Brandon Sklenar As Spencer Dutton+

Brandon Sklenar as Spencer Dutton 🥃+🚬

(via @ riverxturner on IG)

Home is Where the Heart Is

Pairing ❅ Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Tags ❅ post-Dance, fluff and smut, p. in v. sex, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, mild breeding kink, consensual somnophilia

Wordcount ❅ 3,280

After almost two years of absence, your husband Cregan finally returns home from war. The two of you spend a long, heated night rediscovering each other's body.

Cregan Masterlist

This is a gift for my dearest friend @thenameswinter99 ♡

A frantic atmosphere had taken over Winterfell as your husband’s banners had been spotted on the horizon, estimating their arrival within the hour. After almost two years of a bloody war ending with a child on the throne, the Northerners were finally coming home to their mothers, wives, and children. 

As the sound of hooves and cries of merry welcomes came from the Winter Town, you felt your breath leave your chest, and soon the first horses were crossing the gates of the stronghold.

You held onto your composure as best as you were able, your nails digging into the back of your hand as tears rose to your eyes—finally, your lord husband entered the courtyard, his noble bearing recognizable among his men.

Sitting atop a large mare, he cut the perfect image of the victorious warrior, a heavy cloak of furs wrapped around his shoulders and the wide, ancestral swords of his family strapped to his back.

His dark curls were pulled back into a bun at the back of his head, a thick beard covering the lower half of his face—you could not hold your tears at the sight of him, your heart bursting from sheer relief and joy.

You cried out as your husband dismounted from his horse and ran to his side, mindless of the company. The solemn air on his face dropped in emotion and he caught you easily, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him roughly.

He crushed his mouth to yours with a deep hum—his lips were cold, but his tongue was heated as he pushed into your mouth. The kiss was rougher than you remembered, his hand curling painfully at your waist.

However the relief that seeped through your bones made you so pliant you were grateful for his hold on you, lest you would have collapsed at his feet.

“How I missed you, wife,” he groaned against your lips as you pulled away for a breath that turned into a grateful laugh. “I prayed every night that the war would be short, so that I might return to you.”

He held you as you sobbed in his neck, breathing in the smell of him as he pressed grateful kisses into your hair. “Oh, how I prayed you would return to me safely,” you cried.

Around the two of you, servants were welcoming their lord home, and he could only thank them briefly before he turned his attention back to you.

“Let us get you out of the cold,” you pulled him along, and he went gratefully. 

However as you crossed the threshold into the castle, Cregan pushed you against the wall, crushing his mouth against yours again, and you kissed him back passionately. You unbuckled his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, eager to feel his touch after so long an absence, and it only spurred him on.

He removed his last buckles, propping his sword against the wall and almost lifted you off the floor in his eagerness to drag you along. He pushed you into the nearest hall, which was being prepared—a fire was being lit, along with candles, and fresh wine was being poured into the jugs.

“Out! All of you,” he barked to the servants. “You’ll carry on later.”

The maids scurried out, giggling behind the piles of linen they were carrying, and you laughed when he kicked the door closed, backing you against the large table at the center of the room. You unlaced the front of your grown, sighing as his lips descended from your neck to your chest, sucking the soft peak of your breast into his mouth.

“I need you now, I can hardly wait,” he groaned against your skin, his hands seeking the bare skin of your thighs. 

You propped yourself up on the tabletop and he stepped between your parted legs, his hips bucking into your touch as you pulled at his belt. You tugged at the buckles and laces until you could press your hand into the cloth of his undergarments—he hissed at the cold feeling of your hand, but his desire was so that he still throbbed against your palm.

The mounting need at the base of his cock drove him forward and soon he was pressing in the cradle of your hips, his swollen head parting your soft folds. “How I missed you,” you sighed as your core clenched, a deep ache that made your head spin.

He pushed into you in one hurried thrust and it was your turn to hiss, the burning stretch almost overwhelming. The broken sound he made was quick to make the pain fade, and you rocked your hips into the delicious heat as he thrusted into you, crazed and imprecise. 

You were unbearably tight from his absence and he found himself in a similar predicament—it was as though he had become unpracticed, the eagerness and clumsiness of the first embraces returning, and his whole body was alight with an uncontrollable fire.

Within a few thrusts he found himself breathless with shame, as his stones tightened and he was powerless to stop it, the tension at the base of his cock snapping suddenly. 

