#cregan

Forced to remain in the Red Keep, you had been given your elder sister’s old rooms for your longer stay, the ones you had spent many evenings of your childhood, making plans for the future with Rhaenyra.

Now the afternoon had turned into night, darkness falling over the Keep, and your labors had not progressed. Several midwives were fussing over you and the Maester hovered over your shaking form, trying to keep your lord husband away.

“It is not custom, Lord Stark, that the father be present during the birth. You are welcome to wait in the corridor and we shall call upon you when the child is in hand,” the Maester informed him carefully, but still the solemn northern lord squared his shoulders.

“Customs be damned, I shall not abandon my wife while she suffers to bring my child into this world,” he replied, and the raised voices and tense tones only added to your distress.

“Air, air,” you cried out, pushing one of the midwives away from you. She looked upon you with pity, turning to your husband with a sad look on her face. “I need air!” you wailed, frantically pacing.

“What is happening?” Cregan hissed to her, struggling to keep his composure. Your labors with Rickon had been painful but hadn’t carried any of this urgency and he dreaded to think what this unexpected panic meant for you and the child.

“She is unsettled, unable to find her breath,” she replied, shaking her head in worry. “Perhaps some air would indeed help.”

“All the windows are open already,” the Maester placated.

“Can you walk?” Cregan inquired, offering you his arm which you took eagerly.

“Please,” you begged, clinging to his shirt, the linen bunching under your hands. He had discarded his thick doublet a while ago, his worry making his blood run hotter than usual.

He welcomed you into his arms and you grunted through your next contraction, furiously breathing in his familiar scent. “I want to go outside, to the Godswoods,” you whined into his neck.

“Let us walk, then,” Cregan replied, and the midwife came to take your other arm, supporting you. Another kneeled in front of you, slipping your bare feet into slippers.

“My Lord, she should be abed,” the Maester continued and this time Cregan couldn’t reign in his temper.

“Silence! If my wife needs to walk then she shall,” he admonished, and the old man could only obey.

Holding your swollen belly with one hand, the other clutching Cregan’s arm, you painstakingly walked to the Weirwood tree. Your pained panting resonated in the empty corridors, but you finally breathed in relief as the cold night air hit your face.

Cregan prayed to your Gods in the secrecy of his mind, unsure if they would be listening—please bring her peace and ease, he pleaded as you leaned your forehead against the white bark.

Your groans and whines broke your whispered prayers, and for a long while Cregan held you throughout each of the waves that stole your breath and seized your body. Pressing his lips to your hair and murmuring praises, he supported you with hands to your elbows, until you cried out suddenly, bending forward.

The midwife rushed to you, kneeling at your feet and pulling the lapels of your robe open; your shift was wet, tainted with pinkish fluids. “Her waters have burst,” she said with joy, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“The babe is coming, I can feel it,” you laughed through the pain. An intense pressure came to your core, familiar and permeating. You had done this once before, delivering a son quickly after your waters had come and now you were confident you could do it again.

You slowly walked back to your rooms, feeling the babe make their descent into your hips with each step. Once again you refused to lay down and this time the Maester held his tongue, stepping out to leave you alone with the midwives and your lord husband.

Standing at the foot of the bed, you held onto the bedpost with all your might as the pressure grew until you heaved. You could vaguely feel your husband’s large hands rub soothing circles on your lower back, praising you softly as you panted and cried, and soon an urgent feeling overwhelmed you until you almost choked.

“Cregan!” you called, pulling urgently at your shift, your skin erupting with an unbearable heat.

He knelt in front of you, holding the fabric away as you groaned and pushed, your body yielding to the pain. Your core felt as though it was being cleaved in two, but the midwives’ joyous cries kept you going.

“Our babe is coming, my love, the head is out,” you heard Cregan gasp.

He watched, mesmerized, as a midwife caught the babe’s shoulders, and another took the fabric from his hands—together they encouraged him to reach between your legs. With a great cry you delivered a final push, and soon he was catching his child with his own calloused hands.

