whole house hot idccc

the type of man who specifically goes for mentally ill, broke girls with daddy issues.

Synopsis: Ormund and Reader adjust to their new quarters in Tumbleton.

Author's Note: Hello everyone. I was inspired to write this after seeing the latest House of the Dragon episode (featuring the unhinged and dreamy Ormund). Hope you enjoy the fic. :)

CW: some sexual content, Ormund being an ass, Reader being dismissive of the Footly's, the Footly's bed being featured in the sexual content, mention of gelding, mention of bad soldier

You had accompanied Ormund on the road during the last few months of his campaign for King Aegon.

So when you were informed by your Lord husband of House Hightower’s new allegiance to Rhaenyra, you were expecting a swift return to Old Town.

But Ormund had other plans.

In the privacy of your pavilion he confided in you.

“Would you remain by my side and see Daeron sit on the Iron Throne?” he asked.

You simply stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Of course. I’d follow you anywhere, my love.”

So you made your way to Tumbleton.

~

The initial transition had been rocky.

Thousands of Hightower soldiers were scattered across the town, crowding into already cramped homes. 

There were sure to be difficulties that would arise.

Ormund had secured lodgings in the home of Lord and Lady Footly.

While he strategized with his counselors, the Lord and Lady gave you a tour.

“As we were explaining to your Lord husband,” Lady Footly said. “This is our ancestral home.”

“I vaguely remember a mention of that.” 

The Lady Footly glared at her husband who nervously spoke.

“Forgive us Lady Hightower, it is just, the sheer amount of people here. It is overwhelming, is it not?”

You hummed in agreement.

“Yes, your home is rather small compared to what we are used to, but it will have to do for now.”

Lady Footly opened her mouth to speak only for you to interrupt.

“Thank you for this tour my lord and lady but I must return to my husband. When you have a spare moment please send your cook to see me. His lordship will require meals suited to his palette.

Lady Footly scoffed. 

“This is outrageous! Where are we supposed to sleep?”

You pondered her question.

“Oh yes we have taken refuge in your bedchamber, and we are grateful. Do not fret, I am sure there is room in the servants quarters.”

Before the quarrel could escalate Daeron emerged before you.

“Forgive the interruption my Lady, but Lord Hightower requests your presence.”

You nodded.

“Of course, my prince.”

Lady Footly pushed past the two of you while her husband scurried behind her. When they had turned the corner you looked back to your husband's ward.

“Daeron, you are a prince of the realm. You must never tolerate such disrespect from such insignificant people. 

He nodded.

“Yes my lady.”

~

Later that night you found yourself in the Footly’s bed being vigorously fucked by your husband.

“Ormund,” you murmured into his ear.

You clung onto his broad shoulders as he thrusted into you.

Ormund took a perverse pride in feeling how desperately your cunt clenched around his cock. 

You unraveled shortly after with your husband following behind.

~

You rested your head on Ormund’s chest, the flimsy bedsheets covering your waist and nothing else.

“I loved watching you handle that earlier,”you said. “The soldier in your charge.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. 

“A gelding felt appropriate.”

“You were so commanding,” you continued. “And devilishly handsome of course.”

He laughed. 

“I commend you on your strength to wait until we made it to the bedroom before you stripped me bare.”

You lazily ran your index finger up and down his stomach.

“The Footly’s voiced their displeasure with me about losing their bedchamber. Although, after looking at Lord Footly, I cannot imagine why his lady wife would have been eager to reclaim it.”

Your husband slowly pushed you on your side and positioned himself behind you.

“I’d wager you are the first woman to be properly fucked in this bed,” he suggestively said.

You took his hand and guided it to your still soaking cunt.

“And I’ll wager I will be the first to be fucked more than once in this bed.”

He leaned over and whispered in your ear.

“I’ll take that bet.”

~

Summary: Your husband, Ormund, likes having you read him letters and petitions from other lords. But besides the contentment of hearing your voice, he also seeks other pleasures... 'multitasking', if you will. (AT! THE! SAME! DAMN! TIME!).

Warning: Straight up cockwarming, 18+, MDNI, p in v.

You were just about to turn the page of the book you were engrossed in when the heavy oak door swung open, and Ormund’s tall figure entered the room without delay.

You remained where you were, lying in your sheer nightgown, as your husband moved around, tossing a few sheets of paper onto the bed before hastily removing his doublet. His urgency bordered on desperation.

