#it arrived fully formed
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There was a trivia question last night about Japan and the History of Japan video surfaced in my brain from the depths of oblivion and provided me with the answer. So that's something.
#knowledge from 8 years ago comes in handy#it arrived fully formed#heard the question - the video appeared in my mind and I had the answer#history of japan
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very silly image i couldn't get out of my head
#i don't think people are even using this meme anymore but it arrived in my mind fully formed and i had to create it#also i've been drawing odysseus basically non-stop so he looks the way he looks but achilles is all lies don't hold me to any of that#greek mythology#the iliad#the odyssey#as represented by:#achilles#odysseus#tagamemnon#my art
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I've been re-reading Worm and God the part starting with Coil bombing the mayoral debate and ending with the heroes coming for Taylor in school (or Noelle's death, if you're picky) is such an insane run of arcs. Just banger after banger after banger.
It's got everything; Taylor being blinded, Coil pretending to free Dinah, Taylor fighting her way out of Coil's trap, the Undersiders thinking she betrayed them, Coil finally biting the bullet and Dinah going home, and then boom! Noelle time, and everything that comes with it!
It's by far my favourite part of the book. I honestly think Gold Morning is the only thing that can compare to it. It's an absolutely insane decision to have the two cathartic things we've been building to since before Leviathan (Dinah being freed and Coil exiting stage right) happen in the middle of that shitstorm, and even more insane to make them work so well.
#worm#parahumans#there's so many little things that stuck with me for years between reads#the visual of Taylor half-dead and fully blind driving the truck she stole from one of Coil's mercs.#Raymancer getting hit with radioactive dust from a Vista clone and going Oh. I'm going to die.#Wanton having to hold his breaker form until a decontamination team arrives. His record is twelve minutes and they'll arrive in fifteen.#Imp killing the Leet clone half a second before Eidolon crushed the entire building#The Faultline interlude where Contessa happens. The Travellers Isekai arc. Taylor telling Sundancer no one else was stuck in Noelle.
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guillermo: you know, lazlo, i bet you'd be a hit with trans women
Laszlo: Ah, yes—the chappess of the transsecksssual varieteh! Or as I like to call her, the very late bloomer. Yes, yes, I have fornicated with many such a lady and let me tell you something, Gizmo, every single one of them could fuck like her life depended on it—which it did. Those artificial orifices are a testament to the wonders of modern medical science. It's a good thing you're gay mah boah, because you could not handle them. That said, you ought to consider an evening with a late blooming lad. Give one of those boys the right instrument, and he'll know exactly where to drill for white gold.
guillermo: *chuckles* oh, i already know about what a trans dude can do with a strap *winks*
Laszlo: *laughter*
guillermo: but i meant the trans women who, y'know, don't get surgery down there.
Laszlo: *squints his eyes*
guillermo: like, you know, still got the *gestures a dangling bit*
Laszlo: Bah! *waves his tobacco pipe* We would sooner find a unicorn—and those don't even exist, believe you me!
guillermo: *glances at the camera*
#wwdits#wwdits fx#guillermo de la cruz#laszlo cravensworth#wwdits guillermo#wwdits gizmo#wwdits laszlo#what we do in the shadows#this arrived fully formed in my head as though by prophecy#i have no regrets
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Listening to the dulcet tones created as I hit my penis against multiple metal bars of differing sizes.
Call that a gockenspeil.
#I don’t even like the word gock btw#but this thought arrived fully formed in my head and will not go away#so in to the drafts it goes#if this ever sees the light of day. I’m sorry.
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i always find it weird when people don't like fic with OCs in it, maybe because as soon as I open up a google doc and start writing I start putting in OCs willy nilly.
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Where r u from?
I'm pretty sure I'm from Earth, but these days, who knows man. Maybe I'm from space or the ocean or from the inside of an egg. It's anyone's guess!
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One time I took nyquil before a really long international flight and as I was falling asleep listening to music I accidentally nudged my phone screen in a way that made the song currently playing repeat on a loop instead of repeating the playlist so I ended up unconsciously listening to Curse Of The Serpent by Jesus Piece on loop for like 5 hours straight just beaming it directly into the softest parts of my subconscious and that's the reason behind everything that's wrong with me now I think
#i hardly ever listen to it anymore#like. i dont need to. i can just think about it and it arrives fully formed in my head
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sorry i've been reblogging a lot of lowkey charles hate tonight. it's because i do in fact lowkey hate him. :)
#the haterism in me has been slowly awakening all year#she's almost fully formed...#she'll arrive any day now...
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omegaverse, or as i like to call it. barking and entering
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love Anything But both bc it is a jam and bc the lyrics are. such a specific sort of fuck-you
#i once had a shit landlord and after a conversation w her a phrase arrived fully formed in my head#‘when you die the worms will not eat you’#same sort of linguistic backstabbery.#‘if I was a riptide I wouldn’t take you out’ aww !!#‘I would do anything if you would hear me say look another way’ oh.#if I was death you’d live forever. not because i wish eternal life upon you#but because I truly want nothing to do with you ever again. EVER.#it’s a song about a specific sort of smiling rage
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actually im not horny at all im just popping a defense mechanism boner now can you please look away for 3 to 25 minutes..?
#meowmeow#post that didnt even go through the production line it arrived fully formed on my tongue as though from the voice of god
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blanket monster





synopsis. with your radiator broken, you either freeze to death or borrow a blanket from your roommate mattheo. what happens when a badly planned thievery causes you to be trapped with him under his blanket? beneath the covers, there are no rules: just heat, hunger, and a monster with your name on his tongue.
pairing. roommate! mattheo riddle x reader
content/mdni. fem!reader, roommate!au, cocky!mattheo, pervert!mattheo, sleepy!mattheo, tit play, dry/wet-humping, clit stimulation, thigh-fucking, neck kissing, a lot of tension, teasing, praise, begging, dirty talk, name-calling (good girl, baby), messy, unprotected p in v (although matty preaches safe sèx), a lot of restraint, quite soft ngl, a ton of plot
word count. 3.8k
a/n. i am still not fully back, but i managed to write this! y’all already know i have strangely specific plots. hope you enjoy it tho! feedback and reblogs are extremely appreciated

after a weak push, the door creaked open with a high-pitched hum, slowly revealing mattheo’s room. surprisingly, it was drowned in silence — his pc was shut down, his phone locked and tucked away in his nightstand, only visible thanks to the shimmering white of the charger.
his window was closed, but his curtains were wide open, allowing the beautiful shine of the moon to spill into the chamber and gloss all over its constituents.
including mattheo’s sleeping form.
he was submerged under a fluffy blanket, sprawled across the bed on his side. only his curly tuff of hair was visible, the rest of his body completely covered by the thick covers.
“mattheo.”
you whisper-yelled his name as you inched closer and closer to him, trespassing into his room without his permission yet again.
in your defense, you first gave him a warning of your arrival on his phone, but he seems to have disregarded any sort of message from you to sleep.
“mattheo.”
you tried again, this time with a sharper tone, a bit annoyed that he was not stirring awake from your first call.
he was as unwavering as a log, maintaining his initial position under the covers. his breath was stilled and controlled, only small snores leaving his probably parted lips here and there.
mattheo could have been robbed in his sleep and he would have had no idea.
“matty, c’mon.”
you were bolder now, bending at your waist above the bed and urging him to wake up in a louder voice.
the new, proximal position allowed you to see his face clearly — peaceful, no crease or wrinkle on his sleeping expression. his lips were indeed open, but thankfully no drool slipped away between them. his beautiful chocolate eyes were covered by heavy lids and sealed away by his thick lashes. his curls were partly sticking to his forehead, skin heated from the warmth of his slumber, partly spread all across his pillow in a confusing mess.
“this fool is sweating while i am freezing to death.”
that's why you came to his room — you needed to borrow another blanket as yours did little to nothing to help with the low temperature in your room. your radiator broke during the day and, despite mattheo’s generous offer to sleep in his room, you stood your ground and decided to face the cold on your own.
big mistake.
not even your thickest pajamas and a mountain of blankets did the trick.
“mattyyyyy.”
elongating the vowel at the end of his nickname, you called out to him one last time. you even put on your sweetest voice, somehow sure this time you will succeed in waking him up. and to make odds be in your favour, you even scrunched up the long sleeves of your blouse and poke at his cheek with your bare finger.
once.
…
twice.
…
thrice.
…
“ugh.”
you puffed, annoyed beyond compare when mattheo did not budge. there was no point in pestering him further; you’d only get angrier at his lack of reaction.
promptly straightening your back, you turned around and took a step away from his bed.
maybe you should search for a blanket on your own.
it’s not like the room was in complete darkness, the moon shining brighter than ever through the window. plus, the only logical place for mattheo to store a spare blanket was his wardrobe.
it would be easy to find.
but you completely underestimated mattheo and his dirty pig attics.
his wardrobe was a total mess. his clothes were barely folded, thrown into any drawer — multiple drawers, even. and when you tried to pull something that looked like a blanket, all soft and fluffy, the entire mountain of clothes twitched.
