#3-step funnel

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (5/5)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

Last Time

The crack under the door lights with a sickly purple. The smell of ozone seeps into the manor. For a moment there is a silence so complete you think you’ve been struck. What was that? Magic? You’ve never seen magic before--

Screams rocket across the field. The Blacksmith’s screams. The Baker’s screams. Marie’s rage-filled howls.

“DEMON KING!”

Your Destiny burns.

---.

You have dreams the closer you get to turning fifteen. Dreams of a kingdom in the sky, a kingdom heard in the roiling clouds and in the cracks of lightning that splinter through them. This kingdom howls and chatters and hungers.

You dream that you are under these clouds. Your necks aches from staring up into them. You’re alone in a field of dead wheat and the stalks whisper prophecies whenever the kingdom above falls silent. Rivers will run with blood, flesh will lay torn across the streets, no child can hide—

In these dreams, you aren’t afraid. There is an answering snarl in your chest for every howl and prophecy you hear.

You won’t have your way. You won’t win.

I’m the Hero.

When the storm sends down a funnel of demon bats (or horned rabbits or screaming goblins or demon wolves), you leap to meet them.

------.

This isn’t a dream.

Your hands slide down from the door. Hera and Josiah are frozen in place, eyes wide and unseeing as the demon king’s presence steals the oxygen from the room. You take a step back. Then another.

All doors and windows are blocked on this level. But this manor has more than one floor.

The fighting resumes outside before Sarah realizes what you’re doing.

“Isla!” She has the strength of a mother when she grabs you this time. Your nearly choke as your collar is pulled taught against your throat by her grip on your sleeve. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To fight,” you wheeze before you can think better of it.

“Absolutely not.” Sarah attempts to pull you back, but you’re braced against her now. She grabs your sleeve with both hands. “The knights have it handled—”

“Not this—”

“—you’re to stay here.” Sarah’s lip trembles and she squares her jaw to hide it. The younger kids are holding onto her skirts, eyes wide as they stare up at you. “Understood?”

Afraid. She’s so afraid for you, so determined to keep you safe this time. You can see that winter seven years ago like you never have before; when you held the door and lost your hope in heroes, she never once looked away from your narrow back.

You have never been alone.

“Take care,” you say as gently as you can. Then, as she draws breath to speak, you rip yourself from her grasp. Your sleeve tears and Sarah’s eyes fall to your arm.

She gasps. “Isla—”

You shoulder your way through the villagers and thunder upstairs. The grand staircase leads to a hall of doors and you throw open the one at the end indiscriminately. You get the impression of books, leather furniture, a black feather quill, but it all blurs when your eyes fall on the door leading to the balcony.

That will do.

You burst out into unrelenting sunlight. Shouldn’t it be storming? In your dreams, it’s always storming. The garden is a mess of turned earth and splintered party tables. The knights’ armor flash rays of sun and the orcs – great, fleshy beasts with hardly any neck and black-sclera eyes – undulate like mountains below. You can see that some orcs are down, their giant bodies strewn across the ground, but it hardly seems to make a difference.

Not when there’s a Demon King.

You climb up onto the railing to get a better look. He’s half-hidden by the fighting, almost lounging against the treeline. He’s more human than you expected with dark, shaggy hair, and a bored look on his face. Canines the length of your index finger poke over his thin lower lip. Without the fangs, he’d be a traveling merchant, one of the ones who turned up their nose when they realized that the home they were visiting was an orphanage and not that of an affluent family.

As you watch, that sickly purple magic crackles at his fingertips. You follow his gaze to where Ivan and Marie are fighting back-to-back. The Lord is standing defiantly behind them, his horse slain mere yards away. The Lord is staring a challenge at the Demon King.

This is my land. You can see his mouth form the words, but can’t hear him over the clashing of swords and the twanging of Marie’s bow. Did he lose his voice? His exhaustion drags at his face, just visible under his fury. Green power seeps from him and into the ground as he emphasizes his Lord’s claim. You won’t have it.

The Demon King smirks. His hand twitches and purple magic soars into the sky. It arcs over the orcs’ heads, ten feet, fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet—

Ivan catches the bolt on his shield, a cry leaving his lips as the magic splashes around the edges and tears at his skin. You can smell burning flesh and ozone. Ivan falls to one knee and Marie snarls as she blocks an orc’s blow with the curve of her bow. She manages to kick the beast away, but her distraction costs her. This time Lord Brennan has to block the orc swinging a mace down upon their heads. His connection to the land wavers and the Demon King’s smirk widens into a smile.

Something in your chest cracks and you see gold.

Your destiny is like a flame on your shoulder. It drips down your arm and into your hand. Golden light is burning there and with a barely a thought, it takes the form of a spear. You hoist the spear over your shoulder and hurl it with your full strength at the ground between the orcs advancing on Marie, Ivan and Lord Brennan.

The ground shatters. The orcs are thrown back. Marie, already kneeling at Ivan’s side, jerks her gaze up to you. You see her mouth form your name.

The Demon King is as loud as he is in your dreams. “HERO!”

The word alone strikes fear in the orcs. Stupidly, a few look up at you and fail to block the next blows from the knights. One squeals and turns to the forest. You barely notice the knights chase after it.

“Isla?”

“Don’t—”

“Go back inside, his magic is too--!”

The Demon King hisses a spell. It’s fast, not the slow and contemptuous arc of power he’d thrown at the lord. Without thinking, you swipe your arm. It’s still drenched with the golden glow of your power and the air rings when the Demon King’s spell connects. You feel the blow vibrate through your bones. The magic crackles and your own power rises to meet it, filling your view with sun-bright light that washes over everything.

When the light clears, you’re still standing.

“Impossible,” the demon king says.

On instinct, you lift a hand above your head. Something presses against your palm and you grab it, drawing it down in front of you. A sword drenched in a golden haze follows. Hero’s sword. You point it at the demon king in a silent declaration. Your destiny is choking you, but your message is clear.

His lips curl in a snarl. “Attack!”

You leap down from the balcony as the demon king’s army surges. An orc charges you the moment you land, his eyes filled with the demon king’s command. He towers over you, but you’re strong enough to haul a half dozen fence posts on your own. You catch the club he swings at your head and launch him back in the same motion. He falls back a dozen steps and you follow him, slashing at his throat with your sword of light.

You’re on to the next monster before his body hits the ground.

You are new to your power, but you aren’t alone. Knights scream their second wind and fall on the monsters’ backs when their master’s command stupidly makes them turn away. A corner of your mind shrinks at the smell of blood and worse, at the sight of bodies under your feet, at the sound of armor crunching under heavy blows, but your power blocks it out. You move through the battlefield with an overwhelming, single-minded purpose.

Demon King.

“Don’t understand—”

Who is that? Your senses tell you it’s not an enemy. You duck when an orc swings a meaty fist at your head and then blink when someone severs its arm before you can.

“It’s okay, Isla,” someone says. “We’re here.”

“--she’s fourteen—”

“Argue about it later, protect her now.”

“Right.”

The Demon King isn’t relaxed when you see him next. His lips are pulled back so far you can see all his teeth. He’s commanding his monsters to stop you, to kill you, to put their bodies between you and him. One orc is bigger than the rest, a vibrant red instead of fleshy pink. It plants itself squarely in front of its master and raises a mace the length of your body.

Your power won’t let you falter, but your mind balks. Can you catch that? Block it? Those spikes are as long as your arm—

An arrow sprouts from the orc’s throat. It blinks stupidly and the purple haze clears from its eyes. Another arrow finds its mark in said eye and the beast steps back hesitantly as if unsure if its okay or not. The third arrow lets it know it’s not.

“Keep your sword tip up, Isla.”

“You’re training her now?”

“On your left, Marie!”

The Demon King must be cocky because he doesn’t try to run until it’s too late. The orc falls and his eyes widen in surprise to see you still coming for him. You’re close enough to see the color of them now, a red as deep and terrible as what’s drenching your hand.

Purple magic crackles. It’s not a spell – he’s too afraid for that – but the destructive power is unreal. The earth splinters to either side of you, causing your allies to falter for a moment. You deflect the bolt aimed for you and it explodes overhead like fireworks.

“No,” the Demon King breathes. He stumbles back and tries to ward you off with hands drenched in power. “No, I do not fall here! I am King! I am ultimate! I am—”

You throw your sword. You never really learned how to use one and this motion is more natural. For a moment, you see your Hero’s sword like your sharpened stick, sailing into the throat of a horned rabbit. Then you blink and it’s the Demon King with your sword through his meck. Blood bubbles at the corners of his mouth. One of his long-nailed hands comes up to try and grab the hilt. You’ve pierced him through.

The Demon King falls like his orcs. Confused and unsure of his own demise.

You come back to yourself the moment you feel his power die. There’s crashing through the woods as the remaining four orcs turn to flee. Absently, you mark their paths.

If the knights don’t get them, you will.

The details of the battle filter back to you gradually, like the sound returning to a forest after a rockslide. The memories of each blow you dealt tremble up your arms and the smell of one orc’s fetid breath makes you suck in a breath. That of course drags new horrible smells into your lungs and you cough so hard you gag.

A warm hand pats your back. “There, there,” Ivan says. He sounds tired. “The first one is always rough. Vomiting is okay.”

Marie grabs your hand before you can rub your face. “Don’t touch your eyes. Orc blood is corrosive.”

You twist, blinking tears out of your vision. You tremble as the memory of battle becomes fresher and fresher. You croak, “I’m an orphan, you know.”

Ivan looks taken aback. Then understanding washes over his face. “We’re acting like your parents, aren’t we? We were going to ask you after the party.”

The nausea temporarily subsides. “What?”

“She’s in shock,” Marie scolds Ivan. She fishes a clean handkerchief out of her bodice and uses it to dab under your eyes. “We want to adopt you, Isla. If you’ll have us as parents?”

You stare at them. “I—” you clear your throat. “I just meant we don’t actually know when my birthday is. Because I’m an orphan. I might be fifteen after all.’

“Oh.” Ivan opens his mouth. Closes it. “Well, do you be our daughter anyway?”

“More than anything,” you say and then vomit right onto the demon king’s corpse.

---------.

Things are both complicated and not after that.

The questions you thought were coming never get asked. Sarah isn’t upset you hid your Destiny from her and neither are any of the kids. They’re just relieved you’re alive.

Hera buries her face in your stomach before dinner that night. The Bahrs have invited you all to stay over until the last of the orcs are caught. Hera smells like their bath oils when she says, “I held the door, Isla. Nobody got in.”

There’s a lump in your throat as you pet her damp hair. “You did. You were very brave.”

“I helped,” Josiah says. Unlike Hera, he eyes your arm from a distance. Your mark is covered in a fresh cotton shirt, but it’s like he can see it anyway. Finally he collapses into you. “It’s not fair. You’re our Hero. Now you’re going to have be everyone’s.”

You lean down to press a kiss into his hair. “I’m too mean to be everyone’s Hero. I’ll just be yours, okay?”

“Good,” Josiah says. Then, after a long moment. “Though you should be nicer to us now.”

“No,” you say fondly.

The complicated part comes when the Bahrs enter the dining room after Sarah has gotten you all seated.

Ivan’s arm is in a sling, but he smiles widely when he sees the spread Josiah, Annie and Sarah have cooked up. He compliments them on their efforts, thanks them, and takes a seat at the head of the table.

Marie pauses by you before she takes her seat. She lingers by your chair until you turn to look at her. “Isla.”

You swallow. “Marie.”

Is it just you or is Marie as nervous as you are?

“Would you…sit by me?” she asks. Her eyes flick to the seat just to the right of her side of the table. You may not be a noble, but you know what that seat means.

Your voice wavers. You’re suddenly very conscious of the kids looking at you, of the way Sarah’s pressed a hand to her mouth. In surprise? To hide her pleasure? “If—if I can?”

