#and I appreciate that so much more than I think she realizes

[ckret2]

I might tweak some details later (jewelry? take the ribbon off the bow?) but I've about got a Scalene design I like. The lipstick is really the centerpiece of the design. Now let's infodump! With more art!

🔺 Notice her lines are a a little curvy. It's not for artistic effect. She's got a Fictional Polygon Physical Disorder that makes her bendier than she should be—meaning, among other things, sides that curve and flex.

🔺 It's also the kind of condition with symptoms that are romanticized by people who don't grok that it's a debilitating medical condition. Sides that curve and flex? How exotic! This went to her head in the wrong ways.

🔺 Bill was born with the same condition. You know how squishy and blobby he was as a baby? Thaaat's genetic! He was a lot squishier than most babies! And, consequently, more adorable.

🔺Scalene dreamed of being a famous super model. Was actually a teen beauty queen at mid-tier beauty pageants. She thinks it's always somebody else's fault she wasn't more successful.

🔺 She took Bill to his first baby beauty pageant the day he was born. He did, in fact, have a Best Baby Ever award presented to him by the mayor, but to be fair he was only competing against like 6 other babies and who's going to withhold a trophy from a newborn on his birthday? Anyway the 6-12 month group and 12-24 month groups also each had a Best Baby Ever award.

🔺 This was an absolutely bonkers thing for Scalene to do.

🔺 What's that small scrunkly thing doing at a pageant, he can't even see color yet.

🔺 Their fictional squishy medical condition doesn't just accidentally make shapes cute. It's the kind of condition that affects just about all parts of the body: sides won't stay straight, poor muscle tone resulting in instability & weakness, poor motor coordination & clumsiness, back aches & pains (well, triangles don't have "backs." side aches?), easily dislocated joints, and increasingly skewed sides with age. Just about everyone in Scalene's family is born equilateral and ends up extremely scalene after young adulthood. The rest of her family have normal relationships with their condition, she's the only one who's weird about it

🔺 She was very rough on her body in pursuit of pageantry success, but her physical symptoms & associated chronic pain got a lot worse due to having a kid; she had to retire from pageantry for good. She doesn't blame Bill for this at all. Out loud, to his face. (If she hadn't been so rough on herself in pageants, having a kid probably wouldn't have impacted her health this much. She doesn't consider this.)

🔺 She's weirdly intent on seeing Bill become the success she wasn't. He's her little golden child, he deserves to be seen as the greatest! He'll show them how great he is for mommy, won't he? He won't let mommy down, will he? When he's very young, she takes him to child pageants—he'll appreciate the lessons they taught him when he's older—and this lasts until he finds out he can get out of it by pyrokinetically setting the stage on fire.

🔺 She jokes ("jokes") that she didn't realize that when she was having a kid, she was firing herself from the pageant circuit so she could hire & train her own replacement. These jokes had no long-term impact on Bill at all!!!

(Compare/contrast: how we're told Stan's "You watch the movie, you scare the girl, the girl snuggles up next to you, next thing you know you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart" is repeating something he heard his dad say.)

🔺 Did you know that squeaky baby shoes are sometimes medical devices? Squeakers help children with poor muscle tone and delayed motor skills learn how to walk correctly: it makes them want to walk on their heels instead of their toes so they can hear the squeak. Did you know sometimes oversized squeaky baby shoes are worn by young kids who need ankle braces? Did you know that kids with poor motor coordination can take a longer time to learn complicated motor skills like tying shoelaces rather than using shoes with velcro straps? It sure is interesting that baby Bill's most defining visual feature is oversized squeaky sneakers with velcro straps and that he kept wearing velcro shoes until he was 16!

🔺 As a baby, Bill's angles were technically supposed to be equilateral,* but thanks to his inherited condition, his angles were so loose his top corner practically formed a right angle. Not good: the closer a triangle creeps to being obtuse, the more likely he'll have muscle strain and medical issues from his organs being squished out of place by his own exoskeleton.

(*supposed to be equilateral: but after receiving treatment, they discovered his angles were still 60º, 60º, and 60.1º, which is mathematically impossible for a triangle... on a euclidean plane. But on a non-euclidean 3D plane, such as in spherical geometry, a triangle's angles can add up to more than 180º... and it's this slight 3D flex to Bill's body that lets him see up into the third dimension.)

🔺 For his first few years of life he actually had a hypotenuse, until physical therapy and side braces helped him improve his muscle tone. Sometimes he still reflexively refers to his base as his hypotenuse. It's fine, sweetie, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, mommy had a hypotenuse too. Don't tell anyone.

🔺 Scalene took baby Billy to a lot of doctors as a kid, just like how she was taken to a lot of doctors! Doctor for his side braces, doctor for his physical therapy, doctor for his shoes... doctor for his eye when he started talking about seeing white glitter at the edge of his vision. Scalene didn't have that symptom, but the eye doc said their condition does occasionally come with visual problems—blurred vision, lazy eye, visual field defects... It sounds like Bill's main field of vision is unobstructed, but if the visual snow he's getting in his peripheral vision is distracting him and confusing his little toddler mind into thinking it's something real, they can give him a medication that'll narrow his field of view. From the sound of it, he's not seeing anything important at the edge of his vision, anyway.

And she only wants what's best for her golden child.

🔺 Scalene's "bow" is actually a medical device: sort of like a medical corset, it helps tug and press her anatomy into place to reduce pain. Bill started wearing one preventatively—if he can keep everything in place when he's young, it'll take longer for his angles to skew when he's older. Like wearing a retainer when you get your braces out.

🔺 He has a cane for the same reason—he doesn't need it NOW when he's young, but he might as well keep it on hand, by age 35 he'll probably want to stand more often than float and when he's standing he'll probably want the extra support! Even if he doesn't need it by 35, he will eventually!!

🔺 Bill doesn't medically need a bow tie in the third dimension either; but he adapted it to help tie his 3D exoskeleton on.

🔺 A trillion years later, Bill suspects that his mutation to see the third dimension came, at least in part, from his mom's medical condition. Except, she didn't have that vision. Nobody else with the condition on her side of the family had that vision. It's not a known symptom of the condition. His dad had stuff going on with his eye too, did he get it from his dad's side? A mix of both? Just a standalone random mutation? He doesn't know; and with the rest of his species dead, there's no way for him to find out.

But back to Scalene!

🔺 She's not quite red, she's rose gold. However she doesn't like it. She thinks it's a sort of pinkish brown and very dull. She uses makeup to make herself look redder. Note how bright red her sides are: in a species where only your edges are visible, body paint is the most common form of makeup+fashion. She's pleased her baby came out gold-gold, it's much cuter. Bill knows she's rose gold, but he only saw her with her makeup off when she was tired or sick; he remembers her painted red.

🔺 She adores her Billy; but she somewhat sees him as an extension of her will. She thinks he's just perfect and will tell anyone who asks; but she also demands he be perfect and is furious when he isn't. She'll protect him from ANY perceived external threat; but she'll tough love him into being the kind of success she thinks he should be. He learns early that when he screws up, he can often redirect his mother's anger by pointing his finger and saying it's someone else's fault, and she'll bring the wrath of heaven down on them. Woe to the teacher who gives Bill an F on a test.

🔺 I'm on a quest to write Bill as a foil to the entire cast of Gravity Falls, and that extends to writing his family as a foil to the entire cast's families. Scalene's a blend of Pacifica's mom and Caryn: beautiful, proud of her beauty, afraid of losing her youth, self-aggrandizing, quick to lie about her & her family's (false/exaggerated) accomplishments—and very aware of the fact that you can say anything about woo-woo mystical matters and nobody can prove you wrong.

🔺 So she takes it great when they figure out Bill is, like, legit psychic. And by "takes it great" I mean "starts a cult."

There's what I've got on Scalene. Fortunately, I got to keep all my pre-TBOB headcanons about Bill's mom, I only had to change her shape & color. I already had medical trauma baked right into the family!

(Preemptive disclaimer before I get any "but she doesn't look 2D" comments: we all understand that the baby Bill picture we see in the book is a psychically-generated 3D approximation of Bill's 2D Euclidean form, right? And that drawing a 3D baby Bill design alongside rigidly 2D parent designs would make it look like even in the second dimension Bill already had a 3D body, right? So, if we're drawing a 3D baby Bill and want to convey that they looked similar to him, we have to draw his parents in a similar art style, right? Okay, great.)

[culbi]

you know even if billford is what brought me into gravity falls, i should have known that fiddauthor is what i will stay for

I mean, yes billford is great and i love it and it's pure angst and pain (both physical and psychological) and manipulations and agony and everything but. but. fiddleauthor is everything i value in a good ship, its a)friends to lovers. they are great friend and they get each other and they are there for each other. b) BELIEVABLE. the homophobic environment, the desperation, the fiddleford's wedding with a woman he doesn't love, the escape to gravity falls to be with the one man who Understands you. AND ford being "different" in one way, nobody suspected he was "different" in another. and wait, not "different". a FREAK. neither of them can let anyone think they are anything more than friends

and c) (optional, really, but greatly appreciated) they are a scientist and an engineer. i just love science in romance, cant help it

but lets get back to how REALISTIC fiddauthor is. and it has variants. both of them in love and dating and keeping their relationship a secret because letting anyone know is dangerous? yes. neither of them realizing what those feelings are and just enjoyind spending time together with occasional lingering touch or look? or even staying late at night, whispering to no one but moon and a man in front of them how lucky they are to have each other? sure. what about one-sided romance? fidds getting the hots for stanford or ford realizing why he had never been interested in a girl in school - you can have anything. and don't get me started on how sorry i am for fiddleford's wife, because she probably genuinely loves him. she just wants her husband to be home with her and their son, and fiddleford just... can't. that life is not for him and hes too afraid to admit it to himself, let alone emma may.

but then, hooo, then comes little billy. billy who plays with their feelings, fiddlefords in particular, definitely knowing what keeps the man up at night. he teases, he teases so much, he wants to tear them both to shreds and keep ford to himself, all broken and alone. god, if there were any gentle kisses or forehead touches between the scientists before, bill does that he posseses fords body and he and fidds have sex. and its awful. and its good. fiddleford doesn't get to say no, and even if he did, he couldnt say no. not when its ford, or his voice or his hands or his lips. and the funniest part? ford wouldn't remember or KNOW about that. fiddleford of course feels awful, feels like he used his friend, abused his trust, ruined everything. bill, manipulative bitch he is, just messes with their relationship, with fidds mind and ford sense of reality. atta boy.

in conclusion: fiddauthor is beautiful, a piece of art, and billfiddlesford is an upgrade version, special pain edition.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 14

True to Lena's plan, while the paparazzi on site hounds them for information on Kara, the rest of the world is too taken by the new song to speculate much on who Lena's *current* beau is.