“hell nah.”
you immediately abandoned the so-called blanket, shoving the material back in and rapidly closing the door. challenging the monstruous wardrobe was a bad move on your part; if that thing collapsed on you, you’d have been buried in mattheo’s mess until the end of time.
should i just take the blanket he has on him now?
a devious thought crossed your mind as you were staring at the mirror-like surface of the wardrobe, shamelessly eyeing the blanket covering mattheo.
a devious thought that sounded like a splendid idea.
it wasn’t like mattheo would wake up because of it. he would most likely sleep soundly until morning, and only then he would realize someone robbed him of his precious covers. moreover, that fucker is a walking radiator himself, generating heat and burning like a fire. you’d be more appreciative of his blanket than him.
so, after making up your mind, you drew closer to his bed again. your legs inched quicker and quicker with feather-like steps, and thanks to your long pants, catching underneath your feet, any sort of floor creaking was prevented.
all that commotion with the wardrobe did nothing to mattheo — he was still fast asleep, in the same position in which you’ve found him at the beginning of your intrusion. almost drowning in the covers, it was fortunate that the blanket seems to not be trapped under him.
assessing the position of the blanket and the strange entanglement of limbs that could be lying underneath, you decided that pulling from the very middle of the material would be the best choice. dipping your body downwards, you carefully grasp the edge of the blanket, securing a good chunk of it between your grabby fingers.
and you pulled it towards you. slow. calculated.
a cheeky smiled spread on your face when the blanket slowly began to budge from its place, gliding across mattheo without perturbing his deep slumber. you could already feel the way this very blanket will solve all your issues and give you the best sleep known to man.
you barely managed to peel the blanket halfway when movement halted abruptly. you tugged and tugged at the material, some sharper tugs, some gentle tugs, but nothing happened.
“it’s stuck?”
you whisper-yelled at the sudden realization, terribly infuriated by this stupid impediment. did the blanket catch onto one of mattheo’s pillows? or was it perhaps his leg or arm?
leaning over the bed to scout the area with your eyes, you momentarily lessen your grip on the covers. mattheo was surely too far gone into dreamland to notice your looming figure, so you could survey the area in peace and decide your next move.
yet, with your guard lowered down, a new, foreign arm joined in.
sneaking fastly around your torso and dragging you into the bed, underneath the blanket.
“fuck!” a mere curse word managed to escape from your lips before the strong pull stole your breath away. “you awake?” a half-muttered rhetorical question left your mouth immediately after, your entire body twitching and turning in mattheo’s lazy grasp, trying to escape and assess the new situation.
“shhh, too loud.”
a deep, rumbling voice broke your exasperated protests, snapping you out of your frenzy and bringing your entire attention back to the person next to you. and the proximity between you two.
he was awake. and really close.
“settle down.”
mattheo’s voice was heavy with sleep, his words half-murmured against your forehead. you could feel the warm breath fanning across your face, and if you tried hard enough you could feel his lips themselves brushing over your skin.
“no, let me–”
your little complaints began again, this time fueled by the dangerously short distance between your two bodies. to make matters worse, you were facing each other; mattheo’s face was resting a bit higher than yours, yet still too close to your liking.
you were burning with embarrassment, struggling to free yourself, while he was still as serene as ever.
“–go.”
despite his gentle expression and his half-lidded eyes, true signs of drowsiness, mattheo sharply disobeyed your commands and tightened his grasp around your waist, pulling you even closer.
“ah, wait.”
you had no time to react, your nose bumping into his hard chest in mere seconds. his warm body instantly ignited your cold one, and you subconsciously buried your face deeper, nuzzling against his skin.
skin?
skin.
bare, hot, unmistakable skin.
you abruptly stopped, face slowly backing away from his body to confirm that he was indeed shirtless — to confirm that your poor tired mind was not playing tricks on you.
“matty?”
you whispered his name, testing whether he has already succumbed to the heaviness of sleep. if he did, there was no point in confronting him. you’d just sneak away and back into your roo–
“hm?”
but he was still awake. his hum of approval was low, barely above a whisper, but thanks to your closeness, you felt the vibrations of his vocal cords shoot through his chest.
“you’re shirtless.”
you hoped a reminder of his bare torso would make him back off, instill some distance between you two. heck, maybe even make him let you go. but mattheo only smirked at your statement, a slight peek of his marble teeth shining together with the moonlight.
contrary to your expectations, mattheo dipped his head downwards, traversing from your forehead lower and lower and lower. his lips made a short stop right above your mouth, and that’s when panic surged inside you.
what is he thinking?
your arms, which were peacefully resting alongside your body, sprung upwards and landed right onto his chest. palms flat against his hot skin, you pushed mattheo with all your might, trying to regain some distance.
but he wouldn’t move.
“mattheo, what–”
he continued his journey, trailing lower, totally ignoring your baffled state. leaving your lips empty, he settled down right against your ear. and, with a low whisper, he corrected your previous sentence.
“i’m naked.”
oh.
your hands completely stilled on his chest. no. your entire body froze up, too stunned by the revelation. only your eyes widened in shock, eyebrows jumping upwards and curving into two crescent moons.
“no. nonononono. no.”
whether he was joking or not, you did not want to stay further and find out. mattheo was your roommate, for fuck’s sake, and even the fact that you were in bed with him was bad. but if he was indeed naked??
you had to get away fast.
pushing at his chest and twisting around, you managed to turn your back to mattheo and even sneak one of your legs outside the blanket.
mattheo might be strong, but he was still sleepy — if you act fast enough, you’d surely escape from his arm.
your plan was good, and with the way your second leg was flying away from the clutches of the blanket, you were sure it will succeed.
sadly, you did not take into consideration mattheo’s second arm.
his other arm dropped across your middle, gliding across your sides like a snake and securely gripping at your body. and slowly, any sort of progress you made dissipated, your body now dragged back in its initial place.
“why run, baby?”
he chuckled against your cheek, low and wrecked with sleep, sending a pulse of heat straight to your core.
“you wanted warmth, no?” his voice was full of arrogance, and you could feel the way his lips curled against your skin in a devious grin.
with both of his arms nicely wrapped around you, mattheo pulled you into him fully. your clothed back hit his chest, all warm and fuzzy, while your lower body made contact with his solid crotch.
something sheltered itself between your asscheeks, and by its twitchiness, it was definitely not his leg.
“i will make you warm all over.”
it was a mistake to tiptoe into his room. it was a mistake to steal his blanket.
it was a mistake to underestimate a sleeping mattheo.
now you were at his mercy.
“ah, matty…”
being engulfed by his warm body did make your hotter. suddenly, your long-sleeved pajamas were too much; the material was itchy and suffocating, making you pant and whine for your clothes to be discarded.
nonetheless, the raising in temperature was not solely due to the covers and mattheo’s body heat — it was also due to your own lustful desire stirring your insides, making you boil with need.
“yeah, baby?”
mattheo knew. he could feel your body quivering against him, he could feel your ass involuntarily pushing against his cock. he could feel the way your hands clutch at his, desperately guiding them underneath the hem of your blouse.
fuck, his sweet roommate needed him.
his hands slid upwards underneath your blouse, warm calloused palms gliding across your tummy all the way to your bare chest. his fingers touched around attentively, waiting for a positive cue from you.
and when a small needy whimper left your lips, he fully cupped your tits in his hands.
“shit, so soft.”
he groaned against your neck, voice all gravel yet honeyed, half-sweet, half-sinful. his lips peppered open-mouthed kisses across your skin, wetting every exposed patch in his wake. his digits, skillful and eager, pinched and pulled at your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks.
your cute moans of pleasure only stirred him on, and with each and every squeeze of your tits came a snappy thrust of his shaft into your meaty ass.
“you getting warmer, baby?”
each word was punctuated by a short nibble of your skin, his teeth grazing at your neck, hard enough to pleasure, yet not enough to hurt.
he didn’t need an actual response, really; he could feel your body heat — now matching his own temperature — and he could also feel arousal bubbling inside you.
“y–yes.”
your answer was weak, drowned in breathy whines, too overwhelmed by mattheo and his restless attacks. his palms continued their ministration on your boobs, fondling them to his very whim, while his cock drilled faster and faster against your pajama pants, getting them all sticky and wet with precum.
the back of your pants were not the only ones drenched. your panties were long ruined, arousal pooling into them wave after wave from the moment mattheo pulled you underneath the covers.
at the beginning, you tried to resist temptation, but right now you were fully succumbing to lust, clenching your thighs together and pushing back into your roommate.
“m–more.”
you needed more. you needed to feel his hands touch all over your body, to ignite every inch of your skin.
to make you burn raw with desire.
your plea, oh so tiny and broken, made mattheo’s hips jut upwards into your ass faster. a plethora of curses escaped his wet lips as he slowly but surely realized how you had him wrapped around your finger.
your wandering hands reached his own underneath your shirt and, with delicate moves, you now guided them downwards to the hem of your pants.
and, to seal the deal and make mattheo complete putty, you threw the prettiest blown-out eyes at him, silently asking for him to go further.
“f–fuck, baby, i can’t resist you.” his voice cracked against your skin, as even saying the words cost him restraint.
his fingers fumbled at your waist, clumsily pushing the waistband of your pajamas down to your knees. when the pads of his digits encountered your panties, they were immediately hooked and dragged lower too, joining your pants.
