#hot lady go brrrrr

[soupmonarchart]

Another Card to add to the Deck! Jiseon as the 8 of Hearts!

Super excited to print these when the set is done!

[toodeepforyou]

shadow’zel romance fight scene has deleted the entire contents of my brain

[fakegingerrights]

Bloody knees and bruised cheeks

[Crosshair brainrot go brrrrr. TW: Alcohol, bar fights, questionable attitudes towards cloning, blood and broken glass. And Crosshair being a flirt in his own way. Crosshair x gn!Reader]

“This seat taken, Sunshine?” The obviously drunk man’s breath hot on your cheek as he leaned in far too close for comfort.

“It is.” You bit back, glancing nervously at the bartender and hoping he’d get the creep off you. You knew your boyfriend had said he might be running late, but an hour and a half was pushing it.

“Well, I don’t see a name on it. Lemme buy you a drink.” The man cajoled, swirling his own cheap beer in his glass.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You leaned as far away as the barstool let you without tipping over. “I’m waiting for someone. And he wouldn’t like you hovering like this.”

“Is that a threat, Sweetcheeks?” The man growled, leaning even farther into your space. A cold voice snarled behind him, sending a ripple through you as you turned back to look at the newcomer.

“Yes.” Crosshair snarled, standing there in all his dusty and carbon stained, red and black armored glory as he placed himself between you and the drunk.

“That’s what you’re waiting for? A labgrown meat droid? I should take you home anyways and show you how a real man fucks.” The drunk slurred, lurching to his feet and squaring up to Crosshair. Cross didn’t budge, but you could tell he was too tired for this.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Crosshair’s voice was flat and cold, a hard promise. The drunk snarled, smashing his glass of half full beer against Crosshair’s pauldron, shattering it and sending shards everywhere. As soon as Cross was in the clear for self defense he grabbed the drunk and had him pinned on the bar.

“Care to-“

“Corascant guard is already on the way. Uh… sir.” The bartender fumbled, glancing at the bouncer for the bar. Crosshair grunted at the title. “We’ll take it from here if you want to take your girl home.” The barkeep offered. Even he could see the exhaustion in Cross’s shoulders.

“Great. Next time don’t let creeps get that close to an uncomfortable lady.” He hissed, passing the swearing drunk to a beefy looking zabrak. The greasy man took the opening and broke free, swinging wildly and connecting with Crosshair’s jaw just as he was turning away. As he did, you caught sight of a dripping red line cut into the side of his cheek just under his eye, presumably from the glass shattering.

He staggered but was quick to break the man’s nose and send him sprawling. The zabrakii bouncer got ahold of him now, pulling the drunk away.

Gingerly, you slipped your hand into Crosshair’s, getting his attention. “Let’s go home. Tonight’s a bust anyways. Unless you want to wait for the guard to get here and haul you to a hospital to patch your cheek up?” You murmured lowly, already knowing his answer and pulling towards the door before he even grunted a negative. There was a fine tremor in the very tips of his fingers as he tightened his grip on your hand.

The bar you two had planned to meet at for drinks was only a few blocks from your tiny shoebox of an apartment. Crosshair hissed and stepped away from you only a minute into your walk, shaking like a dog and sending residual splinters of glass tinkling to the ground.

“Bastard got glass in all the chinks of my armor. I’ll have to have Tech send it through a scrub cycle again.” He growled sourly. “Damn stuff got everywhere.”

“I can scrub it out when you get home. Call it a thank you for taking care of that guy.” You fumbled with the keys as he hovered behind you.

“I’m your boyfriend. That’s my fucking job.” Crosshair hissed softly, a hand finding your chin and lifting it so you met his eyes. He had taken his glove off to rid it of splinters. His hand was cool against your skin, fingers still trembling slightly in his exhaustion as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, nipping at them a little with a smug quirk of his mouth. He tasted like blood and ozone.

“My stars get a ROOM!” One of your helpful neighbors yelled from the apartment next to yours. You flipped them off without looking, dragging Cross inside and hardly even pausing the kiss.

His hand shifted from your jaw to curl protectively around your neck, the motion making you sigh into the kiss as you reach up to cup his cheek, only for him to hiss and pull away as your fingers meet the unpleasantly warm and tacky sensation of half dried blood from the cut on his cheek.

“Let’s get you out of your armor and blacks.” Your murmur, your voice slightly throatier than normal. At this close you could see the dark circles under his eyes and the rapidly darkening bruising along his jaw where he had been punched. He just grunted an affirmative as he fumbled with the catches, carefully removing each piece.

After he got all of it but his boots, there were several small shards even still that littered the floor. He took off the top of his blacks too, shaking the garment out. You gasped at the sight of bruised ribs and a row of neat stitches above his hip covered in thin medical film to keep them dry.

“It looks worse than it is.” Crosshair filled in the silence. He dropped the top of his blacks in the pile with the rest of his armor and gingerly flopped down on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes as he sighs, tension slowly seeping out of his body as he relaxed.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, let me look at your cheek. And don’t get blood on that couch, it was my grandmother’s.” You call over your shoulder, grabbing a bag of frozen peas for his jaw and looking for the medistrips in the first-aid kit.

“Ah. So that’s why it smells like mothballs and old lady perfume.” He groused from his sprawled position.

“Har har har.” You rolled your eyes, catching his soft smile at the banter and grinning to yourself.

“I’m stealing your shower when I’m done.” He grunted, carefully sitting up and blinking as he took his arm off his eyes.

You sat on the tiny coffee/dining table in front of him, armed with a damp rag, first aid kit and your frozen vegetables. He took the peas and pressed them against his jaw, sighing at the contact as you dabbed at the bloody mess on the other side of his face.

“This is gonna sting a bit.” You warned as you doused a clean corner of the rag with hydrogen peroxide once you got the blood mostly cleaned up.

“When does it not.” Cross hissed rhetorically, his grip tightening on his knee as you cleaned the cut and made sure there was no glass embedded in his skin before carefully applying the medistrips and butterfly bandages you found. The cut wasn’t deep and you didn’t think it needed stitches, so it probably wouldn’t scar either.

“There you are. Now go shower, you smell like beer and a teen boy’s lockerroom.” You tease, helping him to his feet as he took the peas off his jaw, working it a few times to check for stiffness. Crosshair pouted at the insult but went, ducking into the small bathroom as you went through your drawers to come up with a pair of sweats and an oversized teeshirt for him to wear.

You knocked on the bathroom door before walking in, setting the clothes on the toilet glancing at Crosshair as he stood under the hot spray, rolling his neck appreciatively.

“You’re gonna send my water bill through the roof.” You tease, grabbing him a toothbrush and mint paste and passing it to him.

“That’s your fault, giving me access to the shower.” He snarked right back, sighing as he washed his hair, fingers combing through suds and silver curls. “Want to join me and make the most of it?” He offered, but you shook your head.

“Don’t think me joining will get you any cleaner. Might even do the opposite.” You wink as he rinses off again.

“Worth a shot.” He shrugged, turning the water off and motioning for a towel. You passed it to him with a fold exasperation as the two of you brushed your teeth and he got dressed, forgoing the shirt and toweling his hair off.

As you changed into nightclothes yourself and slipped into bed next to him, he seemed happy. Content. You pressed your face into the spot just above his sternum and sighed as one arm wrapped around you and the other tucked under his head, propping him slightly above you. You relaxed into the embrace, missing the words as they rumbled in his chest.

“What was that?” You mumbled sleepily, looking up at him.