Kara proves to be little more than an escort, following Lena from event to interview to even a hospital to visit the childrens ward. Even so, Kara doesn't mind. She has no thirst for the spotlight at her age, and is content to let Lena be front and center.

At the hospital, however, as she's lurking out of sight from the press cameras (legitimate press, looking for staged candids for the hospital's future use), Kara feels a tug on the hem of her shirt. Looking down, a frail little girl trailing a tattered blanket stares up at her.

"Can you read me a story?"

Without hesitation, Kara reaches for the girl's hand, and they manage to find a relatively isolated corner to huddle in. With a skinny children's book in her hand and the little girl tucked against her side, Kara reads aloud in a low voice, doing her best not to draw attention to herself.

Her efforts are for naught. When she glances up towards the final pages of the book, Lena's gaze is locked upon her, her gaze warm with something indecipherable. Upon being caught staring, she smiles, and cocks an eyebrow to check in. Kara nods, and Lena, satisfied, returns to the gaggle of kids crowded in around her for photos.

Lena is wrangled into a standing meeting with her mother once the children are returned to their nurses and caretakers, leaving Kara to linger on the periphery. To her surprise, Jess is the first to approach.

"Hi!" Jess chirps softly. "Lena has a few friends in town, and they want to take her out tonight before we fly out tomorrow."

Kara's eyebrows lift. "Okay...."

Jess leans in conspiratorially. "My guess is she'll invite you, but by out I mean clubs, bottle service, etc."

At that, realization dawns. "Ah. Thanks for the warning."

She won't mind declining, or spending an evening alone, especially in Paris. As eager to spend as much time with Lena as possible, she's loathe to infringe on Lena's time with friends--

"I don't suppose you brought anything.... appropriate?" Jess continues. "For the club, I mean."

Kara blinks, then barks a laugh. "Hah, no."

Jess nods, grinning. "Thought as much. I can pick up a few options for you, if you'd like..."

After a moment's consideration, Kara nods, smile growing on her face. "I'd appreciate that, thank you."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all! It'll be in your room by the time you get back this evening--"

"Jess?" Kara cuts in, a thought occuring to her. "Could you also pick up some workout gear for me? And maybe... keep all of it a surprise?"

The young woman brightens. "Sure-- do you prefer looser clothes, or more form fitting."

"Tight on the bottom, loose on top, if you can mange it?"

Jess makes a note on her phone, nodding. "Got it." She winks. "We'll put the rack directly in your suite."

"Thank you, Jess, truly."

"Oh," Jess grins, "it's my pleasure."

----

Lena approaches her shortly after, head tilted with an imminent check-in. "Doing okay?"

Kara nods. "Of course. Jess has been taking good care of me."

"Good," Lena purrs. She leans against Kara's chest, kissing her languidly. "I have a question for you."

Guessing it has something to do with the information Jess had imparted early, Kara feigns curiosity. "Uh huh?"

"I'm planning to go out with some friends tonight. Would you.... want to come?"

Kara acts out a thorough consideration of the prospect. In the end, she hedges. "Can I think about it?"

Lena nods. "Of course. And no worries if you'd prefer to take advantage of the time alone. I know this week has been..."

"Wonderful," Kara fills in, bringing a smile to Lena's face.

"Yes," she agrees, "but also a lot. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to decompress."

With a nod, Kara leans in and kisses her again. "I appreciate that."

---

Lena's day continues until well into the evening, with the final interview wrapping up just before nine. Only the thought of seeing Lena in a new environment, with people who were not her mother, keeps Kara from groaning at the thought that the night was really only just beginning.

They split upon returning to the hotel penthouse, intent on refreshing with their own showers. When she steps out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her, Kara makes her way to the rolling rack of clothes standing next to the closet.

She bypasses the workout clothes, noting only that Jess had fulfilled her request to a tee. The other half of the rack takes more consideration. Hanger after hanger displays dress after dress, all short, all glitzy. Lifting one of the hangars, Kara holds it against herself in front of the mirror, studiously regarding the figure staring back at her.

This is going to be interesting, she thinks to herself. Then she grins. No, this is going to be *fun*.

An hour later, Kara's putting on her shoes when she hears a soft knock on the door joining her suite with Lena's. "It's open," she calls.

"Hey," Lena issues quietly as she edges into the room. "Just checking in, have you made a decision about..."

Lena's words fall away as Kara rises from the edge of the bed, pulling herself up to her full height-- plus another four inch heels now strapped to her feet. Her hair is loose around her shoulders in waves that glint in the light, and her dress is short and layered with gold fringes.

Kara hasn't looked this good since college, and she feels the difference. She feels sexy, and powerful, and *thrilled* that Lena clearly sees it too.

"Oh," the younger woman breathes. Lena herself is clad in a rhinstone studded mauve dress. It comes to mid-thigh, but hugs every curve of Lena's body like a glove. Her sleek black hair is up in a high pony, the tail straight and shimmery. But her eyes are on Kara, and nothing else.

Kara slowly struts towards Lena with a sultry smile. "Does your offer still stand?"

Lena blinks, dazzled by Kara's beaded fringes. "Huh?"

Reaching out with one hand, Kara tilts Lena's chin up to meet her eyes. "Up here," she says quietly.

"Right. Sorry. Just--" Lena clears her throat. She shakes herself out of her daze. "I guess you're coming."

"If you'll have me."

Lena grins. "I'll have you right here if you'll let me..."

"I think I've been hogging you enough lately," Kara returns. "I wouldn't want to keep your friends waiting."

Even so, Kara takes Lena's hips with both hands, tugging her close enough for a kiss. Lena moans.

"Fuck 'em."

Kara chuckles. "I think that would make a bad impression."

Lena looks at her for a long moment. "You really want to meet them, don't you?"

Brow furrowing, Kara nods. "Of course." She pauses. "Is.... that okay?"

Lena's smile warms. "Yeah. It's just... new." Before Kara can ask what that means, Lena steps free, snapping her clutch shut. "Let's get out of here."

---

The club is glamorous, and clearly catering to a high end crowd. There's a cordoned area for paparazzi, allowing both photographs and unobstructive ingress to the establishment. When Kara slides out of the SUV, she's careful to immediately twitch her skirt down so as not to give the tabloids something new to talk about.

As always, she lets Lena set the pace. Lena takes her hand and leads the way into the club. Her free hand lifts towards the paparazzi as they walk the roped sidewalk to the building, in a wave or to shield her eyes or hide her face, Kara isn't sure. Before she could decide whether to do the same, the door opens to admit them, releasing a wave of music and voices from within.

When the door closes behind them, Lena takes a moment to scan the crowd. No one seems to recognize her, or, more likely, don't care. It allows Kara's gaze to catch on a tall, slender brunette at a both in the back, standing on the bench seat and waving them over.

Kara nudges Lena and points. Lena nods. "That's us!" she calls over the din. "Let's go!"

Lena tugs her through the crowd, and Kara soon finds herself watching as Lena throws her arms around the brunette. The hug is tight but brief, before Lena turns to pull Kara closer. "This is Sam!"

Sam thrusts her hand out, gripping Kara's hand firmly as she leans forward. "Kara! Nice to meet you!"

"And this is Jack!" Lena continues. "And Veronica-- who invited you?"

"Fuck you too!" Veronica returns easily. She eyes Kara up and down. "You're hot! Wanna dance?"

In an instant, Lena's arm loops through Kara's. "Sorry, taken! Bye!"

And then, Lena leads her back to the dance floor. Kara doesn't have the presence of mind to be upset at the introductions being cut short-- not with the way Lena's body soon moves against hers. Her movments aren't choreographed, but they may as well be with how quickly it melts Kara's insides.

For her own part, Kara struggles to find the beat. She eventually tries to mimic the bodies around her, but remains a half beat out of tempo until Lena gently grabs her wrists and guides Kara's hands to her hips.

It's too loud to even attempt to talk, but Lena's actions speak loudly enough. Her body moves sinuously, her hands resting atop Kara's, and with their bodies pressed together, Kara finds herself falling into step with her partner's. Soon, all that exists is the heat of Lena's body, the pulse of the heavy music, and the scent of Lena's perfume.

They dance for two songs before Lena calls a time out. They return to the booth only long enough to collect the others, before they all relocate to a second floor Kara hadn't noticed, where there's just enough air for Kara to hear herself think.

"We're gonna talk," Sam says, leaning in to murmur in her ear. "Later."

There's no malice in her voice, which prompts Kara to give an easy nod. She looks forward to knowing more about Lena's friends-- even if it means she gets a shovel talk or two.

Once they collapse in a booth, a server takes their orders for drinks and food-- for which Kara is grateful. She doubts the hunger in her belly will be sated by small bites from the bar, but it could perhaps tide her over until she and Lena returned to the hotel.

"Well," Jack says pegging Kara with a pointed look. "After that display, I think we deserve to hear how this happened." He gestures towards the pair of them, and Lena giggles.

"Kara barged into my dressing room," she delivers. Her fingers lace between Kara's under the table as she continues to relate the story of their meeting. When she finishes, Jack whistles.

"Quite the whirlwind for you then," he says to Kara. "How are you holding up?"

"Lena's been taking good care of me," Kara says with a smile. "It's been amazing to see her work."

Lena beams back at her. "You've been amazing." She shoots a look towards Jack. "Don't you dare scare her off."

"Only if you give me a dance, darling."

Lena sighs. "All right. Come on, before the food gets here."

Kara slides out of the booth for Lena to exit, and as she sidles past Lena kisses Kara's cheek. "The things I do for you."

"My hero," Kara grins. Lena isn't at all put out by the idea of dancing with her friend, and for all the warning Lena gave him, he didn't seem to be antagonistic about their relationship. She watches them go, glad that Lena has the chance to reconnect with her friends.

"Kara!" Sam calls. She waves Kara back to the table. "Come sit!"

Kara obeys, only for Veronica to slide out. "I'm going to find the restroom. You two have fun!"

Bracing herself, Kara turns to Sam-- who laughs and waves away her tension. "Relax... I'm not Lena's keeper. She's clearly into you, and you don't seem to be an asshole, so. I'm good."

"You're Sam Arias, right?" Kara asks. She hadn't been sure before in the strobing lights, but sitting so close she now recognizes the actress from some of the movies Esme likes.

Sam nods. "I'm filming in Florence right now, so I figured I'd stop by while I could. Jack has a cover shoot in Vienna, so we figured we'd make a night of it."

Warmth floods Kara's chest. She's seen how hard Lena works, and how solitary she's been since Kara met her. The fact that she has friends willing to bend their schedules to make time for her when they can speaks volumes.

"Mind if I ask you something?" Sam asks. Kara nods for her to continue. "What do you want out of this?"