Ormund Hightower was a man of grace, the esteemed pillar of the Reach. Behind closed doors, however, that grace began to unravel. And you recognised that look instantly.

He craved warmth. He sought the solid comfort of his wife. He needs you.

Perfumer ✅

CREGAN STARK // marriage, f!reader, reader is from the south (the house is not specified), np description of reader apart from the ability to blush, no dance! (so rhaenyra inherited the throne peacefully), lots of children (cause stark men are breeders i don't make the rules), fluff, posessive!cregan, p in v, unprotected sex

Cregan Stark could not say that being picky was part of his character. Having spent almost his entire life entirely in the North, he was forced to get used to conditions that could not exactly be called the easiest. Winterfell, although being a fortress surrounded by high walls and tightly locked gates, was still not an oasis of comfort and ease in existence.

Harsh northerly winds accompanied the inhabitants; they began to sing in the late afternoon, and at night they howled like hungry wolves after hearing a cry for help from a mate. This wind could not be held back by the walls, the stone quickly became shiveringly cold, forcing everyone from maids to lords to wrap themselves in furs on the beds, and sometimes even sleep by the fireplace, with the fire still burning right in front of their faces.

Therefore, Cregan was not spoiled or picky. Brought up in strictness, who saw and felt only strictness, he did not grumble at the long absence of hot water for such a necessary bath at the end of the day, and also did not snap if the maid who entered his chambers accidentally saw him almost naked.

But it was certainly hard for him to sit here, at the big table of your Lord Brother's castle, and feel like he was thrown alive into a huge fire. He was not a fool, no, once in the South, he exchanged woolen clothes and furs for something lighter. But that did not stop the sweat from running down his back like a waterfall.

Wedding celebrations were one of the things that made the North so different from the South. When you excitedly informed your husband that your younger brother was finally getting married and you wanted to go and congratulate him, Cregan nodded immediately, earning your soft smile and a sweet kiss on the cheek. How could he refuse you? Over the past ten and five years, you have only left Winterfell a few times, having settled in as Lady Stark, who managed the affairs of the house and made sure that the inhabitants of the nearby villages also received all the necessary things for existence during the winter, be it clothes or food.

But he certainly did not expect that the South would turn out to be so Southern.

“Mother, let me.” Rickon's voice echoed nearby, and Cregan turned his head in his son's direction.

Already tall, with the same brown eyes and gray eyes as his father, the young man took his little sister from your arms, who pulled your hair, preventing you from talking to the ladies around you.

Everyone wanted to get to know Lady Stark better, who, having once gone to the North for an arranged engagement with the Warden of the North, returned with five children on a visit. The youngest was barely a year old, still nursing at your breast, and she was restless, forever wanting to escape from her parents and maids. But Rickon, the older brother, always had a soothing effect on her. She calmed down once in his arms and listened attentively to his voice as he distracted her by showing her the patterns of the tapestries that hung on the walls.

Cregan spread his legs and leaned back in his chair, wanting to let some fresh air into the fabric of his trousers, which felt hot to him, almost like molten steel. This heat of the Southern Lands will kill him, for the Gods sake.

“You must dance with me.” You were next to him in two long strides, and immediately put your hand on his shoulder.

“I do not dance.”

“But you did. At a feast to spite Lord Umber. ”

Bloody hell.

Of course you remembered that evening. In the fourth year of your marriage, you were already heavy with your second child, your bulging belly a clear symbol of fertility and an imminent addition to the cold castle walls. But old Lord Umber, after drinking too much beer, decided he could ask you to dance. You could not refuse, not wanting to look impolite, but Cregan could barely stand a couple of minutes, looking at how all a man did was touching you.

But the dance in which the two of you twirled then was hardly similar to what was required today. Then the other Lords and Ladies would shout old northern songs, and you, deeply pregnant, would jump and spin, maneuvering in Cregan's arms as he sang along with his bass voice, never taking his eyes off your flushed cheeks and bright smile.

No, right now, what you asked him for was different.

But he got up anyway, feeling the fabric of the cape come off the chair, and followed you as you moved into the open space where other couples were already dancing. You put one of his hands on your waist, and put the other in your palm.

Cregan hardly looked confident. Every now and then he would almost step on your foot, managing to hover his foot in the air at the last moment. He was not used to these slow movements, these melodious sounds that instruments made in the hands of musicians while your brother was spinning next to you with his bride. But you led him along, showing the awkward wolf how to move in the presence of a sheep.

“You are rather hot.”

“Thank ya.” Cregan raised an eyebrow.