“I said thank you.” He murmured right back, kissing your forehead. “And you’re out of conditioner.”

“Ass.” You accuse, snuggling closer.

“Proudly.” He agreed, a smile tugging at his lips. You were silent for a long moment and he almost thought you were asleep when you spoke up again.

“Why were you late?” You whisper into the darkness. Crosshair rumbles sleepily.

“Got jumped by vulture droids as we changed hyperspace lanes. Tech outflew them, as always.”

“And the mission?” You ask, listening to his slow heartbeat as he replies.

“Successful. Can’t say much else, unfortunately. Not sure when I leave again, before you ask.” He presses another kiss to your temple and tucks your head under his chin. “Go to sleep already, I’m tired.”

“Fine, fine.” You grumble. “Hey Cross? I love you.”

“I…” He paused, feeling stupidly off guard at the phrase even though you’ve said it a dozen times.

“I know.” You whisper, before he can doubt himself. “You don’t have to say it for me to know.”

“I love you too.” He whispered back, smiling sheepishly at the rush of elation and nerves he got even now every time he did. “I always will.”

[demonadelem]

Made with @ace-attorney-go-brrrrr

No DL-6 AA au but Franziska centric, so after the earthquake Gregory took Miles to get ice cream after being stuck in a hot elevator and started investigating Manfred after the penalty confirmed that he was tampering with evidence and maybe even beating him in court because he's fully capable of that.

Manfred gets send to prison for multiple counts of falsified evidence and Franziska being raised by maids vows to beat Gregory in court, becoming a prosecutor at 13 like in canon she travels to California and to become Gregory's rival.

But ends up with this:

I'm not fighting with a 13 year old girl. Go to your room young lady

Which then Franziska beats him with a horse crop. During investigations Franziska has trouble getting through to people due to her age and the horse crop only getting her so far reluctantly teaming up with Gregory. He realized that she's running around with nobody holding her accountable, nobody to guide her or protect her, just maids who she could fire at a moment's notice.

Franziska also stalks Miles especially when he hangs out with Pheonix and Larry but ends hanging out with them. Finding herself entangled with the Edgeworths, insulting them as she eats dinner at their house, Manfred sees an opportunity for revenge.

[unshrimp]

Me: I hate going outside, the gym is going to be too hot, too noisy, too many people... people god I hate people and they're going to talk to me that lady might be there it's going to be awful no I don't want to do it

Also me, having made it to the gym: LIFTING WEIGHTS IS GREAT HEAVY OBJECT GO BRRRRR

[ivydbomb]

I wish I could come up with something profound and meaningful that hasn’t already been said about Slay the Princess. But instead all the thoughts I’m stuck with are ‘please beat me up plsplsplspls omg you are so hot. Pretty lady go brrrrr’

[lloydfrontera]

Funny thought about Amalia: her seeing Lloyd making something going boom and her brain going both 'brrrrr' and 'dats hot'.

Javier now has new bullying material.

i love to overthink so imagine if amalia is like,,,, someone raised to be the most proper of ladies, not allowed to engage in anything messier than flower arrangement when she was younger, maybe some gardening if her parents were feeling generous. raised to be seen but not heard, like a little doll they could bring out when they wanted to coo over but would never make a mess they had to clean up.

so when she grows up she's kinda obsessed with making stuff that's a bit messy, something tangible, something lasting. her bedroom walls are covered in murals, she's made tons of sculptures that are displayed all over her home and most members of her household have at least one full outfit made from scratch from her.

things that are permanent and lasting and real and won't wilt or be thrown out after a few days and won't exist anymore like she never made them in the first place. as if she was never there at all.

and it's nice, she likes doing all of that but there's just an itch that she can't quite make go away.

and it's not until she sees lloyd engage in absolute demolition, completely obliterate something in his way that she's like "oh. oh i Want That."

because on one hand all of her suitors had always been so proper, so polite, so perfectly polished all of their conversations always felt more like two porcelain dolls following a script on good social interaction rather than actual socializing. and now here's lloyd being messy and a little crass and straightforward, actually engaging with her as a real person who he needs to get an opinion of so he can do his job goddammit rather than just agreeing with her in what is the latest Popular, Trendy and Correct Opinion as everyone else always had and it's so different and exciting and real

but also because. there is little more that says 'i was here i was real i did this' than changing your environment so permanently centuries later people still know your name. the part of her brain that is obsessed with leaving a mark of herself, with etching her existence all around her goes absolutely feral at seeing what's effectively lloyd moving literal mountains to achieve what he wants.

of course she's no aware of any of this and is convinced she's a totally Functional Adult with No Issues Whatsoever so all that comes out of her mouth when she sees lloyd explode his way through a mountain is "god that's hot"

unfortunately for her javier is also not aware of the clusterfuck that's going inside of her brain so all he knows is that the weird lady with really bizarre taste is now almost salivating while watching his young master do mana blasts that could destroy an army. he has Concerns™.

[zenlesszonezero]

As the conspiracy reaches its finale, the Void Hunter joins the fight.

Uncover the Conspiracy in Zenless Zone Zero's All-New Version "A Storm of Falling Stars", S-Rank Agent Hoshimi Miyabi is here! With S-Rank Agent Asaba Harumasa Limited-Time Giveaway! Pre-register to obtain additional rewards.

[disniq]

Which is more sense

Jayrose / jayroy

Anon, I think you've fundamentally misunderstood me here. There is no better, there is only different.

JayRose is "I'd fuck my dad and I'd fuck *your* dad, but they're both emotionally unavailable so I guess we'll fuck each other and call it therapy"

JayRoy is "we've both fucked up so badly before that this is an entirely judgement free zone, gallows humour as flirting BAYBEE"

Jaytemis is "Big Stronk Lady make brain go brrrrr"

JayDick is "we're brothers, but only when it's hot. Let's be weird about our father figure *together*"

JayTim is "motherfuckin SIZE DIFFERENCE, oh wait, you thought *jay* was the experienced one? Yeah, lol, no"

And JayKon is "you know what, we *do* deserve better! Matching leather jackets that say The world moved on without you! "

Shipping is an ice-cream shop and yes please, I'd like one of everything.

[snailstrailz]

Okay so I'm on my Arktos brainrot bullshit right now and I need to talk to someone else about it.

This scene is literally my favorite, right alongside his musical number, because of how wonderfully animated he is here! As someone who loves animated villains, the animators clearly had fun with him being a sassy yet suave bad guy. From his evil laughter to the way he leans while sitting in his throne to how he delicately caresses Lily's hair...

It really reminds me of Bowser lifting Luigi's chin up in the Mario movie, minus the (fan) implications of romance and homoeroticism.

Also, I have to admit that I'm currently in-between the realms of "hehe animation go brrrrr" and "OH NO HE'S HOT!"

On top of all of this, Arktos having such a deliciously villainous manner in gestures and body language is so addictive to me personally. I love it when evil characters do shit like this, and a part of it is because of how villains in modern films (especially Disney - fuck Wish) have changed drastically. Villains used to be these despicable, envious, and very-theater-kid-like characters, fueled by a dastardly motive to rise above everyone else. Now, we barely even have "villains", either they're plot twists or just people spreading trauma because of their past. Because of the lack of genuinely good, classic villains, Arktos was an absolute gold mine!

Lamo I am glad to share this brainrot because honestly, Arktos immediately cemented himself in the halls of my favorite villains as I learned about him.