Sam's not the first to wonder. The difference is that she's asked, rather than assume like Lillian has.

Kara shrugs. "Nothing Lena isn't willing to give." Sam looks at her, waiting for more. "I'm comfortable. I don't want her money, or her fame."

"Then why drop everything to go on tour with her?"

"Being with her makes me happy."

It's a simple truth, but a truth nonetheless. She can return to National City whenever she likes; Lena has placed no pressure on her to stay. But in National City, Kara's thoughts would stay with Lena, so why condemn herself to being stretched between two locations, when she has the freedom and means to simply stay?

"God, that's refreshing," Sam drawls. She takes a sip of her drink before she gives a broad smile.

"Positively saccharine," comes a dry voice from behind Kara, making her jump. She turns to find another tall brunette lurking over her shoulder. This woman's gaze, however, is far sharper than Sam's.

Sam doesn't seem all that surprised to see their visitor. "Andrea," she greets.

"Samantha."

Andrea sits on the edge of the bench, worming her way in so that Kara is forced to scooch to accommodate her.

"What's interesting," Andrea continues, "is that Lena finally found someone who has absolutely no impact on her career."

Though ostensibly that would be a good thing, the relish glinting in the woman's gaze suggests something much darker.

"Before she's chosen industry people. Singers, actors, reps and so forth. The kind of people who, if crossed, could end her career in a heartbeat. Untouchable."

Andrea leers at Kara, her smile tight and predatory. "But you... mmh."

Kara's features settle into a solemn glare, defensive. "What about me?"

"You're nothing," Andrea responds, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "So when you inevitably break her heart, which you absolutely will..." Andrea leans closer. "I'll be able to absolutely demolish you."

"Funny," says Lena, reaching between them to snag her drink. Her face is flushed, upper lip glistening with sweat, but her features are placid. "If only you had put that much care into our relationship *before* it ended."

Andrea blanches slightly, but her features remained solidly antagonistic. "Skimming the gutter, are you, Lena?"

"And happier than during the two years I spent with you," Lena returns smoothly. "Imagine that."

"Get lost, Rojas," Veronica drawls, approaching from the other direction. Andrea is cornered, and she knows it.

She rises stiffly. Moving to leave, she pauses at Lena's shoulders. "Lena--"

Lena scowls. "Please leave."

Andrea hesitates a moment more, but ultimately decides now was neither the time or place to push further. She leaves, and Lena watches her leave with a glower on her face, before she settles onto the bench seat next to Kara.

"Ignore whatever she said to you," Lena says stiffly.

Kara softens. "She cares about you."

"She doesn't get to," comes the sharp retort. "Not anymore."

The message is clear-- Lena does not want to discuss Andrea Rojas.

The mood lightens as Lena's friends expertly steer the conversation away from Andrea's interruption. It's not long until Lena's hackles ease, and she's once more laughing and having fun. Kara relaxes as well, accepting every one of Lena's invitations to dance.

When they leave, it's at Lena's request. Kara's surprised-- Lena's trademark energy still relatively untapped-- until Lena captures her gaze with a heady one of her own. They're on the dance floor when it happens, and Lena leans in to shout into Kara's ear.

"Wanna get out of here?!"

Kara hesitates only a moment, conscious of how Sam and Jack had crossed international borders to see Lena, before she sees Sam not too far off. The brunette's features are astute and smirking, confirming the she understands-- and approves-- exactly what Lena intends.

Before she nods, Kara turns her head to capture Lena's lips as she pulls away. She kisses Lena deeply and soundly, and when she breaks away Lena lists after her. Heavy eyes look up at her, dazed and hungry for more.

"What about your friends?"

"Sam says I've been eye-fucking you all night," Lena calls back. "I'd rather be fucking you for real." She grins. "Respectfully!"

Kara laughs, the sound lost in the music. "Uh huh," she says, mostly to herself. "Then let's go!"

Lena waves at her friends, earning cheeky grins from all three in return. Kara's surprised to see the time is already past 2am. Her blood buzzes in her veins, arousal and anticipation electrifying her nerves.

Kara enters the suv at Lena's slight push, which means when Lena climbs in she plants herself firmly in Kara's lap, hiking up her skirt to straddle Kara's thighs.

"You are so hot tonight," Lena murmurs. "I couldn't keep my eyes off you." She grins. "I wasn't the only one."

Kara blinks. She hadn't sensed anyone staring at her. Then again, she hadn't paid much attention to anyone but Lena.

"I didn't notice."

"I know," Lena purrs, leaning down. Her tongue laves across Kara's throat, before she engulfs all of her senses in a searing kiss. "So fucking hot...."

Kara glances frantically towards the front, hesitant to put on a show for anyone but Lena, but finds that the driver has already rolled up the privacy screen. Kara doubts the screen provides any amount of soundproofing, but it's enough for her to slide her hand under Lena's hitched skirt, cupping a bare ass cheek in her palm.

"Fuck," Kara groans. Her groin tightens, warming with arousal that leaks past her own thong. "Lena--"

"Let me, baby," Lena murmurs beside her ear. She suckles the column of Kara's neck, even as her hand deftly delves under Kara's dress. "I'm gonna make you feel so good..."

Expert fingers find Kara's clit and pause, pressing gently against the throbbing bud. Lena's fingers are warm, but still cooler than the heat between Kara's legs. She curses again, hips bucking ever so slightly.

"Not so fast," Lena croons. "I want you to enjoy this."

Kara's breaths are already coming hard and fast, as her higher brain functions swiftly cease to function. She grunts, pulling a smile to Lena's lips.

Long fingers slide tenderly across Kara's arousal-slicked opening, circling almost carelessly-- except Kara understands Lena knows exactly what she's doing.

"I want you to wait," Lena whispers. "Can you do that for me? Can you wait until we get to the hotel?"

Kara's teeth grind, lassoing any shred of self control she has left, even as Lena's fingers dip between her labia. She enters almost enough for Kara's walls to grip her fingers, but Lena is quick to react, withdrawing before Kara to gain any purchase.

"Answer me," Lena says.

"Y-yes," Kara stammers. "I-- I can wait-- ungh!"

A high, pitiful sound escapes from Kara's throat, wild and unexpected. She feels her cheeks tingle, and knows they would have turned a vivid red if she weren't already red from the exertion of the club.

Lena kisses her, long and slow and deep. As she does, a fingernail lightly catches on Kara's clit, making her gasp. She tastes the warm air and alcohol from Lena's breath, savoring it for a short moment before another stroke of Lena's fingers makes her huff in frustration.

"You're doing so good," Lena tells her. Her free hand strokes Kara's breast, teasing her through the dress until her nipple hardens and stands at attention. "Oh my god, Kara-- you are so beautiful..."

Kara moans plaintively. "I-- I wanna touch you... more--"

"Not yet," Lena chides. She rests their foreheads together, even as she continues her ministrations under Kara's dress. "Do you know what I'm going to do when I get you upstairs?"

Kara grunts, gasping for breath. She's on the verge of coming, and has to force her inner walls to relax lest she climax right then and there.

"I'm going lay you down on my bed," Lena continues, scissoring her fingers inside Kara and smiling sweetly when Kara squirms. "I'm going to lay you down, and then I'm going to ask you to spread your knees as far as you can. I'm going to make you stretch for me...."

Kara's thighs tense under Lena's, hungry in anticipation. Lena leans in close then, speaking low into Kara's ear.

"And then I'm going to put my mouth on you." Teeth scrape Kara's earlobe, sensitizing it for when Lena makes another pass, this time nibbling sharply. Kara throws her head back hard enough to bounce off the headrest.

"Would you like that, baby?" Lena asks, smiling languidly. "Do you want me to lick you dry? Suck on your clit until-- uh uh," comes a stern warning.

Lena withdraws her hand just before Kara climaxes. Kara gives a shuddering sigh, grateful even as she resents the sudden stillness. Her core gapes, walls flexing in search of something, anything to grip.

"You promised," Lena reminds her.

Kara nods, breathless. "S-sorry," she gasps.

"Shhhh," Lena soothes. Her hand returns, playing idly with Kara's clit. "You're doing amazing, baby."

She retracts her fingers again, less cruelly this time, and lifts them to Kara's mouth. Understanding her intent, Kara kisses Lena's slick fingertips, then parts her lips in invitation.

Lena carefully inserts her first and middle fingers, and Kara lets her tongue curl around them. The salt of her own arousal only heightens her senses further, and the pleasure in Lena's features only makes Kara want to perform perfectly, whatever Lena asks of her.

"I--I want...."

"Tell me," Lena murmurs. "Tell me what you want..."

Before Kara can find the coherence to answer, the car slows to a long stop. Lena's eyes flick up to glance out the back window. With a smile, Lena bends back down to capture Kara's lips in a soft kiss.

"You made it," she says. "We're at the hotel."

Lena wipes her damp fingers across her dress to dry them, then clasps Kara's hand and all but drags her out. If there are paparazzi waiting for them outside the building, Kara doesn't see them. She doesn't register much of anything until her dress is a pile on the floor, and Lena pushes her gently backwards. Her legs fold against the edge of the bed, and she sits with a thump.

"Lay back, baby."

Lena kneels, long ponytail spilling over one shoulder. "Let me take care of you."

And oh, does she.

Kara comes in moments, but Lena doesn't relent. She suckles Kara's clit, and licks ardently, endlessly, until Kara comes again and again.

She doesn't relent until Kara breathlessly pats somewhere near Lena's head, unsure if she actually makes contact. Nevertheless, Lena disengages and crawls over Kara, gazing down into her eyes with satisfaction and adoration.

"Worth the wait?"

Kara mutters a curse. She reaches up to snag Lena by the edge of her jaw, pulling her down to a deep, languid kiss.

"Do that again," Kara warns, "and there's no guarantee I won't explode on the spot, if that's my reward."

Lena beams.

"That was so hot. You-- Lena, I...." Suddenly, Kara's brain catches up to her. "Why are you still dressed?"

"I was a little busy..." Lena grins. Her chin is still slicked with arousal, which she wipes salaciously with her fingers.

"Fuck that," Kara growls. She fumbles for the zipper behind Lena's neck, but doesn't find one. "Off... off, off, off."

"Easy, tiger..." Lena casually reaches under her arm, and undoes the side zipper. Then Kara is treated to the sight of Lena peeling the dress up and over her head. Her boots, at least, are already off, leaving Lena utterly, delectably bare.

Lena tilts her head in a tantalyzing tease. She leans down, and the end of her ponytail tickles the hollow of Kara's throat. "How do you want me?"

"I want you so wet I could drown in you," Kara murmurs. Lena's cheeks heat in a ready flush. Carefully, Kara repositions them so that she was the one straddling Lena. She rubs the top of her thigh between Lena's legs, earning her a sweet mewling as Lena wriggles down to try and increase the pressure.