Those were the hands of a warrior, rough and dry, and now they were holding the first breath of his second child. Tears came to his eyes as you collapsed against the bed, aided by your lady, grateful sobs wracking your frame at the sight of your lord husband holding your crying babe.

His usually solemn face was trembling with emotion, utter joy and love painted over his noble features. “You have a son, my lady, my lord,” the older midwife said. “Healthy as can be.”

Cregan sat at your side as you laid down on the sheets, and he put the babe against your breast as the afterbirth came and the cord was cut. “You did admirably, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You closed your eyes for a moment, surely exhausted, but to your husband’s dismay a maidservant entered your rooms.

Head lowered, she spoke in a meek voice. “It is custom, my Lord, that the babe is brought to the queen.”

Silence fell over you and your midwife sighed in regret. Surely the Maester had reported the impeding birth to Queen Alicent, robbing you of your peace. Without a word you pushed yourself from the bed, finding your feet with as much confidence as a newborn foal.

“Wife, you should remain abed,” Cregan admonished.

“Yes I should, but I would not stay in bed while my child is carried away,” you replied, clutching your son to your chest.

“Allow me to carry him, at the least,” he pleaded, and you allowed him to take him into his arms, cradling his small body to his chest. The baby fussed for a moment, but settled with a soothing hum from his father.

Your wobbled out of the room, pushing past the servant. Your sworn shield, Ser Erryk, called your name in surprise as you left the room, determined to match to the queen’s chambers with all your spite.

“Ser Erryk, please escort the princess,” came the order from Cregan, and the knight rushed to obey.

“This quarrel shall never end,” you complained to your husband as you were lead up the stairs, grateful that the late hour allowed you privacy from the prying eyes of the courtiers. “Her dislike for my sister does permeate everything.”

You remained silent save for uncomfortable grunts as you walked up the stairs, steadied by Ser Erryk’s strength. At your side, Cregan was carrying the drowsy babe, at which you smiled every time you paused for breath.

The Queen’s chambers were dimly lit as you entered, closely followed by your lord husband. He did not greet her, only nodded solemnly, which she did not comment on.

“Princess,” she said quietly, putting on a false smile. “Lord Stark. What a wonderful news in this cold evening.”

“Queen Alicent,” your husband replied coldly.

She approached, peering up at the bundle of linens. “A son,” he murmured, hiding his joy—he was a man of reserve, and did not wish to share his happiness with the queen.

“Little Rickon is surely elated to have a brother,” she replied.

“He will be when he learns of the news, we haven’t had the time to introduce him yet,” you said.

“Shouldn’t you be abed, Princess?” she suddenly gasped, as though she was only now realizing you were standing.

“Yes I should, your grace,” you replied curtly.

Cregan took in a sharp breath as Alicent pulled a lapel of the linens aside, and her face faltered slightly as she noticed the babe’s stark white hair. She had started her custom of seeing every babe born to noble ladies in the Keep after the birth of Prince Lucerys, curls as dark as his eyes.

Nature was strange indeed, and now that you had had a raven-haired child as well as one pale as snow, it did cast the shadow of doubt upon the queen's mind. “What is your son to be called, Lord Stark?” she asked, stepping away.

“We have not—” you started, but your husband’s answer stunned you into silence.

“Baelon.”

Tears rose to your eyes and you gasped audibly, reaching for your husband’s arm. You had often spoken of your departed brother, lamenting that you would only ever speak in this name with grief—you hadn’t dared suggesting it for your own children, as you thought a northern name would be preferred.

“Unusual name for a Stark,” the queen commented, and Cregan raised his chin in pride.

“A perfectly appropriate name for a child with dragon blood,” he replied. “Furthermore I thought it appropriate to pay homage to Queen Aemma, and to her departed son.”

Understanding dawned on Alicent’s face, but her gaze was looking over your husband’s shoulder. “A most kind gesture, Lord Stark,” said the king’s voice, and as your turned, you noticed your father standing in the doorway.