The idea of him just being so evil that he turns on his own daughter to accomplish his goals of eradicating every dragon is so perfectly classic mustache-twirling villainy. (I haven't gotten around to watching the movie, however so I'm going off impressions from the clips I've watched)

I definitely agree with how exquisitely animated he is. The people who worked on him definitely understood the assignment. With such dramatic gestures and personal space defying action makes me think Arktos would definitely be a Tumblr sexyman in an alternate timeline.

And I'm not just saying that because I think he's an ice cold dreamboat

The only character in recent memory that's really like this is Jack Horner in Puss in Boots 2, as well as Bowser to a lesser extent as he's already established as that kind of villain. It really gives me hope that the tying-ladies-to-train-tracks villain is on it's way in again. Not just because they're just so much fun to watch, but because they'll make more complicated villains feel special instead of just getting characters like Hans (not that he's really all that complicated)

Arktos is definitely a love letter to all the deliciously evil jerks out there. Here's to getting more!

[sonofthedunes]

So excited to hear you’re prepping your first imagine!!! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Some friends and I have been debating this and would love to know your thoughts: do you think Luke can handle spicy food?

Also do you think there’s a certain outfit/hairstyle that makes Luke’s brain go *brrrrr*?

hey anon! thank you so much for your questions! let’s see…

1. Does Tatooine have inherently spicy cuisine? To some extent, yes. Is that the way Beru cooked it? I doubt it :p I imagine Luke handles spice pretty poorly in his first years with the Alliance, but over time he develops a tolerance. If he ever went on Hot Ones it might kill him, but he doesn’t mind a little kick now and then.

2. As we all know Luke is a boobs guy, so anytime he can see a bit of cleavage is more than fine by him ;) he also like flowy fabrics and dark colors, maybe with a matching necklace or hair clip: something simple but elegant, that wouldn’t distract from a lady’s natural beauty (him and his “all women are queens” lookin ass). In terms of hair he’s a bit less picky, but he is fond of when his partner wears it loose so he can thread his fingers through it, or perhaps loosely braid it himself.

[just-some-random-blogger]

I'm a simple girl I see a big guy with gentle hands and I get a little insane in the head

When Cregan Stark met you, clad in pale shades of sage and ivory, with lilac hues and a smile that could melt even the toughest of ice, perhaps it would not be a dreadful marriage after all.

Bruhhhhhh stellar writing. 10/10 I credible descriptions

Even with a dragon at your heel, there was something positively resplendent about you — Cregan could feel it within his marrow, a feeling seldom felt by any man locked in an arranged betrothal.

DRAGON AT HEEL AND FEELING IT IN HIS MARROW IS SO RAHHHH SO LOVELY I WONDER HOW A DRAGON WOULD FAIR IN THE NORTH

He would’ve been telling himself a bold lie if he hadn’t thought about taking you to bed several times already.

Corruption kink go brrrrr after all you're just a man

There was little need for the hearth when Cregan was near, radiating a natural heat that drew you in.

I would never leave bed if he was with me NEVER LET HIM LEAVE EITHER

“You are very beautiful,”

The thought of you, round and swollen with his child, was both tantalizing and tempting — well within his grasp. Cregan wondered if they would take after you, pale-headed with lilac hues, or perhaps himself. If the Gods were good, they would be a blend of the both of you, a dragon and a wolf.

Black and white remix would slap. also

Amusingly enough, Cregan possessed more of a cherubic, youthful face than you expected, yet his nose was slightly crooked from having it broken, faint scars upon his face.

The juxtaposition is everything I want him

You half-expected him to pounce on you, grab your hips and stake his claim, but he simply resorted to watching you slide onto the bed, covered in furs of all varieties. The frame rustled slightly, and you laid down, a picture of true perfection. Your crown of pale tresses seemed to stick out amidst the darker pallor of the furs.

😫😫😫😫😫😫GIRRLLLLL THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND VIVID AND LOVELY RAHH I SEEE IT

“May I touch you?” [...] “You don’t need to ask, princess.”

ME CUZ ONCE I START I WONT STOP 😋😋😋 FREEEE REALLLLLEESSSTTTAEEE

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that immediately made your knees buckle. You used the headboard to brace yourself, mouth tearing open as a strangled gasp escaped you. Part of you feared sitting down entirely, but Cregan coaxed you down, hands digging into your haunches.

THE WAY I LITERALLY IN REAL LIFE SCREAMED AND PULLED MY HAIR

“You need only ask, princess, and I will oblige.” His voice was a deep rumble that warmed your insides.

I am a slut tho 😋

Without thinking, you unconsciously goaded Cregan into a point of near-frenzy. Your hands found the taut, trunk-like muscle of his biceps, visage filled with a sense of awe and adoration. “A child would please me greatly.” You confessed, having no clue what it would do to your husband.

Me. I would give you 100 heirs sir

His rough palm soothingly stroked along your thigh, lust swelling within him like a blizzard, a violent storm of need that transcended all bonds of propriety. “Does Lady Stark want me to put a pup in her belly?”

Pls

“It wouldn’t,” Cregan mused, timbre dropping to a lull, a husky octave that seemed to envelop you in its stoicism and warmth. “It pleases me to know that Lady Stark possesses the appetite of a dragon.” His teasing made you squirm, but he simply caressed you and held you closer.

Get u a man. ILL TAKE HIM SOLD PLS TAKE MY MONEY PLS

𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as the youngest daughter of alicent hightower, you are wed to the young wolf, cregan stark. what many believe to be a union of strife, such a notion is proven wrong very quickly.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), arranged marriage, reader is a targtower with pale hair & lilac eyes, skin color unspecified, first time sex (for reader), loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), massive breeding kink, all stark men have a breeding gene, oral sex / cunnilingus (fem!rec), face-sitting, biting/marking, making out, lots of touching, missionary position, talk of having a child, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: There’s been a ton of Cregan requests, so I hope that this satisfies a lot of people until I post another! ❤️ Thank you all so much for the incredible requests and support of my work, it means the world to me and I am extremely grateful for all of it. See you guys soon!

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 — 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐜𝐞.

The North was often regarded as a harsh and unyielding environment, with bitter, stinging winds and snowfalls that could bury men alive beneath their might. Such tales were often told to scare children or dissuade them from leaving the roost.

It was untamed and savage, according to your mother — she who vehemently fought against your betrothal to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. A marriage steeped in wariness and discord, you had been pleasantly surprised by your husband’s kindness and warm stoicism.

Piety was a rarity in the bleak, bloodsoaked world you lived within — innocence was a quality as uncommon as a diamond in the rough. When Cregan had been offered such a sacred proposal during the last days of King Viserys I, he nearly scoffed at it.

A Targaryen, a Hightower — he almost imagined that the both of you would not do well together, and that it would become a sour union, made only to please families and uphold duty. His advisors, old men with embittered grudges against the South, cautioned him away from it, imploring him to wed a girl from the Vale or the Reach.

When Cregan Stark met you, clad in pale shades of sage and ivory, with lilac hues and a smile that could melt even the toughest of ice, perhaps it would not be a dreadful marriage after all.

Even with a dragon at your heel, there was something positively resplendent about you — Cregan could feel it within his marrow, a feeling seldom felt by any man locked in an arranged betrothal.

It was your innocuous, tenderhearted nature that beguiled him, as if you unconsciously drew him in with your honey. Your very first meeting happened to be to seal the marriage pact itself before you would be shipped away to the North, to be his wife and the new Lady Stark.

Cregan rarely found himself charmed by anyone, yet you possessed an inner beauty that flourished in his presence. You were your own flame, burning through his hardened exterior. He did not mistake your docile nature for weakness — you possessed a dragon, where he did not.