Rather than tease, Kara plants her knee in the mattress, a grounding rod for Lena to grind against.

"What do you need?" Kara asks simply.

"Drawer," Lena says breathlessly. "Under the scarf. There's a-- ngh, jeezus."

Now it's Lena's turn to be frustrated, and Kara finds that she enjoys the picture she paints. She enjoys it very much.

Kara gamely pushes off the mattress and pads over to the short dresser on the far wall. Fishing under the aforementioned scarf, she pulls out a dildo already fitted to a harness.

Lifting an eyebrow, Kara lets it dangle from her finger by one strap, shooting Lena a suspicious glance.

"Planning ahead, were we?"

Lena gives a cheesy grin. "Can never be too prepared," she teases. Her own eyebrow lifts in challenge. "Think you're up for it?"

Kara crosses back to the bed with dildo in hand. Lena returns to her back, and gazes up at Kara with eyes glazed by desire. She inhales sharply when Kara presses the shaft of the dildo between her legs.

"Tell me what you like," Kara urges, her voice low. She kisses her way up Lena's sternum, the licks the hollow of a slender throat. When she pulls back, Lena whimpers. "Tell me."

"I want you," Lena starts, her eyes hooded with want, "to hold me down, and fuck me senseless."

An all new wave of desire floods Kara, making her insides quake. She leans in close to Lena's ear, and feels her partner's breath catch.

"Challenge accepted."

[moirindeclermont]

I've just realized this is the last Tuesday/Wednesday that we pass with an episode of "All Polin's First Times We Didn't See" (even though we'll have kinktober) so I feel a little bit bittersweet about it. Today is a request and it's about the first time Pen's 💦

If someone would ask Pen what was the biggest surprise of being with Colin, she honestly could not believe she could get a straight answer.

Sometimes, when she thinks about it, it seems madness, like it didn't even happen to her maybe. Maybe she is still with her mom and sisters, being a wallflower.

She remembers the shock upon discovering Colin had feelings for her. She'll think about that carriage ride for the rest of her life, probably. The way her heart was beating so fast, the way it took all of her courage to admit she wanted to be more than friends, even in the face of his confession, the way her stomach swoop when Colin kissed her again and didn't stop ever since.

She always wanted Colin, but the way that desire went through her as they took their first steps together was another thing that shocked her. How powerful was feeling desired by him. How powerful was feeling her own lust coming through. She had never imagined that being taken was so literal, even if it was just a couple of fingers inside her, that very first night.

And then, their first time, sometimes it's overwhelming just thinking about it, because how could a moment in time being so perfect? Snippets of it are impressed in her memories, full living painting she gets to revisit when she wants. Seeing all of Colin. Feeling that stretch. How Colin felt inside of her. How they seems to fit perfectly together. Feeling safe and loved, so connected with another being that he must have share with her a piece of his soul.

And from that, the most beautiful exploration of what it means to be together and intimate. How each time felt like a first time, for a while, as they learnt each other bodies and the way they respond to different things.

And yet... It seems like she is learning new things still.

That night they were wild. He already took her but he wanted to give her more. So he started again with fingers and mouth, his personal favorite combination.

Nothing new but the intensity and the speed was unknown to her. She was moaning and whining, making sounds she didn't even think she could possibly make. Everytime she looked at him, she could fell hike speeding up, hitting a particular spot inside her that was quickly building a devastating release.

Time stood still as her body began to seizure, the release so wild and powerful she felt herself gushing for what seemed like eternity. When she looked at Colin, she saw he was soaked and the knowledge she did that was exhilarating and powerful at the same time.

"You're a marvel," said Colin, and while she was breathless and sweaty, she felt like one.

That was the night she realized that through their love and connection, Colin has taught her so much about her own self. How to be confident sure, but also her own uniquely feminine power, the depth of her desire and lust for him, as well as an appreciation for her own body, so often judged, that she will be forever grateful that he chose to chase down her carriage that night.

[chubs-deuce]

"Delete later" oh. Better speed run this shit then ajshdm

1, 5, 16, 26, and 30 for the music ask pls :3c

omg thank you!! I'm gonna answer these with hyperlinks to youtube videos <3 :DD also lmfao dw abt the "delete later" tag it's gonna be up for at least a day or sth and I might just end up forgetting it's there hahaha

anyways..... 👀

(1) A song you like with color in the title - like? A specific color? Or the word COLOR? Because, hilariously, I have one that fits both of those criteria lmfao: Favorite Color Is Blue by Robert DeLong ft. K.Flay! It's a fun, seductive kind of "fuck me up" song! >:D

(5) A song that needs to be played LOUD - ohhh I have a couple!

But depending on what kinda vibe I'm going for that particular day, Nemesis by VNV Nation makes me want to riot!!!! It's about seeing all the unfairness in the world and a guttural cry for justice!!!

Mate Um Bonito Hoje Mesmo by Marcioz on the other hand just fills my chest with an indescribable rush after the initial drop, like falling through a raging storm at high speed, watching the world around you go up in flames - but still ends on a gentle, if oddly somber note! It has to be played loud for the full immersive effect, in my humble opinion ÙwÚ

(16) One of your favorite classical songs - ok so this is 100% going to put me on blast as being a blatant and obvious remnant of my long-lasting past fnaf phase, but there's just something so genuinely, heartachingly beautiful and haunting about Ständchen by Schubert that I keep adoring

(26) A song that makes you want to fall in love - definitely Nothing by Bruno Major. There's so much beauty in the sheer domesticity of it, the simple comfort and everyday joys one can source from the most mundane of places that are simply better together, even if you don't add the specifically romantic lens!

(30) A song that reminds you of yourself - oh boy this was a hard one ngl. If you'd asked me this a couple of years ago it would've been something far more depressing, but now... despite the occasional downs I still often experience, I'm mentally and emotionally doing better than I ever have I think.

I have people who love me unconditionally around me, I'm growing in confidence through simple everyday life as a working adult, I don't feel like I have to hide myself and who I am around people as much anymore... It's oddly nice. It's the reason I get very teary eyed whenever I think of the Orange poem by Wendy Cope - just this reassuring sense that things really do get better :')

So Green Grass by Ellie Dixon will have to be my pick for this!

It's just the right amount of struggle and optimism, with a touch of external support that I finally feel like I have going much more of for me. Also a touch of motherly love and advice, which is something that hasn't always been as apparent and appreciated by me in my life as I feel it is now ;w;

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[thedrotter]

as a little treat i am sharing with you little Aya doodles I've done over the last few days to unwind ww just little expressions based on lines in-game because those are always fun to draw. nothing too special just biscuit

it's Aya because upon doing bizarrely throughout playthroughs of the game for still unspecified project purposes I've gained a soft spot for her she's my daughter now my mental tier list on my favorite characters is so confusing right now

[werebutch]

My mom getting a new place is kinda making me anxious I think she thinks I’m gonna move in w her instead of my dad 😭 and I’m not sure why I don’t want to. Cuz she’s way better. But I don’t. And I feel responsible I think and plus my sisters will never favor my mom over my dad… so we’d live apart. but I’m 20 years old I can live whatever I want. But. But but but

[isfjmel-phleg]

[

[thatradfailure]

Shoot man I just love langauges. All sorts of foreign languages. I love how they all sound. I can't understand a word of what's being said but they all sound so good and authentic and beautiful in their own rights and I don't understand people who claim xyz language is "aggressive" language is a neutral thing it cannot be aggressive. It can be spoken passionately, lovingly, softly, harshly, etc, but that's all about the speaker.

I like comparing languages to nature most. Sometimes something manmade comes into the picture, too, to help me express my feelings about langauges poetically.

Some languages sound like waves crashing into the rocky shore of a lighthouse, a nice sunset occuring just behind. It's harsh, but that's part of where the beauty lies, in the water slamming into the rocks, just to run off of them just as quick, the rocks always slick yet protecting the lighthouse above.

Others are tranquils spots in the woods behind the childhood home, a small stream running through it. The pebbles are colorful and bright, the tadpoles and tiny fish unable to camouflage against them as theh swim about, living their best life.

Still more are like a warmly lit cabin in the middle of a snow-clade mountain, smoke arising invitingly from the chimney, the path to it a bit rocky and untouched by other boots in a while, yet clear of any danger. It's a little home you know you'll be welcome to stay in for the night. Hell, you can even faintly smell something cooking. You know it's probably nothinf you've had before, but it'll certainly fill you with warmth and comfort.

Sometimes some langauges are like the striped rocks of a desert canyon, unmatched and unseen elsewhere, yet awe inspiring in its natrual beauty and magnificence. You can run your hands along its walls and imagine its past, its history, how it came to be exactly like this, but you may never know for sure. And that, too, it part of the appeal.

I love all of them, even if I may not be able to speak them. Sometimes just hearing something you can't understand is a good experience.

[toomuchdickfort]

Vent abt smth that gets on my Nerves

[pretty-emo-dad]

If I ever come across as a Nancy anti I promise I’m not, she’s one of my favorite of the older teens and I love her, but when I’m talking about characters like Mike and Jonathan, some of their main conflicts are the result of her stubbornness/inability to recognize when she’s wrong

[maspers]

Imagine Thomas and Martha Wayne getting resurrected via whatever the bullcrap of the week is, and it NOT getting undone once the conflict is over. Bruce and the kids are experiencing All The Emotions but Thomas and Martha are just happy to be there and are wholeheartedly rolling with it.

"The Waynes are a superhero family now? That's amazing! Martha, isn't it amazing?"

"Yes, dear. So much better than the organized crime we used to do. Oh, don't worry Bruce, we really only did it out of obligation, we would have jumped to vigilantism long ago had we known it was an option."

"Martha, we have grandchildren! They're adorable!"

"Thomas you've already met most of them."

"Yes but now I can appreciate them! And spoil them!"

"Thomas, honey, if you actually act as an enabler for our grandbabies I think you'll end up giving our poor Bruce a heart attack."

"Damian has a sword Martha! A sword! We have swords in the family! This is wonderful!"

"I know, Thomas."

Thomas has to be physically restrained from learning how to be a vigilante. He's too old, and Bruce and the rest don't want him to die *again*. He can help Alfred. Doesn't stop him from badgering his grandchildren about their hobbies. Ostensibly it's because he wants to get to know them better, but they all know he just really wants to learn how to do the cool things they all do. He's banned from using the Batcomputer at least thrice.

Martha at first seems content to just sit in the house and play the role of old-fashioned housewife but one day she inexplicably appears in Jason's apartment, supposedly to return one of his guns after he dropped it. He could have sworn it was fully loaded when he lost it, and now it's empty. Martha's fingerprints are the only ones on the gun. He decides to not ask questions.