“oh, baby, oh, baby, oh, babyyy.”
he started chanting the pet name like a mantra the moment his eyes got a hold of your glistering pussy, all warm and sticky, and so so inviting. and he gladly took the invitation, glossing his fingers between your folds and gathering your arousal, only to stick up his hand and admire the web-like formation of precum.
“so fucking wet, d–damn.”
he breathed it like a prayer, forehead dropping against your shoulder for a moment, so aroused by the reactions of your body. but he had no time to soak into the feeling as he felt your plush, naked ass press against his own bare cock, so impatient and needy.
“mattyyy.”
your mind was foggy, clouded with the thought of immediate release. your hips shifting back into mattheo so deliciously was a clear bodily reaction, and he could see that as well.
as much as he wanted to thrust right into your sloppy hole and fuck you senseless, he couldn’t.
“c–can’t, baby. i don’t have a condom.”
it was difficult to hold back, it really was. to have his gorgeous roommate in his arms, half-naked and begging for dick — that was his ultimate fantasy. yet here he was, cock heavy and throbbing against your ass, refusing to fuck you without a condom.
“but matty–”
“safe sex is ah–… important, baby.”
fuck safe sex, you wanted to scream at him, the achiness between your legs growing stronger and stronger. but mattheo took you by surprise once again, repositioning his wandering hand back on your cunt and slowly circling his digits over your pulsing clit.
“but i will take care of you.”
the sensation was so powerful that your head was thrown back against his chest, a sharp moan elicited from your previously pouting lips. no longer pursed in dissatisfaction, your mouth hanged open, overflowing with whines and moans.
“it feels good, baby, hm?”
“yes, yes, yes, ahhh…”
your voice was high and ruined, hips rutting mindlessly against mattheo’s hand as he played with your swollen bud. his pace was sloppy and wavering, his concentration deterring because of his own needs. his cock, leaking with precum, was still chasing relief between your asscheeks.
but he too wanted more.
“got you all messy and wet…” he mumbled, ragged breath fanning on your skin. “yet i can’t even fuck you properly.”
the arm around your torso tightened, dragging you closer to his crotch. his ministration on your clit got rougher, now matching the desperate ruttings of his own hips.
he wanted so bad to move your leg to the side and just plunge in. he wanted so bad to twist you around and have you spread open across his bed, legs dangling off his shoulders as he restlessly pounds into you.
his cock continued to bully the fat of your behind, leaving a sticky shimmery trail all over it, as he keeps imagining the many ways he could have you if only he had a condom on him.
if only there was an alternative to–
there was.
“baby, let me fuck your pretty thighs.”
he rasped quickly, short of breath, proud of his genius idea. his fidgety hand immediately jumped on your thigh, fingers digging into the plush fat and making it jiggle slightly.
“they’re warm and soft… i will rub your clit, make you cum together with me.”
his other hand resumed its movement on your cunt, poking and prodding at your clit in an attempt to convince you to accept his offer.
“o–okay.”
you hiccupped, voce hazy and dripping with need. you slightly parted your thighs, inviting mattheo to insert his cock. and he wasted no time, thanking you for your cooperation and sliding between your thighs swiftly.
and when you closed them around his cock, squishing it nicely, he though his body ascended to heaven.
“my gooood girl.”
mattheo groaned low at the friction your soft skin provided, hugging his shaft tight and warm. then he moaned louder, his cock grazing past your drenched folds and your quivering hole. he almost gave up and changed the angle, pushing into your cunt, but he stilled himself and completed his thrust, his tip peeking out, red and dripping, on the other side.
“you’re amazing, fuck.”
and with that, mattheo started a stable rhythm of his hips, pulling and pushing against your thighs and using them like a cunt. he also kept his promise, rubbing your pretty little clit and giving you that well-deserved pleasure.
“mattyyy.”
his urgent and sharp thrust affected you as well. you were sobbing now, teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling from the pressure on your clit and the constant bullying of mattheo’s cock against your folds.
“i know, baby, me too.”
he only cooed at you, speeding up his thrusts between your thighs, fingers rubbing with more vigour against your clit.
but it wasn’t sufficient.
you needed more.
you needed him inside.
“matty– inside–… i need you inside.” you babbled between sobs, twisting your neck to gaze at him and enchant him a second time that night.
“r–raw, please, raw.”
his entire body shuddered at your plea, arms stiffening tightly against you. he resisted you the first time, but now? with his own release so close?
fuck.
he cursed viciously under his breath, his self-control on the verge of snapping completely.
“y–you sure? i w–won’t be able to stop.”
if you agree, he will conform. and he hoped you–
“please, matty. i need you.”
with a feral growl, mattheo shifted, guiding the fat head of his cock to your soaking entrance. and he pushed in without a second thought, the tip stretching you out deliciously, warmly welcomed by your hungry cunt.
both of you moaned — loud, primal, shameless.
he bottomed out in one long, shaking thrust, his hips drawn to yours like a magnet. your gummy walls latched onto him like a vice, sucking his cock and hardly letting it go.
“so fucking good, baby. fuckfuckfuckk.”
he pulled out only halfway before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace that had your thighs shaking. your hands were clawing at the sheets, hanging onto them for dear life.
you were close.
you were both so close.
he only had a few more thrusts in him — he could feel it building up in his gut, tightening unbearably.
“gonna fill you up, baby.”
mattheo groaned into your shoulder, hips jerking faster, harder. his fingers were also frantic against your clit, wishing to push you off the edge at the same time.
“please, want you in me.” you whimpered, arching into him, voice broken yet sweet.
his body trembled — a half-muttered call of your name managed to get out before his sturdy hands grabbed your hips, digging his fingers hard into your skin to keep you still.
you gasped together as he buried himself deep, cock splitting you open one last time before spurts of cum spilled inside you. your pussy fluttered around him like it wanted to seal in every last drop, joining his orgasm.
for a few moments, the world was just panting, sweaty skin, tangled limbs, and the slow, sticky drip of him leaking out of you.
mattheo didn’t pull out. he couldn’t.
he just wrapped himself around you tighter, peppering you with lazy kisses.
"warm enough now, baby?" he murmured against your skin, cocky even in his exhaustion.
you could only giggle weakly, shortly glancing at the blanket that started all this, half-hanging off the bed, forgotten.
"yeah, matty," you whispered, settling back into his embrace. "more than enough."

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.
tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts
#~ 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘳#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle smut#mattheo riddle#roommmate!mattheo#pervert!mattheo#sleepy!mattheo#x reader#smut#slytherin boys smut#slytherin smut#slytherin boys
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my take on divorced!john fancying the nanny <3
he’s not fully in the clear yet. he’s separated from husband wife, she’s fully moved out and signed over custody of their son to him. all they’re waiting on is the divorce papers to be rustled up
it’s not uncommon for him to ask you to stay for days on end, caring for his son and watching over his home when he’s away on short-term deployment. more than happy to pay whatever it costs him. always comes home to spotless house and his boy ready to greet him at the door
except this time, when the mission wrapped up earlier than expected. his flight landing in at an ungodly hour so his arrival is unknown to you. the house is dark when he gets in, dead quiet just as he expected considering how late it is in the night
his footsteps are light, even lighter once he starts tripping over toys and his son’s playpen still strewn about in the front room. he’s not used to coming home to this with you about. he’s not mad by any means, but he can definitely feel the added personal touch you’ve let lingering on his home
he finds an empty tub of ice cream on the coffee table, his ice cream to be specific. it was unopened when he left and here it sits in front of the tv with the spoon still in it.
cheeky, he thinks. he begins to wonder how much of his stuff you pinch and replace before he gets home. he’ll make sure to tease you on that in the morning, watch you fluster before he laughs and ruffles your hair. ensuring you that you can have whatever you want of his, darlin’
when he stops in the bathroom to shower, he finds your bras and panties hanging up to dry next to the medicine cabinet. he can’t help the way it makes his stomach twist in a deliciously achy way. not because of the juvenile inclination that he’s seen your undergarments
but because they’re yours, and they’re hanging up in his en-suite bathroom. makes him wonder where you’ve been sleeping for a good few seconds before he actually switches on the bedroom light and sees his covers strewn about
another secret of yours revealed to soon. you’d complained about the sofa being uncomfortable to sleep on when he was away in a passing comment. his original plan was to buy a more comfortable pull out bed for his office
but this is much better. his sweet nanny curled up in his bed, drooling into his pillows. what side do you sleep on? do you occupy the place which originally belonged to his ex-wife? or do you stuff your face into his pillows, breathing in his musky scent?
