet plea and a need for closeness he rarely voiced ever made your throat tighten. You didn’t trust your voice to hold steady, so you simply nodded, the motion small but immediate.

His expression didn’t shift much, but you saw the way his shoulders eased, just slightly. He leaned in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead. He stayed there for a moment, his lips resting against your skin like he was afraid letting go too soon might shatter whatever peace had settled between you. Then, he stepped back, not far, just enough to reach for your hand. His fingers found yours with an easy familiarity, holding on like you were his lifeline. And without a word, he turned, guiding you slowly toward the bathroom down the hall the space you shared.

As you stepped into the space, a wave of protectiveness surged through you, catching you off guard with its intensity. It was more than just concern, it was an aching need to reassure him, to make it unmistakably clear that he was safe and loved. He stood quietly, as if waiting for something he didn’t quite know how to ask for. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of his t-shirt, eyes flicking up to meet his, searching for any flicker of hesitation. The fabric was worn, soft beneath your touch, and you tugged gently, more a question than a motion.

His response was wordless but immediate, lifting his arms and granting you silent permission. You peeled the shirt upward, revealing inch by inch of scarred, bruised skin that made your heart twist. A sharp, quiet gasp escaped your lips as the damage came into view faint scrapes, livid bruises blossoming in purples and yellows, and the ever-present, jarring contrast where metal fused into flesh. You knew the serum would eventually do its work, knitting tissue and dulling pain, but logic didn’t stop the worry that clawed its way up your throat.

You leaned in, unable to keep the distance between you. Your hand wrapped around his warm, solid bicep, drawing him gently closer. He didn’t resist. Your lips brushed against the harsh line where his metal shoulder met skin, a place that too often bore the weight of his guilt and silence. You pressed a soft kiss there, then another, scattering them along his shoulder blade, the curve of his jaw, and finally to the corner of his mouth. Each kiss was a silent whisper: I love you. You’re not alone.

His breath caught, chest rising sharply, and in the next heartbeat, his lips found yours. The kiss was deep, unhurried, the kind that said everything neither of you could quite put into words. When he finally pulled away, it was only to mirror your earlier gesture, his hands slipping under your oversized knit sweater and lifting it with reverent care. It joined his shirt in a quiet heap on the floor. “I love you so much, Y/N.” He murmured against your mouth, the words rough and tender all at once.

What followed felt timeless, a slow shedding of barriers, both cloth and emotional, until you were stripped bare, wrapped in warmth and each other. Garments fell away between stolen kisses and whispered reassurances. Hands traced the map of each other’s bodies like a prayer, gentle and certain, until there was nothing between you but skin and steam. At one point, his fingers intertwined with yours, he brought your left hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Then pausing, kissing the delicate glint of the engagement ring that rested there. His eyes met yours, soft and unguarded, and it said more than any vow ever could. Under the cascade of the shower, he held you close. You could feel the tension leaving his frame as your fingers threaded through his damp hair, massaging the soap in gentle circles. You washed away the remnants of blood and sweat, each pass of your hands careful not to press too hard against his bruises. Then it was his turn. He touched you as though you were made of glass.

His hands were hesitant and unsure, but so achingly tender it brought tears to your eyes. Every swipe of the washcloth, every stroke of his palm was deliberate, a silent apology for all the times he’d believed he didn’t deserve softness. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, surrounded by heat and steam and the quiet hum of water. Time didn’t matter. All that did was this, the slow melting of tension, the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the comfort of knowing that here, in this moment, you both had found something worth holding onto.

After drying off and pulling on soft, comfortable clothes, you settled into the rhythm of familiarity. Bucky perched at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, as he FaceTimed Morgan. You watched as the tired lines around his eyes softened at the sight of her excited face, his voice lifting just enough to sound like himself. “I promise I’m in one piece, kiddo,” He reassured her, holding the camera up so she could see the both of you. “Got a surprise for you next time I visit. I just know you’re gonna love it!” Morgan giggled, already speculating what said “surprise” was.

As the call continued, he had her and you laughing in no time, making goofy faces, promising to teach her how to do a proper left hook (with Pepper's reluctant permission), and patiently answering every curious question she had about what she had seen on the news. You noticed how his shoulders dropped, tension easing the longer he talked to her. Even Pepper smiled, though her eyes flicked across the screen with a mother's worry, lingering on the faint bruises still visible on his face.

When the call ended and the familiar dial tone hummed into silence, the weight of the night returned. The room felt heavier, quieter. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, phone dangling forgotten in one hand. The other scrubbed across his face as though trying to rub away everything he’d just relived. You straddled his lap slowly, grounding him with your presence, settling so your chest was against his, your arms around his shoulders.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, something you knew calmed him. “You want to tell me what happened?” You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His throat bobbed with the effort of swallowing. “Yeah,” He rasped. “Yeah, I do.” And so he did. He spoke in starts and stops, piecing what had happened in fragments. He told you about flying to D.C. to expose Valentina de Fontaine. How he’d manage to convince force Yelena and her father, John Walker, Ava Starr, reluctantly, to gather enough evidence to bring Valentina down. But as usual, she was always ten steps ahead.