“Father,” you beamed, and Cregan was eager to hold the babe against the king’s chest as the frail man pressed a kiss to his pink brow.

“I am glad the name pleases you, your grace,” he said with warmth. “We shall take our leave. My wife needs to rest, and our son needs to nurse at her breast as soon as possible.”

“You shall nurse him?” Alicent gasped.

“It is custom in the north. Our children grow stronger for it,” Cregan answered and you leaned against his arm for support, looking at the queen.

Side by side, dragon princess and wolf lord, the two of you stood in silence and pride for a moment under the kind gaze of the king, and the colder one of the queen.

You used your husband as a crutch as you both walked out into the corridor, but you stopped at the stairs, pain making your head spin. “Thank you, husband,” you murmured gratefully, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I meant it. Your ancestry is to be celebrated. Now allow me to carry you, wife, you have toiled enough,” your lord husband offered.

“I would not get blood all over you,” you replied, looking down at the stones where blood was pooling under your foot, having run down your leg.

“I carried my wounded brothers on the battlefield, I can carry my bleeding wife after she gave me a son,” Cregan replied, and you knew there was no use discussing the matter further.

He then gestured for your midwife to come forward, and she rushed to him. She took the babe from his arms carefully, and proceeded to walk down the steps, herself escorted by your sworn shield.

“My mother used to say the childbed was the battlefield of women,” you remembered as your husband pulled you up into his arms, the back of your knees resting in the crook of his elbow.

If you weren’t so exhausted you would have blushed at his strength and the effortless way with which he carried you. “She was a wise woman,” he commented as he brought you down, step step, with a care that made tears come to your eyes.

“I wish you had known her,” you sighed into his neck as he cradled you closer.

“Perhaps you shall speak her name in joy again…” he hinted, and you smiled.

“I am barely done with delivering a babe, that you would give me another?” you asked, and another grateful kiss was pressed to your brow.

“I am merely assuring you of my eagerness to fulfill my duties as your husband. If you ever desire a little daughter to call by your mother’s name, then I shall provide,” he vowed, and ahead of you in the bleak hallway of the Keep, your baby soon cooed in the arms of your trusted midwife.

Dividers by @arcielee

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Hisses of snow clawed at the tall window panes of Lord Cregan Stark’s solar. Charcoal-hued eyes lingered over the recent trade made between House Cerwyn and House Hornwood, who now have brought their dispute before their Warden.

Maester Kennet stood cross-armed to the side, the glint of his chains bouncing off with the firelight. “The sale was struck before the deep frost,” He explained, “But both report thinning stores now.”

“These men marched with me,” Cregan grunted, as he did so frequently, rubbing his temples, “They’ll achieve nothing divided. Let them speak their grievances before me— send word at first light.”

The maester bows and slowly rises, “Yes, my lord. Riders shall be sent early on in the morrow.” A soft sigh left Cregan’s mouth, and the maester left shortly after.

Kennet would attempt to turn the corner as he passed the halls but, he was interrupted in doing so--he was met with you, who appeared before him, wearing a knowing smile.

“My Lady,” Stiffly, he bowed to the Targaryen princess, now Lady of Winterfell, who stood, assertively, with her dark furs and silver curls.

"Maester Kennet,” You began, a sly smile forming—and one would almost mistake you for a fox, not a dragon— “I presume you already know I heard all which was discussed. You are aware it is your lord’s nameday on the morrow?”

The maester raised a brow, puzzled, then nodded, “…Yes, my Lady, but duty calls—“

“And you know I am relentless, so be no fool— you will send word immediately, yes?”

You cocked your head to the side, continuing, “I want full accounting of grain stores from both Castle Cerwyn and Hornwood. Barley, oats, root vegetables, livestock numbers, fodder remaining. I want it tallied and sworn,” Your eyes narrowed, “And it will be ready by the first light, before my husband wakes.”

To argue against a Targaryen princess, and this one especially, would be a foolish thing to do. To reason, perhaps, would be smarter, “My lord has given instruction.”