he only wishes you didn’t wash the sheets before he came home :(
he finds you in the nursery, curled up on the rocking chair with a blanket on your lap and a book hugged close to your chest. snoozing peacefully alongside his son who was dozing in his crib. he checks on the infant, pressing a kiss to his forehead before making his way to you
the book you’re reading is the one he’d left on his bedside table with his reading glasses. some non-fiction book about the Cold War he reads before bed. he tucks it under his arm before reaching down to scoop your sleeping form up from the rocking chair
the blanket once covering you slips off, pooling at his feet and it takes everything in him not to let out a groan and wake you up when he sees you sleeping in nothing over this his boxers and his old lieutenants t-shirt
the engraved ‘Price’ branding your chest is simply an omen of good things to come :)
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skincare with blue collar simon riley, you know that if you hadn't noticed, he wouldn't have said a word, just as he wouldn't have seen it himself, but you're lucky enough to notice the clogged, almost darkened pores on his face and gradually forming pimples, as well as blemishes from the old ones because of all the dirt that gets on his face.
all his skincare is water, not even a bar of soap, and not only was his skin quite sensitive before, his work did not leave him a chance for self care at all, unlike you, with a good set of jars to moisturize and keep the skin in order, in case something goes wrong, and you needed them, your hands fully armed, as soon as simon got home.
you dragged him into the bathroom almost from the doorstep, forcing him to throw off his work uniform and climb into the already prepared, warm bath with fragrant foam, which you prepared a couple of minutes before his arrival, since simon has a habit of texting you once he gets on his way back home, and he will not refuse a few minutes of rest in the bath, especially when his darling drags him there.
of course, it takes more time, wiping off the excess dirt from his rough skin, which has crept under both his clothes and nails, relaxing simon by rubbing the washcloth against him in a circular motion, over his tense, broad shoulders, down his wide, meaty biceps, to the scarred chest, padded with a good layer of fat, his pale eyelashes quivering, tired eyes closed, letting you do your thing, especially when you get to work on his hair.
unkempt, locks outgrown and sticking from side to side haphazardly, a little coarse under your fingers as you rake your nails up and down his nape, wetting the top of his head before squeezing a couple of drops of shampoo into the palm of your hand, starting to wash his hair, pressing your fingers into his scalp, causing simon to make sounds almost similar to the loud purrs of a loving cat, tilting his neck back.
taking care of his face passes without any complaints, he obediently puts his face on your palms, practically burying his nose in them, enjoying a couple of warm kisses with an almost sleepy smile, all while you apply facial foam to his skin, stroking and then washing away with wet palms, cleansing his face before gently sticking black pore strips on his nose, warning that the removal process can be unpleasant.
simon doesn't care as long as you do it, pampering him after a hard day of work, continuing to massage his neck and then shoulders while waiting couple of minutes before you'll need to remove the strips away, maybe then you will join him, and he will definitely take care of you too, for example, cook dinner while you rest, tucked in the warm bed.
after being spread on his fat, girthy cock, clutched tight inside your pulsing walls, your moans breathy and silenced by the needy, insatiable kisses, each one biting and messy against your lips, as you hiccup, the thick tip of his head rutting in the same spot over and over, making you gush and claw at simon's wrists weakly, his hands busy palming at your breasts with pleased hums.
main masterlist. quidelines.
#𐔌 . 𝘫𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 .ᐟ#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon riley fluff#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley comfort#simon riley x female reader#simon ghost riley fluff#simon riley comfort#simon riley x you#simon ghost smut#simon ghost riley#ghost x f!reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#ghost x female reader#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost x you#simon riley drabble#bluecollar!simon#simon ghost riley drabble#ghost thoughts#bluecollar!ghost#simon ghost riley headcanons#simon riley headcanons
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princess of the north



in case i dont end up posting again over the holidays, i just wanna say i hope everyone has a great holiday season and a very very happy new year!!!!
pairing: cregan stark x fem!targtower!pregnant!reader
description: cregan has grown older and happier throughout his years as warden of the north with his beautiful new wife at his side. however, when he married into the royal family, he had not considered how frequently he would need to interact with his in-laws.
warnings: NO DANCE AU!!! (rhaenyra ascends the throne peacefully), weird blend of book and show timeline, slight description of character (silver hair, purple eyes, that’s it!!!), smut, reader gets pregnant like halfway through, pregnancy sex, oral, piv, SEX IN FRONT OF A FIREPLACE ON A BEARSKIN RUGGGG oml
words: 9.7K
date posted: 10/12/24
part two
The winter had been very forgiving, thank the gods. It had been remarkably short, just under eight years in total, meaning that it had come to a close with plenty of food still in storage and northerners who were more than willing and able to transition into the oncoming summer with ease.
Winterfell was left in a generally stable state, aside from the fact that there was a greater need for livestock now that they not only had an additional mouth to feed, but also a fully grown dragon who resided in a make-shift dragonpit only a few minutes ride beyond the walls of the castle–a wedding gift that the Lord of Winterfell had prepared in anticipation of his new wife’s arrival. Otherwise, the North seemed to be in greater shape upon the dawn of this new summer than it had in all of Cregan’s years.
The greatest of Cregan’s accomplishments, of course, was his new wife. At the beginning of the winter, he had not expected that he would be married by the end of it, but with the arrival of Prince Jaeaerys on his official tour of the realm also came his proposal of marriage between Lord Cregan and his own aunt, the youngest daughter of the late King Viserys I and his second wife, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower. He had been hesitant to consider this offer–he’d never met the woman, which was not uncommon for marriages of such high status, but he’d been fortunate enough to have been able to form some sort of friendship with his late wife prior to their union. Jace had brought along with him the terms offered by his mother, in her own hand, of course, as well as a portrait of the woman in question.
Cregan was not above admitting how taken he’d been with the sight of the princess, even if it were only a recreation of her beauty on canvas. He’d heard of her beauty before, it was rumoured around the realm, but seeing it was entirely different, a sort of beauty he could not have imagined on his own.
“Tell me, my prince,��� Cregan asked him, hardly drawing his crystal blue gaze away from the portrait, “you are her blood and have grown up with the princess, is this painting to her likeness?”
Jacaerys smirked, “Of course, Lord Stark. My aunt is known to be one of the most beautiful women ever to live.”
Cregan pursed his lips. He was aware of the strange customs of the Targaryens, having married brother to sister and uncle to niece for generations. Jacaerys could be speaking the truth, for he himself could hold some sort of affection for his aunt, but Cregan did not suspect as such. Intead, his greater question was whether Jacaerys could be lying to him out of political gain; as his mother’s envoy, it would do him no good to suggest that the artist had not accurately painted her. Her looks were of no concern to him, but he valued honour and truth over all else. If they were attempting to attract him to the deal by portraying the princess as such a beauty over anything else, he would be personally insulted to discover that he’d been lied to, a snub from the royal family would not be taken kindly by House Stark.
“What say you?” Cregan turned to the group of men standing just to the left of the prince, all who seemed alarmed at Lord Stark’s attention being turned to them, “How do each of you vouch for the princess?”
The men, one at a time, attested to the princess’s beauty until he stood before the smallest and visibly youngest of the men.
“And you, lad?”
“I’m afraid the portrait fails to depict the princess, milord,” The boy grew rosy in the cheeks as he imagined the princess in his mind, eyes drawing towards the portrait, “That is her, yes, but only as close as the Master Holbein could have made it, for I do not think it possible to recreate such beauty. She is gifted by the gods, surely, milord, both in beauty and manner. She is kind, brings food and toys to orphans in Flea Bottom and ev’rything, milord.”
Cregan, taken aback by the answer from the youngest boy, turned back to Prince Jacaerys, who seemed equally as surprised as he did pleased with the answers of his men.
“This is true, milord,” Jace said, “the princess is known among the people for her generosity, among her other talents and traits. It cannot be denied that her mother, the Queen Dowager, was not fond of my family, nor us of her, but the princess was raised better than any of us, I would say. Take the night to think on it, I would hope to send word to the queen before I leave Winterfell at noon.”
Cregan did as instructed, thinking on it long and hard. Her beauty had been their main selling point, something that could not be denied from the portrait sent of her. Lord Stark had half a mind to hang it upon the mantle in his bedchambers whether he takes her to wife or not, but it was not her beauty that had truly swayed his decision. Instead, he thought over the young lad’s words; a southern lady scarcely thrives in the North, a nation nearly as large on its own as all of the remaining six kingdoms put together. The weather was harsh, and the people were harsher, something he could not imagine a Targaryen princess handling well. However, he’d heard of Alicent Hightower’s assertiveness and ability to lead while her husband was incapable and Rhaenyra was in Dragonstone. If what Jacaerys had told him was true, the princess would be dutiful and loyal, and according to the prince’s men, kind beyond words. Beauty may have factored into his decision on a personal level, but he also met the prince the next morning with his acceptance mostly on the basis that he believed that the princess would be wholly capable of helping him rule the North.
He wrote to her a week after Jacaerys departed from Winterfell, certain that the news would have already arrived in the capitol and she would already be aware of their arrangement. He would have little time between her arrival in the north and their wedding to meet with her in private, so this was his best hope. He was pleased to receive a raven in return only three days later, neat handwriting befitting a princess scrawled across the parchment. It was not much, but Cregan was able to learn some things about her through the letters, making it seem like he was less-so marrying a stranger and more as if she were a distant friend.
The month following, the princess would depart from King’s Landing in a procession he was told seemed a mile long. He waited with anticipation, Winterfell in a flurry of servants and guards to prepare the castle to house the royal family and their household, as well as for the wedding itself, and only one more month would pass before his bride had arrived within the walls of Winterfell.