You were rather taken with him, perplexed by his outward ruggedness and gruff accent, the way in which he carried himself, massive physique clad in the thick trappings of a wolf. He was a mountain of a man, yet he handled you as if you were some precious jewel, sacred and worthy of admiration.

Alicent begrudgingly watched as you, her youngest daughter, untainted by her own fractured morality, was sent away to the North in the hands of some brute. For the good of the Realm, Viserys had told her, but it cut deeper knowing that it was you, her beloved flesh and blood.

Yet, as you found yourself beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree in the Godswood, hands bound with Cregan’s own, you forgot about your mother’s bitterness entirely — and you were happy.

The first kiss was one that would make a permanent residence within your memory for lifetimes to come. He had cradled your face, towering over you as if he were a solemn statue, but even you could see the softening within his visage.

King’s Landing was suffocating, more often than not. The animosity that festered between your family smothered you, crushing you beneath its sharp heel. You were no longer surrounded by bitterness and resentment, and instead, cloaked by the protection and warmth of your new husband.

The feast held in honor of your blossoming union was one of merriment, the mood lighthearted and blissful. You sat beside your husband, stomach tumbling with a coil of nerves. Everyone seemed foreign to you, unfamiliar faces with their northern attitudes and odd indifference.

You could not fault anyone for having their suspicions, given your heritage. Being a Targaryen, pale-headed and violet-eyed, bringing your dragon from the South — it must’ve been jarring. Growing into your station as the Lady of Winterfell would be a long and arduous process, but you hoped that Cregan would show you the way.

Oblivious to your Lord-Husband’s smoldering stare, you politely consumed bites of the sugar-dusted fruit cobbler, admiring the vibrant aura within the room. Your wedding gowns were as pure as the driven snow, accented with silver embroidery and lined with pale fleece to keep you warm, given the cold gnaw of winter.

If it weren’t for Cregan’s steadfastness in providing you with a new wardrobe fit for winter, the icy chill would’ve consumed your extremities from the inside-out.

Leaning over within his seat, Cregan reached for your hand, stormy-gray hues churning with a kindness reserved for you. “How are you faring, wife?” He inquired, voice a low rumble; a soothing timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

“Very well,” Warmth crawled along your flesh when he referred to you as wife so openly and affectionately. You weren’t accustomed to having someone be so attentive to you, hang upon your every word, treat you with such courteousness. “This is so wonderful. I must thank you and your Keep, for your kindness.”

If you were anyone else, Cregan might’ve treated you with a stalwart cordiality found in most formalities, but you were not anyone else. You were good, sweet, and kindhearted — above all, you were quite innocent. He would’ve been telling himself a bold lie if he hadn’t thought about taking you to bed several times already.

The colors of the North suited you — his home suited you. Not many men of his position were so lucky when it came to betrothals, but he felt as if he was beyond fortunate to have married you. Cregan only hoped to be a good husband to you and to your future children, heirs to Winterfell, with the blood of the dragon and the wolf in their veins.

He had forbidden a bedding ceremony, content to guide you to your chambers once the festivities ceased, instead. Cregan enjoyed observing you and your demure mannerisms, from the way you made small talk with those around you, complimenting the choice of food and drink. It warmed his heart to know that his wife was an amiable soul.

“You needn’t worry, Princess. It is my duty as your husband to show you a bit of Northern hospitality.” Cregan mused, a ghost of a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He rarely showed any emotion, let alone treating his subjects with a smile given his hardiness, but he did show a sliver of it for you. He didn’t want to scare you away.

With a delighted smile, your hand shyly curled around his, your skin unblemished and soft. Cregan hadn’t touched a woman as silky as you, and it made his blood run hot — an inopportune time, given that it was in the midst of his wedding feast. “Thank you, my Lord.” You weren’t sure if you were permitted to abandon formalities just yet.

Cregan huffed, gaze twinkling with amusement as he let your smaller hand hold his own, digits tenderly caressing over your knuckles. “I would hope that you only call me ‘my Lord’ if you’re angry with me,” His chest rumbled with an affectionate sound. “You aren’t in King’s Landing anymore.”

Embarrassment rippled through you, but before you could correct yourself out of anxiousness, Cregan gingerly squeezed your hand. Instead, it evoked a smile from you, the very same tender expression you’d given him when you were proclaimed as his wife. “I will call you husband when I am pleased with you.” You mused, bright as could be, and so blissfully naive.

Often regarded as a brooding, serious man with little traces of humor, Cregan found himself letting his guard down just enough with you. Of course, to any observer, he still seemed rather stoic, but the brief, fleeting looks he gave you, the threadbare smiles — it suggested otherwise.

As the excitable buzz of the feast began to simmer, Cregan stood from the table, wood scraping across the stone floors of the Great Hall. He stepped away from you, sparing the servants and guardsmen a word before he returned to your side.

“Is there not to be a bedding ceremony?” You whispered, stomach still tight and festering with nervousness. It was something you feared since you last saw Aegon and Helaena be hauled away for such a thing. The concept of it frightened you, twisted and unusual.

With furrowed brows, Cregan shook his head, offering his thick arm out for you to take. “No,” He grunted, noticing the swell of anxiousness etched into your features. “I would never subject you to such a thing, or myself.” He murmured, feeling you take his arm as he led you from the Great Hall.

Relief flooded through you, and you finally relaxed, seemingly appreciative of Cregan’s thoughtfulness in the matter. “Thank you, husband.” You sighed, gripping onto his arm as he led you into a warm corridor and towards a massive spiral of thick, stone steps.

Though, you still had a duty to perform — consummating the marriage, creating an heir. Part of you feared what it all entailed, given that Helaena never seemed pleased with any of it. Would he hurt you? You were uncertain, but you wanted to believe that your new husband would keep you safe.

Cregan welcomed you into your marital chambers, tidied and polished for your stay. Whatever belongings you brought with you, they were situated near a set of fine, wooden chairs circled around a stone table. Everything seemed warm and comely in his quarters, the direwolf aesthetic heavy-handed, the hearth crackling and bursting with ripples of fire.

“If there is something not to your liking, inform me — I will have it rearranged,” Cregan rumbled, following in your footsteps as you neared the open hearth, warming your hands and basking in its glow. He stood close to you, towering over you with his bulk and might. “How are you?” He asked, ensuring your comfort above all else.

There was little need for the hearth when Cregan was near, radiating a natural heat that drew you in. His countenance seemed softer, not nearly as impassive as he’d been before. “I am more than fine, I promise.” You assured him, hands wringing together. “I thought that I would miss home, but I do not. Isn’t that terrible?”

Perplexed, Cregan seemed inclined to listen to your elaboration, chestnut tresses framing his face. “It isn’t a terrible thing, princess. I would imagine that it must be freeing, to be somewhere else. You’ve never left the capital.” He replied, knowing that you were quite sheltered for most of your life.

A soft sigh escaped you, and you tried not to think about it anymore. You didn’t want to sour the mood with talk of home and the past — this was now. “It is liberating,” You confessed, craning to look at him with a semblance of wonder and affection. “I am happy that I’m here with you.” You spoke with genuineness and finality.

It was pleasing to hear you say such a thing, and even better to know that you truly meant it. One thick, burly arm slowly encircled your hips, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest. “Good,” He murmured, expression steely. “That pleases me greatly.”

To know that Cregan valued your happiness was a wonderful feeling — you felt cared for and seen, shrouded within his protectiveness. You imagined that it would be a blissful marriage. “Thank you, Cregan.” His name slipped from your perfect tongue, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sound it made.