They both neglect to inform the high society of Gotham that they're alive, and it takes a while for them to realize this. Gradually every rich person in Gotham takes their turn having a breakdown over having to deal with even more Wayne bullcrap. How come the Waynes are the only ones that seem to be immune to death???

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

--

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

--

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

--

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

--

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

--

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

--

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

--

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

--

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

--

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

--

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[r0ugesun]

running with the wolves

Beta read by my wife @moonstruksandco ( ˘ ³˘)˘ᵋ ˘ )♥

Synopsis: Cregan Stark, the formidable Lord of Winterfell, eagerly awaits the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, who has bewitched him since childhood. As winter sets in, he hopes to transform their arranged marriage into a union of love. However, y/n arrives with her own doubts, unsure if she can return his deep affection. Will their marriage blossom into love, or remain a cold duty? Cregan is determined to show her that their bond can be more than just an obligation on their wedding night.

Warnings: 18+ slow burn, smut, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), breeding kink, rough sex, oral sex(both f/m receiving) missionary, mating press, doggy style lots of cum (I think all stark men cum bucket loads)

8k+ words likes and reblogs are highly appreciated ෆ/⟳ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

(Authors note: omg hayy I don’t know that much about Yorkshire accents aside from ackley bridge so I’m sorry in advanced if it’s not right :>)

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The wind howled through the ancient halls of Winterfell, carrying with it the biting chill of the northern winter. Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by the great hearth in the main hall, his keen grey eyes fixed on the entrance. The time had come for the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, the most beautiful amongst house Tyrell.

From the moment he first saw her, Cregan had been captivated. Even as a young lad, her grace and elegance had set her apart. Now, as a grown woman, she was even more bewitching, and Cregan's heart swelled with a mix of anticipation and determination. He was resolved to turn their arranged marriage into a union of love.

As Cregan stood by the hearth, he watched the window, the snowflakes drifting lazily to the ground, a distant memory surfaced, warm and vivid against the icy present. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back to a time when he was just a young lad of twelve, visiting Highgarden with his family.

He remembered the journey vividly, how different the South had seemed compared to the North. The air was warmer, the colors more vibrant. He had wandered through the lush gardens, marveling at the flowers and plants that couldn’t survive the harsh winters of Winterfell. It was in those gardens that he first saw her.

Y/n had been around his age, a vision of beauty even then. She sat on a stone bench, engrossed in a book, her expression serene and detached. Her hair, shining in the sunlight, cascaded down her shoulders, and her delicate features were framed by the backdrop of blooming flowers. She seemed almost like a fairytale princess, so enchanting that he could scarcely believe she was real.

Without even realizing it his feet began to move on their own, he was like a moth being drawn to the flame that was her. As he approached her, His heart pounded in his chest, an unfamiliar but exhilarating feeling. She glanced up briefly from her book as he neared, her eyes meeting his for just a moment before returning to her reading.

“H-Hello” he said, trying to muster as much confidence as he could. “What are yeh reading?”

She responded without looking up this time, her voice calm and distant. “Hmm a collection of poems” she replied. “Do you like poetry?”

Cregan, caught off guard, nodded. “Aye. Though I don’t read much of it.”

She patted the space beside her, still not lifting her gaze from the pages. “You can sit if you want.”

He sat down slowly, feeling a strange sense of destiny in that moment. She continued to read aloud, her voice weaving the words into a tapestry of emotion and beauty. He listened, captivated not by the poetry but by her otherworldliness her grace, and the way she brought the words to life. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, completely in star struck, while she remained indifferent, too engrossed in her book to notice his adoration.

That was the last time they spoke just a few exchange of words. The rest of his visit to Highgarden was spent with his father and training with Y/N’s brothers and learning the ways of a lord, much to his chagrin. But whenever he could, he would steal glances at her from a window while she read in the garden, and across from her at dinner, for which his mother often scolded him.

"Cregan, it's impolite to stare" his mother whispered sharply during dinner one evening, nudging his foot under the table.

He tore his eyes away from y/n, his cheeks burning and crimson red. "I weren’t starin’, Mother.”

“Yeh most certainly were” she replied, her tone firm. “It’s not appropriate. Focus on yer meal.”

“But she’s… she’s so…”

“Enchantin’?” his mother finished for him, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Aye, she is. But yeh must remember yer manners, lad. Staring is unbecoming of a young lord.”

Cregan sighed, casting one last, fleeting glance at y/n, who was still in her own little world not casting a single glance his way. “Aye, mother….”

Despite his mother’s admonitions, his fascination with Y/N only grew, even as she remained blissfully unaware of his admiration.

Cregan opened his eyes, the memory fading as the cold reality of Winterfell settled back in. He sighed, turning away from the window. Some things, he mused, never truly changed.

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In the dimly lit carriage, y/n huddled under the blankets, trying to stave off the biting cold that seemed to seep through the very fabric of her clothes. Her mother sat beside her, wrapped in her own covers and trying to offer some semblance of warmth and comfort. The carriage jolted over the rough, snow covered road, and every bump made her shiver more.

Her brothers, true to their duty, were outside braving the harsh northern winter with their horses, though y/n could scarcely imagine how they managed. She, however, had the luxury of being confined to the carriage, a prisoner of her own anxieties and fears.

The stories she’d heard about Cregan Stark haunted her thoughts. The gruff warden of the north with a claymore sword so heavy it was said to be the size of a small man. To her, the very idea of marrying such a man was nightmarish. She couldn't remember much about him from his family’s previous visit to Highgarden all those years ago, but the tales of his fierceness and the imposing aura of the North made her dread the moment she would finally meet him.

The carriage seemed to creak with the weight of her mother's discontent. Her mother’s complaints, murmured under her breath but audible enough for y/n to hear, were laced with disdain. “I cannot believe we’ve had to send our only daughter off to marry a Stark”

“Their way of life, covered in stinking animal pelts, living amongst brutes who value strength over grace. It’s hardly the life for a Tyrell.” She said with disgust.

Her father’s stern gaze flicked towards her mother, his patience evidently wearing thin. "We’ve discussed this, Eliza. The match is made, and it’s for the good of House Tyrell. Stop lamenting what cannot be undone."

To him, this marriage was merely a strategic move, a means to secure more power for Highgarden. His daughter's feelings were of no consequence, his focus was solely on the political gain.

“Do you have to be so callous?” her mother’s voice broke through the gloom. “She is our daughter.”

Her father’s gaze remained unyielding. “The alliance with the Starks is necessary for the gain of our house. Y/n is to be a dutiful wife to a powerful lord it’s what she was raised for, if she does her duty right she’ll bear him many children further securing our power”

As her father’s harsh words continued to echo in her ears, y/n’s anger flared. She straightened up, glaring at him . “If you wanted to gift Cregan a broodmare, you should’ve gotten him one of the whores you visit in the brothels” she spat out, her voice trembling with defiance.

mother’s gasp of shock was barely audible over the creaking of the carriage. Her father’s eyes were wild, a hot fury flashing in them. Before y/n could react, his hand shot out, delivering a hard, stinging slap across her face. The sharp force of it made her head snap to the side, and she recoiled, stunned by the sudden violence.

“How dare you!” her father’s voice roared with anger.

y/n’s mother was frozen, her hand going to her mouth in shock. She looked at her husband with a mixture of horror and helplessness. “Henry, please—”

“Be silent!” he snapped, cutting her off. “I will not tolerate such insolence!“

He turned his icy gaze back to y/n, his face a mask of unrelenting severity. “You are about to become the wife of a powerful man. you are fortunate that I secured this arrangement, otherwise you would just end up being Cregans whore in some brothel anyway.”

Y/n’s heart sank as she heard the finality in his cruel words. She knew better than to argue with him—his decisions were made with an iron will that left no room for dissent.

as the carriage continued its slow journey through the snow, y/n's thoughts were plagued with anxiety and uncertainty. The grandeur of Winterfell loomed ahead, and with it, the reality of her new life as Cregan Stark’s bride. She could only hope that, amidst the cold and the gruffness of her new home, she might find a way to endure this new chapter of her life.

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As Cregan stood by the hearth, still lost in his own thoughts, the door swung open with a crash and his friends burst in, laughter and shouts echoing through the great hall.

“Cregan, ye dog! Heard the news, did we!” Jorah boomed, striding up to him and clapping him on the back with such force it nearly sent him stumbling forward.

“Aye, lad, congratulations!” Gendry called out, raising his tankard high. “A Tyrell, no less! Must’ve done somethin’ right to be landin’ a lass like that.”

Cregan, smiling, shook his head as he tried to make sense of the sudden uproar. “Cheers, lads. Bit early for a celebratory drink, ain’t it?”

Bram, always one for a jest, stepped forward with a grin. “Well, Cregan, we heard she’s real beauty, fairest in all the Seven Kingdoms. Quite the catch for a dog like you. Ain’t right, really, a face like hers and a face like yours.”

Cregan raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, is that so? And what about ye lot, then? All of ye been lookin’ in the mirror lately?”

The room erupted in laughter, and Bram waved a dismissive hand. “Aye, we might be a rough lot, but at least we ain’t got to worry ‘bout our faces bein’ compared to a rose.”

Robb, always quick with a quip, leaned in with a wink. “Might be true she’ll forget all ‘bout yer ugly mug once she gets a look at what’s really under yer tunic. you’ve got more to offer than just yer sorry looks.”

Cregan’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he laughed along, trying to maintain his composure. “Ah, so ye’re sayin’ it’s all in the size of me… character, is it?”

“Aye, that’s right!” Robb said with a grin. “Best thing about ye, Cregan, is that even if your face don’t make the cut, yer other qualities surely will.”

Cregan shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Well, if it’s me ‘other qualities’ that’ll win her over, then I reckon I’d best be makin’ sure she gets a good look at all of ‘em.”

Jorah slapped him on the back again, nearly sending him reeling. “Look at ye, all flustered! Never thought I’d see the day. Don’t worry, lad. What lass wouldn’t want a strong Northman?”

“Aye, just keep it down a bit, or you’ll have me blushing so hard I’ll be usin’ me face as a lantern” Cregan said, his grin widening.

The friends continued their banter, the atmosphere warm with camaraderie and laughter. As they raised their mugs in a final toast, Cregan felt a renewed sense of anticipation and affection for the future, no matter the teasing jabs from his mates.

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The room was alive with laughter and chatter as Cregan and his friends carried on with their banter. Jorah was in the middle of a lively tale from a recent hunt, while Robb and Gendry argued over the best way to handle a particularly stubborn horse.

The door creaked open, and in walked Lady Gilliane Glover and Lord Rickon Stark, their presence immediately silencing the room. Lady Gilliane, a woman of dignified grace, and Lord Rickon, tall and commanding, made their way over to their son.