Cregan had bowed respectfully to the Queen Dowager as she stepped out of her wheelhouse, then to the two silver-haired princes who arrived on their steeds. His eyes scanned the growing crowd for any sight of his betrothed, finally catching sight of her as she took the hand of a Dornish white cloak to balance herself as she exited the wheelhouse, a pretty white fur-lined cloak wrapped around her shoulders, almost blending into the pale blonde of her hair. She was, indeed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had traditional Valyrian looks, but also held an aura of softness.
She was nervous as she curtsied before her, but seemed happy enough with his appearance and manners as he greeted her with a kiss to her leather-gloved knuckle. The moment was broken apart by her mother’s level tone, requesting to be brought to her chambers for some rest before supper. That evening Cregan found the portrait of the princess that he’d received months earlier and personally hung it above the mantle in his bedchambers. He thought it was safe to say he was smitten.
The princess appeared bashful in his presence, though he was partially certain that her discomfort was brought on by her ever-present family, each looming nearby as if waiting to intercept his attempts of conversation with his betrothed. He could not decide who he had grown to loathe the most; Aegon had already drank a generous portion of Winterfell’s wine cellars even before the wedding, and often joined the conversation with the goal to tease his sister and see her shrink in embarrassment; Aemond was constantly looking to best anyone in his path, and seemed almost possessive over his sister’s attention; her mother had hardly allowed them a moment alone, constantly insisting on supervising any time that he would invite her for any sort of activity, or set one of her brothers after them instead. Alicent had a habit of speaking for her daughter, meaning that Cregan had no opportunity to truly know her while her mother was present, while her brothers made it impossible to even speak to one another at all.
He was finally glad on their wedding night, when he’d arranged the head table to be broken into three, leaving the happy couple to sit above the rest and finally receive some alone time. She had been radiant in her gown of white furs and fleeces, meeting him beneath the weirwood tree with her eldest brother at her side to give her away. He’d been glad to tear away the cloak of red and black, intricately interwoven into a field of green and gold at the bottom–it would be unlike Alicent Hightower to allow her children to wear the Rhaenyra’s colours without her own as well. It would be hard to tell whether she looked prettier in the harsh colours of her maiden cloak or in the dull ones of his own, but he couldn’t help but note how greys and blues suited her better than he could have imagined.
He could tell her family was less than pleased with this arrangement, making an effort to step in for every miniscule matter that caught their attention. Cregan watched her from the corner of her eye as she shakily took a long drink from her cup. He finally found time to chat with his wife, slowly watching in awe as her walls slowly began to come down as she found herself giggling along with him and whispering into his ear.
“What of the leftovers?” She’d asked, breaking their previous conversation topic.
“Leftovers?” Cregan repeated.
She nodded, staring at him with wide eyes expectantly, “The food. There will be plenty of leftovers–they should be brought to the nearest towns.”
“Is that a command, princess?”
She appeared bashful at his response, walls slowly building back up around her, “I-I- My apologies, Lord Stark, I–”
He grinned at her playfully, his large palm cupping her cheek affectionately, “If you wish it, you shall have it. I intend to make you very happy, my love.”
She smiled, her beauty shining through even stronger as she became more and more comfortable around him, “Thank you, husband.”
Cregan pushed himself to stand, the sound of his chair pushing back cutting through the chatter and music and laughter filling his hall, all eyes turning to him expectantly.
“My lady wife has made her first official command as Lady of Winterfell,” his voice carried through the hall with stern ease, and the attention of the crows quickly turned to her, “Lady Stark has decided that all leftovers from our wedding feast will be donated to the people of Winterstown.”
The crowd had been quick to applaud, deafening cheers throughout the great hall, northerners seemingly pleased with her decision or, at the very least, just excited to have another reason to be celebrating. He caught the glance she sent to her mother, and the happy grin that covered her face as the Dowager Queen sent her a sign of approval. His lady wife was kind, and sweet, and he was certain that, once she gained her footing in the North, would serve as a strong and dutiful Lady of Winterfell, all of which he muttered into her ear as he had her for the very first time that night.
Three years would pass, he’d been right to assume such things of his wife. He’d quickly discovered that she was able to thrive without the looming shadow of her mother and brothers. She had been slow to find her footing in the beginning, some of his bannermen even questioning his choice in wife, but she was determined to prove them wrong, and in doing so, warmed Cregan’s heart even more.
They’d discussed children in the past, and both had decided that they were happy enough with Cregan’s son from his previous marriage for the time being. They were not trying, but they were also not not trying, which is how she found herself swelling with her first child just as winter came to an end. Her husband had been insatiable in their first year of marriage, but once he knew that she carried his child in her belly, there was scarcely anything that could stop him from having her each and every night.
Summer brought a homier feeling to Winterfell. People were not quite so afraid or negative as the desolate conditions faded away. Summer in the North was nothing compared to the many summers she had spent in King’s Landing, where she had once enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin, exposed beneath her more revealing gowns than those she was able to wear in the North; the lords of the North had criticised her choice in dresses early on in her marriage, and she had no doubt that their wives spoke harshly about her in her absence. She was by far the youngest of them, and was also the only one who could afford to wear such fine silks layered over her thick fleece and fur underdresses. Cregan knew better than to try and argue against his wife’s will–Lady Stark or not, she was a Targaryen princess through and through, and now that he had helped her build up her confidence, there was no way he was about to take that away from her (especially when she looked so so beautiful). She was thankful that she was able to cut down on the layers she needed now that the weather had transitioned from inhospitable to frigid, though she knew it was coming time to transition her wardrobe as well now that her breasts and belly were beginning to swell.
The change in season also brought a wave of new duties. Winter was undoubtedly the most difficult and busy season for the lord and lady of Winterfell, but the transition to summer also brought the beginning of the agricultural season. Farmers and fishermen alike flocked to Winterfell to speak their needs and wants to their liege lord and lady, and Cregan found himself busy with attending to the replenishment of all of the North’s resources for Winterfell, all of his bannermen, the Wall, and all of the towns in the North. He’d made his wife agree to take a lesser load of duties now that she was expecting, dealing with issues within their own household so he could instead focus on bearing the burdens of the North all on his own, though this meant there was less and less time that they were able to spend together.
Each morning, Lady Stark was awake and on the move early enough to meet with the maester and stewards and advisors, sharing no more than a few sweet words and touches with her husband as he watched her dress before she was out the door. They would see each other in passing throughout the day, sharing loving glances across the courtyard as they attended their duties and occasionally catching each other in the corridors, and she was normally in a deep slumber by the time he came to her chambers every night. Both of them were growing restless in their time apart, especially with her ladyship’s heightened emotions and hormones.
She had just finished speaking with the mistress of the orphanage in Winterstown when the maester came to her, a neatly folded piece of parchment in hand that bore her mother’s seal. She smiled to herself as she brushed her thumb over the thick spot of green wax, glad to have a response for her most recent letter to her mother to deliver the news of her pregnancy, along with a request for some new silks to be sent in order to accommodate her changing body. Breaking the seal, she scanned over the letter with her eyes, a small gasp leaving her mouth as she read over her mother’s words.
“My lady?” Maester Elryn asked, concern evident on his wrinkled features, “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” she smiled tightly at him, “My apologies for my reaction. Could you ask Lord Stark to come to me when he is free?”
“Of course, my lady. Anything else?”
“That is all, thank you, Maester Elryn.”
Cregan came to her two hours later, finding her seated at the small desk in the corner of her chambers. He paused to drink in the way she looked, having scarcely seen his wife for more than a moment all day. Her body was changing in the most glorious ways possible, and the bodices of her gowns were growing even tighter than before, her breasts threatening to spill over the neckline with every breath, and her belly growing firmer and rounder to accommodate his child. His smile widened as she turned to glance over her shoulder, her eyes softening as she finally took note of her husband’s figure in the doorway.
“You called, wife?”
“My love,” she greeted, pushing herself to stand with a gentle hand cradling her barely-there bump, “It seems it has been forever.”
His heart thumped against his ribcage at her action, chest growing warm at the sight of her maternal instincts already kicking in before she had even passed through her first few months
He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to meet her before she was able to move too far. His palm cupped her cheek, the other finding its place over her own against her belly, “Longer than forever to me.”
She grinned, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, giggling to herself as he chased after her and grunted as she pulled away. He pressed small kisses to her cheeks, across the curve of her jaw, and down the column of her neck, leaving small nips in his wake. His wife pushed at his chest helplessly as she continued to laugh, the soft growth of hair along his own jaw tickling her with every brush of his lips on her skin.
“I called you up here because I needed to speak with you,” she whispered to him, body slowly relaxing against him as she sank into his embrace.
“Speak, then,” he ordered, thick fingers tugging at the laces of her dress.
She shook her head, rolling her eyes at his antics, “I wrote to my mother a few nights ago, I need silk for new dresses. I’m sure you’ve noticed that my own are growing rather…tight.”
His mouth dropped to nip at the bulging flesh of her breast peeking over the neckline of her gown, “I certainly have.”
Her head tilted back, letting both a laugh and a breathy moan at her husband’s attack on her chest as he quickly laid her back on the bed, “She has written back to me. She says I shall have as much silk in as many colours as I wish.”