A low rumble vibrated through Cregan’s chest as he drew you as close as he could, tracing his calloused digits along the soft curve of your jaw. “You are very beautiful,” He murmured, timbre edged with a delicious husk that made your knees buckle. You shivered, something that he took note of. “Are you cold, wife?”

You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when his lips neared yours. “I am.” A squeak escaped you, followed by a steady exhale. You had been kissed before, but the extent of your experience abruptly stopped there. You imagined that you wouldn’t be cold for much longer.

His lips met yours, the kiss tender yet passionate, deepened by your husband. Cregan found your mouth to be most pleasant, pliant and perfectly soft, yet malleable. You reciprocated his kiss, hands moving to press against his chest.

“Will it be painful?” You whispered, likely in an attempt to soothe your gnawing nervousness. Agony was something that didn’t coexist with pleasure, in your mind. You wanted this moment to be special and sacred, binding yourself to your husband.

Cregan hesitated, gently cupping your face with his rough palm, tenderly stroking along your cheek. “I wouldn’t dare harm you, princess. You have my word.” He assured, and it confirmed his suspicions — you hadn’t been with another before. “It might be painful, but I will be gentle. We don’t have to start tonight.”

Admittedly, it was quite the opposite for you — you wanted to start tonight, but you longed for clarification first, and he gave it to you. You shook your head, hands slipping toward the front of his tunic, as if silently pleading with him to stay. “I want to.” You insisted, looking like the picture of innocence.

As much as he liked you sweet and pious, Cregan had a feeling that it would be somewhat different after this. His gray hues swirled with a heavy desire, dropping towards the delicate curve of your mouth. “May I?” It was all that he needed to ask, and as soon as you nodded, he brought you in for a heated kiss.

Despite his appearance, a stone-faced wall of muscle and Northern strength, he was incredibly gentle with you. He held you against him, never tight enough to cause you discomfort, hands softly kneading into your hips. You kissed him back as best as you could, feverishly hot, butterflies erupting within your stomach.

His beautiful wife — Cregan could not imagine another, now that he had you in his arms. The way you kissed him was innocuous and tender, as if you were also terrified of making a mistake. Your purity, a precious thing indeed, would be tarnished and dissolved after this evening.

The thought of you, round and swollen with his child, was both tantalizing and tempting — well within his grasp. Cregan wondered if they would take after you, pale-headed with lilac hues, or perhaps himself. If the Gods were good, they would be a blend of the both of you, a dragon and a wolf.

You shivered again when your burly husband curled his hand into the back of your wedding gown, fingers slipping between the gaps, feeling inklings of your bare skin beneath. “I’ll keep you warm, wife.” He rumbled, pressing a kiss against your jaw. It wasn’t from the cold, he knew this, but his honeyed words made you flustered.

He dropped his cloak, allowing the thick curtain of fur to land against the floor. He was impossibly broad, as thick as stone, tunic loose yet snug enough to accentuate his brawn. You felt your breath hitch within your throat, swallowing another barrage of nerves.

Cregan’s mouth assailed your neck, hand peeling away the collar of pale fur in order to reach you. Every kiss was passionate, wrought with need, yet maintained that air of gentleness. Roughness was in his nature, but he wouldn’t dare fall into that pit on your wedding night.

You tasted ambrosial, sweet velvet beneath his lips, which peppered themselves wherever they could. He listened to your soft gasps and needy whines, your hands having curled into the coarse material of his tunic. He wanted to show you just how perfect you really were.

Suddenly, your gown felt much too tight and constricting, as if you would drown within it. You alleviated such sensations by loosening the bodice, tugging on the ivory strings. The fur became unraveled as Cregan gently draped the garment over the back of a chair.

Left in the thin, humble trappings of your smallclothes, nothing more than a corset hugging a linen slip, he silently appraised you with the hunger of a wolf. You appeared to be shy, somewhat coy in his presence as he looked you over, large palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“Why do you shy away?” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together, tone one of genuine concern. You were the prettiest creature he’d ever seen — most Targaryens were known for their beauty, but you possessed it both ways, inner and outer, and that only made you more incomparable in his eyes.

Swallowing your nerves, you chewed at the inside of your cheek, hands fidgeting together. “I suppose I worry about what you’ll think,” A sore insecurity, to be sure, but something most young maidens possessed. Cregan’s gray hues softened, one hand stroking along the length of your spine. “That I won’t be suitable.”

A huff escaped him, a threadbare chuckle as he shook his head, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “You worry too much, princess.” That deep, thunderous timbre of his, husky with his Northern accent, shook you right to your core. “You are my wife — and you are perfect.” He assured, kissing along your jaw.

You exhaled, hands reaching for his tunic, wanting to see him without his clothing. There was a rush of warmth that crawled across your flesh, surging through your blood as Cregan pressed endless kisses against your skin. He trailed from jaw to collarbone, hands loosening your corset.

With a brusque tug, your gruff husband tore it from you altogether, tossing the bodice aside. “I will show you how perfect you are.” He rumbled, voice a low, heavy caress near the shell of your ear. You shivered, gaze half-lidded as you tugged insistently at his tunic.

The message was unspoken, but conveyed nonetheless as your mountain of a husband let his hands drop from you, only to tug the coarse, dark linen over his head. He was burly, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his face.

Amusingly enough, Cregan possessed more of a cherubic, youthful face than you expected, yet his nose was slightly crooked from having it broken, faint scars upon his face. His eyes seemed wisened, old beyond his years. He reached for your slip, gathering the material within his hands as he looked to you for consent.

With your confidence rejuvenated, you nodded, breathless and wanton as you assisted him in maneuvering out of your thin smallclothes. The brief lick of chilled air dragged across your bare flesh, causing your nipples to harden, pebbling with the chill.

Fire danced across your physique, tantalizing and gorgeous, beautiful beyond compare. Even Cregan seemed speechless for a beat, throat reverberating with a low grunt as he motioned toward your shared bed.

You half-expected him to pounce on you, grab your hips and stake his claim, but he simply resorted to watching you slide onto the bed, covered in furs of all varieties. The frame rustled slightly, and you laid down, a picture of true perfection. Your crown of pale tresses seemed to stick out amidst the darker pallor of the furs.

Anticipation churned violently within your gut, arousal slick and mounting between your thighs as Cregan stalked closer, removing clothing in the process. You watched with bated breath as he loosened the ties of his breeches, removing them altogether.

It was to be expected — a man of his indomitable stature likely had the assets to accompany it. You nearly choked at the sight of him, terrified that it really would hurt, even if he was gentle. You sucked in a sharp breath, bewildered when he had reclined beside you instead.

“I won’t bite, my Lady.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly patting his lap as you crawled closer. He effortlessly picked you up, letting you straddle his hips as he admired you from below. “Hm.” With a hum of approval, he caressed along your form, stroking from your thigh to your breasts.

It was agonizingly deliberate, made to explore and study instead of acting upon salacious impulses. Cregan observed you closely, palm gently cupping your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple. You gasped, careening into his sensual embrace.

A flurry of desire bubbled within him when you planted your smaller hand atop his, as if encouraging him to knead and grope at his leisure. He seemed pleased, and so did you, a low hum escaping you as he caressed your silky flesh.

He made sure to show that same amount of attention to your unattended breast, slowly kneading into you. Those tempestuous gray hues never tore themselves away from you, boring into you with a searing intensity.

Warm slick coalesced between your thighs, only mounting and growing when he continued to touch you, hand lifting to cup your chin. You absentmindedly leaned into his touch, eyes becoming half-lidded as you rocked forward within his lap.