“And I amend it. This dispute will not reach Winterfell. It will be resolved before it does."

“…And this is for Lord Stark’s judgement?”

You observed your nails, feigning disinterest, “Call it what you will, I do this in his good name. I will arrive on dragonback with our steward. It will be quick,” You sighed, “My husband’s nameday will not be tainted by petty lords. By the time he wakes, he’ll find this matter resolved.”

Kennet could only incline his head and comply, "...It will be as you wish it, my lady.” For if the wolf could be matched in wit and bite, it would be by none other than his own wife.

Blankets of pure, white snow stretched over the northern lands. Wagons stood on each side. Northern men would carve one another into oak if they could, but community meant everything in the North, and it could not afford a moment of fragility.

Even in conflict, they had one thing in common. Southerners repulsed them, and moreover, they shied away from southern politics. So to be summoned by a southern woman in their own lands, much less a Targaryen dragonrider who was now their overseer, needless to say— they were not happy, not at all.

A shriek echoed throughout the vast void that was this blizzard of a field, and a large shadow was cast above the men. You descended beyond the skies, with your dragon landing safely.

Groups of men bow to the Lady of the North. Without much flourish, you dismount your companion, and waste no time:

“Which party withheld grain first?” Stern. Stable, in control. Your past shaped you into what you were now; if not adored, you were at least respected to a degree here.

Lord Cerwyn shivered. Was it from the brutal chill of winter, or the possibility of getting smoked like a little lamb?

“Payment was delayed.” He'd finally manage.

Lord Hornwood’s eyes widened, “Our granary roof fell! We asked f'time, not mercy!”

You raised your hand. Your steward opened up the pamphlet of the tallies gathered at dawn, and handed it over elegantly, “…The contract stands." You began, "The purchase was made under law, and payment shall be honored,”

Hornwood protested, “My Lady—“

“The laws of trade cannot be disrupted. However,” You continued, “Lord Cerwyn shall release the withheld grain immediately. Half of the original amount will be paid now. The rest repaid in spring with added barley from the first harvest.”

You fixed a shocked Cerwyn with a level look, as he returned it with one of oblivion, “If Lord Hornwood’s stores fail, your east flank weakens. May I remind you, that the North must always stand united as one. A slip of one house, and you will not fear wheats my lords, already raiders.”

The lords shared a look.

You continued your judgement, “No grain wagons move without the seal of Winterfell. I will see to it. This, it is shared survival.”

The men bow. They dare not protest, only follow your word, “It will be done, my Lady."

The two houses do not hold hands and sing off into the flakes of the cold. They don’t hold each other in affection.

But they are all bound in necessity and in survival. You understood. They understood.

And perhaps, that is enough.

Frantic and heavy footsteps left marks in the deep snow. Cregan Stark, in all his disarray, headed over to the dragonpit he had built for his princess all those years ago. Humble in comparison to the original, now ruined one in King’s Landing, but a sweet gift.

What his dear wife did, was not so sweet. Once Cregan rose in the morn, he had grasped the empty sheets next to him, which had already grown cold. Only to hear from his maester that his lady rode off into the skies little after dawn, to solve a conflict you had overheard (you sneaky minx).

You hadn't been back for hours.

Thankfully, your dragon was a little less discreet than you were. He stormed into the pit, the slam of the doors echoing throughout it as they hit the walls. He rolled his eyes once he spotted you getting off your dragon, as if he were the princess and not you.

You turned to find your slightly agitated husband standing still. You rushed toward him, but he had already begun his monologue.

“What have you done? Did I have to pray to the Old Gods and new that some raider did not shoot you down—“ Clasping your arms around his neck, you pulled him down till your foreheads met, and you whispered against his lips,

“Happy nameday, love,” You giggled at his little frown, and crashed your lips against his before he could retaliate. There was nothing for Cregan to do, other than return it, before you pulled away and he grumbled at the loss of contact. “May your winters be many.”

"My winters will be scarce if you do not quit." He snaked his arms around you, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t adore the way he hovered over you completely, “Is that your gift to me? A heart attack?”