“She was manipulating this innocent man, Robert Reynolds, Bob, to somehow become the world’s New Avenger under her control, yet her plan had a horrible flaw,” He explained, eyes distant. “Bob, he had another side of him. This drug trail, it wasn’t anything like what happened to Steve or Banner. There was a darkness, a void.” Your hand moved from his hair to his chest, palm flat over his heartbeat. “Go on.” You coaxed softly, watching as his breathing grew more labored.

“The worst part,” He muttered after a long pause shutting his eyes, bracing himself. “Was that this alter ego, he could get inside our heads. All of us. It wasn’t just telepathy. It was like he peeled something back. Like he could reach into the rot of the trauma we’d buried and drag it into the light.” His voice cracked on the last word. Your arms tightened instinctively around his back, rubbing in slow reassuring circles. “He saw inside my worst nightmare,” Bucky continued, each word weighted and raw.

“And then he made me live it again. It felt so real, Y/N. The cold steel of the restraints. The stench of antiseptic. I was strapped down at that H.Y.D.R.A. base again. My body was fighting, but my mind—” His jaw clenched hard. “They were erasing me. Again and again. Every time I’d start to remember who I was, they’d wipe it clean. My name. My face. You.” A pained breath escaped him. “You were fading. I couldn’t hold on to you.” You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “But I’m right here,” You whispered.

“You held on enough to help your friends. To come home to me.” He swallowed back a whimper, blinking back tears. “I didn’t think I’d make it out,” He admitted, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think I deserved to.” You tilted his chin gently until his eyes met yours. “You always deserve to come home.” For a long time, he didn’t say anything, just let himself breathe against you, his arms wrapping around your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he lifted your left hand and brought it to his lips again. He kissed the engagement ring slowly, reverently, holding your hand against his chest. “This,” He murmured, voice barely audible, “is the only thing that kept me from breaking.” You felt your own tears gather against your lash line as you processed his words. “Bucky, sweetheart, while I'm not thrilled you jumped into danger," You began, your tone soft but laced with honest concern. His arms wrapped around you tighter, keeping you anchored against him.

“I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice low against your lips. “I’m so sorry I scared you.” You pressed your index finger to his mouth before he could say anything else. “But I am so proud of you,” You declared firmly, your words laced with admiration, leaving no room for protest. That brought a real smile to his face, that rare kind of smile that lit up his features and made the years of pain and burden momentarily vanish. The kind of smile that always made you swoon just a little, no matter how many times you saw it.

“Besides,” You added with a dry scoff, “Let H.Y.D.R.A try to get close to you again and see what happens.” He raised an eyebrow, half amused and half confused. “What, you gonna fight 'em with your sarcasm?” You rolled your eyes, but your voice was calm and certain as you lifted your left hand between you. The ring glinted in the low lamplight. “No. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere.” Understanding dawned in his expression, and something unspoken passed between you.

You had seen each other at your best and worst, through blood and bruises and sleepless nights. And still, here you were. That was all he needed. And that was more than enough.

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peachessndreamss · 9 months ago

Text

Weirwood Tree

Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)

Word count : 3k

A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.

“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water.

“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes.

The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.

The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws.

“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”.

“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position.

“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead.

“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”.

The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman.

“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent.

“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled.

“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly.

“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”.

The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water.

“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked.

She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying.

“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”.

The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him.

“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued.

The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about.

“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said.

Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet.

“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”.

He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room.

“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip.

As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders.

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She turned her flushed face to him and smiled.

“Yes, we're going for a walk,”.

Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions. He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance.

Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his.

“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face.

“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester.

From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention.

As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots.

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”.

Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”.

“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”.

“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug.

They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.

“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw.

“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears.

“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”.

“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter.

“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship.

As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake.

“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”.

“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born.

“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly.

“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”.

Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.

“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed.

They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart.

The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary.

They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots.

Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach.

After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line.

“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood.

“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel.

She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin.

“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.

Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying.

“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.

“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes.

During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them.

“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased.

“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”.

Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own.

“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together.

“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.

Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal.

The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring.

The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed.

“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly.

“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied.

“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”

Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.

“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed.

He smiled but shook his head.

“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions.

“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.

Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured.

As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst.

The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion.

“A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her.

“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Come meet him,”.

Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow.

“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face.

He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before.

Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back.

“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe.

“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.

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