The sensations you felt were new and exhilarating, goosebumps dancing across your spine, heat pooling between your legs. “May I touch you?” You asked, tone delicate and sweet, a display of your piety and innocence. He quite enjoyed your desire to explore alongside him, and he gave a nod of his head.

“You don’t need to ask, princess.” He soothed, jaw tensing as your soft palms settled against his chest. Cregan’s stormy eyes didn’t leave you, carefully tracing each plane of your curves, the downy texture of your skin, the lilac glint of your eyes.

Your fingertips dragged across his musculature, committing each scar to memory, features becoming hot beneath his incendiary stare. He was your husband now — you imagined that scenarios like these would become commonplace. “You are so handsome,” You whispered incredulously, lips curling into a gentle smile. “Perfect.”

Cregan appeared perplexed, a soft huff escaping him as he trailed his calloused palm across the small of your back. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had called him perfect and meant it — and he knew that you did. He neglected to act, allowing you to explore as much as you pleased.

Awestruck, he watched with silent hunger as you leaned down, lips pressing against his own. A soft grunt escaped Cregan as he caged you in, mouth passionate as it tangled with yours. He enjoyed the feeling of your body snug atop his, your skin resplendent, like velvet against the grating bite of stone.

Dragging a hand from the swell of your hips to the nape of your neck, he gripped the base of your skull, gingerly kneading into your pale tresses. He kissed you again, oozing with desire as he stole every wisp of air from your lungs.

He pulled one leg up into a v-shape, supporting your back to keep you upright atop his lap. You could feel the thick girth of his cock nudge against your backside, causing you to shiver at the foreign sensation. “Do you trust me?” Cregan murmured, roughened fingertips dragging over the pliant flesh of your thigh.

There was an indiscernible look within his eyes, chestnut brows drawing together slightly. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and Cregan settled against the furs, strewn on his back. Those strong hands of his continued to nudge you forward, bringing you from his warm lap to his chest, and then a touch closer.

“What are you …” Uncertain yet filled with exhilaration, you had no idea what Cregan was planning. Your slick cunt neared his mouth, and your Northern paramour did little to slow the process, bumping you forward until you hovered above him. “C—Cregan, C —” Your voice tapered off into a whine.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that immediately made your knees buckle. You used the headboard to brace yourself, mouth tearing open as a strangled gasp escaped you. Part of you feared sitting down entirely, but Cregan coaxed you down, hands digging into your haunches.

Your reaction was beyond worthwhile, body trembling and coiled, hand scrambling to brace yourself as the other fervently dug into his chestnut tresses. You never imagined that such pleasure was even possible, filling you with an excitable ecstasy that sank into your bones.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Even when he rested beneath you, he still seemed indomitable, perhaps a touch intimidating. You didn’t look down, body involuntarily trembling and rocking forward, back beginning to arch. “Gods, a—ah!” You stammered, thighs twitching and quivering as his tongue gently flicked over your clit.

Visibly flustered, you felt so strange and smitten, riding your husband’s face as you would your dragon. It filled your belly with a rousing fire, one bright enough to consume the rest of your body, licking along the length of your spine.

A low rumble emerged from Cregan’s chest, a vibration that rattled you to your core. He wanted you to have your fill, take as much as you could and drown within pleasure. Your maidenhead was still intact, a virtue that he did not treat lightly. He didn’t feel the need to breathe, lapping at your cunt with a wolfish gluttony.

You were undeniably soaked, like a fine stout upon his tongue as he devoured you. Cregan was passionate, each stroke of his tongue ensuring that you felt it all, bliss erupting throughout your stomach.

Chasing after what you imagined to be your release, you happened to peer down for a moment, finding the contented face of your husband, whose face was lodged between your legs. His brows were creased in concentration, tongue prodding against your entrance before languidly flicking back to your clit.

It was only when he pursed his lips around that sensitive clutch of nerves, that you nearly collapsed around him. Even your draconic blood could melt, tempered by the hardened ice of your Northern paramour. You gasped, hips stuttering as your thighs squeezed at either side of his head — fortunately, he didn’t seem to care.

The only thing you wanted was this, forever — your husband’s tongue between your legs, a sanctuary in the North with a potential family, a life in which you could finally find your solace. You continued to squirm and writhe, moaning his praises into the warmth of your chambers.

As you approached your peak, you grappled with Cregan’s tresses, tugging at the root as you rocked forward, again and again. “Cregan,” You moaned, countenance contorting into a look of sheer pleasure, bones crawling with an insatiable heat. “Cregan, Cregan, please!” It was a siren’s song of desire.

He did not stop, but he didn’t change course, either. Instead, he simply continued on, suckling at your clit as he intermingled it with timed laps of his tongue. Your release slammed into you, white-hot and blistering, gnawing away at your stomach as that coil of heat effectively snapped.

A whine emerged from you, one that was nearly breathless as you rocked forward again, legs shaking from ecstasy as you rode out your peak. Cregan, ever the dutiful husband, lapped at your nectar, savoring the taste, the scent of a pleasurable aftermath.

“What —” You had to catch your breath again, attempting to recuperate as you sat back on his chest instead, thick, burly muscle plentiful enough to cushion you. “Where did you learn how to do that?” It was an innocuous question, one so sweetly-spoken that it nearly caused Cregan to chuckle.

He did, however, smile — a rare, sentimental gesture reserved only for you. It was threadbare, and if it weren’t for the nature of your relationship, one might’ve thought him to be rugged and indifferent. “You need only ask, princess, and I will oblige.” His voice was a deep rumble that warmed your insides.

You thoroughly enjoyed the nickname of princess — a term of endearment given your status, but you were a princess no longer. “I am a lady of the North now, aren’t I? A princess no longer,” You proclaimed, skin shimmering with perspiration. “What will you call me, now?” You asked.

“Hm,” Cregan contemplated, pressing a kiss against your leg before he sat up enough to have a good look at you, chin still glistening with your slick. The sight was lewd, enough to make you unbelievably flustered as he grew closer, nearly chest-to-chest with you. “Lady Stark would suffice.” He murmured.

Something amorous burned within you, a smolder that soon turned to ignited sparks. “It would please me greatly.” You hummed, running your hands over his biceps before Cregan gently changed places with you, moving you beneath his bulk, comfortable upon your back.

Soft was a mere understatement — he could feel himself melt. It was not your dragon’s blood or heat that made him crumble, but your heart. He could imagine you as the mother of his children, belly round with his heirs, the Lady of Winterfell, a Hightower no longer.

He settled between your legs, and you gasped when his cock gently glided against your slick core. Cregan knew to temper himself, to be as gentle as he could with it being your wedding night, but his resolve was steadily diminished in your presence. He steeled himself, pressing a string of kisses along your body.

Without thinking, you unconsciously goaded Cregan into a point of near-frenzy. Your hands found the taut, trunk-like muscle of his biceps, visage filled with a sense of awe and adoration. “A child would please me greatly.” You confessed, having no clue what it would do to your husband.

Cregan stopped, digits curling into the thick furs on either side of your head. It took every fiber of his being not to fuck you then and there — and he wouldn’t, it wasn’t right for him to take your maidenhead with such roughness. His fantasy became reality, a visceral, beautiful vision that made him grunt, jaw unnaturally tense.