You could but laugh at that.

“A haart-uh-tack.”

Cregan scoffed, and a truly devout smile made its way to his lips, as he lifted you off the ground and spun you around. You laughed, and once he set you down, he went in for more.

He smelled of firewood smoke. Even amidst all this cold, you could smell him— take him in, all of him. The way pieces of his hair tickled your forehead, how the black furs of his attire loomed over, prickling at your chin and neck, how he could unapologetically swing you around if he wanted…

And despite all the fieriness you held, Cregan found patience in his heart for you. He learned to be gentle with you; not in the patronizing way, but out of true admiration. A soft sound left you once you felt him pull away. When he looked at you again, he was serious,

“I trust you to do just about anything. But,” His gloved hand stroked your cheek, “Just tell me you’re flying off next time.”

“I thought I would be back by noon,” You leaned into his hand, and intertwined your two arms around his singular one, “I helped some men carry over logs on dragonback, their barrow broke in the heaps of snow."

“Still—“

“It saves you the hassle and the headache,” With your hands on his chest, you gave a kiss to his jaw, “You deserve peace on this day. Your day. And I am sorry for worrying you."

He searched your eyes, and a certain spark overtook his. “You are good.” He rested his chin on your head, hugging you wholly, “So good to me. Only sometimes, you like to tip me over the edge, wife.”

You murmured an unusually unapologetic sorry in the ruffles and layers of his clothes, giggling when he’d respond, “No, you’re not.”

You’d take him riding afterwards on your dragon, which he was (more than he’d like to admit) always quite scared of, but he and the big thing grew friendlier each day. He loved looking down on Winterfell, its tall walls of granite and castles circling the Godswood.

The Great Hall of Winterfell bristled with crowds of nobles. In it, lords and ladies alike toasted and indulged in the banquet, a lively image.

The Lady of the North took it upon herself to curate this feast. Walked the markets, made spares as not to endanger the winter reserves, and commissioned fishermen and hunters expensively to gather food.

Your long curls hung over the chair, and you observed every move. You’d fix a smile at every lord that would bow in passing, and have already indulged in the crude gossips of the ladies. Your lord husband sat beside you, having drunk a cup or three of black beer.

You felt the scent linger as he leaned in to whisper, “You’ll scare ‘em off,” A wolfish smirk graced his features, “You’re scary, got more fangs than a direwolf."

“I am simply making sure all is well,” You placed your hand over his, and though yours paled in size compared to his, it still weakened him in the knees. You traced your fingers over his knuckles, smiling, “You’re quite pretty today, nameday boy.”

“Boy.” Cregan huffed, planting a soft kiss to your head. “Pretty, aye. You’re the only one who thinks so.”

A gasp feigning shock left your lips, and you gently rubbed along his jaw with your thumb, “Non-sense. You’re quite the beauty. Had I been born a man, I would joust and crown you king of love and beauty.”

He laughed, a deep and rough sound it was— but managed to still be kind on your ears. “You’d joust, even as a lady, I fear.”

“You fear?”

“I fear for the men you’d cripple.” Without a beat, he said, as if it were not even a question in his mind.

“I would not cripple them,” You waved him off, “But it would hurt them...” Your finger trailed over the interlaces of his braid. It made you smile, the sight of it.

You scooted over, closer to your husband, “You let me braid your hair, Cregan.” You murmured softly, “You are adorable.”

To see a man so big, both in reputation and size, be reduced to almost a pup of sorts— He blushed at your words, but retained a tight hold of your hand. “Yes. That I did. It made you happy… obviously.”

He turned to you fully, and scattered small pecks atop your head. Men and women could simply watch off to the side, the two of you being continuously enveloped around each other. Whether it was inappropriate or not, mattered nada amount to either of you.

“Thank you,” He cooed against you, “You did not have to do this.”

“No, I had to. Gods, your eyebags have been getting horrendous lately.” You smirked, and he pinched the skin on your hand.

“...Well, if I was born a man, would you love me the same?”