“Cregan, me lad!” Lady Gilliane called out, her voice warm but authoritative. “Got a bit o’ news for ye.”

Cregan turned, a smile fading as he saw his parents. He stood, brushing his hands on his tunic. “Mother, Father, what brings ye here?”

Lord Rickon gave a nod, his face a mix of seriousness and pride. “Your brother spotted Y/N’s carriage on the road. They’ll be arrivin’ soon.”

The room quieted, the friends sensing the shift in the mood. Jorah nudged Cregan with a grin. “Looks like the real fun’s about to start, eh?”

Lady Gilliane gave a small, amused smile. “Aye, that’s right. Thought ye’d want to know. They’ll be here within the hour, so best be ready.”

Cregan’s heart raced, and he glanced at his friends, trying to mask his nerves. “Well, no time like the present, I suppose. Best get meself sorted.”

Lord Rickon placed a reassuring hand on Cregan’s shoulder. “Remember, lad, first impressions count. Show her what a proper Stark man ye are.”

“Aye, Father,” Cregan said, nodding. He turned to his friends with a determined look. “Ye lot best behave yerselves when she arrives. Don’t be givin’ her any more trouble than need be.”

The friends raised their mugs, grinning. “Aye, aye, Cregan! We’ll be on our best behavior,” Robb said, winking.

Lady Gilliane’s gaze softened as she looked at her son. “We’ll leave ye to it, then. Just remember, Cregan, she’ll be as nervous as ye, if not more. Show her the warmth of the North.”

As Lady Gilliane and Lord Rickon exited the hall, Cregan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The anticipation of meeting Y/N was building with every tick of the clock, and he knew the coming hours would be crucial.

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Y/n sat in the carriage, the stark contrast between the verdant landscapes of Highgarden and the harsh, icy expanse of Winterfell weighing heavily on her. The snow-clad scenery outside felt alien and unwelcoming compared to the lush greenery she had left behind. Each jolt of the carriage seemed to deepen her sense of displacement.

Her mother’s hand, warm and steady, was a source of comfort amid her growing anxiety. Y/N clung to it, drawing solace from its presence as she tried to quell her rising fears.

“We’re almost there, dear” her mother said softly, her voice a gentle balm against the cold atmosphere of the carriage. “Remember, we’re in this together.”

Y/n managed a small, appreciative smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Mother. It’s just… it’s so different from home.”

Her father, ever the pillar of stoicism, was peering out the window, his gaze fixed on the approaching Winterfell.

The carriage began to slow, the crunch of snow under the wheels signaling their arrival. As they came to a stop, y/n could see her father alighting first, his figure steady and authoritative as he approached Lord Rickon Stark.

“Lord Rickon” her father said, stepping forward with a formal nod. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Y/n and her mother remained in the carriage, the cold air seeping through the cracks in the doors. Her mother's hand squeezed hers gently, offering a fleeting moment of comfort in the face of her overwhelming anxiety.

"Mother" y/n whispered, her voice trembling. "What if I can't do this? I-I’m scared"

Her mother turned to her, eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "Oh, my dear, I know it seems daunting. But you have a strength within you that you may not yet realize. You have always been resilient."

Tears welled up in y/n's eyes. "I feel so far from home. Everything here is so cold, so harsh."

Her mother reached up, brushing a tear from

y/n's cheek. "I know, darling. Highgarden's warmth and beauty are hard to leave behind. But you must remember, you have the ability to adapt and thrive. This place will feel like home in time."

Y/n nodded, trying to take comfort in her mother's words, but the knot in her stomach remained tight. "And what of Father? He seems so determined, but... he never cares for how I feel."

Her mother's expression darkened momentarily before she masked it with a gentle smile. "don't let him weigh you down. Focus on yourself and your own strength. You are here to build a new life, and I believe in you."

The carriage door opened, and the cold air rushed in, a stark reminder of the world awaiting her. Her father was already engaged in conversation with Lord Rickon Stark, their voices carrying a tone of formality and mutual respect.

"It's time" her mother said softly, giving y/n's hand one last reassuring squeeze. "Show them the grace and strength you possess. You are more than capable y/n."

With a deep breath, y/n steeled herself and stepped out of the carriage. The cold air bit at her skin, but she walked forward, her mother following closely behind.

Y/n's mother nudged her gently, drawing her attention away from the imposing figure of Lord Rickon. "Y/n, dear" she whispered, "Lord Cregan is approaching you."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see Cregan making his way towards her. He was even taller and more formidable than she remembered, his broad shoulders and strong build making him appear larger than life. She stiffened, her body tensing with apprehension.

Cregan's eyes, a deep and thoughtful blue, met hers as he stopped before her. He could see the trepidation in her gaze, the way her hands clutched the folds of her cloak. Despite the fear evident in her demeanor, she managed to muster a polite greeting.

"Lord Cregan" she said, her voice steady but tinged with a slight tremor. "It is an honor to be here."

Cregan offered a warm smile, though he felt a pang of hurt and self-consciousness at the sight of her fear. He noticed the redness around her eyes, the telltale signs that she had been crying. The realization made his heart ache—she was far from home, surrounded by strangers, and faced with the daunting prospect of marrying him, a man she barely remembered.

"Lady y/n" he responded, his voice gentle. "The honor is mine. Welcome to Winterfell."

Y/n nodded, her posture rigid. "Thank you, my lord."

He could see her struggling to maintain her composure, her attempts to be polite masking the underlying fear and uncertainty. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was safe here with him, but he knew his words might not carry much weight given the circumstances.

"Ye must be tired from yer journey" Cregan said, trying to ease the tension. "I hope the accommodations we’ve prepared for ye are to yer liking."

She glanced around, her eyes briefly meeting his before darting away. "I'm sure they will be, my lord. Thank you."

Cregan's heart softened at her evident discomfort. He could only imagine how overwhelming this experience must be for her—leaving the warmth and familiarity of Highgarden for the cold and formidable North, betrothed to an intimidating stranger.

"Please, if there is anything ye need, do not hesitate to ask," he added, his tone earnest. "I want ye to feel at home here."

Y/N nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Lord Cregan."

As the formalities continued, Cregan remained by her side, acutely aware of her apprehension. He could see the way she shivered slightly in the cold, her delicate frame dwarfed by the heavy cloak she wore. The vulnerability in her eyes struck a chord within him, igniting a protective instinct he hadn’t anticipated.

He knew it would take time for her to adjust, to feel comfortable in this new and unfamiliar place. And while her fear and anxiety might hurt him, he understood the reasons behind them. She was far from home, thrust into a situation beyond her control, and he was determined to show her that she had nothing to fear.

As the crowd began to disperse, Cregan leaned in slightly, his voice low and sincere. "I hope ye will come to find Winterfell as welcoming as Highgarden, Lady y/n. We Northerners may seem cold, but we are loyal and true. Ye have my word on that."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a moment before she nodded, a hint of hope mingling with her fear. "…I will do my best."

He smiled softly, hoping to convey his sincerity. "And I will do my best to make this place a home for ye."

With that, they parted, y/n retreating to her quarters with her mother while Cregan watched her go, a mix of emotions churning within him. He was determined to prove himself to her, to show her that beneath his intimidating exterior lay a heart of gold capable of warmth and compassion.

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The day of the wedding arrived, casting a serene hush over Winterfell. The godswood was adorned for the occasion, the ancient weirwood standing sentinel over the ceremony, its pale bark and blood-red leaves seeming to echo the gravity of the moment.

In her chambers, y/n adjusted her maiden’s cloak for the final time. The rich green of House Tyrell’s sigil contrasted sharply with the snowy landscape visible through the window. Her father, though distant and stern, was prepared to escort her. As they approached the godswood, y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her.

Her father’s expression was somber, but he offered her a curt nod, signaling it was time. Together, they walked through the snow, the crunching of their footsteps the only sound breaking the silence. The guests had gathered, their breaths visible in the chill air, and they fell into a hushed reverence as y/n and her father approached the heart tree.

Cregan waited beneath the weirwood, his eyes fixed on the approaching bride. As she neared, his breath caught slightly, a mixture of awe and anticipation in his gaze. The grandeur of y/n’s beauty was amplified by the solemnity of the godswood, her presence seeming almost ethereal in the fading light.

When they reached the base of the tree, Cregan’s voice rang out clearly, cutting through the stillness. “Who comes? Who comes before the gods?”

Y/n’s father’s voice was steady as he replied,

“Y/n of House Tyrell comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Cregan’s response was filled with a fervent resolve. “Me, Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?”

Y/n’s father turned to her, his voice formal but lacking warmth. “I, Henry of House Tyrell, her father, gives her.”

He then addressed y/n, his tone clipped. “Lady y/n, will you take this man?”

Y/n’s voice trembled slightly but was resolute. “I take this man.”

With the formalities completed, Cregan and y/n joined hands and knelt before the weirwood. They bowed their heads, submitting to the gods in silent prayer. The moment was charged with a profound intimacy, the ancient tree bearing witness to their vows.

After a few moments, Cregan gently removed

y/n’s maiden’s cloak, revealing the intricate embroidery of House Tyrell on her dress. With great care, he draped over her shoulders a new cloak—the sigil of House Stark now displayed proudly.

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers ringing out as Cregan and y/n stood together. The ceremony was complete, the ancient bond of the godswood now symbolizing the beginning of their shared life.

As they walked back towards the castle, Cregan stole glances at y/n, his admiration and anticipation palpable. Despite the harshness of Winterfell’s climate and the gravity of their new life, the day had marked a hopeful new chapter for both of them.

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Y/n's heart pounded as Cregan guided her through the cold, imposing corridors of Winterfell. The castle's heavy stone walls seemed to close in on her, amplifying her sense of isolation. Cregan's presence beside her was both comforting and intimidating, she couldn’t shake the fear that gripped her heart.

They arrived at Cregan's chambers, where a warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft, inviting glow. He gestured for her to enter first, and after a brief hesitation, she stepped inside.

"Please, make yerself comfortable," Cregan said, closing the door behind them. His northern accent was thick, adding a rugged charm to his words. "Would ye like somethin' to drink? A bit o' wine, mayhaps, to help ye warm up?"

Y/n nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, thank you."

Cregan poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, his gaze lingering on her as she took a small sip. He could see the tension in her posture and wanted to ease her fears, to show her that he was not the monster she imagined.

"Y/n," he began, his voice low and earnest, the thick accent wrapping each word in a soft embrace, "I know this must be overwhelmin'. I want ye to know that I understand yer fears, and I swear I’ll do everythin' in me power to make ye feel safe and cherished here."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice quivering. "I… I don't know what to expect."