His rough palm soothingly stroked along your thigh, lust swelling within him like a blizzard, a violent storm of need that transcended all bonds of propriety. “Does Lady Stark want me to put a pup in her belly?” Cregan rumbled, tempestuous hues ignited with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, sending shockwaves right to your core.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, shuddering at the sound of his voice — an edged husk, like the rumbling of thunder before a deluge or the shaking of a mountain. “Yes,” You exhaled, searching his countenance, only to find desire. “I would.”

The Gods were testing him, aiming to see if he would break beneath the pressure, but he refused. Cregan lowered himself over you, lips molding themselves against yours in a hot kiss. Your hands remained poised atop his biceps, barely able to wrap themselves around the thick, corded muscle.

He wasn’t much of a talker, and it quickly dwindled into deep grunts and heavier sighs as he aligned his cock with your entrance. He made sure to part your legs, keeping them spread as he began to push inside of you. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, startled at the twinge of pain, the discomfort of it all.

Cregan despised the mere thought of causing you harm, and even he was willing to end it all then and there. “We don’t have to continue, beloved.” He rumbled, pressing a soothing string of kisses along your face. The endearing nickname made you preen, nails digging into his arms.

“No, I — I’m well enough,” You breathed, insistent on continuing. Cregan deliberated, but when you let out a low whine, he obeyed your command. “Gods, I need you, Cregan.” Pitched with a wanton resonance, you urged him to keep going.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by agonizing inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

You were never fully warned of the pain, the discomfort that accompanied pleasure. It was always sold as some fantasy, particularly for men — nights of heavenly passion resulting in bliss. For you, it was simply a marital duty to provide your husband with an heir, but this transcended that. Passion and affection sparked between the both of you, and it felt right.

As Cregan finally bottomed out inside of you, he allowed you time to fully adjust, rocking into you at a lackadaisical pace. He continued to shower you in kisses, wherever his lips could reach, giving particular affection to the crook of your neck.

Whatever discontent you felt, you hastily pushed it aside, tossing it into the recesses of your mind. Instead, you focused on him — on how incredible he made you feel, the warmth you experienced in his presence. One of your hands slipped to thread within his chestnut tresses, mouth agape.

You took him so well — better than expected, and it filled him with a sense of pride and ardor. Cregan pressed hungry kisses along your throat, nose buried into the hollow of it, right beneath your jugular. He continued to go slow, afraid of causing you further pain.

Cregan repositioned his hand, leaving one lodged beside your head, the other sinking into your haunch, digits tenderly kneading into your thigh. It was an offer of reassurance, and he watched your countenance shift from discontented to relaxed.

“Move,” The sharpness of your command brought him to heel, and he very nearly smiled — it was there, the ghost of it toying at his lips. Bringing his hips back and then forward, you moaned, knowing that the sting of pain would soon blossom into pleasure. “Please.”

Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, arousal thick between your legs as Cregan began to find his pace, a rhythm that shook you to your core. He was so very gentle, even for a man of his herculean mass and muscle. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he thrusted into you.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each snap of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

Admittedly, his mind was hazy, fueled by desire and the mere thought of you wanting a child — you had asked it of him, demanded, and he was at your mercy. Cregan couldn’t have gotten any luckier with you, the most resplendent woman he’d ever seen.

Imagining you full and round, still as lovely as the day he set his eyes upon you, a mother and a dragon — it was nothing short of true perfection. He chased after it, evident by the growing vigor and passion in each thrust of his hips, cock nearly tearing you into two.

No matter how gentle and careful Cregan was with you, it was to no avail, but you no longer cared. “Cregan,” You moaned, lifting one leg to hitch it around his waist, and that only seemed to further spur him on, allowing him to hit new depths. His throbbing length nearly kissed your womb, filling you to the brim. “Cregan!” You cried.

For a moment, you feared being split in-half by your mountain of a husband, but he slowed enough to let you recuperate, throat reverberating with carnal grunts. The rumbling of his chest, the heat that radiated from him in waves — it was all perfect.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

His thrusts deepened, became passionate and invigorated with love, and each snap of his hips made your head spin with delirium. You were drunk on desire, clinging to him as if you were a drowning maiden, hand splayed against his shoulder.

Whenever he happened to become a touch too vigorous, he felt your nails dig deep into his flesh, leaving behind the reddened marks of your consummation. Cregan was getting close, chest erupting with labored pants as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You moaned, body bending beneath his passion, malleable within his hands. His cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of sloppy, warm kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat in your chambers.

With another brusque thrust of his hips, he settled inside of you, reaching his peak with a subtle groan. His seed filled your cunt in hot ropes, more than enough to take, if the Gods were good. Cregan exhaled, feverishly hot as he began to recuperate, neglecting to remove himself from you for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” Cregan murmured, ensuring your wellbeing first, above all else. A stinging soreness settled into your thighs and your core, but you would survive. He didn’t completely obliterate you, thankfully — you wondered what he would be like, unrestrained.

“Yes,” You smiled, visibly flustered beneath the intensity of his stare. “That was incredible.” Your confession made him huff, likely one of amusement as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. Even you glittered with sweat, but that was to be expected.

You already wanted more — and you nearly asked it of him.

Lascivious fantasies took root within your mind, and the mere idea of him being rough and completely domineering made your cunt throb. You could not do it now, given how exhausted you were, but he had certainly unlocked a new side to you, a side that you were unfamiliar with.

Cregan pulled himself from you, propping your hips up beneath a feathered pillow to ensure that his seed would take. He rested beside you, drawing you into the bulk of his muscled arms, allowing you to rest your head against the expanse of his chest. “You were perfect.” He rumbled, roughened digits stroking along your spine.

It pleased you to know that your husband was satisfied with you, much to your delight. “I am glad,” Relief rippled through you as you inched closer, perfectly slotted against his frame. “So were you.” Your pleasant accolades made him smile, fracturing his stony exterior.

“There will be plenty of time for this, that I can promise you,” Cregan was more concerned with getting to know you, his beautiful lady-wife, Lady Stark. “I would like to start with you.” He murmured, savoring the sensation of your fingers tracing across his abdomen.

You blinked, seemingly surprised by Cregan’s genuine interest in you. It made you happy — perhaps you could have both. Moments of learning and moments like these, where you could indulge in pleasure.

“Would it offend you if I asked you to do both?” You questioned, warmth crawling along your body as Cregan squeezed the swell of your hip, gray hues sparkling with a semblance of mirth.

“It wouldn’t,” Cregan mused, timbre dropping to a lull, a husky octave that seemed to envelop you in its stoicism and warmth. “It pleases me to know that Lady Stark possesses the appetite of a dragon.” His teasing made you squirm, but he simply caressed you and held you closer.

With a coy smile, you lifted your head, pressing your lips against his, asserting your still-lingering desire for your husband. “Not a dragon,” Your tone softened with a sweeter resonance. “A wolf.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal my work and claim it as your own or translate it onto other platforms.

[1hellofacookie]

If you ever hear me say "Corona is hot" I am talking about this lady, and this lady only

[vaggietheangel]

Hot pirate lady 🥰💘💝💖💗💓

[itlivesproject]

what’s y’all’s guilty pleasure tropes in media? (e.g. tropes that are so bad it’s good, or smth you’re a tad embarrassed about loving!)

Boy do we some answers for you, anon

Maggie

Oh I have soooo many. Mostly I love a good romancing the bad guy/villain trope where the villain has questionable if not downright dark morals. And I’m not talking a bad boy with a heart of gold. I mean a totally fucked up piece of shit who absolutely does not care about anyone but themselves and MC.

Also, one I recently got some flak for was “LI says mean thing behind MC’s back and MC overhears and is hurt and LI then has to work to get back into MC’s good graces.” I’m a sucker for drama and questionable morals and I will not apologize.