“Yes,” Marie says quickly. “Yes, if you don’t mind, I mean, if you’re able to be drawn away—”

Lord Brennan throws open the dining room doors with an astonishing crash. He isn’t dressed for company and his long sleeping robe is drenched with the water still dripping from his hair. “I am starving. Is there—” He catches sight of the table and his mouth drops open in surprise. “You were all about to have dinner? Without me?”

“You were in a coma, my lord,” Ivan says.

“I was taking a nap,” Lord Brennan corrects. His golden eyes catalogue the way Marie is standing over you, the three empty seats at the end of the table opposite Ivan. Rather than claiming the empty head of the table seat, he strides over to Ivan. “Up, up you get.”

“There’s another seat you can take!” Ivan complains. He guards his plate of food. “I just served myself.”

“Go sit with your wife and daughter,” Lord Brennan commands. He nearly sits on Ivan when the other man stands too slowly. He smiles charmingly at Sarah. “Director. Fancy seeing you here.”

Sarah flushes up to her ears.

“Daughter?” Hera asks.

Your stomach turns over. Oh god. It’s not fair that they asked you – you were too happy to think about it, but the other kids must be devastated—

But Hera doesn’t look sad. She’s staring at you for an answer, her eyes open and accepting.

“Y-yeah,” you say.

“Hell yeah,” Josiah says. “If the Bahrs adopt you that means I can read through their library right?”

Annie looks up at you. “And we can come visit?”

“Of course you all can,” Marie answers. Is her voice a little misty? “You all can stay here as long as you like.”

“Go sit with them,” Hera says. She smiles and pushes at you. “Go on.”

It’s the best meal you’ve ever had.

-----

(Part 1) (Part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

------------------

Thanks for reading! IF you'd like to support me and see pieces like this a week in advance plus monthly exclusives, please consider checking out my Patreon!(X)

[heavyhand61]

I have prepared my dream (and probably unrealistic) time line for a feedee

Starting at the day then move in

First 6 months

All prior commitments will be cancelled (work, schooling, ect)

All social medial accounts that don't revolve around feedisum will be blanked out

There will be a push to sign you up for every available feedist community (more extreme the better

Daily calorie intake will sit around the 4000cal mark

Next 6 months

Contact with anyone not completely in support of your goal of immobility will be broken

You will have regular posts about your gains on any and all available feedist platforms

Any content that does not revolve around obesity and weight gain will be banned

An expected gain of 40-60lbs a year

First year

Trips from the house will be limited

Decreasing step limits will be applied

Most media will be replaced with feedist porn

10000cal minimum per day

1 funnel feeding per day

Increase rate of post of feedist content

Second year

Leaving the house will be disallowed

Trips from bed or couche will be severely limited

15000+ cal minimum per day

3 funnel feeding per day

Clothes will be disallowed

Only consumable content will be extreme feedist porn

Any communication on social media will be limited to extreme feeders and other pro death feedist feedees

Expected 100+ lbs per year gain

Third year

Any movement beyond 3 steps must be done by scooter or wheelchair

Minimum 4h of viewing extreme feedist porn per day

25000cal+ per day

Tube feeding is standard aside from the occasional food "treat"

Must spend 4+ hours a day tube feeding

Forth year

Involuntary immobility, you will be confined to bed regardless of current mobility status

35000+ Cal per day minimum, to be consumed primarily as fats and sugars cut with only a minimum of nutrition supplement

Every hour from wakeup to sleep will involve tube feeding and a constant stream of the most extreme feedist porn

Sleep will be deferred if calorie goal has not been met

Fifth year

24/7 live stream of you're immobile fourm

50000 cal minimum

All windows blocked, all clocks removed, no indicators of date or time

Feeding tube lives in your mouth

Diet is mostly fats

Sixth plus years (don't expect to survive this long)

No contact with outside world, other feedist included

24/7 feedist hypno playing for you

Feeding tube size increased and feed slop made even less healthy and even more fattening

Start of year calorie goal of 100000+ an additional 1000 a week to be added to the minimum every week for the rest of your life

Six years and I plan on taking you from a normal healthy person to the perfect feedee, no thought, no life, just growing, growing GROWING, all that matters is growing all that matters is more all that matters is your life cut short by obesity

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Retirement and How to Retire

How to start saving for retirement

Dafuq Is a Retirement Plan and Why Do You Need One?

Procrastinating on Opening a Retirement Account? Here’s 3 Ways That’ll Fuck You Over.

Season 4, Episode 5: “401(k)s Aren’t Offered in My Industry. How Do I Save for Retirement if My Employer Won’t Help?”

How To Save for Retirement When You Make Less Than $30,000 a Year

Workplace Benefits and Other Cool Side Effects of Employment 

Your School or Workplace Benefits Might Include Cool Free Stuff

Do NOT Make This Disastrous Beginner Mistake With Your Retirement Funds

The Financial Order of Operations: 10 Great Money Choices for Every Stage of Life

Advanced retirement moves

How to Painlessly Run the Gauntlet of a 401k Rollover

The Resignation Checklist: 25 Sneaky Ways To Bleed Your Employer Dry Before Quitting

Ask the Bitches: “Can I Quit With Unvested Funds? Or Am I Walking Away From Too Much Money?”

You Need to Talk to Your Parents About Their Retirement Plan

Season 4, Episode 8: “I’m Queer, and Want To Find an Affordable Place To Retire. How Do I Balance Safety With Cost of Living?” 

How Dafuq Do Couples Share Their Money? 

Ask the Bitches: “Do Women Need Different Financial Advice Than Men?”

From HYSAs to CDs, Here’s How to Level Up Your Financial Savings

Season 3, Episode 7: “I’m Finished With the Basic Shit. What Are the Advanced Financial Steps That Only Rich People Know?” 

Speaking of advanced money moves, make sure you’re not funneling money to The Man through unnecessary account fees. Roll over your old retirement accounts FO’ FREE with our partner Capitalize:

Roll over your retirement fund with Capitalize

Investing for the long term

When Money in the Bank Is a Bad Thing: Understanding Inflation and Depreciation

Investing Deathmatch: Investing in the Stock Market vs. Just… Not 

Investing Deathmatch: Traditional IRA vs. Roth IRA

Investing Deathmatch: Stocks vs. Bonds 

Wait… Did I Just Lose All My Money Investing in the Stock Market? 

Financial Independence, Retire Early (FIRE)

The FIRE Movement, Explained 

Your Girl Is Officially Retiring at 35 Years Old

The Real Story of How I Paid off My Mortgage Early in 4 Years 

My First 6 Months of Early Retirement Sucked Shit: What They Don’t Tell You about FIRE

Bitchtastic Book Review: Tanja Hester on Early Retirement, Privilege, and Her Book, Work Optional

Earning Her First $100K: An Interview with Tori Dunlap 

We’ll periodically update this list with new links as we continue writing about retirement. And by “periodically,” we mean “when we remember to do it.” Maybe remind us, ok? It takes a village.

Contribute to our staff’s retirement!

Holy Justin Baldoni that’s a lot of lengthy, well-researched, thoughtful articles on the subject of retirement. It sure took a lot of time and effort to finely craft all them words over the last five years!

In case I’m not laying it on thick enough: running Bitches Get Riches is a labor of love, but it’s still labor. If our work helped you with your retirement goals, consider contributing to our Patreon to say thanks! You’ll get access to Patreon exclusives, giveaways, and monthly content polls! Join our Patreon or comment below to let us know if you would be interested in a BGR Discord server where you can chat with other Patrons and perhaps even the Bitches themselves! Our other Patrons are neat and we think you should hang out together.

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[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 7

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Yay we're finally back with our favorite BBF! This chapter was inspired by a photo of Glen at an amusement park that's been floating around recently. If anyone could convince me to step foot into a haunted house, it would be Jake.

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: Haunted house attraction with mild (fake) gore, swearing, SLOW BURN YOU'VE BEEN WARNED DON'T COME FOR ME XD

WC: 3000+

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

“I don’t do haunted houses,” you say when Jake makes the suggestion for the fourth time that afternoon.

He and Bradley have just returned from the river log ride completely soaked and stupidly giddy. Jake raises his eyebrows at you. “You’ll go on the tallest roller coaster in the park but you’re afraid of a couple of zombie clowns?”

You cringe. “What the fuck are zombie clowns?”

Jake shrugs. “Whatever they are. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re really selling it,” you respond dryly. “But I think I’ll stick to the funnel cake.” You nod toward the stand a few yards away.

“You already skipped out on the log ride,” Bradley complains.

You eye his still-dripping shorts with a grimace. “It’s barely 60 degrees,” you say, tugging up on the zipper of your hoodie for emphasis.

Jake plants himself across from you at the bistro table and leans into it to get your attention. “You don’t actually want to sit here by yourself for another hour, do you?”

You shrug, glancing around. “I don’t mind, actually,” you say, your gaze drifting with the crowd as you pick out the best looking males. “I got asked out twice while you two were gone.”

Jake makes a disgruntled sort of face like he’s getting impatient. “Who asked you out?” he says with a hint of distaste as though he already disapproves. He glances around at the crowd of passersby suspiciously.

“Well, they’re gone now.”

Jake lets out an irritable sigh and looks back at you. “Come on, you’re not a wimp, Bradshaw.”

You shake your head. “That’s not going to work.”

“Let’s just go, Jake,” Bradley says. “We can’t force her.”

Jake stares at Bradley. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s being approached by random men. We can’t just leave her here.”

Bradley snorts. “Why not?”

Jake appears uncomfortable, but only for a moment. He shifts his weight in the chair and turns back to you. “I distinctly remember all three of us at Castle Frankenstein like ten years ago.”

“Mm-hm,” you reply. “And, since then, I don’t do haunted houses.”

Jake grimaces. “Why not?”

You give him a flat look. “You don’t remember?”

Jake furrows his brows and shakes his head.

“Oh yeah!” Bradley exclaims. “Good times.”

You stare at your brother crossly and then roll your eyes.

Jake glances between the two of you inquisitively. “All I remember is getting hot dogs right after,” he says.

You sigh. “You two assholes told me it wouldn’t be scary and then, after luring me in, you took off laughing! You left me behind to do the whole thing by myself.”

Bradley is chuckling smugly, but Jake looks mildly horrified. “Wow, we were shitheads,” he says with a cringe.

“Dude, we’re still shitheads,” Bradley points out.

Jake looks up at his friend with a wince and then rubs his forehead guiltily. “Y/N,” he says. “I promise you that, if you come, we’re not gonna ditch you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bradley says with a playful grin.

Jake gives him a stern look before glancing back at you. “I promise I won’t ditch you.”

You watch him skeptically, your arms folded over your chest.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks.

You purse your lips, trying not to be swayed by the slight squint of Jake’s eyes when he gives you a hopeful smile. You can’t help but daydream for a moment. You picture yourself being chased by zombie clowns with Jake by your side, holding your hand. And, if they’d get too close, maybe he would knock them out to keep you safe.

“Come on, sugar,” Jake says, interrupting your thoughts. He starts rising from him seat and holds out a hand for you. “We can use Bradley as a shield.”

You snort while Bradley shakes his head with a chuckle. “You can try,” he replies, starting for the haunted house.

You let out a sigh and take Jake’s hand, letting him drag you out of your chair. “I’m already regretting this decision,” you mutter.

Jake laughs. “This is gonna be fun!”

…

You gulp nervously as you step into the darkness. The moment the doors close behind you, your hand reaches out for one of the guys, making sure you're not alone. Somebody gives you a pat on the arm, silently reassuring as you advance. Suddenly, a loud bang to your right makes you jump, and you hear Jake's snicker right before he moves behind to lay a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Wicked,” you hear Bradley say as he travels slightly ahead of you. You follow your brother with Jake close behind, probably much closer than he would be in broad daylight, especially with Bradley just a few steps away.