Cregan took a step closer, his gaze filled with a yearning that spoke of deep emotion. "Ye can call me Cregan" he said, the warmth in his northern accent making his words even more poignant. "And I need ye to hear me now, for it’s somethin’ I’ve carried with me for years. From the moment I first beheld ye, me heart was forever altered."

Y/n's breath hitched, her eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words. Cregan's expression was tender, his gaze reflecting a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to bare his soul.

"I remember the first time I saw ye in the gardens of Highgarden," he said softly, his voice weaving a tapestry of emotion. "I was just a lad, new to the beauty of the south. Everythin’ around me was lush and vibrant, but when I saw ye, it was as if my world fell apart. Ye were like a vision of ethereal grace amidst the greenery. The flowers and the trees—they seemed mere shadows compared to ye. In that moment, it was clear that ye were the true beauty of the garden."

Y/n's eyes widened, and a flush of color spread across her cheeks. She could hardly breathe as she processed his confession. "Since then?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Cregan nodded, his gaze steady and full of longing. "Aye, since then. Ye were a beacon of light in me life, and that memory has lingered, burnin’ bright in me heart. I’ve longed to be near ye, not merely for the sake of duty, but because ye’ve ensnared my heart in a way no one else ever could."

Her heart fluttered wildly at his words, the warmth of the fire mingling with the warmth of his confession. She had always felt like a pawn in her father’s game, never imagining that someone like Cregan could see her so profoundly.

"I didn’t know" she said softly, her voice catching in her throat. "I thought... I thought you would be distant and cold."

Cregan's smile widened, his eyes soft with pure affection. "Aye the North may be cold, but my heart is only filled with warmth for ye. I want ye to see the real me, to know that I am here for ye with all that I am."

She looked into his eyes, seeing a depth of sincerity and yearning that shifted her perception. Perhaps this marriage could be more than a mere alliance. Maybe it could be the beginning of something profoundly beautiful.

"Thank you, Cregan…." she whispered, feeling a newfound sense of calm and hope. "I... I want to try."

Cregan’s smile was full of warmth and relief. "Tha’s all I ask, Y/n. We’ll take this one step at a time, together."

As they stood there, hand in hand, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, Y/n felt a spark of hope ignite in her heart, seeing Cregan in a new light.

Cregan's eyes never left Y/n's as he took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted this moment to be perfect, to reassure her of his intentions.

"Y/n" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "may I kiss ye?"

Y/n's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing scarlet. She hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Cregan. You may."

Cregan moved closer, his hand gently cupping her cheeks as he leaned in. He pressed his lips to hers in a soft tender, almost hesitant kiss, his touch gentle and reassuring. Y/n responded, her initial nervousness melting away as she felt the warmth and sincerity in his kiss.

When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. Seeing none, he smiled softly. "Ye're so beautiful, Y/n."

She blushed again, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Cregan."

He took her hand, leading her to the bed. As they stood beside it, he gently picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Y/n gasped softly, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried her. He laid her down on the bed with the utmost care, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

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Cregan's gaze remained locked on Y/n’s face, his eyes filled with a deep, reverent admiration. He lowered himself beside her on the bed, his hand still cupping her cheek. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe yer finally mine. My wife.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. The way he looked at her made her feel cherished, his admiration lighting a fire within her. Her apprehension melted away as she reached up, cupping his face in return. “And I’m grateful to be yours, Cregan.”

Their lips met again, this time with more fervor. The kiss deepened as Cregan’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Y/n’s hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him into the kiss with equal intensity. The warmth of his touch, combined with the gentle urgency of their embrace, made her feel as if she was floating.

Cregan’s breath mingled with hers as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ve wanted this so much” he whispered. “I’ve wanted ye.”

Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the sincerity of his words. She felt a new, desperate longing surge within her, her body responding to his touch with an eagerness she hadn’t expected. “Please, Cregan” she breathed out, her voice trembling with emotion.

Their lips met again, each kiss more passionate than the last. The world outside seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the moment, their breaths coming in sync as their yearning for each other deepened with every touch.

Cregan's kisses grew more intense, his touch transforming from gentle caresses to an urgent, burning desire. He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n's eyes, his own dark with passion. "I want to see all of ye, to feel ye" he said softly, his voice rough with need.

With deliberate care, he started to undress, his movements slow and deliberate. He tossed his cloak aside, revealing his strong muscular frame. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she watched him, his hardened form visible through his small clothes, making her heart race with a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement.

Cregan's hands moved to his shirt, sliding it off with a practiced ease. His gaze remained locked on Y/n as he undressed, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. His hands lingered on the waistband of his smallclothes, his hardness evident and stirring a deep, aching longing within Y/n.

When he was finally freed his cock, Cregan approached Y/n with a tender but determined expression. He reached for her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His fingers moved deftly to her dress, his touch gentle but purposeful as he began to unlace it.

The fabric fell away, revealing her bare chest to his gaze. Cregan's breath caught at the sight, his eyes roaming over her exposed skin with a mixture of reverence and desire.

"Ye're stunning," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I want to cherish every part of ye."

Yn's skin tingled under his gaze, her heart pounding as she felt both exposed and cherished.

Cregan's hands continued their exploration, his touch both reverent and possessive. He leaned in to kiss her again, his lips trailing hot, desperate kisses across her neck and shoulders.

His hands roamed over her bare skin, his touch igniting a fierce desire within her. She gasped, her body arching into his touch, as he pressed her into the bed with a controlled but eager force. His kisses became more fervent, his hands gripping her waist as he explored her body with a possessive urgency.

"I've longed for this moment" Cregan said between kisses, his voice rough with need.

Yn responded with equal fervor, her hands gripping his shoulders as she kissed him back with a desperate passion. "Show me, Cregan" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Show me how much you want me."

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled breaths and wet sloppy kisses as they lost themselves in the moment. Cregan's touch was a blend of tenderness and raw desire, each movement and kiss building a profound connection that left them both breathless and yearning for more.

As the kiss deepened, Cregan's touch grew more urgent, his hands roaming over Y/n's body with increasing desperation. His kisses, once tender and exploratory, became more demanding, his breaths ragged as he tried to control his growing desire. Yet, despite the intensity of their embrace, Cregan seemed to hold back, his movements tinged with an inner struggle to remain gentle.

Y/n could sense his restraint and the tension in his body. She was overwhelmed by the fire burning within her, her own desire driving her to push past his tentative touches.

"Cregan" she gasped between kisses, her voice trembling with need. "I want you. I want you to claim me fully."

Cregan's breath hitched, his eyes dark with a mix of surprise and longing. "Y/n... I-I don't want to hurt ye" he murmured, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure, he promised himself that he would be gentle, only touching her as if she were made of the most delicate glass and now he’d already been more rough than he intended.

But Y/n's voice was resolute, her gaze fixed on him with a desperate intensity. "No, Cregan. I want you to make me yours completely.” She whined, but she saw the look on his eyes he wouldn’t relent unless she pushed him towards his breaking point. “I want you to fuck a baby into me. I need you ple—“

Cregan didn't let you finish. His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that ignited a wildfire within. He held your face tenderly yet firmly, his touch a lifeline as you clung to him, desperate for more. His tongue explored the depths of your mouth, tasting every inch with a hunger that bordered on feral.

The clash of your teeth, the fervor of your kiss, it was a battle, a dance of dominance that you were willing to lose.

Cregan's tongue delved deeper, drawing a breathless moan from you. His scent enveloped you, intoxicating and heady, making your knees buckle with longing. It was as if the tether to your senses was fraying, leaving you to melt into a molten pool beneath his commanding presence.

The heat coursing through your body was a familiar sensation, yet it had never burned this intensely. It surged through you, tightening your nipples and pooling between your thighs, setting every nerve aflame.

Lost in the haze of his searing kisses, you scarcely noticed when he eased your back farther onto the bed, his body a solid, protective weight above you. Your eyes met, a silent conflagration passing between you, before he claimed your lips again with a gentler fervor, the same intensity simmering beneath the surface.

"Do you truly want this? With me?" Cregan's voice was a hushed murmur against your lips, a plea and a promise intertwined.

"Yes, husband" you breathed, the words a vow of your own.

His lips brushed your ear, his breath a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers cascading down your spine. "I am going to make love to ye now."

Your nipples hardened at his words, a raw moan of anticipation escaping your lips as he took in your form, the vulnerable softness of your skin a feast for his hungry gaze.

Cregan lowered his head, his lips tracing a path of fire down your neck, over your collarbone, each kiss a desperate silent vow. His hands followed, exploring, caressing, leaving no inch of you untouched.

"Yer exquisite" he murmured, his voice a reverent whisper against your skin. His touch was a balance of possession and adoration, a worship that left you breathless.

The cool air kissed your overheated skin as he continued to explore you, Every touch, every kiss, was a symphony of sensations, a crescendo of passion that left you aching for more.

his eyes drinking in the sight of you, slowly consumed with lust for him, with a reverence that made your heart stutter. "My wife" he whispered, the words a sacred incantation.

Cregan leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and possessive. His hands roamed your body with a fervent curiosity, memorizing every curve, every dip, leaving a trail of molten fire in their wake.

Your body responded to him, arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.

His kisses grew more insistent, his touch more demanding, as he made his way down your body. He worshipped you with every kiss, every caress, until you were trembling with need beneath him.

"Cregan," you breathed, your voice a soft plea.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense. "I'm here, Y/n" he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "I'm here."

Cregan's gaze was fixed on your taut, aching nipples. He wasted no time, his heated mouth enveloping one of your tight, sensitive peaks. You gasped as your back arched in response, the initial shock of his touch quickly melting into a rhythm of pleasure.

Each time his cheeks hollowed as he suckled, your gasps turned to desperate pants, while his fingers teased the other abandoned nipple, pulling and twisting it gently.

Cregan's mouth pulling harder on your nipple, his tongue lavishing attention on the delicate bud. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of sensation through you, stirring a throbbing need between your legs.

The pulsing ache demanded more, and your hand, almost involuntarily, slipped between your thighs. The damp evidence of your desire left you breathless and mortified.

"Show me yer hand" Cregan's voice rumbled, his tone firm.

"It's... it's embarrassing-"

Without hesitation, Cregan parted your thighs and deftly removed your small clothes, leaving you exposed before him. His gaze settled on your glistening core, and a satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

"C-cregan!"

"Y/n" he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of adoration and hunger.

"Ye've got the prettiest little cunt."

his words made your entire face burn and turn a dark crimson. The raw honesty in his voice left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“D-don’t look so closely!”

Without wasting another moment, he lowered his head between your thighs, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

your body trembling with need. When his tongue finally made contact, a moan escaped your lips, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

Cregan's tongue moved with practiced skill, each stroke and flick sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently before releasing it with a soft pop, only to dive back in with renewed fervor.