He groaned, deep and rough, and you felt yourself flush all over when you realized what was taking place. 

“Fuck, fuck—” he cursed into the soft curve of your shoulder, quivering in your hold.

You moaned breathlessly into his hair as he spilled his seed inside of you, holding you tight as he pulsed, hot and deep within your core. You kissed him through the last quivering shudders, finding yourself almost dizzy with excitement—it was always a sight to see him lose control, and this display of ungovernable passion had excited you.

“I am sorry,” he sighed as he finally stilled, hiding his disappointment in your shoulder. “It has been too long.”

“Did you not… share your bed with anyone else?” you inquired, swallowing your nerves but holding onto your compassion, hoping you would find it in yourself to be gracious and to forgive—war was long and arduous, lonely, and you would not blame a man for seeking a quick relief. 

“Never,” he vowed, pulling away far enough for his gaze to bear into yours, fierce and honest. “I would never betray you in this way.”

You smiled, caught between relief and your unsatisfied arousal, and he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry, this is not the welcome you had expected.”

“I am happy you are home, safe and unhurt,” you said sincerely, your fingers trailing in his beard. It was longer now than it had previously been, and you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy this new length. “Are you, though, unhurt?”

“Just a few aches and healing wounds,” he said against your lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you offered, pushing him back gently and sliding off the table top, feeling his seed trail down your inner thighs as you did so.

A hot bath had been run in your chambers, and Cregan almost groaned in relief as he saw it, the vision of steaming water a truly welcomed one. As lady of Winterfell, you had made sure that everything was ready for the return of your men. A feast was awaiting your warriors, along with hot baths in every room—the whole castle had rationed resources for weeks to allow for this, but it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. 

A few weeks of bland soup and fewer fires were nothing compared to the sacrifices the men had made for the realm, securing its peace and stability.

The chambers you shared with your husband were no exception, a deep fire was ablaze and a copper tub was full with steaming water. The Maester had prepared a tea for pain, along with several oils and ointments for wounds in various stages of healing.

Even though the custom was different in most of the realm, with ladies having their separate rooms from their lord husbands, Cregan had welcomed you into his own chamber and insisted that it wasn’t natural for a man to be apart from his wife. 

You had appreciated his warmth, and how comfortable he had made you feel during your first night as a wedded couple. He had been assured and slightly commanding, with an underlying tenderness you would have never expected from such a hardened man. 

You had only been apart for a few nights at a time when he had left for war. It was far different than him leaving to visit a vassal house, and time had dragged. You had thrown yourself in matters of your estate, in making sure your people were provided for during the long and harsh winter.

His thick leather doublet was soon discarded, the belt still undone from your hurried embrace, and you were happy to leave him to kick it aside, throwing his boots on top. You stepped behind him as his linen undershirt was revealed, stained and wrinkled, and pulled it up. It revealed a long scar that ran along his shoulder down his upper back, and you stifled a sob. 

You rested your forehead against his shoulder blade as he pulled the garment up and over his head. Your arms wrapped around his thick waist and he welcomed your touch, leaning back into your tender embrace, his hands coming to cover yours.

“How I missed you,” you lamented, rubbing your face into his cool skin, inhaling the scent of him. Your core was still running hot, your desire unsatisfied, and the smell of his sweat and musk was only incensing you more.

“I thought of you, every spare moment that I had,” he confessed, his calloused thumb tracing tender circles on the back of your hand. “Every night when I laid down to rest, I prayed that I would see you again.”

“I never washed the shirts you wore before you left. I curled up on our bed every night, clinging to them,” you admitted as he turned to you, tracing the swell of your bottom lip with his calloused thumb.

“You made me train and sweat in them on purpose,” he replied, amused, but his grin was quickly swallowed by a deep kiss, in which he leaned in eagerly. You pushed yourself up, your hands mapping his shoulders and chest, your fingertips digging into his skin—your desire was still running high, and it made his hunger simmer anew in the pit of his stomach.

“Allow me to wash for a minute, then I shall give you what you deserve,” he said, his voice a warm rumble. 

You licked your lips, your gaze roaming appreciatively along the curves of his muscles, admiring the firmness of his backside as he turned again, discarding his trousers and undergarments before stepping into the bath.