Cregan hummed in response, quickly peeling the layers of her gown away until she was left in only her thin white shift, her words going ignored as he tugged and pulled at her clothing until she was bare before him. He stared down at her, running his hand over his jaw as his eyes trailed over her breasts, heaving and swelling with milk, then down over her small bump, and finally to the place where her thighs clenched together.
She pushed herself up to sit before him, her own hands reaching out to tug at his clothing. He was quick to help her, shucking off his layers and boots until he stood before her in only his heavy leather breeches. His wife grinned up at him, pressing a gentle kiss against his own belly, a layer of soft flesh over his firm, almost inconspicuous muscle.
He pushed at her shoulder, chuckling as the mattress bounced beneath her as she was laid back again. He crawled over her, returning to mouthing over her neck, over her shoulders, and finally coming across her breasts.
“She says she will deliver them personally,” she uttered, whining in protest as he paused, pulling back to focus directly at her face.
“Personally,” He repeated, more for his own sake than a question of clarification, “your mother intends to come to Winterfell.”
She pouted at him, fingers carding through his long hair as she attempted to soften him to the news, “She wishes to be here for the birth. I know she can be…difficult, but it would bring me comfort to have her with me as I bring our firstborn into the world.”
He sighed, his head falling into her shoulder, “If this is what you wish, then this is what you shall have.
She smiled, remembering when he spoke the same words to her on their wedding night. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, winding her legs around his hips and hugging her tightly to her chest.
“Thank you,” she smiled at him as he finally pushed himself up to gaze down at her once again, “my mother can be difficult, as I said, but I wish for her to know her grandchildren, as she does my niece and nephews. I promise you, she will be on her best behaviour.”
“I believe you,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, mumbling against her, “but I must ask that we do not speak any more of your mother at the present. I do not think she would appreciate what I plan to do to you.”
Cregan did not allow her another moment of peace before his kisses grew in intensity, tongue intertwining with her own while his meaty palms pulled her legs further apart and began to rock his hips into hers. He smirked at the whine that escaped her throat, pressing himself further into her.
“Cregan–”
“I have missed you, my love,” he moaned against her lips, “you cannot possibly believe how much I have been longing for you.”
She chuckled, “I think I can. The maester told me pregnancy can bring on many side effects; discomfort, fatigue, desire…”
Cregan pulled back for a moment, “Should I be concerned about these conversations you have been having with Maester Elryn?”
She scoffed, “You are far too jealous for your own good, my love.”
“You might be too, if you were married to the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms–nay, the world.”
“Flatterer.”
“Can it be called flattery if it is the truth?” Cregan pushed himself to kneel between her legs, palms continuing to push her thighs upward to bare her completely to him. He let out a desperate groan as his eyes settled on her core, barely hidden beneath a neat patch of silver hair, “gods, have you ever been this wet?”
She snorted, raising her leg to press her foot flat to his chest, “It is the pregnancy, as I said.”
His long fingers wrapped around her foot, tugging it up to press his lips against the slope of her ankle, “Then perhaps I should keep you like this, eh? Would you like for your lord husband to fill you with his child, again and again?”
“I am already with child, my love,” she smiled at him, drawing a deep breath from his throat, “I’m afraid you will have to wait a few moons longer.”
“And I will spend every second I have with you perfecting the craft then.”
She sighed in relief as he finally reached between her thighs, fingers catching against her slick hole.
“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, “do something, anything.”
“Anything?” He asked, breathlessly, his own chest heaving in anticipation as she nodded excitedly.
A loud gasp tore from her lips as he finally sunk his fingers into her, her wetness audible to them both as he began moving with slow but purposeful thrusts. His thumb settled on her sensitive bud, making slow, tight circles over the swollen bud, his free hand gliding up from her thigh to tug at her breasts. Her hips rocked in sync with his every movement of his thick fingers, stilling as another one easily slipped inside.
“My love,” she panted, “e-enough, I need you.”
He quirked one of his thick brows at her words, “Should I not prepare you, my heart?”
“I am pregnant with your child, and as we can both tell, I am more than prepared.”
Cregan snorted out a laugh, withdrawing his fingers with a small whine from his wife, “How should you have me then, wife?”
Lady Stark smirked to herself, legs wrapping around his back and forcing him to fold over her, “Take me as you did on our wedding night, only you do not need to be so gentle with me.”
He slipped inside of her easily, a strained hiss sliding between his teeth while her own teeth sunk into his shoulder. Cregan did indeed take her like he had on their wedding night, but against her wishes, was almost as gentle as he had been, out of respect for his child’s personal space, as he had muttered to her. In truth, he simply wanted to take his time with her as he pulled her apart bit by bit, not wanting to rush their first time lying together in the few weeks since summer had come.
When they were finished, he remained inside of her for as long as he could, but the warmth of her and the air around them was far too much. His wife, despite the progress she’d made in the years of their marriage, was a southern woman and despised how frigid the castle could be, earning herself the warmest room in Winterfell and a required constant upkeep of her hearth. Cregan did not mind coming to his wife’s chamber when she needed him throughout the day or early evening, but there was a reason that they’d made a habit of sleeping in his personal chambers each night, where the air was cooler but he was able to keep her warm at night. He carefully pulled away, meeting her for a final kiss before he peeled himself off of the bed, slowly strutting across the room to haul the window open and feel the cool summer air against his burning flesh.
She watched him through hooded eyes, gaze raking down his muscular back, over his plump ass, and down his thick legs. She pursed her lips, pulling one of the heavy furs around her shoulders as she padded across the stone floor to wrap herself around him from behind, fingers hooking together around his belly as her bare chest pressed to his back. After a moment, one of his hands came over to cover her own as she pressed her lips to his shoulder blade.
“My mother wrote that she expects to be here in two moons,” she murmured against his warm skin, “I should begin preparations for them on the morrow.”
Cregan hummed, eyes scanning over the horizon for a moment before he comprehended her words, “Them. How many attendants does she plan to bring with her?”
He felt his wife tense behind him, “About that…”
Two moons later Cregan found himself standing tall in his own courtyard, jaw set as a procession of horses and wheelhouses began to file through the front gate of his ancestral home. He’d been a touch angry with his wife when she had finally revealed to him that it was not only her mother coming, but rather the entire royal family; the queen, her king consort, and all of their children; the dowager queen, the remaining four of her children, as well as Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena’s three children. Winterfell was about to be overrun with heads of silver hair, something Cregan had hoped would only happen as a result of his wife’s genes overcoming his own among their children.
At his side, his wife nervously chewed her bottom lip–a nasty habit he’d grown to detest after she’d drawn blood one night. He knew exactly how her family could be from their short stay during their wedding festivities, and the way that her mother and two older brothers alone were able to affect her, let alone the entire living Targaryen dynasty.
On her other side stood young Rickon, gripping her hand tightly as he struggled to compose himself. The boy was only six years old, but he already seemed to understand the importance of his role as the heir to Winterfell. He’d taken to his stepmother rather quickly, having been an infant when the fever took his own mother. He’d been in need of a maternal figure in his life, and her presence in Winterfell had done nothing but draw father and son closer together with every family supper and breakfast she had insisted on over the years. Seeing her welcome his son into her heart so openly only further pressed Cregan’s instincts to bring their own children into the world, wishing for nothing more than to give his boy dozens of siblings for him to play with.
The procession finally came to a halt just as two large, intricately carved wheelhouses entered the gates, flanked by the king consort and all of the elder princes on their horses. Lady Stark’s nerves only heightened at the sight of the silver-haired men, particularly her elder brothers who almost immediately turned their gaze her way. The queen soon climbed out of her wheelhouse, followed by her own litter of children, Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya. The second wheelhouse opened, producing Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena and her own children Jahaera, Jahaerys, and Maegor.
The queen came before them, regal as ever in her red cloak lined with black fur. She watched stoically as the three bowed before her.
“The North is yours, Your Grace,” Cregan spoke loud and true, “my family and I are honoured to host you and your family in Winterfell.”
“Many thanks, Lord Stark. I commend you on leading the North through yet another winter,” a smirk tugged at her lips as her eyes turned to his wife, who lowered into another curtsy under her stare, “I hear that Lady Stark has taken to her role quite well. I believe motherhood suits you, sister.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Stark nodded in thanks.
The next line of Targaryens filtered through the short lineup of Starks, first Daemon, who scarcely offered any of them a second glance (aside from his niece, who he stared at for a moment too long in Cregan’s opinion). Prince Jacaerys greeted Cregan like an old friend, clapping him on the shoulder heartily while he offered his aunt a polite hug, his younger brothers following, though with less familiarity.
Then came her mother, who hardly offered Lord Stark a moment of her time before she began fawning over her daughter, hugging her tightly before pulling away and pawing at her swollen belly through her layers of fur. A tear escaped the red-haired woman’s eye as she pressed a sweet kiss to Lady Stark’s cheek, then offered a greeting to sweet Rickon, who had shuffled closer to his stepmother in his nervousness. Aegon skipped over Lord Stark altogether, though he certainly was not complaining as he could smell the stench of wine radiating from the eldest prince even before noon, throwing himself onto his sister. She’d stumbled in her attempt to catch him, sending her husband a warning glance as he moved to rip him away from her. Aemond, at least, was more courteous, offering Cregan a polite greeting and kissing his sister gently on the forehead. Helaena was soon to follow, her greeting to Cregan leaving him with a puzzled look as she moved on to place her palm to her sister’s cheek.