Cregan tilted his head, “You are still on the talk of that jousting bit,” He rolled his eyes, those beautiful greys of his,

“I would love you the same, were you a cedar-tree, moonbloom or dragonfly.”

“That is quite more complicated than the proposition of me having a cock.” Which elicited a harsher pinch now, and it made you squeal and lightly slap his hand away, but he grinned so hard, you could only smile back.

A dramatic sigh departed from you, “I love you too,” You said finally, and grasped around your cup of wine. It was not long after, that the two of you abandoned that feast, in search of a different dragonride.

🛻•Trucker!Cregan:

Type of shit you send Cregan when he's on the road

Cregan when he comes back home after a long drive

You asked him to 'kidnap' you part two

He takes you whenever, wherever

You wanted to enjoy nature, he wanted to enjoy you

How he gets you to say yes to sex

He saw this on pornhub and decided he wanted to try

When the kids aren't home

Long story short of how you get pregnant

While the kids are in bed

Yk how I said he makes reader ride him even when she's super pregnant?..

📚•Nerd!Cregan:

Sucking off Cregan while he plays his games

Teasing him

He convinced you to dress up, you convinced him to cum

He finally lets you touch him

Touching Cregan in public just might be your favourite thing in the world

He fucks you in his room part two

He finally gets confidence part two

Hold fuck - his thought process

Probably his favourite thing in the world

He's so soft I can't 😭🩷

He finally learnt how to munch part two

🔧•Mechanic!Cregan:

He might be sweet, but he loves a good fuck

Cregan fucking you at work

Desperate

He loves to focus on you part two

He fucks you in your ruined Porsche part two

Fucking Aegon's sister

He loves waking up to you ontop

100% sends this to you when he's supposed to be stepping in for Harwin at work

He normally treats you like a princess but you've been bratty

He loves fucking you in his car part two part three part four part five part six

Quickly, before he has to go to work

🍻•Frat!Cregan:

Cregan changes positions 24/7

You bounce on his cock while Alysanne sits on his face

Getting fucked by Cregan and Jacaerys while Baela and Rhaena suck Lucerys off

He loves making his innocent tutor do something dirty

How you look after a party at Cregan's frat

You're just a thing to fuck to Cregan

Cregan ruins you while Jace watches

He manages to convince his best friends little sister to be naughty

You're dedicated to your studies but Cregan can't bear not getting sucked off every five bloody minutes

Riding his thigh when he's supposed to be studying for his exam, he's using you as an excuse for when he fails it part two-he fails his exam

Tell me frat boy!Cregan wouldn't do this to innocent!reader

He's a man of many positions

He loves sharing you with Jace

he LOVES sharing the same hole with Jacaerys

💪•Himbo!Cregan:

Cregan can't resist, even when you're supposed to be in control

Valentine’s Day surprise

Big, beefy and breaking your back

He's a rough fuck but.. worth it

He shows you just how strong he is

This is just so himbo!Cregan omg

This is also so himbo!Cregan coded 😭

He loves to pleasure you but you just couldn't stop wriggling so this is how he holds you

He loves video games but he also loves your cunt, gah! Which one to choose?! How about both 🤭 part two

You wanted to try being in control

🐺•HOTD!Cregan:

He loves you bouncing on him when he's tired

Fucking you on the sofa

Sleepy sex go brrr

Uh-.. yeah.. Cregan loves doggy

Holding you down

He got a littleee too excited about fucking Jace's daughter

REAL MEN EAT PUSSY

Treating you like a QUEEN

Fucking Alysanne's sister at his own wedding

Oh he 100% bear hugs you while he fucks

🐉•Jacaerys extras!:

Jacaerys would 100% send you this

Jacaerys has to do this when he fucks his pretty little twin

He doesn't have the heart to sully his aunt

He loves being as close as he possibly can be

He can't quite seem to get enough

Holding down his girlfriends!bsf while he fucks her

His bully teases him

Fucking Luke's girlfriend

hope y'all enjoy my lovelies!!