“Remember,” Jake mutters from behind. “If you don’t run, they won’t chase you.”

You whimper. “Who won’t chase me?”

In the sparse, flashing lights, you see your brother take off down the hallway, setting off several animatronics as he goes. You slow your pace and Jake, who is still sopping wet, walks right into you. The sudden chill of his saturated clothes takes you by surprise and you yelp, springing away from him.

Jake leaps after you to grab your arm when you nearly trip over the cadaver that falls out of the wall and right into your path. “Having fun?” he asks facetiously as he helps you regain your balance, and you can sense the grin on his face without even seeing it.

“I hate you for making me do this,” you hiss.

Jake wraps an arm around your shoulders and gives them a squeeze. “You’re doin’ great, sweet cheeks.”

You wince at the cold seeping through your shirt and wriggle out of his grasp. “Seresin, you’re all wet!”

“Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly.

Just then, a large gust of air hits you from the side and you scream, flinging yourself right back into Jake’s arms. Jake pulls you in immediately and spins you away, blocking the air current with his back. But your relief is short-lived because, out of nowhere, two clowns with melting faces come barreling toward you with their arms outstretched.

You scream and, despite the sudden weakness in your limbs, start sprinting down the dimly lit corridor, completely forgetting Jake's instructions.

Jake catches up to you quickly and when the clowns all but overtake you, he curls his arm around your waist and practically lifts you off the ground as he runs.

When you finally round the bend and lose the clowns, Jake slows down and releases you, letting you catch your breath as he places his hands on his hips and takes a look around. “That was awesome,” he says with a huge smile.

You’re still gasping for air when you look up at him with a scowl. “You’re a lunatic if you enjoyed that.”

He claps you on the back. “Don’t worry, darlin’. We’re almost half-way through.”

“We’re not even half-way done?” you whine.

Jake chuckles. “Admit it, you’re having a blast,” he says.

You whimper quietly when he motions for you to follow him down another dark hallway. “I am never letting you talk me into this nonsense again,” you grumble, staying close behind him just in case another zombie clown pops out of the shadows.

But what you do not anticipate is the vibrating floor that makes you jerk backward, nor the fog that suddenly floods the corridor, nor the alarming screams that attack from all directions, making it impossible to communicate. You feel the floorboards shift underneath your feet and you hold out your arms to stabilize yourself. You stagger backward into a wall, and it rotates behind you, further disorienting you.

“Jake?” you cry, realizing that you’ve lost him in all the commotion. But your voice is drowned out by the continuous screaming still reverberating all around you.

In the flashes of light, you can see dozens of hands rattling a chain-link fence that looks like it won’t hold for very much longer. You try to push your way back through the wall – the way you came in – but it doesn't budge, meaning you’re stuck in this room until you find another way out.

“Jake!” you yell again, terror rooting you to the spot. The fence to your right finally rips open and gangly arms start stretching out toward you, making you jolt backward. You shriek, moving along the wall slowly because you’re too afraid to fall into another trap.

You reach the end of the chamber, which opens up to a tunnel, and whimper tragically. Going in will surely mean that you will have to complete the haunted maze without Jake, but the tunnel is probably the only way out of this room.

You only have a second to deliberate however, because at that moment, the fence behind you comes crashing down and a horde of zombies escapes. In the shadows, it looks like there might be more than half a dozen of them stumbling in your direction, tripping over one another to get to you.

If you don’t run, they won’t chase you. If you don’t run, they won’t chase you.

But the zombies are still coming, their hideous shrieks even more off-putting than their decaying faces.

You lunge into the tunnel and sprint faster and faster even as the passageway dips and winds and darkens. At a certain point, you are forced to stop running because it gets too dark to find your way without holding your hands out to feel the curve of the walls.

And then you hear his voice.

“Y/N!”

“Oh my god! Jake!” you screech.

“Y/N?” he yells back.

You start pushing on the solid wall before you because it sounds like he’s right on the other side. “Jake, where are you?” You can hear the zombies gaining on you further up the tunnel and you sob, “Jake, please get me out of here.”

Suddenly, a door creaks open to your right and you start, cowering from the blinking red light that filters into the pitch black passage. But then you see Jake’s broad-shouldered silhouette enter through the opening and, in your relief, you throw yourself right into him, burying your face into his chest as his arms close around your back. His grip tightens as you clutch onto the front of his soaked shirt, and you can feel his mouth over the top of your head. “I’ve got you,” he mutters into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

But before you can sink into the feeling of having Jake Seresin’s strong arms supporting your trembling frame, you hear the sound of footsteps as the zombies come hurtling through the tunnel. Without a word, Jake pulls you sideways, tucking you and himself behind the open door. He brings a finger to his lips when he sees that you’re about to cry out, and you hold your breath, watching the flashing lights illuminate the exhilaration in his eyes.

You close your own eyes as the zombies near, deciding that no amount of attention from Jake is worth participating in this traumatizing experience. And you promise yourself that you will never be swayed by his stupid, irresistible smile again.

That’s when you feel his body brush up against yours. You open your eyes to see his face hovering over your own, watching you intently as the zombies race by your hiding spot. His mouth curls into a smirk when it becomes apparent that his plan has worked as expected. You try your best to concentrate on the direct threat of flesh-eating zombies and not on his leg that’s pressed into your thigh, or his hand that you suddenly notice is gripping your hip, but it isn’t easy prioritizing escape when his eyes are dancing with delight only about three inches from your face.

You want him to kiss you. You want him to kiss you so badly. Right here in the darkness, concealed behind a heavy, wooden door, surrounded by a dense mist and a musty smell, with the added ambience of distant screams in the background. But, of course, you aren’t going to voice this desire. Because that would be more terrifying than getting eaten alive by a bunch of zombie clowns. So, instead, you say, “Get me the fuck out of here, Seresin.”

Jake nods, stepping away from you slowly, almost reluctantly. He holds his arm out to direct you out of the tunnel through the splintered door. He leads you past the holographic apparitions that float eerily along the walls, through the hall of warped mirrors that make your eyes hurt and your head spin, and over the various trap doors in the final stretch of your journey.

But he stops when you get to a dark, narrow split between two concrete walls. “This is the exit,” he says with a grimace. “Sorry,” he adds.

You shake your head. “I’m not going in there.”

“There’s no other way out.”

You stare at him in horror. “I’m claustrophobic.”

Jake drags a hand over his face. “That’s not good,” he says.

You feel yourself start to panic so you lash out by slapping him on the shoulder. “How could you not know that?”

Jake shrugs. “I forgot, I guess.”

Your breathing accelerates as your heart pounds painfully against your ribcage. “I hate your guts, Seresin,” you mutter. “You’re going to pay for this.”

In response, Jake gives you a very broad, very happy smile, as though you didn’t just tell him that you despise him.

“What?” you say heatedly.

Jake continues grinning. “You’re mad.”

“Yeah, I’m mad! Why are you so happy about it?”

He shakes his head. “No reason.”

You glare at him. “You should fear my wrath.”

He bites his lip, watching you affectionately. “It’s definitely the scariest part of this whole place.”

“I’m angry!” you yell, although you feel a fit of laughter start to bubble up in your chest.

Jake tries to keep a straight face. “Okay, but, could you be angry in there?” He nods at the chasm leading toward the exit, his eyes scanning the area behind you. “Because the zombies are coming.”

He ushers you into the fissure between the walls, keeping his hand on your back as you make your way forward. The only thing that makes up for this stressful conclusion to an already harrowing adventure is that his fingers seem to slip further down your back the farther you walk, trailing past the waistline of your jeans and stopping in the vicinity of your back pocket.

“See?” he says cheerily as the gap between the walls begins to narrow. “It’s not that bad.”

You try to concentrate on the light touch of his fingers as he hooks a couple of them into the back pocket of your jeans rather than the cracking walls rising up on either side of your body that seem to be closing in on you the deeper you go.

“Just so you know, there’s going to be a vibrating floor tile somewhere up ahead,” Jake says quietly, very close to your ear. “It’s coming up.”

You look over your shoulder sharply. “No,” you respond curtly, as if you could will this particular contraption away.

Jake squeezes himself in between your chest and the wall, his fingers regrettably slipping out of your pocket. The space is so tight that, no matter how much you press you backs into the walls, your bodies are still touching. “You can do this,” he says. “I’m right here.”

You frown at him, annoyed and love-sick all at once. Why did he insist on you coming? Why did he bring you along knowing he’d have to babysit you the entire time? Unless he doesn’t mind being with you. Perhaps it’s what he was hoping for.

Jake’s eyes skim worriedly over your face. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You draw in a wavering breath, content to let him fret for another several seconds over your wellbeing. Finally, you respond, “If we survive this hellhole, I’m going to murder you.”

Jake chuckles, placing his hands on your shoulders. “If we survive this hellhole, I’m getting you two funnel cakes.”

You let out a resolute sigh and nod. “Make it three. I want one of each flavor.”

Jake grins. “You got it.”

You bring your hands up to push at his chest, squirming in the compact space against his shirt. “How are you still wet?” you say irritably. “We’ve been in here for hours.”

Jake makes a face. “It’s been like six minutes, actually.”

You groan. “And this is why I don’t do haunted houses.”

…

Finally – finally ­– you step out into the cool, breezy sunshine with Jake on your heels. Bradley waves at the two of you from across the walkway, coming over to greet you.

“Took you a while,” Bradley remarks.

You grimace at him. “It’s only been like six minutes,” you retort sourly.

Jake looks like he might be trying to suppress a laugh.

“As if you took off again,” you reprimand your brother.

Bradley shrugs. “The trick is to race through these things and not stop to smell the rotting flesh.”

You shudder. “I need to sit down; my legs feel like jelly.”

“Log ride?” Bradley says to Jake. “While this one recuperates?” He nods toward you with a grin.

Jake pinches at his still soaking shirt and then wrinkles his nose. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” he says. “Promised your sister I’d get her funnel cake.”

“Three,” you remind him.

Jake graces you with an amused smirk. “I would love to see you try to get through three whole funnel cakes.”

As Bradley takes off in the direction of the log ride, you glance at Jake apprehensively. “You could go with him,” you say, cursing yourself for even suggesting it because all you want is to spend some time alone with Jake – not inside of a nuthouse.

Jake gives you a quick smile before starting for the funnel cake stand. “Don’t want to,” he responds.

You fall into step with him, wondering why he’d rather hang around you than his best friend. As he’s ordering the funnel cakes, you decide that you’re reading too much into things and he’s probably just hoping to dry off before going on the next ride, and that his decision to skip the log ride has nothing to do with you at all.

But then, as the two of you watch the mesmerizing creation of the world’s most delicious pastry through the glass window of the kitchen, Jake says this: “Heard you broke up with what’s-his-name.”

Your grip on the tray in your hands tightens but your eyes remain on the rapidly frying dough. It was a casual question, and Jake isn’t even looking at you, but his repeated interest in your dating life continues to give you hope where there probably isn’t any. He’s just making conversation. You shrug. “He was an asshole,” you say nonchalantly.

“Told you he would be,” Jake responds with an equally casual tone.

You bite your bottom lip aggressively, tired of the ambiguity behind his words. “That’s fine,” you retort. “I’ve got options.”

That’s when Jake turns to look at you with a troubled pair of eyes.

“Your words,” you remind him. “So, I took your advice.”

He narrows his eyes. “What advice would that be?”

“I told you someone asked out,” you say, setting the first of your funnel cakes down onto your tray.

“You said yes?” he gapes at you. “To a stranger?”

You watch him pensively for a moment. “You know, I think we’re going to need another tray,” you say, deciding to keep him in suspense for another minute.

Call it payback or something.

Read Part 8

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this installment of torturous pining. Don't forget to send in your ideas for these two in my ask box!