The lewd slurping sounds filled the room, mixing with your breathless moans and the crackling of the fire.

Your thighs quivered, the sensation of his mouth on you pushing you closer to the edge. "Cregan" you gasped loudly, your voice shaking. "Please, don't stop."

He didn't need to be told twice. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your soaking wet cunt, his fingers joining in to tease and caress. The combined sensations were overwhelming, your body arching off the bed as you rode the waves of pleasure.

When you finally came, it was with a cry of his name, your body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you. Cregan didn't relent though, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, lapping up your juices with a moan, prolonging your climax until you were a trembling, breathless mess.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire.

He moved up your body, his hands bracing on either side of your head as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate act deepening the connection between you.

But it still wasn’t enough for you, gathering your courage, you whispered, "Cregan?"

His eyes opened, soft and warm as they met yours. "Aye, love?"

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. "Can I... can I touch you?"

A spark of interest flared in his eyes, and he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. "Touch me? Where?" He said teasingly.

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to where his cock lay, painfully hard and twitching. "There" you whined softly, reaching out tentatively.

Cregan's lips curved upwards. "Aye, love. Ye can touch me."

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, the heat of him searing your palm. You marveled at the feel of his skin, so smooth and yet so firm beneath your touch. Cregan's breath hitched, his muscles tensing as you explored him.

"Like this?" you asked, looking up at him for guidance.

He nodded, his voice rough with restraint.

"Aye, just like that. A bit firmer, love."

You tightened your grip slightly, your hand moving up and down his length in slow, deliberate strokes. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, filled you with a heady sense of power and intimacy.

Cregan's hand covered yours, guiding your movements. "Tha's it, love. Yer doin' so well" he moaned, his voice laced with praise and pleasure.

As you continued to stroke him, you noticed a bead of precum forming at the tip. The sight of it, glistening and inviting, sparked a boldness within you. You couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick it away. Cregan groaned loudly, his hips bucking

involuntarily at the sensation.

"Fuck! Y/n" he gasped, his hand tightening around yours.

"Do that again."

You obliged, your tongue swirling around the thick head of his cock, tasting the salty essence of him. The act felt both daring and incredibly arousing, each lick eliciting a new sound of pleasure from Cregan.

Encouraged by his response, you took him deeper into your mouth, your lips closing around his shaft as you began to bob your head.

You were still unaccustomed to his size though, what you couldn’t fit in your mouth you stroked with your hand.

Cregan's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you pleasured him.

"Ye're so fuckin’ good to me, love" he groaned, his voice thick with need. "So perfect."

The praise spurred you on, your pace quickening as you took him deeper, your hand stroking the base of his cock in time with your movements. Cregan's breaths grew ragged, his body tense with the effort to hold back.

When he finally came, it was with a guttural moan, his release bursting in your mouth.

You swallowed eagerly, wanting to take all of him, to show him the same pleasure he had given you.

As you pulled back, you looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of adoration.

Cregan's chest heaved, his eyes glazed with satisfaction as he pulled you into his arms, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

But the night was far from over and the hunger in his eyes told you he was far from satisfied. You felt a renewed wave of desire wash over you, your body eager for more of him.

"Are ye ready for more, love?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. His hand trailed down your body, caressing your breasts and waist, finally coming to rest between your legs.

His fingers teased your wetness, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Yer so wet for me."

You nodded, your breath hitching as he continued to stroke you. "Yes, Cregan. I want you. I want you to take me."

His eyes darkened with a primal need, and he positioned himself between your legs, spreading them wide. "I'll be gentle at first, love," he promised, guiding his cock to your entrance.

"But I won't be able to hold back for long."

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against you, and your heart raced with anticipation.

He pushed forward slowly, entering you with a smooth, deliberate motion. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and painful sting as he stretched you to accommodate his large size.

Cregan's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and desire. "Yer so tight, love. So perfect" he groaned, pushing deeper until he was fully seated inside you.

The feeling of being completely filled by him was indescribable, a blend of fullness and heat that made you gasp. "Cregan," you moaned, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, allowing you to adjust to the sensation. But as your moans grew louder and your hips began to move in time with his, his restraint faltered. His pace quickened, each thrust deeper and harder than the last.

"You feel so good, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with need. "I can't hold back any longer."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he pounded into you.

The force of his thrusts drove you higher, making the bed hit the walls roughly, a testament to how greedily he was fucking into you.

Cregan shifted his position, lifting your legs higher and pressing them against your chest. The new angle allowed him to penetrate you even deeper, and you screamed his name as he took you harder.

"That's it, love. Take all of my cock," he urged, his eyes locked on your face, watching your every reaction.

The pressure built within you, the pleasure mounting to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body convulsed around him, gripping his cock as he continued to drive into you.

Cregan was relentless, his own release building. He flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you onto your hands and knees. He entered you from behind, his hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you with abandon.

"Fuck, Y/n" he groaned, his voice a rough whisper. "I'm gonna fill ye up. Every last drop."

Cregan's movements became more erratic as he neared his release, his breathing heavy and labored. You could feel the tension building within him, every muscle in his body coiling tighter and tighter. His thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, and you knew he was close.

With a final, powerful thrust, Cregan's hips stilled, pressing deep inside you. His entire body tensed, and he let out a loud, guttural groan, his face contorted in pleasure. You could feel the hot rush of his cum filling you, pulse after pulse, more than you had ever imagined. The sheer volume of it overwhelmed you, a torrent of heat flooding your insides.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Take all of it. Every last drop."

He held himself inside you for a moment longer, his cock throbbing with each spurt of cum. Then, slowly, he began to pull out, the sensation almost too much to bear. As he withdrew, you felt a gush of his cum ooze out of you, warm and thick.

Cregan watched, mesmerized, as his release leaked from your entrance. The sight seemed to ignite something primal in him, and he quickly brought his fingers to your dripping core. He gently pushed two fingers inside you, making sure to plug the flow.

"Can't let it go to waste" he murmured, his voice a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. "Want every drop to stay inside ye."

His fingers moved within you, ensuring his cum was thoroughly spread.

You felt another wave of pleasure as he gently massaged your sensitive walls, the sensation of being so full and claimed by him overwhelming you. Cregan leaned down, kissing the small of your back, his breath warm against your skin. "Yer mine, Y/n. All mine," he whispered, his fingers still inside you, holding his seed in place.

You lay there, breathless and trembling, feeling utterly claimed and cherished by him.

Cregan slowly withdrew his fingers, ensuring that every drop of his cum remained inside you. He gently flipped you onto your back, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

As he settled beside you, his strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a tender kiss that lingered. Then, he moved to your cheeks, planting soft, loving kisses on each one. His lips brushed your nose, and then he found your lips, kissing you with a gentleness that was almost reverent.

"Y/n" he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm so glad ye're mine."

You felt a swell of affection in your chest, the sweetness of his words and the tenderness of his touch filling you with a profound sense of belonging. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he continued to kiss you.

Cregan's kisses were endless, each one a declaration of his love and devotion. He kissed your eyelids, your temples, your jawline, and your chin, his lips exploring every inch of your face with a loving intensity that made you feel cherished beyond measure.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "So perfect. I want to spend every moment of our lives together, showing ye how much I adore ye."

He held you tighter, his hands stroking your hair, your back, your sides. His touch was soothing, a balm to your still-racing heart.

The rough, demanding lover from moments ago was now a gentle giant, cradling you in his arms with infinite care.

Cregan pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are ye alright, love?" he asked, his voice soft with concern. "Did I hurt ye?"

You shook your head, smiling up at him. "No, Cregan. You were perfect. I'm more than alright."

His expression softened even further, a look of relief washing over his face. "Good," he whispered, pressing another kiss to your lips. "I'll always take care of ye, Y/n. Always."

You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his broad chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart was a comforting lullaby, and you felt a deep sense of contentment wash over you.

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground with no one around to see it. The thought lingered in your mind, a symbol of the unexpected beauty and love that had blossomed between you.

Cregan continued to kiss you, his lips never straying far from your skin, as he held you in a protective, loving embrace.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. Cregan's sweet, endless kisses and his tender words were a promise of a future filled with love, passion, and unwavering devotion.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

[halfwayhearted]

spencer reid fic where reader just adores spencers glasses and they kiss and she like pushes his glasses up cuz they like slipped down his nose and its like ughdjskskkxksksdm YKWIM. (s2.)

Free Treasure — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You love his glasses. Maybe even more than him. Though, he doesn’t seem to find it odd at all.

Word Count: 460+

Disclaimer/s — Fluff, again. I LOVED THIS REQUEST.

A/N: This makes me sick. Reader finding out he wears glasses is a flashback, the ‘…’ means #flashbackover! When it starts I think is self-explanatory, but let me know…

You were convinced nothing was better than this.

It was one of those perfect days where you and your boyfriend could savor every moment with one another, from morning to night. After you insisted that he deserved at least one day off to relax, he finally relented and agreed.

So, there you both were, nestled on the couch. Your hands were tangled in his hair while his gently cupped your face. Your lips met in a kiss that was tender and so, so incredibly soft. You melted the very moment you saw him lean in.

Pulling back to catch your breath, your gaze scans over his face. A smile graces your lips at the sight of his glasses.

The first time he wore them, you were caught by surprise, to say the least. Your expression had dropped, and he noticed right away, furrowing his eyebrows and asking, “What? Are you okay?”

“Glasses,” you mumbled, “You have glasses?”

His face reddened and he nodded, “Oh, yeah. Do you… do you not like them?”

Walking toward him, you lift your hands to his jaw, tilting his head to examine him and his frames from every angle. “You look so cute!”

“Cute?” The man replied, his voice raising an octave. “Why ‘cute’?”

“Because,” you hummed, offering no further explanation as you continued to gaze at him with a smile that he had come to love, knowing it was a special expression reserved solely for him.

He realized that being called 'cute' by you no longer mattered to him.

…

You snapped out of your daze when he whispered your name, making you hum in response. “Are you okay?” He questioned, “You’re distracted.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love when you wear your glasses? You should wear them more often. Why don’t you wear them more often?”

Spencer shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know, I don’t actually have to wear them. I prefer my contacts. They’re less annoying to put up with.”

“Right, right,” you drawled. His eyebrows pinched together, as if trying to decipher your tone.

“You’re doing it again.”

With a small laugh, you thread your fingers through his hair once more prior to speaking, “Doing what, Spencer? Looking at you?”

“Well—I… yeah.”

Your eyes linger on his, drifting down to his lips before finally resting on his glasses, which have slipped down the bridge of his nose. With a tender touch, you push them back up. Just as he starts to speak, you silence him with a soft, lingering kiss, cutting him and his words off.

It doesn’t stop him from returning it, though.

Perhaps he will wear his glasses more often.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