He groaned as he lowered himself into the hot water, reaching to cup some into his hands and bring it to his face. You were quick to grab some soap and dip it under the surface before lathering it between your palms—Cregan groaned as you washed his hair, rubbing his scalp firmly.

You worked in comfortable silence for a minute, unwilling to bring up matters of the estate or the settling peace—you had exchanged letters on these topics, and now you wished to forget you were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. In this room, you were merely husband and wife.

Cregan pressed heated kisses into your neck as you leaned over the edge of the tub, brought a cloth to his hairy chest and abdomen, then his strong thighs, and he felt himself stiffen again under your gaze.

He had often thought of the way you would welcome him upon his return, and while you had never been shy with your desires, you were looking at him with a hunger he had never seen from you before.

“Let me see you,” he commanded gently, and you were quick to undress, unlacing your gown and removing the layers of cotton and wool that kept you warm. You shivered under the slight chill of the room and the intensity of his gaze—your breasts rose in two firm peaks and your thighs pressed together, looking to ease the ache in your core.

“I need you,” you whined as he reached for you, bringing you into the bath easily. He sucked a bruising kiss to your breast as you came to straddle his thick waist, pressing you against him with one hand cupping your behind.

He encouraged you to rock against him, seeking your pleasure against his stomach while his spent cock slowly regained vigor, hardening against your backside. You pressed your core to his stiffening length, sighing in relief as the swollen head dipped between your folds, catching on the sensitive dip leading to your entrance.

Cregan sucked on your breast greedily, and the hard pull was making you mewl. The tub was narrow, and you could hardly move as you wished to, and soon you were whining in frustration. Ever eager and unwilling to slow down your endeavors, he rose in one smooth push, carrying you out of the bath easily. 

He wrapped a linen around your shoulders, then pushed you to lay down on the pelts in front of the fire. He wasted no time climbing down your body, pressing face between your thighs, his mouth open against your wetness.

“Fuck, how I missed that cunt,” he groaned, making you flush, your toes curling into the soft furs. Never before had you heard your husband speak in such a way. You supposed the company of men had roughened him and loosened his tongue.

“Husband,” you cried out as he licked a broad stripe up your folds. 

The burn of his beard on your inner thighs was delicious, and you keened as he sucked on your pearl, his tongue curling against you in a manner that made your head spin. It wasn’t long before your back arched, your pleasure cresting to impossible heights. He did not relent, wanting to swallow your pleasure, to feel you pulse against his tongue, and he groaned in time with the quivering of your hips.

He didn’t wait for the aftershocks to subside, only climbed up your body and pressed his cock into you with one deep thrust. The sudden stretch made you keen, and the quick rhythm he started kept you afloat, not allowing you the descent after your peak, the aftershocks of your climax turning into great waves of sharp pleasure. 

“How sweet that cunt is,” Cregan groaned, looking down at you, gauging your reaction. You arched your back, a pleased smile gracing your face, and your husband pressed his own grin to your mouth.

“Every night that I was alone, I regretted that I was not carrying a part of you inside me,” you said, and it seemed to spur him on. You had mourned the arrival of your blood a few weeks after he had left, sobbing in the privacy of your rooms, devastated that you would spend this war alone. “Please do not leave me empty ever again.”

“I won’t,” he vowed, his hips grinding into yours, seeking the angle that would make your back grow taut and your stomach quiver.

“I want a babe, husband, I beg you,” you whined, clenching around his cock.

Cregan moaned, louder than you had ever heard him—he had always been more reserved, if only a bit rough and impatient sometimes.

“I’ve already spilled in you once, perhaps it is already done,” he breathed into your mouth. 

“Once is not enough,” you replied, your legs wrapping around his waist and keeping him close, forcing him to bring your body with him when he rocked back, picking up speed. 

“I shall make sure it takes this time,” he promised, his hips snapping into yours sharply. “I promise that you shall be round with my pup before this winter ends.” 

You didn’t think it possible, but somehow you were sure a second peak would soon take you. Your breasts were bouncing with each thrust and your pleasure was almost painful in its intensity.

Sweat running down his temples, Cregan kept his dark gaze on you, a winter storm pulling you into its fierceness. Your heels dug into his backside as you threw your head back, your peak ripping through you and Cregan swallowed your moans from your mouth.