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[inknopewetrust]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭 [Part One]

Summary: When the longevity of sin is threatened by the factions of a feuding family on the brink of war, a choice must be made to protect the secrets of a heart torn in two. [ser erryk cargyll x targaryen!fem!reader] [wc: 10.7k]

Warnings: minors dni (18+ only), smut, angst, mentions of death/war, themes consistent with show, spoilers for the show (season 3).

quick links: masterlist | this is a love letter, albeit a sad one. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. @zaldritzosrose for banner source.

There is no duty without sacrifice, nor reward without submission. In a world as cruel as this, you often pondered in wilted daydreams of a world at peace.

As golden springs and chilled autumns once brought virtue and good fortune, the hallowed corridors of Dragonstone in the middle of a long, bleak war brought nothing but a faded memory of the past.

The halls whimpered with the martyrs it kept.

And the phantoms snickered at those in wait and the sacrifices one makes for the duty of their house bears scars on those left in their tormented wake.

Night fell with a deep, dark shadow lingering above. A hand gripping the castle as the maids scrubbed the blood from the chamber floor of the Queen.

He was dead.

And you felt a piece of you die with him.

“Sister,” Rhaenyra spoke but her voice was distant.

In an echo chamber of your mind, the noises funneled around you. A heavy weight of air pressed upon you as your hand picked at the wooden edges of the chair beside the fire.

“Leave us,” the Queen spoke to her guard and Elinda quietly.

The door shut behind her and in careful steps, she could see your eyes trained heavily on the spot now covered in a yellow rug. Toys remained from her young boys which struck the shell of her own heart with a fury.

Death lingered in Rhaenyra’s chambers and there was never a moment to mourn. A war roars on the mainland in her name; people perish in acts of heightened emotions and sacrifice puddles even the strongest of soldiers.

“Sister,” she cleared her throat. “To what—“

“When Harwin died,” your voice was hoarse from a weary day, “did you mourn the man you loved?”

Rhaenyra halted behind the settee. Her hands settled to trace its carvings.

“I beg your pardon?” She inquired.

You were lost in a haze of self destruction. Lost within yourself with a haphazard will to move on. Hours had passed, mere hours, and those on the council that sit around a painted table forget the tragedies that have befallen a great house in a matter of weeks.

You mumbled incoherently and Rhaenyra furrowed her brows. She seldom saw you blink in the light of the fire; the waterline of your eyes pooled with tears. One slipped down the cheek closest to her.

She had watched you absent in your own mind as dirt filled the grave in the early morn. It should not have come as a startle that those feelings remained.

“I fear I do not know what to do with myself,” you whispered. “I-I d-do not know what to do.”

“What for, sister?” Rhaenyra approached as she would her smallest child. “You needn’t do anything at this moment.”

She took a seat on the cushion and reached for your hand. It barely brushed your own before something snapped. A arrow shooting from its bow, breaking your stupor and sending you out of your seat.

You removed yourself from the chair and stepped away from her. Your hands shook as your lip trembled.

The death that grieves in isolation swells. Ribbons of torment become suffocating, choking until awoken with a shake.

“I do not wish to be alone,” you all but wailed. “I’ve been alone for so long, so long…”

“Do you speak of sleep? Or, or marriage?” Rhaenyra drew confused. You had been adamant for years, threatening your life and title to remain a spinster the history books would forget.

The Virgin Princess, she imagined the books may speak of.

You let out a weak, strangled laugh at her. Eyes cutting and red, she felt the tremors of Harwin’s pain bubble inside of her. It made her uncomfortable in her skin.

“I loved him, Rhaenyra.”

For the first time, you saw your sister truly look at you.

And she did not see her elder sister.

She did not see the girl, simply two name days older, who was fond of reading and politics.

She could not see the girl who would beckon Rhaenyra to braid her hair while recalling stories of Old Valyria and the conquests of their ancestors.

She did not see a now grown woman who sought independence; someone who tried to subvert the traditions of a name such as the one you shared.

Rhaenyra saw a widow.

She spoke your name softly and you shook your head at her.

“I loved Erryk. I loved him so.”

Rhaenyra let your confession sit.

“I followed you to Dragonstone,” you spat. “I left the only world I’d ever known to remain in your court because you’re my sister, Rhaenyra. But this place,” your eyes trailed along the vaulted ceilings and the wet stones. “This place has done nothing but bring us suffering.”

“Sister,” Rhaenyra sat forward. “We all make sacrifices—“

“No!” Your voice raised as tears fell consistently. “We are weak, Rhaenyra! This would not have happened if we had been prepared!”

“You speak as though his choice was my fault.”

You let silence fall. Diverting your eyes away from Rhaenyra, she felt a grip on her heart go numb. You believed it to be her fault.

“My grief,” you closed your eyes to darkness. “My grief pokes holes in the agony of my life. It heaves within me for a purpose that is not there and I do not know what to do with myself because of it. He is gone. He’s gone, Rhaenyra. I loved him and he’s gone.”

“Is that why you have never agreed to take a lord husband?”

You nodded your head and sank down on her bed.

“Did you truly love Harwin Strong?” You asked, following it with an awkward chuckle. “I find it to be quite amusable that we two daughters loved men in the cloak.”

Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I did.”

“And when he died, did you grieve him as I do Erryk?”

“I did.”

“But you have a memory of him; pieces of him always with you.”

She never spoke aloud the paternity of her sons. Rhaenyra was not daft in knowing people knew, but even to you, her dear sister, she never spoke of it.

Rhaenyra did not shy away from having Harwin keep a long distance between their children. She had seen you and Harwin get along well in the presence of her children and often wondered what the world would be like had she been able to marry him in place of Laenor.

Everyone would have ended up in a much happier place, she believed.

“I do," she whispered against the dead of night. "I do, yes."

"And I will never have that," you stressed. Gaze more frantic than before. You shook your head at the thought. "I never would but I still wanted something to be mine. For me to hold and love and cherish but there is nothing I can do now but sit and ponder the "what ifs." But at war, I am not meant to dwell on them."

"Yet here you are, asking about them anyway."

That dreaded silence fell between you once more. It did not escape her that the lives of innocents were at stake while this war met on the steps of each great house. Her son, Helena's son, good men, and kind women were killed for nothing more than fodder.

It was moot; the tragedy of errors.

“I loved him,” your repeated. “I loved him dearly.”

"Tell me," she tried to offer a tight-lipped smile. "How did it begin?"

"Oh, Rhaenyra," you bemoaned. Sniffing and trying not to focus hard on the spot where he fell on his sword. "I do not-"

"But I would like to hear it," she got up and joined you at your side. Rhaenyra took one of your hands in hers. "I do not wish to hear all the details, however."

You envisioned him in your memory. His eyes, smile. How in the shadows of your chambers he was a different man than he one who served your father, your sister.

He was magnetic and quiet.

Erryk was a lover and a fighter.

You laughed and she smiled. "There was something about men in the cloak..."

"I would have to agree," she said. Her eyes gleamed with a memory of Harwin. She loved him. "Dutiful men indeed."

"It felt so scandalous... but he served me."

"In more ways than one," Rhaenyra blushed and you knocked her shoulder with the back of your hand. She had given birth to five children and still remained a form of pious when broaching the subject.

Your tears still fell but Rhaenyra felt the joy of love bloom.

“I was simply jesting,” she started but you gave her a cutting, mischievous glacé.

"Did you not say you wished not to hear of it? Do you want me to tell you all the details? He was quite good, you know? A very fine fuck indeed."

"Oh Gods!" Rhaenyra laughed loudly and for once, you forgot the pain. "Please, spare me of it!"

“He was b-“

“Please!” She spoke your name in a shriek. “I do not wish to think of you in that way!”

"You truly did not know of it?" You questioned her in a striking bewilderment. You never thought yourself to be shroud in secrecy but surely someone had to have noticed your folly in his presence.

He was your father's, then her own, sworn sword.

"I had my suspicions on occasion," Rhaenyra admitted. "It was Harwin who first spoke of it. I did what I could to protect you. It was not long after the wedding. Harwin said he had crossed paths with him," she smiled sheepishly, "though he was not sure of which twin at the time."

Rhaenyra heard a small intake of breath from you. You squeezed her hand.

"But it happened more than once. The happenstance was too peculiar to not think of it in that way, sister. But Harwin was the one to believe it was Erryk. After a while it became easier to tell them apart and he appeared sure."

"I truly did not think it that hard."

Rhaenyra gave you glance of disbelief yet you had been serious.

"Laenor favored him, as did Harwin. That is why I knew he could be trusted. Not only as a fine Kingsguard but with my sister's heart as well."

"Rhaenyra," you sighed in kindness. A tear from your eyes dropped onto your intertwined hands.

"Harwin spoke of his candor. How devoted he was. Yet he broke an oath for the sake of his honor."

"As we all do."

Rhaenyra hummed and thought of her own indiscretions for the sake of love. How Daemon had taken her to the Silk Streets at the same time you were discovering womanhood with one of the Kingsguards. A peculiar life; one caged and riddled with power.

"I would have married him... had he wished to break his oath," you admitted to her and the sheen in your eyes returned. Kingsguard were only released from their duty in death. "But the Gods had other plans it appears."

"I do not doubt it," she replied in turn. "Do you think father knew of it?"

You shrugged your shoulders in indifference. "I fear the Hightower's may have. Even more so now. It takes much to strike a Dragon so deeply. Surely their motives were amplified when he deserted their cause."

Rhaenyra nodded, looking at the children's toys on the rug. She wanted to find the good in the gloom.

"Tell me of him. Tell me of the Ser Erryk I did not know."

“Rhaenyra…”

“Please,” she nearly begged. “Let us find a happiness. As you spoke there had been nothing but pain. There is a part of you that I do not know of and I wish to know now.”

You were not sure when to begin.

The first time you met? The first time you spoke? Those times were trivial and basic. She did not want to hear of your scandals in detail but you could start at the night where it changed. Where womanhood came to you in a way you were not expecting and the wine settled too deep in your bones.

You should have known it was doomed to fail because on that same night, a man died at Rhaenyra’s wedding feast.

But you were too wrapped up in Erryk’s arms to notice that evil lurked in the Red Keep.

The wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor was no small affair.

It was said that an entire week was to be planned full of tourney's, feasting, and ending in the penultimate betrothal of your sister to your cousin, Laenor, who had all but been absent for the entirety of both your childhoods.

He knew nothing of her but appeared kind.

As the drums beat and the violins soared in the great hall, the two-to-be-wed danced a traditional Targaryen dance that entranced the scope of the room before the guests who dreamed of dancing on the same floor as the heir to the throne joined them.

You sat at the table as Alicent conversed with her uncle in the corner and Daemon squandered his late wife's relative with the pad of his thumb. You downed your goblet of wine as Gerold Royce backed away in embarrassment and Daemon smirked in victory.

“Do you not feel sorrow for your late lady wife?” You asked Daemon who’s look always reminded you of being hunted.

“We were not fond of each other. So, no, I do not.”

"You are a cunt, Daemon," you cut. Your father made a noise of objection and Lord Hand Lyonel Strong choked on his wine.

Daemon laughed. He spared you a glance before turning it back to where Rhaenyra was dancing.

You knew of her infatuation with your uncle. Her eyes kept darting to the table as if no one would see.

Viserys muttered your name in dissatisfaction.

"Brother," Daemon snickered, "it is fine. The Princess was just expressing her admiration for me."

You scoffed as a squire refilled the goblet to the brim. The wine spilled over and the young man went to make apologies but you brushed him off with the wave of your hand.

The wine was gone faster than it had taken to refill it.

"The ire may lay elsewhere I inquire," Daemon gave a smoldering squint of his eyes. "Tell me, good niece, how it feels to be second in a tourney where you have always been first? Seeing the heir of the throne marry before you?"

"You overstep, Uncle," you cut.