“I am so happy to see you, sister,” Lady Stark’s eyes welled with tears. Cregan had been aware of how disappointed his wife had been when her sister had not been able to travel with her for their wedding, but she had not blamed her for choosing to stay behind while she was in her sixth moon of pregnancy, not to mention the poor state of her mind.
Daeron was the most reserved of his good-siblings, showing both Lord and Lady Stark his respect, though he had no personal relation with either. He’d spent most of his childhood in Oldtown under the care of his grandsire’s brother, the Lord of Oldtown, and his own uncle Gwayne. He’d been rather hesitant to even return to King’s Landing after being away for so long; his own mother was a mere stranger, and his siblings had gone on to marry and produce their own children without even a second thought of their youngest brother.
Winterfell’s hall was overflowing with Targaryens and those who served them. Cregan could hardly recognize any of the faces at the tables nearest to his own, his men being pushed farther back into the hall to accommodate the royal family. He, himself, had even been pushed one seat to the right to offer the queen the highest seat in the hall. He was not pleased to be doing this, far too used to southerners coming to the North with such entitlement, but he would take the treatment silently for the sake of his dear wife, who had been so excited for the arrival of her family and had been overtaken by anxiety of ensuring the visit went well.
She sat next to him, dressed in a fine silk gown (new, a design brought by her mother), a deep emerald with golden stitching across the bodice and around the cuffs. Cregan hissed through his teeth when his wife entered the hall, a happy grin on her lips as she cradled her round belly over the dress of her mother’s house rather than her own, though he was eager to greet her and accept her gleeful kiss on the cheek, and he was glad enough to see that her hair had been braided among the stems of various flowers, all of which being indigenous only to the North. Her mother could try with all of her might to try and hold tight to her daughter’s familial tether to the South, but Cregan knew his wife had transformed into a woman of the North–she was no longer simply a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider, she was also his wife, Lady of Winterfell, and mother of his children.
It never escaped Cregan’s watchful stare everytime the Dowager Queen gripped her daughter’s arm when her attention was not focused solely on her, or how she forced a smile each time he joined their conversation at all. If the woman had not been his wife’s mother, he would have gladly warded her away from his wife’s personal space. He understood well enough that his wife was bound to miss her family, especially her mother and sister, but he was afraid to see her begin to slip back into her shell, which had taken him a considerable amount of effort and care to bring her out from in the first place.
He was quickly tiring from the responsibility of hosting an entire flock of Targaryen princes, all of whom considered themselves above the northerners and their laws, customs, and expectations. They most often gathered in the training yards, each more eager to prove themselves over the northerners and each other than the last, except for Aegon, of course, who would rather spend the mornings in his chambers before he would disappear into Wintertown, most likely gone to spend the rest of the afternoon in the only brothel within twenty miles of Winterfell.
Throughout the two weeks to follow, they had barely found a moment to themselves that was not in the early hours of the morn or when the castle is alight with only the light emitted from torches and the moon itself, where Lady Stark was usually so worn out that she had barely enough energy to cuddle into her husband’s side and share a handful of words before her snoring would reach his ears. He made an effort to seek her out when he was granted a brief moment away from his duties, but there was hardly a moment when she could be found without at least one member of her kin at her side; in the nursery with her mother and sister, discussing her duties with the queen, reading with Aemond in the library, or comforting Aegon amidst another bout of alcohol-induced sickness.
The one moment he did find her alone in her personal study, not wasting a single moment before he was hoisting her into his arms and kissing her breathless. He’d been pleased to find that she had no fight in her, easily melting into his embrace and winding her arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as small mewls of pleasure vibrated against his mouth. He’d almost forgotten that the door to the study had been left ajar, making his good-mother’s entrance even more silent, though he likely wouldn’t have noticed even if she had knocked, fully taken with his wife’s affection.
“Ehem.”
“Mother,” Lady Stark pushed away from her husband, face still with shock and, quite evidently, embarrassment, “I, we did not hear you come in.”
“Yes, as I could see.”
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Cregan nodded to the woman, though his tone was laced with his annoyance, “I’m afraid you’ve been subjected to a moment of weakness.”
“Nonsense,” Alicent’s lips tightened into a strained smile, a touch of tenderness on her face, “it comforts me to know that my daughter is cherished and loved, even so far away. We are not all so lucky to find love in these circumstances.”
His wife rounded the desk, meeting her mother with a tight embrace. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for the red haired woman–it was true, most marriages of such caliber did not afford the couple any form of affection, and he was more than aware of the fortune that had fallen into his lap that day that Prince Jacaerys landed at his gate. The moment came to a crashing end all-too-soon as his good-mother once again dragged his wife away from him, not to be seen again until she was deep asleep in their shared bed.
He’d arranged for a hunt during the visit of the royal family, where he was forced to play the peacekeeper between the queen’s sons and their uncles, all while keeping his eyes peeled for the prize he’d been hoping for; his wife had mentioned more than once that she wanted to find the perfect blanket to gift to their first child, one that can be used again and again with each babe they brought into the world, so it seemed only fitting to him that he be the one to bring her the pelt.
It would be weeks before the warmth in his chest subsided after witnessing her grin and laughter as he presented it to her, two rabbits of a similar white and brown pattern, drawing her away from the large elk that had been brought in for their supper that night. It was a brief moment of privacy amongst the crowd, where she curled her fingers beneath the neckline of his leather doublet and dragged him down to her height, pushing a soft kiss to his wind-bitten cheek, though he was thankful for every moment of it. Her mother stepped in a moment later, grasping her daughter’s hand and willing her to join her in the nursery, where she could continue to preach her wisdom and advice for the soon-to-be mother, though Cregan hoped his wife was smart enough to take it with a grain of salt.
He’d spent the rest of the day both tending to his duties, which have seemingly doubled since the arrival of his wife’s kin, and also offering a hand in preparing the elk when he had a chance; his cooks could do wonders with elk meat, but the kitchen maids often made a fuss when such large animals were brought to whole or at least without being skinned first. He had barely even spared a moment to clean himself and change clothes before supper.
When he arrived in the dining hall, a smaller yet more formal area where he hoped he, his wife, and their many children would all dine together whenever they could. He was, however, miffed to discover the dining hall filled with princes and princesses and queens alike, only two seats left empty–his own, and his wife’s.
His immediate thought was that perhaps she was still readying herself, perhaps she had gotten carried away in the nursery with her mother, and she would be there soon enough. Then, his eyes fell upon the red-haired woman a few seats from his own.
He cleared his throat, drawing silence across his hall, “My apologies, I expect Lady Stark in only a moment.”
Alicent furrowed her brow, directing her words to the rest of the royal family rather than to Lord Stark, “I’m afraid she will not be joining us tonight.”
Cregan raised his own brow, “Why not?”
Alicent’s gaze flickered to his own, “She was unwell this evening–a pain many women know while carrying their children, all she needs is rest.”
“And why was I not made aware of this at once?” Lord Stark felt his blood beginning to boil.
She looked somewhat taken aback, “These pains are normal, they are expected for how far along she is. My daughter–”
Cregan’s heavy palm landed flat on the wooden tabletop, “My wife is my main concern. Any news concerning her or my children should and will be brought to me at once.”
Alicent pursed her lips, appearing to have a few words of choice for her daughter’s husband, though he turned his attention to the queen opposite him on the other end of the long table and looked equally as surprised and amused at the altercation as she sipped her wine.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” he pushed himself up to his full height, “forgive my absence this evening, but if my wife is unwell I would prefer to be at her side.”
Rhaenyra smirked at him, nodding her head at him, “But of course, Lord Stark. I am honoured that you take such care of my sister. After all, family is everything, is it not?”
He ignored the way that her words seemed to have been aimed at the red-haired woman, who had slouched back into her own seat as a soft pink tinged at the apples of her cheeks, instead nodding at the queen and fleeing the room at once, his hurried and heavy footfalls carrying him through the castle and up to his wife’s personal chambers. He was disgruntled to find that they were empty, save for a servant girl who had been tending to the hearth and directed him to his own chambers.
The hinges creaked as he pushed his way inside, finding two handmaidens hovering worriedly over his wife as she hunched over on her hands and knees atop the plush bear-skin rug, back arched upwards like he’d only seen done by a cat. The two servants froze at the sight of the broad figure crossing the threshold.
“Lord Stark,” one of them rushed to him, “Lady Stark, she is alright, but–”
“Alright?” He scoffed, “She is on the floor in pain, she does not look alright.”
“Cregan,” Lady Stark glared up at him, voice strained with discomfort, “do not speak to my ladies like that.”
He let out a deep sigh, offering the servant a quiet but genuine apology, “Now please, just tell me what is wrong with her, and what I can do to help. Should I call a maester?”