Lindsay

My guilty pleasure is Choices

I also like slow burns. And Ethan ramsey 🤢

Julia (writer)

Does bed sharing count? I'm a huge sucker for bed sharing, even though it's cliche as hell. Also I am not immune to the glass cannon trope, i.e. a character who is super powerful but also super fragile.

I also like problematic power differences in relationships, and you can quote me on that. I love all the problematic tropes actually. Anything problematic you can think of, I probably read that.

Alex (writer)

I actually liked tna LMAO. Like i know it's overdramatic and extremely unrealistic, but it was still really fun to read and i always looked forward to the discussions around how ridiculous it was.

i also like really terrible movies, like my favorite movie is the worst thing i have ever watched in my life but i love it so much

And you could say that i multiship like an insane person. Way too many pairings to make sense.

Evie (writer)

Ok so for me, i think the femme fatale? does that count as a trope? i just love a woman being sexy, owning it, and using it to be morally corrupt. it doesn't even need to be well-done, or done in a feminist way. i see hot lady being evil, gay brain goes brrrrr

i also love love love the berserk button. a character that's usually cool and collected absolutely LOSING IT and going WAY OVERBOARD when someone they care about being hurt? or simply because They've Had Enough? absolutely love it, go off queen

I’m just trying to find the least triggering/pot-stirring way to say i actively look out for the worst possible shit on ao3. My guilty pleasure is reading my favorite characters get [redacted], [redacted] and [redacted]

M

I just love spectacle in movies.

Aku (artist)

Yandere x Tsundere

Eri

Berserk button is a godly trope as Evie well said. But I don't consider it a guilty pleasure, cause it's objectively good in my humble opinion. My guilty pleasure is Whump (first writing event I ever participated in was Whumptober lol). It can be as intense as it gets without permanent (physical) damage to the character, as long as there's a hopeful ending with a lot of comfort for good measure. Also, slightly-out-of-character hurt-comfort fics (out of character in the sense that said character would not accept the comfort under regular circumstances)

Sugar

i love the bad guys, i also love when characters go through the most terrible of things, it makes me (as a reader) feel something. anything flies as long as there’s a happy ending

[arcane-ish]

I have to admit, while of course Big Guy Go Brrrrr is always sexy, I've always headcanoned it a bit differently.

I tend to imagine Silco as somebody who is bit cynical about macho people showing off (deliberately non-gendering it as Arcane has buff ladies as well). Like either he is used to guys trying to impress him that way or he has seen the dynamic when people try to impress some other hottie. Not to mention, if Vander works there, it is borderline his job to protect patrons from being hassled. Don't get me wrong, I think it would be an excellent setup for Silco to have a reason to take Vander back for a hot one night stand with some political pillow talk if he finds him hot anyway, just not maybe as the reason to deeply fall in love with him.

And that would make Vander stick out of him was if Vander was actually showing off genuine kindness and/or politics.

In my brain I see more:

drowned!rat!Silco being huddled up somewhere against a wall and Vander bends over and offers him a piece of bread, a coat or a cuddle.

scrawny!Silco getting pushed around by the other miners and then Vander comes by, just gets involved unasked, kicks their asses and yells at them they should be sticking together against the jackasses above, not take it out on each other. And Silco is like "omg, he totally gets it"

Or Silco is doing some political thing and Vander is the only one who shows up. Or it goes poorly and then Vander shows up and it goes much better.* Like maybe he's trying to get people to sign up or donate resources for the cause and people laugh him off and suddenly Vander shows up and suddenly everybody is scared and goes along (maybe setting the ground work for the protection money collecting that we know both Vander and Silco ended up doing when they were in charge). Or Silco does like regular political meetings where people meet at the bar and he tries to talk them into joining. And Silco is just used to that being extremely depressing because people only show up because he pays for one round of drinks. And Vander now only stays and wants to keep talking after everybody leaves, he actually asks questions making Silco realized that he actually listened which Silco isn't used to and they end up talking all night. And in the morning when Vander goes all "I can't believe we forgot about the time, we should talk again" Silco realizes about how much he doesn't want him to leave.

*(actually there's a story about one of the worst real life couples meeting that would totally work for them. Like there's a public fair where people have to collect "signatures" in the form of getting people to pay for tickets to vote for a person to get them to win a prize. And the suitor just goes around threatening to beat people up if they don't buy voting tickets for their lady love so she can win the contest)

So what do you think made Silco’s little heart go doki doki for Vander? Cuz I keep picturing some creep grabbing his (non existent) ass and Vander having none of it. You know just show enough strength and protectiveness to be like ‘oh wait I wanna go mining in that’

I wanna go mining in that, absolutely perfect way to put it aksduhadsi. You know what, I had to indulge myself with this trope, why not!!!:

A little different scenario but the idea is the same. Silco would fall in love with the fact Vander is so safe and that Vander and him share the same kind of passion for the cause. And also brain go brr when big big man big arm punch enemies

[that-wizard-oki]

Okay so my autism brain went brrrrr for a hot minute, so here’s me info dumping about King Arthurian lore and how it related to wizard101 lore/characters if you’re interested:

There’s literally hundreds of iterations of Merlin (in whom Ambrose is greatly inspired by) and within those hundreds of iterations there is also many OTHER different iterations of Morgana (who largely inspired Morganthe’s character)

One of the most popular iterations is the Sir Thomas Malory version written in the 15th century- which is most “accurately” depicted by the 1980′s film Excalibur. In these two representations of the story of merlin/king Arthur, Morgana’s actions in these tales are normally malicious due to Merlin (and by connection, Arthur) murdering her father and assulting her mother (and like, so much more lol).

And like, I bring this up because while some of these iterations are more popular than others, there’s not really a “true” one. So when it comes to creating characters like Ambrose and Morganthe who are largely inspired by these characters, it’s interesting to see what the writers took from the preexisting work  and wove into their own narrative

Like for one- Morganthe being a CHILD while under Merle’s tutelage is something entirely new and really changes how other aspects of the typical merlin/morgana relationship might work because they’ve always been adults. Some iterations have Merlin falling for Morgana’s beauty, and she uses (edit: damn i love infodumping because i start one thought and don’t finish the one i was currently on lmao)

But- get this- even when merlin becomes entranced or tricked by a sorceress, sometimes, it’s not even Morgana! Some tellings have Nuime in this role- who is/becomes the lady of the lake, which if you think about that in the context of wizard characters can be super interesting lol. 

Another interesting aspect is that some versions of Morgana depict her as being completely benevolent- actually, she’s usually the one that HEALS arthur (who equates to King Art in wiz if that wasn’t clear) after he dies and his spirit arrives in the isle of Avalon (yea that’s where avalon gets its name oooo smooth reference there KI)

I’m legit just going off my memory rn but I also recall Morgana being the eldest of nine sister- which is so interesting because, if Astral magic is considered just one school (as it is in the Arcanum), then shadow would be the “ninth” discipline of magic. So like, interesting the character Morganthe is based off of has 8 other sisters who could represent the other schools (looks at bat, mellori, the wizard, ect)

Also, Morgana just being like. straight up fae. Literally “Morgana le fey”- like she’s straight up a DRUID fam. Morganthe being a druid or related TO the druids would make so much sense in wiz lore KI i am begging you this character is So good DO SOMETHIGN WITH HER AAA

To end this info dump off- the reason that king Art is a bear in wiz is most likely because King Arthur’s nick-name in battle was... The Bear. I love that so much thank you 

[zenlesszonezero]

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