“No, I...” You immediately blushed, realizing exactly how your words sounded. “You are sweating, Cregan.” You came closer to him, sliding your palm over his shoulder lower, to his shoulder blade.

“Yer lands are not famous for cool breezes.”

“Mm.” You mumbled, accepting his weak explanation. “Or maybe the Warden of the North just does not like spending time in the places where his wife was raised.”

Cregan did not say anything, looking into your eyes. Soon his legs caught the rhythm of the movements, and he slid his palm from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I see how happy our children are 'ere. How Rickon looks at the customs of the knights 'ere and how the younger ones enjoy lemon cakes. And I see how ya look in southern fabrics.”

Oh.

So that was what it was all about. You changed your northern wardrobe to silk and cotton fabrics as soon as you arrived at your family castle. You no longer had to protect yourself from the biting cold, and were finally able to wrap your body in light fabrics that accentuate your figure, rather than weighing down your stride.

Cregan spread his palm on your back, and you could feel each of his fingers even through the fabric. He was hot. And this time you understood exactly what it meant.

“Are the children with maids?” He leaned closer to your face so that only you could hear his voice, feel the desire in every syllable that came out of his mouth.

You nodded.

“Good.” He stopped, took his hand off of your back.

He kissed your other hand, which he held in his, his lips touched your knuckles, and then pulled you along. Rickon was able to see how his father led you through a large ceremonial hall and just shook his head, realizing that he would have to bring his little sister to the maid himself.

The window in the chambers assigned to you was widely open because Cregan could not stand the constant heat. And that was exactly where he bent you over, pulling your dress down and covering your back with kisses, along your spine, from your neck to the swell of your ass.

You rested your elbows on the stone ledge near the window, hiding enough so that the guard passing under the windows could not see your naked torso. The last thing you wanted was to compromise yourself and let a strange man see you naked.

Cregan spread the cheeks of your ass with his big palms, and then he went down and put his lips to your slit, first teasing with his breath, and then diving in and kissing the way only he could, deeply, capturing your lips in his mouth and sucking.

You moaned, arching your back and pushing your hips back as the dress fell to the floor, forming waves around your legs. Cregan quickly reached for the laces of his breeches and got rid of them fast. You heard the sound of fabric tearing and looked over your shoulder. Cregan grunted, straightening up and throwing his cape and shirt, which now showed a hole in the side, over his head.

“Useless southern fabrics.”

“Such angry words, husband.”

His gray eyes sparkled when he met your gaze, and you gasped as he lightly slapped your ass, then immediately squeezed your hips, pulling you towards him to rub his already hard length between the cheeks of your ass.

You moaned again.

“It is not the words I am expectin' to hear from ya now.”

When he entered you, hard and thick, you fell headfirst into your arms, unable to hold back a long moan. After so many years of marriage, still, every time your husband filled you up, you felt like on your wedding night, when, having prepared you out with his two thick fingers, Cregan began to slowly enter you, restraining his own growls from the tightness that your pussy created.

Cregan exhaled, entering all the way in, and gently stroked your lower back, not so much forcing you to bend more, as giving you time to get used to it, but still indicating that he was there, he was with you. You wiggled your hips, letting him know you were ready.

Perhaps it was the stereotypically wolfish nature that sometimes got the better of him during intimacy, but now Cregan was taking you from behind, his hips thrusting into you with blatant, vulgar slaps, while one of his palms kneaded your breast, making you whimper every time he circled your nipple with his index finger; with his other palm he stroked your sensitive mount, his fingers collected moisture from your folds so that the glide was better, and moved slightly upward, massaging that place, which made you squeeze your thighs with pleasure.

Any guard passing by on patrol could have heard you two. The sounds that came from the open window of your chambers indicated only one thing; that here, at this hour, the Lord and his Lady were making passionate love. The love that brought them four healthy children; the love that made the maids at Winterfell blush in the morning when they looked at you; the love that was understandable to any Lord who barely saw at the looks Cregan gave you.

And when you felt him gently bite your shoulder, pouring inside, giving you his hot and thick seed, you trembled in his arms, reaching your peak. Cregan continued to stimulate your clit, and then turned your head and caught your moans with his lips, kissing you deeply and possessively.

The light evening wind hit your naked bodies, but you did not budge, still hot and connected to each other.

“Mayhaps we can bring another pup home.” Cregan kissed you gently on the shoulder, his palm rose and rested on your stomach.

He was insatiable.