"But I am a cunt, remember?"

You sat back in your seat as the air around you became uncomfortable and suffocating. Alicent returned with a strained greeting to which she received nothing in return from you.

It perturbed you that a girl, years your junior, had become your stepmother.

The squire returned to fill your cup but nearly spilled it over your hand as it covered the top of the goblet.

"Squire," Daemon's playful voice was etched with a sinful glee. "I do not believe the Princess needs any. She needs something a bit more sturdy to lift her spirits." He motioned with his pointer finger up to the sky lewdly. “A good fuck would do you well.”

"Daemon," your father spoke and Alicent looked away in a rose-colored blush.

"All in good fun, Brother," Daemon defended as he said your name in a question. The squire escaped quickly from the table; the music changed in the room and the dancers from noble houses joined at a more jubilant pace.

Lord Lyonel eyed the floor as his son, Harwin, danced with Rhaenyra.

Daemon leaned into Lyonel's personal space with a quiet voice.

"Have you been to the Silk Streets, Princess?"

"Daemon!" Viserys ordered loudly. His voice caught the attention of the Velaryon's at the end of the table. "I will not have such talk at this table on this day! It is my daughter's wedding!"

"Of co–"

"It's alright, Father," you turned to him as the weakened look on his worn face became more present. "I believe the eve has gotten the best of me."

Rising from your seat, Viserys objected and Alicent latched herself to your hand.

You felt an evil burn your skin.

"You mustn't go," she pleaded on your father's behalf. "It has only just begun."

"I assure you tomorrow will be a much better day," you told her and wiggled your arm out of her grasp.

Viserys sighed in defeat. He scoured the room for Ser Criston to escort you to your chambers but you had not allowed him the chance to speak. You turned away and stepped down from the risen floor and towards the exit to the left of the Iron Throne. In his sight, Ser Erryk caught his attention.

He could only tell the difference because his helmet had been removed.

"Ser Erryk!" Viserys barked.

Ser Erryk had been a Kingsguard for near three years with his brother, Ser Arryk, alongside him. They had been nothing short of loyal to Viserys in the time since their joining.

"Your Grace," Erryk stopped before the King as he turned around and pointed to his eldest daughter's escape from the Throne Room.

"The Princess wishes to retire," Erryk turned his head to watch you disappear beyond the archway. "Please escort and stand watch until Ser Thorne can return to his station outside of the quarters.”

"Yes, Your Grace."

Erryk did his duty and followed obediently after you. Daemon remained laughing quietly as the reminders of you were left. Wine on the table, a plate untouched of food grew cold as the night wore thin.

You traced your hand along the stones of the hallways of the Red Keep. Ancient and sturdy, the ancestors who crafted these corridors knew not of the stories they would tell; how much each turn of the stone would witness as the years passed and the shadows became ingrained in its pattern.

The wine you had been drinking began to catch up with you.

It had been not more than three cups and you felt flushed and warm. Still with your senses, you felt angry and jolly at the same time.

Yet the frustrations of your family still lingered heavier. You felt the steam roll from your shoulders, loosening itself into tendrils of anger as the sounds of jubilance became faint and the halls became darker and filled with the candlelight of night.

You continued to walk in slow steps as the weight of tiredness fell upon you.

Sounds of armor approaching caught your ears, nonetheless.

You breached the foyer of the grand staircase and turned to rest against the stones. Hands grasping the corners behind your back, you looked down the golden hallway to the armored guard approaching.

"Ser Erryk," you acknowledged as the light illuminated his features before you.

You felt the danger dissipate from your body.

"Princess," he spoke. His accent was notable among those who rallied between common-folk and high-born in the Crownlands.

In the years he and his brother Arryk had served the crown, your paths have crossed. They both presented a fine and reputable record of loyalty and devotion to the cause.

They were good men. A rarity, in the world as you lived it.

But Erryk had always captured your attention more than his brother had. Taller and more attentive to your sister and yourself, he had always caught your eye. You wasted countless minutes of your life simply looking at the knight in hopes that he would look back.

You had memorized his face in a matter of seconds.

"May I ask why you are following after me in such a haste?"

"Your Grace has asked me to escort you, Princess," he continued his approach without explicit permission.

As he came into a closer view, you took stock of the man. A strong face with determined eyes; lips plump and shoulders square yet fitted by the silver of his armor. He had a mole on the left side of his cheek above his lip.

He was beautiful. You were not sure you had ever seen a man with such refined beauty before he had joined the Kingsguard some three years ago. In the times his eyes caught yours in the midst of the chaos of your house, your opinion did not change.

You felt your heartbeat pulse faster.

There was something alluring about his eyes. So focused and intent on the subject upon whom he was speaking to, the unwavering devotion of his trade ever present beyond the armor he wore.

"I see," you muttered. "And what of Ser Thorne? He sees to be my escort often."

"Occupied, Princess. It is a busy evening for the family."

Erryk used your title in a way the others did not. He held it in such high regard, you felt.

You hummed and turned back toward the direction in which you were headed originally. The stairs loomed in the darkness like a warship approaching its moor. The wine that had settled let a small chuckle escape your lips.

"I do wish there were magic in these walls, Ser Erryk. Then I may simply float into bed and there would be no need to leave the nice party."

Erryk was not sure how to respond. He knew you not to be a silly woman. The eldest of Viserys' daughters had always appeared to him to be attentive and near motherly in the wake of Queen Aemma's death.

In the times he had spoken to you, you never feigned such girlish impulse before. It was new. And it surprised him.

Therefore, Erryk took his own leap of difference.

"Princess," he caught your attention and in the light, he wished he had never taken the oath.

Your eyes gleamed with such delight; pupils blown wide from what he deduced to be the wine of the evening and lips plush and slightly parted. The bodice of your gown fit every curve and plush part of your skin in an entrancing way that sent his mind to the places he neglected to attend to.

He knew of what the men in the Kingsguard did. He listened to the conquests of his brothers, both blood and by sword, while he refined himself to his oath.

But his heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. It had never happened before.

He felt ashamed for feeling such a way. For him to imagine what it would be to feel your skin above and below your skirts, listening to the soft sounds of content as he let his lips draw new patterns on your collarbones.

You were a Princess. He should not have such thoughts.

"If I may speak plainly?" Erryk asked you and you nodded for him to continue. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

"Dragons exist in this world. I do not see why magic could not exist as well. There are whispers of such people amongst the townsfolk. Though, I cannot say their rumors are true.”

The sides of your lips began to quirk up into a smile. "Yes. I suppose you are right about that."

You smiled at him and he could not look away. The sides of your eyes creased in delight in regard to the silliest of items: a childish want to be lifted into bed because your feet were too tired.

It was not often that a naive nature still remained in adults.

"Do you not wish to return to the celebration?" You queried. “I saw even Ser Harold tap his feet at the music.”

"I have a duty to you, Princess. The celebration will not miss me."

Erryk did not miss nor question the way your eyes flicked between his lips and his own eyes. He could not resist the urge to do the same to you.

You wet your lips with your tongue in a small jut. Your top teeth tug the bottom lip in before releasing it gently. Attention falling to the chest of his armor before you blinked in a rapid succession and he felt your body radiate a warm sensation.

You pulled the back of your hand to your cheeks to sense the heat.

“My,” you said breathlessly. “I seem to have let the wine get the best of me.” Sheepishly looking down, your gaze returned to him with doe-like admiration.

He felt the blood rushing. Erryk swallowed his nerves.

“It does happen, Princess.”

Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage—you felt as though it were going to explode.

His eyes were piercing you. Dim in the light of the hall, you could barely decipher where he was truly looking but you felt the stare. You could have felt it a million miles away.

“Ser Erryk—“

Gustily, he cut you off. “Erryk, Princess. You may call me Erryk in confidence.”

It was your turn to swallow the nerves that built up in your throat. You observed him again and in the way he stood. An arm limp on his side while the other held onto his sword tightly.

There was no fear, nothing helpless within you.

Your curiosity painted what his hands looked like under the white gloves. How strong and handsome they must be to match the face of the man. You wondered how they’d feel pressed against you; holding you in ways no woman should wonder.

The feel of them on your breasts, the way they’d play differently than your own in the dead of night.

You released a staggered breath from your nose and he caught the shake that emitted from your chest.

“Erryk,” you clarified your previous mistake. "Please use my title sparingly, then. I wish to be informal when able."

"Of course," and he tried your name on his lips for the first time.

For the first time, you felt at ease.

"I've never asked, but do you enjoy the Kingsguard? After all that is asked of you, your brother, and those in the cloak?"

"It is a honor," he stopped himself short of using your title. "I cannot envision a life outside of it."

To be one of the seven to protect the family was the most profound honor. Only the finest of knights were bestowed the honor.

"I suppose you do get to sleep in the most grand of castles," you quipped.

"And you? Do you like being the daughter of a King?"

Erryk observed the way you pondered deeply. Even if he spent every waking minute with a family of high stature and of the utmost importance, he would never truly understand the perils that came with great privilege.

"Would it be silly if I said no?"

"No," he shook his head. "There are many who wish to be you, however."

"I do not envy them," your gaze saddened at the prospect.

"What is not to be envious about?"

"Freedom... or the lack-thereof it."

The wine was making you feel all sorts of ways that evening.

"Freedom," he reiterated. "That may be more rewarding than both of our positions, Princess."

You narrowed your eyes at him to which he returned with a sly, small smirk and his own look was playful. Erryk was subverting your expectations beyond a reasonable doubt.

Your heart leapt at the idea that he was dallying with you.

You were both young and engaging in a fools errand.

Down the corridor from which you originally came, footsteps began to heighten. You could barely make out the silhouettes of more guards making rounds.

"I wish to retire to my room, Ser Erryk," you called out loudly enough for those to hear.

In an instant, a wall had gone up between the two of you and the wine was drained from your body. Erryk offered his arm in the way a Lord would as you conquered the steps one by one.

The guards surpassed you by changing their route and following down another corridor as the two of you made it to the middle landing of the grand steps.

"Oh," you feigned in their absence.

"There was nothing improper of our conversation, Princess," Erryk reassured you.

Everything and the Gods were improper for a high-born lady–even one unmarried and passed over as an option of heir.

"I know," you replied, feeling the cold metal of his armor simmer the heat of your palms.

You continued up the stairs with him and did not let go once the journey was complete.

"Do you see me a spinster, Ser Erryk?" You asked him and once more, he found himself a loss for words in your presence. No other high-born lady would give conversation so willingly. Yet you always had in your short meetings together.

“Spinster?”

“I am a few years beyond my sister. I am unwed and untethered. Not ideal for a husband to seek, no matter if my father is the King.”

"I do not believe it appr–"

"I really do not mind," your face concentrated on the passage of doors and miscellaneous objects littering the living quarter hallways. "You are not a stranger."

"Nor am I a friend," he felt the need to clarify.

"Then what are you?"

You stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look at him. The skirt of the dress twirled and scuffed his hand. His fingers twitched to grab onto it.

"I am a sworn member of the Kingsguard, Princess. I have a duty to your name, to the crown."

"And such forsakes you from being a friend?"

Lust.

"Do you wish me to be your friend?" He asked boldly.

In the same moment, a rumble of thunder roared through the sky. The open courtyard that found itself in the center of the wing of the keep whirled with a ruinous swirl.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing voiced itself into words.

“I do not believe that would be appropriate.” You completed his previous sentence.

The earthy thunder echoed in the sky.

"What would be appropriate?" Erryk tested the waters.

He sensed the colors of his white cloak becoming sullied by his own greed. He took a step forward as the rain began to spill from the clouds above.

"My young sister is to be married," you cautioned. "Before I am to be and I–"

"I cannot take a wif–"

"No," you shook your head and sighed. "I do not wish to marry."

"Princess."

"I do not want to be the wife of a Lord twice my age. I want to make my own choices."