The servant fought a soft smile, touched at the lord’s concern for his wife and child, “Lady Stark is experiencing little more than body aches. Normal for women carrying a child, especially their first. I’m afraid all the maester could do is offer milk of the poppy for discomfort, which could potentially do more harm to the child than good to the mother,” Cregan swallowed at the thought, “We’ve allowed the princess to soak in warm water, and the stretching helps while we prepare a hot pack over the fire.”
His gaze flickered to the small grate across the embers of the fireplace, holding three large black stones over them. He nodded, turning back to his wife, who had turned her face back into the rug while the other servant girl carefully massaged gentle circles into her lower back.
“What can I do?”
“The hot pack should help with the aches, but I’m afraid the best thing may be to keep Lady Stark as comfortable as possible, anything to keep her mind away from the pains.”
He nodded, “Leave us, I should care for my wife on my own.”
The door closed behind the two women as they hesitantly left their mistress’s side, loyal to the very end. Cregan wasted little time in removing his leather doublet and abandoning it on the plush bed, leaving him in only his breeches and thin linen shirt. He crossed the room, kneeling beside his wife and carefully laying his palm flat to her lower back, a small smirk appearing on his lips as she sighed from the relief brought by his large, warm hand.
“If you were not so obviously in pain, I would guess that you were enjoying this, my love,” he chuckled as his hand copied the same circular pattern that the servant girl had applied.
“Shut up,” she turned her head to the side so she could glance up at him, “this is your fault.”
“My fault?” He scoffed, “As I recall, your current condition is the result of your uncontrollable desires.”
She pushed herself up onto her hands, “My what? It was you who was gone to the Wall for more than a moon!”
“And it was you who kept me from my duties until midday on the day after I returned.”
She pursed her lips, “Alright, next time I will allow you to go about your duties without a word. Then we will see which one of us is so insatiable.”
“Be that the case, I’m afraid you may be with child for the next decade or more, my love.”
“Just get the hot pack,” Lady Stark rolled her eyes, lowering her head back down to the plush rug, muttering to herself with a small grin, “a decade or more…”
He obliged, wrapping the stones in a thick woolen cloth before pressing them against the small of her back, a dusting of pink coating his cheeks at the sound she released, back curving inwards as relief overtook her body.
They remained there for a long while, one of his hands holding the hot pack while the other smoothed over her silver hair, braided and still damp from her bath. The stones began to cool against his palm until they were no warmer than her own body heat, finally being tossed to the side.
“How do you feel?” He asked her, hands cradling her head and hip as he helped her roll onto her side.
“Better. Still plagued with discomfort, but better nonetheless,” She smiled softly at him, “I only wish someone may have warned me of the unpleasantness of pregnancy before I agreed to it.”
He barked out a laugh, remembering the many times she had pointed out the many ways pregnancy could ruin any romance in their marriage before it even began, hence their decision to wait before finally trying to conceive.
“If only, eh?” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
A twinkle appeared in her eye, “Well Maryssa did say that you should be doing anything to keep me comfortable…”
Lord Stark raised his brow at her words, “And what was it you only just said about me being insatiable? How have you gone from crippling pain to reaching for my breeches in such a hurry?”
She gasped, faux offense in her eyes, “I am not reaching for you breeches! What do you take me for?”
He quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, leaning down to press a slow yet meaningful kiss to her lips, “My very pregnant, very beautiful, and very impatient wife.”
She whined against his mouth, “I think impatience is quite appropriate given the circumstances. Your child has brought me the greatest joy and greatest pain of my life, and yet I constantly yearn for you, my love.”
“Constant?” He laughed.
“The maester warned me of it,” she kissed him again, “all a part of my hysteria, he called it.”
He hummed, “Which brings me to wonder why I was not made aware of this. I could have…relieved you of this suffering.”
She snorted a laugh, a sound he knew he could never grow tired of, “Cregan, if you do not take my clothes off now I would like to go to bed.”
“And what was it I said about your impatience?”
She pushed at his shoulder playfully, gasping as he grasped her wrist in his large hand and pulled her to sit up, moving to lift her and carry her to the bed when she pushed at his shoulder, shaking her head with a sly grin.
“Here,” she insisted, “it is so warm, and this fur is so soft.”
He shook his head at her, rolling his eyes. Only his wife would be demanding enough as to where he had his way with her and choose anywhere except their marital bed. Only he would be so foolishly in love as to oblige her every whim and allow her to make such demands.
Growing impatient, she began tugging at her own shift, struggling to lift her hips just enough to slide it over her hips and off completely, leaving her bare before her husband while the firelight flickered off of her soft, freshly oiled skin. His eyes fell from her own to her breasts, which had seemingly doubled in size through her pregnancy, then to her rounded belly; only a few moons would pass before she brought their first child into the world, and he could not be any more in love with her. He knew how excited she’d been over the last few weeks as her body developed with their growing child, spending much of her time with little Rickon, who was just as excited to become an older brother as she was to become a mother.
“I am not simply here for decoration,” she growled, reaching up to begin tearing the linen shirt from her husband’s body, ignoring his laughter as she struggling to pull the fabric over his wide shoulders and causing his head to get stuck for a moment, “As I said, fuck me or let me sleep.”
His booming laugh echoed through the chamber, scarcely hearing his wife, a Targaryen princess and Lady of Winterfell, use such coarse language. It was the northerner growing within her, he decided as he obliged, kissing her with every ounce of desire he’d been forced to swallow throughout the duration of her family’s stay, pressing her back to lay flat against the dark brown fur.
Cregan made quick work of kissing down her body, taking a few moments to kiss and suckle and squeeze at her swollen breasts, encouraged by her response to his touch on her sensitive skin as he continued further down. He pressed several playful kisses over her belly, whispering to their child to go to sleep so he could take care of his wife guilt-free. She giggled at this, causing a flood of heat to spread across his chest as he finally crested over the underside of her belly, coming face-to-face with the silver curls safeguarding her womanhood.
Her legs fell apart easily, and he found no resistance as he eagerly began to feast upon her most intimate place. Her fingers curled into the fur beneath her as her whines and whimpers filled the room, unable to reach for his long dark hair with her belly in the way. He was pleasantly surprised to discover how much of her arousal had pooled between her thighs, two of his thick fingers easily slipping into her heat with practiced precision while his tongue massaged her sensitive pearl.
Her body seemed more responsive than ever, thighs quivering against his shoulders as her peak crashed over her once, and then moments later, once more.
He pulled away, noting how her hips had begun to pull away from him, her womanhood more sensitive than ever. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching through lustful eyes as his wife grabbed hold of his other wrist, taking the fingers that had brought her to bliss twice only moments before between her lips and sucking them clean. She stared up at him through her lashes, leaning up on her elbow to reach down and paw at the tent that had formed in his breeches, tugging at the laces until they fell open and allowed her to reach inside.
He let out a low growl at the sensation of her hand taking hold of his member, head falling back in relief. Cregan was quick to pull her hand away, shedding his trousers and boots as efficiently as possible so he could lay her flat on her back once more and finally press himself inside of her.
They both let out long, breathy sounds at the stretch; no matter how many times they would lay together, she never quit got used to the intrusion of his thick cock inside of her, He remained still for a moment, regaining his wits as he willed himself not to finish far too early, though he could not guarantee that he would be able to fight his peak for very long after weeks without his wife’s intimate touch.
“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, nails scratching down his arm as she planted his fist next to her head, bracing himself as he began to work slow, deep thrusts into her warmth, his own grunts and gasps of pleasure falling from his lips while her lips fell open to allow wails of her enjoyment fall from them with every punch of his tip against her most sensitive place deep within her.
“My love,” he panted, “For-forgive me…I do not think–”
“Give yourself to me, my love,” she whined, “I need to feel you.”
He nodded, eyes tightening shut as he quickened his pace, chasing his release with grunts and growls and groans until his hips began to stutter, his release pumping deep inside of her until he was shaking. His release triggered her own, pleasure crashing over her for the third time that evening, soaking his length in both of their releases as she clung to his broad frame for dear life.
She whined when he pulled out of her, sensitive from her three climaxes. He took a moment to stare down at her, stormy gaze trailing from her cunt, where their mix juices had begun seeping from her warmth, to her belly, where their child grew. His eyes then moved to her breasts, which heaved with every deep breath the escaped her parted lips, and finally to her face, which shone with a layer of perspiration as she pulled him down to lay next to her on the fur, turning to press her back against his chest and settling into his embrace as he trailed sweet kisses over her cheek, jaw, and neck.
“Thank you,” she whispered, sleep threatening to overtake her at any moment.
“Thank you,” Cregan responded. “I love you.”
“I love you too, husband.”
Silence overtook the room for a moment, only the sound of their slowing breaths and the crackling fire in the hearth could be heard before he finally shared his final thoughts of the night.
“I cannot bear to not have you all to myself for even a moment ever again,” he mumbled into her flesh, “we are never hosting your family again.”
A small chuckle vibrated through her chest.
“I could not agree more.”
#x reader#reader insert#imagines#cregan stark x y/n#cregan stark x you#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark#cregan x reader#cregan smut#smut#house of the dragon fanfiction#hotd imagine
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