He spilled once more a second later, your nails leaving crescent moons on the skin of his back as you clung to him, praying that his seed would take root.

Cregan was awoken by the peace and quiet of the room, the fire had turned to warm coals and crackling embers in the dark. He had become so used to the urgency of battle and the ever-present tension of the war camps that this first night back in his chambers, in his home, felt like a pocket of borrowed time.

He slipped out from under the linens and furs, calming his frayed nerves with a long drink of wine, but what soothed the crawling under his skin was the sight of you burrowed under the pelts.

He realized there was nothing that meant home quite like the vision of his lady wife in the warmth and comfort of his bed, the sigil of his house embroidered on the pillow peeking from under your splayed hair.

He stood at the foot of the bed for a long while, gazing at you, a breathless feeling swelling in his chest—pure adoration, he knew, and a devoted love that had only grown in the long months you had been apart. His loins stirred again as you shifted slightly, sighing in your sleep. He slid a hand between his legs and gave himself a slow pull, his hardening length twitching in his loose grasp.

He climbed back onto the bed, crawling over you who were lying on your side, and pulled the covers aside, pressing his hips against your backside. “Cregan?” you whispered, your closed eyelids fluttering.

“I need you again, my love,” he murmured, his large palm curling around your thigh and pressing it upwards, exposing your folds. His cock was hard as it pressed against you, sliding along the dip of wetness that remained from your earlier embraces.

“Yes,” you murmured, and your lord husband was quick to push into you. The stretch was comfortable as you were still loose and pliant from sleep, and the angle burned a delicious heat in your core.

“It won’t be long,” Cregan grunted, on his knees behind you, his hips snapping forward in short, desperate thrusts. As he lost himself to the pleasure of your cunt once more, his groans and grunts falling from his lips with each push into your tight warmth, you found yourself floating above your own body. 

Eyes still closed and sleep still clouding your mind, you remained motionless and quiet, save for a few whimpers and sighs. Cregan hadn’t lied and it was over quite soon, with him gripping your hip tightly and grunting aloud, his cock pulsing deep inside of you.

Your own peak was just as fast and sharp, your core clenching around his throbbing length in a way that rendered you so light-headed you could only be grateful to be lying down, a breath away from slumber.

You whined as he pulled out of you, but your dismay was short-lived as he came to lie down at your back, cradling you against his hard, hairy chest. “Sleep now, my love. I shall have you again in the morn,” he promised, and the warm rumble of his voice eased you back into the land of dreams.

Dividers by @arcielee

Thank you to my lovely @/arcielee for beta reading it ♡

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Comment to be added to the taglist.

Cregan taglist: @kateris-world @elleclairez @watercolorskyy @praline357 @whodis-26

@elle-28 @mari0302 @hb8301 @flawroses @random-shit-i-like-2

@heavenly1927 @thegeminithrone @vixemi @rockerchick05 @maniccrystalhippie

@melsunshine @siimiasoi @mxtokko @arcielee @apollonshootafar

@thenameswinter99

“Not all men-“

You’re right, Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal would never do this

Some things I say to myself while watching The Last Kingdom:

“Uhtred, I love you, but you are a walking, talking disaster.”

“See, if Eddie would have listened more to his ‘uncles’ Uhtred and Finan, there would have been no reason for all the murder later.”

“Biggest injustice in the whole series: no naked Finan. Followed closely by Finan never getting to hit Aethelwold. He was always so done with him. And honestly, same.”

“Aelswith really went from ‘Uhtred, I hate you with ever breath in my body’ to ‘I’ll take a room with an ocean view.’ Enemies to, ah, roommates?”

“Ragnar, my sweet Dane boy. You never did anything wrong ever. I am sorry your brother’s an idiot.”

“Thyra deserved so much more.”

“Finan.” (Usually followed by a sigh and curses cause he has distracted me again from major plot points)

“Finan, I love you, and you look great, but I cannot watch this part again, my man. So, go be distracting somewhere else.” (As if this will magically change the editing and have the camera NOT be on him)

And lastly….

“I swear to God, 99.9% of Uhtred’s problems would be solved if he just, I don’t know, talked about his thoughts and feelings. Instead of picking up a sword and being a dick about it.”

An older brother and one of his buds, heading off for a weekend of camping, riding their bikes on two-lane blacktop and gravel back roads in the Eastern Townships. Quebec

1959