Erryk saw the determination in your eyes. He and Arryk had the same as they left home and declared themselves to be willing trainees for the Kingsguard. They gave everything to live a life of stewardship.

"The guards spoke of your abstention," Erryk admitted. "How you abdicated your inheritance and now Princess Rhaenyra is heir to the throne."

"I am clear of the understanding that you cannot take a wife, nor bear any children. I do not seek that either."

Erryk breathed in deeply. "What do you ask of me, Princess?"

Your observances were flicks of nervous ticks. The way your gaze was scattered across the hall; shades of gray became wet with rain and the fires that lit the way began to waver.

"I fear I ask something the Gods deny me."

Freedom.

The two of you stared at one another for seconds before you turned away and returned walking in a wade of self-destruction.

As the rain poured heavy, chaos erupted in the Great Hall as it did in the quarters above. Erryk looked to the sky through the pillars of stone to listen for a sign.

The Gods rumbled in fury.

But Gods be damned.

The clang of his armor filled your ears faster than the force of his hand encircling around your bicep and spinning you around without much warning. His other hand grasped the bottom of your jaw, filling the space of your cheek and brought his lips impatiently to your own.

You could not hear the rain when time ceased to move.

Erryk's hand let go of your bicep and wrung an arm around your back to meet the top of your dress' bodice. His fingers gripped the back of it and you could feel the fabric of his gloves itching against your skin.

The giddiness of the anxiety that had formed with you made your hands shake. They found purchase on his chest plate. Erryk's thumb caressed your chin and then exchanged its position to the back of your head.

You broke the kiss in breathlessness before he brought his lips to yours again.

Your body buzzed without thinking.

There was no returning to the therebefore.

Not a year into Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor did she give birth to her first son, Jacaerys, who appeared more like a common boy than a Targaryen.

In the following years, another boy was born with the same complexion and you questioned it not as she had come to you nine months prior and declared her third pregnancy happily.

It was an unkempt secret.

It was also one that you were fortunate not to share.

Ten years to the date of the wedding, both your and Rhaenyra's lives were inexplicably changed. Your father's condition worsened to where it was a battle to walk from bed to door. Alicent's ascent into her own form of motherhood rivaled Rhaenyra's as you kept your distance the best you could.

Alicent made efforts to get to know you better as an adult but you saw what she was. She was a devil disguised as a saint.

She was younger and tried yet to replace what your mother left vacant inside of you. You ignored her with what snide nature the Gods had granted you as you had gotten older.

It was your solitude that kept you sane as the keep grew louder.

That, and the life you kept in the shadows. Though, your nephews did bring a smile to your face.

"Jace!" You shouted with a laugh as the boy stumbled in the courtyard. His wooden sword went tumbling out of his hands after one strike from his brother, Lucerys.

They were so little and innocent.

"You must hold onto it if you want to be a great knight!"

"I was!" His little voice argued back as he went to pick up the word and Lucerys lifted his fist in victory.

Ser Harwin Strong stood on the sidelines of their small battle circle as you took a seat on the bottom step not far from their escapade. The yard was full of workers and knights, both those of the Kingsguard and City Watch.

"Not strong enough, My Prince," Harwin gave him a stern glare that sent Jace into a rigid stance wanting to prove his worth.

The boy was ten yet he wished to be a knight at that very moment.

"You must listen to your Aunt if you want to be a good knight," Harwin pointed at you to which you shook your head, scoffing at his words. "She has fought many a battle; can swing a sword as furious as an axe!"

Harwin laughed as you rolled your eyes.

You could see why Rhaenyra loved him. Why she would risk her entire being to bear his children in absence of Laenor's.

"You lie!" Lucerys accused him.

Harwin knelt down beside Lucerys. "I jest, My Prince. But you should know," he leaned his face closer to his sons, "your brother has a weakness..."

Harwin's voice went quiet and Jace put his arms up in defeat. You went to stand but as you gathered your skirt in your hand and went to push upwards, a hand was presented to you.

You looked up nearly blinded by the sunlight that peaked through the clouds and was met with Erryk's face.

He too had changed over the years.

His hair long was reminiscent of the Targaryen tradition of not cutting it so long as they remained the winner in battle. A beard now flocked his face in full but his heart remained the same.

"Princess," he mumbled as you took his hand, lifting yourself from the stair.

It had been two days since your last meeting but for both your hearts, the beat had not changed since the first night.

"Ser Erryk," you greeted. Lost in yourself, you neglected to drop his hand. "Thank you."

"I bring news. Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors," he alerted you. “She has asked for your presence.”

You looked to Harwin and the boys, the prior already staring in your direction, eying Erryk with inspection. You dropped his hand in an instant.

"That is wonderful news," you replied with a kind smile. Erryk scanned your face for a sign of dejection at the admission. You noticed he had been doing that as of late and it irked you.

Harwin approached in heavy, quick steps.

"Ser Erryk," he greeted with a nod. "Are you to train with the boys today? Ser Cris–"

"I would not call this training," you clarified. The boys were but 10 and 6. "Play fighting may be more applicable."

"I came to tell the Princess that Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors, Ser Harwin."

Erryk watched as Harwin's eyes contorted in a way he knew nothing of. A sliver of hope, joy, he was not sure. But it changed the way he felt inside.

"May the Gods grant the Princess good will," Harwin declared.

"Yes indeed," you added. Harwin glanced between the two of you as Erryk's eye-line focused on Jace and Luke putzing in the dirt.

“The Princes’ are most excited to meet their sibling. They have talked of nothing else for the past few days.”

“Speaking the truth, Ser Harwin,” you chuckled. “I pray it not be another boy for her sake. I do not know if she can handle such behaviors.”

Lucerys began to hit the ground with his stick in hard, deliberate strokes.

"I should distract the Princes then," he spoke lowly. "Thank you, Ser Erryk."

"Lord Commander," Erryk bid Harwin farewell as he walked back to the boys. Jace was occupied hitting the wooden sword on his feet and Lucerys came running towards the two of you.

"Ser Erryk!" The boy called jubilantly. "I took down my brother!"

"Oh?" Erryk responded in kind. "A very fierce battle ensued, I am sure."

"Yes! And I will do it again!" Luke smiled at him and it made your heart grow three sizes. “I wish to be a fine knight as you are, as Ser Harwin is.”

“One day, My Prince.”

"Luke," you looked down at the boy to which he put his small hand in yours. "I think it is time to choose an egg for the babe.”

The small boy's eyes lit up like a holiday. "Do you think so!?"

"I do," you squeezed his tiny fingers. "Go to your brother. Tell Ser Harwin that he must take you and then return you to your chambers once the egg has been collected."

Luke hugged at your leg tightly before running off to his brother with a screech.

"Take me to my sister," you told Erryk. "I must be with her."

"Of course, Princess."

Every corner of the keep was filled with spectators as the news of Rhaenyra's labors filtered through the castle. Erryk walked steadfast on your heels as your pace became more quick with noises of her strain making itself known.

"Gods," you said exasperated by her shouting.

"It will be alright," Erryk reassured quietly.

“I am inclined to say you have never seen a labor.”

“No,” he said quietly as you passed a guard walking in the opposite direction. “I have not had the privilege.”

“Far from a privilege, Erryk. It is gruesome.”

As her labor chambers came closer with your steps, the fewer guards and people were permitted in the hall.

"The Septa's once told us that boys were never easy. I fear this one will be a repeat of before."

"A boy?"

Without thinking, you replied: "the genes are far too strong."

But Erryk knew what you meant because in the corridors behind the walls of the keep, Harwin and Erryk had crossed paths in their escapes on more than one occasion.

He spoke your name and pulled at your arm to come to a stop outside of her chamber door. You could practically feel her pain emitting from the wood.

There were no guards standing watch outside of the door which you knew was the fault of the Queen.

"All will end well. Rhaenyra will see it to be true. Your sister is a hearty woman."

You nodded at him. "I know it to be so."

And you planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"I will do my best, Princess," Erryk glanced down the hall before cupping the back of your head and kissing you tenderly. "I will do my best."

"Oh," you gasped. The breath had been taken from your lungs as your airway cast a shudder. One of your arms around his shoulders, hand snaking itself to cradle the nape of his neck under his hair while the other hand danced along the side of his face and its thumb traced the line of his lower lip as a set of trembling pants melted together to make a seamless one.

Erryk's hands, worn and calloused from a day's work, trailed the sides of your body and traced the curve of your hips to your thighs. His grip wavered between the harshness you had craved for and his gentle mask.

“These days,” he grunted, teeth clenched tightly together as his jaw flexed with concentration, “have been unforgiving, Princess.”

It had taken him five days to find time with you after the birth of Prince Joffrey.

And so much had changed in those five days.

You lifted yourself up in a rhythmic careen as your heart began to pound against your chest. His eyes seldom left your face. Erryk watched for every bated breath and each staggered exhale while his hands helped guide your hips in genteel rolls.

Between your legs, the feel of his cock was slick and hot. Entering in and out, in and out as he helped try to ease the burn of your thighs working toward elation.

Your hand fell from his face down to his arms. A ghostly light dusting to meet his right hand that had been assisting your movements.

Loosely bringing his hand to your mouth, Erryk’s lips parted as you covered all his fingers with your own except the middle, and brought it to your lips. You kissed the pad of his finger gently.

As you kissed his finger, you lifted yourself from his cock to the tip. He waited for the cool air to hit but it never came as you sank back down and opened your mouth with a mewl as he filled you again.

At that moment, you took his middle finger into your mouth and wet it with your tongue.

He could not speak. For his words were lost in the warmth of your cunt and mouth as your tongue swirled around his digit with a wanton pant. Erryk let his head fall to your chest; lips lingering on the skin of your breasts with nipples taught and pert beckoning to him.

Erryk’s other hand loosened from your hip and grasped your left breast. He palmed the skin before squeezing and letting his palm run over the nipple. You sucked on his finger a bit harder at the sensation.

The hairs from his beard scratched your skin in an insatiable pattern. It was familiar in an exact moment where the past was no more and the future was everclear.

You wanted it memorized. You wanted it traced upon your body.

He tilted his head lower to latch onto your nipple before letting go with an audible “pop” against the lewd sounds of the room. It was morning but the whispered breaths of lovers and the sound of their coitus woke with the rising sun.

You released his finger from between your lips and he lifted his head. His eyes met yours and they glimmered with the same refractions of light one gets as the sun peaks between curtains.

His heart was as large as the sea.

“Lay down,” you wet your lips and held his hand no different than before.

Erryk used his free hand to keep you steady as he laid back on the bed. He bent his knees and planted his feet against the duvet to give you leverage.

“As the Princess commands.”

You bit back a smile. The butterflies in your stomach never ceased to exist.

With your hand eclipsed with his own, you guided his now wet finger down to your clit and he needed no further instructions. The pressure of his finger felt like a lightning bolt shooting through thunder. You gasped as your legs quivered in delight.

And then you smiled fully. Erryk smiled in return and Gods, did you feel the world open up before you.

You placed a hand on his chest before leaning down to kiss his lips still quirked upwards in a sheltered grin. The ministrations of your pleasure not stopped at the joy.

Erryk laid back against the ends of the pillows and watched you lift yourself back up, hand grasping his wrist of the hand to your clit, and began to move faster. He could not help but become entranced in the way his cock disappeared in your core. Your tightness aching for him as it became more slick every passing second.

You breathed in deeply. A hitch in your timber sent his eyes back to yours and you rolled your body deeply—feigning coy in the smoked out candlelight. He could not his gaze roaming the way your breasts moved with every bounce.

The sun was rising behind you.

Enchanting or entrancing, he was captivated as always by his royal woman.

With his hand on your hip, he raised it to trace your spine and felt your muscles begin to shake. Bumps on your skin from his touch made him groan.

You faltered and leant forward. Hands now planted beside his face, your eyes met his own and Erryk gave a small nod. He removed his finger from your clit and ran both hands up your back as you laid your weight on him.

He held you tightly and began to move his hips at an aching pace. Your eyes closed as you hummed in content. Erryk let his face fall beside yours, mouth beside your ear.

"Is this alright, my darling?" he barely whispered and you smiled, he could feel it.

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes."

He laid a kiss on your earlobe in response. With your eyes closed, you could feel bursting colors inside of you. You imagined them swirling behind you eyelids in intertwined wisps of reds and pinks. Yellows of happiness adjoined with the blues of bliss.

In the years you laid together, Erryk was not one to speak loudly nor much during those times. He admired you in its absence. Watching and waiting with bated breath of what pleasure would bring you and he to follow.

It was when he held you close that he felt the oaths he sinned against were foolish.

The touch of a woman, the touch of you, brought him a fantasy he'd never thought of chasing.

You inhaled deeply, legs shaking as he worked you to your orgasm with precision. You turned your head to capture his lips with yours; swallowing his groans when you utilized the last bits of your strength to move your hips at his actions.

Crying out as your body jolts, your right hand snaked itself into the hair that fell on the side of his face.

"Gods," you whimpered. There was little more you could do to hang on.

Erryk's low grunts matched his thrusts the faster they came.

He gripped the back of your thigh and brought your leg upwards, changing his angle. Your shoulders tensed at your growing inability to hold on. A string was snapping inside of you, waiting for it all to be enough.

And at once, it became enough.

You tilted your head upwards with a high-pitched gasp; the sound elongating the second he felt your muscles tighten around his dick and loosen a second later with a fury. He continued to thrust through your tremors. The jerking of your body erupting his own orgasm and with three thrusts, his breath became staggered and wanton.

Against his chin, you rested your forehead uncomfortably to gather yourself. A droplet of sweat beaded from your breasts pressed against his chest and to his skin.

As he recovered his own breathing, a hand of his own rubbed careless lines on your back. Erryk could feel the pulse of blood rushing to your center. He took his hand away from your back and brought it to your face to turn it to him.

Your breath was hot against him as he was certain his own was against yours.

"I apologize," his voice had grown ragged. He spoke softly yet you could hear the hoarseness of his throat. "For not fulfilling your request."

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"No," you brushed back hairs from his face. "It warrants no apology."

Erryk sighed deeply. You moved a finger to trace the edges of his beard lightly. He looked at you with a furrowed brow. You pressed a finger to the worrying crease.

"What worries you, my love?"

He appeared hesitant to speak freely in that moment. The comfort of guilt had been eating at him as of late. Act that soiled his cloak in sin, he had forsaken his duty to chase what he had denied himself for so long.

It was the evening chatter amongst the Kingsguard as they sat for supper that churned in his stomach.

"I do not worry," he answered. You did not believe him.

"Your face tells different story, Erryk."

"Do you regret this arrangement, Princess?"

You stopped your movements and locked eyes with him. Just as your heartbeat had started to slow, it picked up again at a rapid pace.

"I– " you paused to find your words. "Where might have gotten that impression?"

"No impression," he clarified. "It was simply Princess Rhaenyra's children–"

At the mention of your sister, you lifted your hips and removed him from you with a shallow shudder before rolling to your side and sitting upright in search of your dressing gown.

"I do not wish to speak of my sister while I lay with you," you informed him. It had never been a subject discussed in the decade of knowing one another. "That is the last person I wish to think of."

"I do not mean it in that way."

"Then in what way do you mean?" You gathered the gown from the floor and put it on in rapid movements.

"It is no secret that the King continues to search for a Lord Husband befitting of your status," Erryk spoke as he sat in the bed you shared. "I never imagined–"

"What?" You drew defensive immediately.

Something deeper lingered inside of you. He knew nothing of the matter.

"When I swore the oath of the Kingsguard I did not imagine being the one who stands in the way of the King's desires."

"He does not know, Erryk. I stand in his way. I refuse the proposals."

"Because you love me."

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "I told you that I wished to carve my own life with what little power I do have of it. This," you stuck both hands outward to him, "is that power."

"And if he were to find out, my fate would be far more severe than being exiled to my homelands."

Ser Harwin left yesterday morning at the instruction of the King.

Rhaenyra would not see anyone in her quarters for hours.

You did not question his comment.

"Have you found someone else to warm your bed?" You asked an impossible question. Erryk let the sigh of disbelief pass his lips.

"I would not inflict such pain on you. Do you truly question my devotion? After what I risk to love you?"

A piece of you constricted with the knowledge you held. How this was likely your last morning together for some time and you were leading it to a deep crevice of spite.

"You question my own devotion for what cause?" You countered. "I do not regret this. I will never so long as I live because we chose to do this, together."

Erryk moved off the bed and slipped on his trousers and linen shirt with the ties undone.

"I do not ask out of a want to be removed from my circumstance."

"Then why ask it?"

"Do you never feel guilt? Of allowing me to besmirch your honor–"

"Please," you begged him and sat on the settee that was littered with books of old. "I do not wish to hear it."

You did feel some guilt. Guilt of a secret that had been eating away at you for a day.

The troubles of life had long settled itself within the walls of your chamber. These conversations had been occurring more often as of late and you knew not the cause but had a rousing suspicion that his honor, duty to the crown levied a darkening cloud over his consciousness.

The culpability of a sin unforgettable to his stature buried him. Now having witnessed the removal of the Lord Commander, and Hand of the King, for the consequences of lust weighed like torture.

A dam of large proportions was meant to break in the keep.

The blood of Rhaenyra's childbirth was still being washed from the halls and with it, the stones cracked under pressure.

Erryk picked up the pieces of his armor from the floor and laid them before himself on the bed. Ingrained in his mind, he assembled each piece to the best of his ability before moving toward you as the birds began to chirp outside of your windows.

The cool breeze of autumn filtered in through the curtains.

It was then he saw the wetness of your cheeks. A silent cry had formed in his wake and he had not seen it. He had given no time for care; he feared your needs were not satisfied.

Before he could stumble out words, you coughed out the admission.

"Rhaenyra is leaving for Dragonstone on the morrow."

Oh.

"She asked for my council... to go with her."

Erryk felt a terrible wall grow in front of him.

"I do not wish to leave you."

"Are you to go with her?" He asked.

A part of him knew the impossible task. He and his brother were inseparable. Being twins, perhaps it was expected of him to be close as thieves but the bonds of a sister had tethered two souls closer than even he could ponder.

He would die for his brother, as you would your sister.

"Yes," you cried. A sob escaped your lips and you let your head fall into your hands.

Erryk tossed his armor back onto the bed, kneeling before you and wrapping his arms around you as his heart stung.

"It is not my place to beg you to stay," he admitted. "You must do as your future Queen commands of you." Spoken like a knight.

"What if my leaving is the last that I will see of you?' You questioned. You lifted your head and cupped his face. "I love you, Erryk. I do not regret my actions."

"And I you," and instead of Princess, he said your name soothingly. "I speak in fear. You speak of what little you have, but with what I do have, my body and soul are yours to keep."

"I do not think I can bear being parted for long. I will not take a husband, I will not take another lover," you declared.

You made your sentiments known. He was not going to question it again.

"Nor I," he agreed. "Nor I."

You pulled your lips to his own.

"I wanted to tell you," you wept, “but I could not find you. I wished not for this to be our parting ways. I do not want to you to remember me this way."

"In what way?" He hummed with a strained, sorrowed smile. "You are as beautiful as the day we met. If this is to be our last moments together, my only regret is not holding you longer."

You let out a wet, sad laugh.

"We will find each other again," he reassured you. His blue eyes shining in the golden glow of morning as the sun blessed the skies in a red and pink dream.

"I swear it, by the old Gods and the new."

You rubbed your thumb across his cheek to catch a tear most of the Kingsguard would never admit to falling in the presence of their lovers. You nodded at him.

"I love you," you whispered.

You wouldn't see him for another six years.

The gates of King's Landing were tall and colored in an ugly terracotta.

You peered out the slim slivers the grated windows of the caravan allowed as it trudged the rocky roads along the shoreline of the city. Glimpses of a cooling fall air, the sun was shielding itself behind clouds with every inching second that wheels churned closer to the keep.

"Surely the city cannot have changed that much since our departure, good sister," Daemon's words were shrouded in a snicker. His eyes are always cutting and looking for a battle.

Eyes tearing themselves away from the outside, you looked at Daemon as he studied you.

"It has changed greatly, Uncle," you retorted. "Perhaps if you had spent more time canvasing it during the light of day you would be able to say the same."

Daemon's lips lifted themselves into a sly, cunning smirk as Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Must we bicker as such? Play civil for only a day and then we shall return home. Might we find some excitement beyond the boor?"

When Daemon became Rhaenyra's husband after Laenor passed, you wished your dragon would swallow you whole.

Rhaenyra said you were being dramatic.

"Vaemond is a peddler," you reassured her, taking her hand in yours and peering back outside of the slits. "Your sons have little to fear."

In the years that have passed over Westeros, every soul had been changed by the tenants of the Red Keep and those who watch over them like vultures at a feast. Rhaenyra's ascendance to Viserys' heir should not have been a catalyst for the pain suffered by those in their watch but yet it could not help itself.

Your fingertips ghosted the wooden edges of the carriage as the latches of the gates began to swing outwards and opening themselves up to you once more.

Rhaenyra understood that her sons had nothing to fret regarding their futures. Viserys had turned a blind eye for years and the sentiment would not change so long as he remained on the throne for the years to come.

She squeezed your tender fingers with her own.

Daemon's eyes wandered from the trusted hands of two sisters to his wife's face.

"I do wonder," Daemon cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. His sheathed sword knocked the golden accents of the interior. "If there is something of worry for you, good sister."

Rhaenyra's face twitched. A challenge, he imagined.

"I've heard that the Queen has been looking to secure a marriage match for her children."

"Daemon, you forget yourself," Rhaenyra spoke. Your eyes were lost in the courtyard that began to form around you.

"She has evaded such for years," Daemon defended. "I know of no other high-born lady, a princess, who is beyond marrying age and still remains relevant. Alicent is playing chess against an enemy that stays hidden on a cliff."

"Why is the concern so pressing?" Rhaenyra questioned, her eyes narrowing as her hand gripped yours tighter.

"You said it yourself, if Vaemond has the will to bring into question Jace and Luc, then the family will fall into a pit before being able to hoist itself up again. A match may not be out of the question to cease the concerns of other houses who question our ability to rule."

"No." Rhaenyra shook her head. "My father-"

"Knows nothing. The green bitch does his bidding. We all know about it."

The wheels of the carriage struck a bump causing the three of you to lean in one direction before falling back. The sounds of Kingsguard and City Watch members clambering for the arrival of such a caravan began to make themselves known.

"Where do you hear such secrets, Daemon?" You tired of hearing your life being planned without your consent. You narrowed your eyes at the blonde man. "I am near twenty years elder of her children. I am far too old to be the wife of–," there was a part of you that could hardly speak it.

And Daemon chuckled at the prospect.

But then again, he was older than both you and Rhaenyra.

It may have been the proper way of great households, but it was one that you detested. You had seen what marriage had done to your sister, your family, and closest friends. So many lost to what they had known for the sake of alliances and duty.

The memories of your trysts lay present in your mind. He was there.

A piece of Rhaenyra and your mother's stubbornness had harbored itself into you for the last sixteen years when womanhood had finally made sense to you.

There had been a glint in Rhaenyra's eyes at one time and you'd be dammed if you let your family take that from you as well.

"Besides," you diverted. "Father has tried many fine men of great houses to force my hand and yet," you lifted a hand void of jewelry besides a golden dragon that slithered up ornately on your pointer finger.

"Trying times call for trying actions."

You needn't respond to Daemon for him to understand the conversation had ceased. Rhaenyra put pressure on your hand once more before removing it and placing her own back on her belly that grew another child of her and Daemon's.

Outside the caravan of black banners and red sigils, the scattered sounds of court disappeared behind walls rattled with the hooves of the steeds. The carriage came to a rough stop and Rhaenyra gave you a stressed smile.

There was no fond greeting for those who escaped to Dragonstone six years ago.

"I sense the welcome is not as it once was," you whispered to her. Her brows furrowed as she had not paid any mind to the sounds and sights beyond her small party. A sinking feeling landed at the pit of your stomach.

The clatter of tools and wooden planks stopped as the caller announced the members to descend the steps.

And as you thought, the welcome was as the keep had become: vacant of the reverence it once had.

Each member of the Targaryen's who had been nothing short of exiled for their own safety waltzed into the pit of a raging green beast with a poor reception on behalf of the crown the heir expected. It spoke plainly of the disagreeable nature floating between two sides.

With a creak, the doors to the Keep's entrance opened and one soul, Lord Caswell, looked ridden with worry which struck a chord within Daemon, Rhaenyra, and yourself. He approached the heir with a solemn face before bowing.

"Welcome home, Princess."

"Lord Caswell," Rhaenyra responded in kind. His eyes bounced between each of you. He hadn't welcomed any of you to the keep in six years time.

It was as though a century had passed in a second.

"The King is anxious for your return," he continued. "He spoke of nothing but for these past two days. As well as to see his grandchildren, so grown and presentable." Lord Caswell nodded at them.

"Take us to him, if you please, Lord Caswell. It has been a weary journey," Rhaenyra began to walk off as he stuttered.

"Surely you would like to rest first, Princess? I will have your things taken to the visiting quarters."

"Visiting quarters?" Rhaenyra questioned, stopping in her tracks. Daemon was on her heels and her eldest son, Jace, halted with the rest of the children beside you.

Your eyes danced around the courtyard in a silly hope to find a pair.

'Of course he would not be there,' you scolded yourself.

You wondered if you had changed since your last meeting. Would he be able to recognize the woman you had become in the desolate castle?

"The Queen has taken residence in your former quarters, Princess."

Rhaenyra paused before speaking with an understanding that while here on the business of securing her son's legacy, her bygone friend has seized more than just your father.

But as you took in the surroundings you envisioned a world differently than the one that presented itself to you now. One of freedom and without greed; no one playing a long game of power and where lives were not seen as pawns, but as people.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. She held her hand to her stomach and rubbed a thumb across it gently as the overcoat she wore buried the chill with everything she had lost inside. She glanced at you as your eyes looked everywhere but hers and followed as they met every Kingsguard in the court.

She saw the light dim in the slightest.

"Lord Caswell," She spoke clearly, "take us to my father please." 

Seldom would have prepared you for the state your father was in.

Forced with an eternity of pain, Viserys was a shell of himself in the bed he laid. Each minute he suffered in the stillness of the Milk of the Poppy and it guided him only to lead him astray; every swing of an ax, a sword in the courtyard, would bleed the remnants of happiness that lingered in his dusty room.

He barely recognized you as you held his hand.

It struck your soul when he mistook you for your dead mother.

"Aemma," he croaked as though it took all his strength to talk."

Rhaenyra stilled beside you. You put on a brave face.

"No, father," you reminded him of you. "We are all here now."

He repeated your name brokenly.

"Sister," Rhaenyra approached you with her own son, Viserys by name, on her hip.

You had resigned yourself to inspect the dusty model of King's Landing that had once been a prized possession of the man who could not will himself to stand. The disease had overtaken his body to the point of immobility.

Viserys groaned in pain in his bed.

It was a sound you wished not to hear once more.

"Why don't you find your nephews and reintroduce them to the Keep?" She proposed. Her attitude was emitting more positivity than it should.

"I am sure they have already made their way," you took a finger and swiped it through the dust.

"And they could do well with a guide," she pressed.

You sighed, taking a glimpse behind you and surveying your father as he hid behind the curtains of his bed and cooed at Rhaenrya's other son, Aegon.

"He will be alright, sister."

"I do not share the same confidence, Rhaenyra."

She bounced Viserys on her hip. The boy played innocently with her hair without worry of the world evolving around him.

It was turning sour.

"Go to them," Rhaenyra ordered. "I would start at the training ground... you know how my boys are."

You heard the sound of swords before you saw them.

For once Daemon had been right about the Red Keep: it truly hadn’t changed from your time spent away. The same people found themselves completing the same mundane tasks each and every day until the Father called them home.

At the top of the long steps, you took in the sights you had missed.

It smelled of shit and metal. The people were loud and crowding around a scene of two men sparring along the edges of the yard. In your vision, Jace and Luke were fumbling through the materials they reminisced of as young children.

A chunk taken out of the stone, the wooden swords still available to train with.

You leaned against the barrister of brick. Below, just out of sight, two knights sparred in their time away from the king. Their fierceness caught the eyes of the two Targaryen boys who were in awe of the sights around them.

“Look,” Jace put his arm around his brother and pointed to Erryk and Arryk’s valiant efforts.

The eldest was in awe of such gallantry.

“It is just as we remembered, isn’t it?”

Luke watched as everyone stared at them unabashedly.

“They have always been valiant fighters,” Jace continued. “I remember Ser Erryk helping us adjust our stances. We were all but six and ten.”

"That was not Ser Arryk?"

Jace laughed. "Ser Erryk was the one to help you after I pushed you into that pile of horse shit when you were four. He gave the best advice about watching your opponents."

“And what good did that bring you?” Luke jested and received a slap on the head. He caught you monitoring them from above on the landing of the steps.

“It seems motherly is untrusting of us on our own,” he told Jace who clocked you watching before the sounds of metal swords clanging caught your attention.

“She will not object to us,” Jace picked at the swords on the cart. “She let us hit each other with these same sticks when I was not yet ten. I do not think our Aunt minds if we explore our old home.”

“I do not think she cares about us at all,” Luke spoke of you as he watched the two brothers push one another backwards.

They let up with a shake of their hands and if he could tell them apart, he would say Arryk looked up at you and paused.

“Brother,” Arryk called to Erryk as the latter went to reestablish his footing.

“What?” Erryk heaved in a tired breath. “Again, Arryk. We do not have much time.”

“Brother,” Arryk now insisted and pointed his sword upwards to the tops of the steps.

When he turned around, it was as though all life paused around him. Two worlds gone completely still because for the first time in six years, you and Erryk had finally converged to one place. 

It took his breath away.

A/N: I lied! I made this into 2 parts because it was getting far too long. Next part will cover the reunion, more smut, and of course the remaining bits of Erryk’s story.

As always, thank you for reading. Comments and reblogs, as well as likes, are greatly appreciated. I loved that this character has captured our hearts so much. There truly are no small roles.

[auspicioustidings]

Ae Fond Kiss - Part 4

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death

Summary: The years pass and you find out how Simon feels about you before a familiar face arrives. Words: 2.8k

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

“Tell me luv.”

Simon had his fingers tucked under your chin to tilt your head up so you could no longer easily hide. Urgh he was so bloody perceptive. 

“It’s silly.”

“You’re always silly, now tell me.”

You fought the urge to blow a raspberry at him. He was truly the most stubbornly protective human you had ever met and he never just let things go if you said it was fine. He always knew when something was bothering you despite your attempts to hide it. 

“What am I supposed to do when Joey starts nursery?”

You sighed and dropped any attempt to hide how miserable the thought made you. When you and Johnny had gotten married you had decided that you’d be a stay at home mum. You didn’t have a career you were attached to and Johnny made enough to support the household. Honestly you had come to enjoy it in the last year. You decorated your home for every holiday, experimented in the kitchen until you were actually a very good home cook and baker, always felt safe and content with how well you knew your own space and how cosy and clean you kept it. 

It was never how you imagined yourself if you were honest, a homemaker. The idea of you actually sort of enjoying cleaning would have made you feel somewhat ill 5 years ago. But now you were in your own home with a toddler you loved to death and, though you often were reluctant to admit it out loud, a man you loved to death. You had been front and centre for all of Joey’s firsts and you wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

Simon missed his first steps. Johnny had been fine doing video calls while he was on base during off hours, but you didn’t even have the number of Simon’s work phone. It used to frustrate you that it felt like he didn’t even exist the moment he left for work, but he had spoken about his family on your first Christmas together and it made you understand. He would never carry anything on him as the Ghost that could link back to you, even in the relative safety of the base during downtime. 

Now Joey would be out of the house for most of the day. You could have waited, not sent him to nursery and just kept him home until school, but you knew it would be for your sake rather than his. He loved being around other kids and some of the friends he had made from you taking him to every toddler group in the area in an attempt to be a good mother would be starting nursery as well. 

Could you just do nothing all day? Between Johnny’s insurance and death in service benefits and Simon insisting on funnelling money in, you could certainly afford it now, but it felt so wrong when Johnny was dead and Simon was doing the exact job that had killed him.

“What do you mean? You do the same as you do right now if you’re still happy doing it but without him.”

“Lounge around and do nothing while you are out risking your life you mean.”

Simon considered, always careful to think the situation through rather than reply impulsively. He was annoyed with himself for not seeing sooner that you were undervaluing yourself, only considering taking care of Joey which was a full time job in itself as contributing. While it had been a source of bitter guilt in the beginning, he had started to forget how much younger you were than him. He really should have seen it, no woman in her early 20s saw her full worth. 

“Princess, you decorated this whole house while I was deployed and you’re the one that fixes things or organises for them to be fixed when they break. You cook almost all our meals from scratch and then make extra to donate to the community kitchen. The garden is immaculate because you follow the planting plan you made yourself and are out there doing maintenance every day. You do not now nor have you ever lounged about doing nothing, even if I would like it if you did.”

He already felt bad enough about it. When he was home he threw himself in, tried to take as much off of you as possible even when he was nowhere near as fast or good at things. If anything he was contributing nowhere near enough money to cover all the full time jobs you were gracefully juggling (only because it had already been a fight to accept any money at all, he gave you what you accepted and then put almost the rest of his pay into an account for Joey).

“Shut up!” you whined, battering fists against his chest as your face flamed. 

You had lived together now for just around 3 years. You had been intimately involved for 2. It still absolutely floored you when he was nice to you and made butterflies erupt in your stomach. It was so ridiculous to feel like some wide eyed teen with a crush when it came to this idiot. Unfortunately his favourite hobby was fucking with you when you were taken off guard like this.

“Aww baby girl, you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me and Joe don’t you? We’d fall apart without you beautiful” he said in a smooth rumble, peppering kisses across your cheeks and down your neck. 

It wasn’t fair that he could just tease you with a version of him that adored you. A version that you enjoyed even if you didn’t really think it was real. Sure there had been a maybe ‘I love you’ years ago after all that sexual tension broke and he seemed to be happy enough, but you could only imagine that if he ever knew how you felt about him he would run. The last 3 years you had fought at every turn to protect your heart, but you had stopped denying at least to yourself that it was pathetically his now.  

“Don’t do that.”

“You don’t want praise and kisses?”

He raised an eyebrow and tried to hide a small smile. You loved praised and kisses, he knew that because in the bedroom he could use that to turn you into a pile of obedient princess who did whatever he said if it would earn you his adulation. But it was just sex wasn’t it? 

“I don’t want you to pretend.”

He was confused by that and you wanted to sink into the floor to avoid this conversation. You had been avoiding it for a while now. 

“I… fuck. Simon, I don’t- it’s not just sex to me” you choked out, not sure how to put it into words without straight out admitting that you were hopelessly in love with him and wanted him in you and J’s lives permanently. 

“Christ, you pretty little idiot” he growled, grabbing your face roughly in his hands. “I love you. I am in love with you. I’m not Johnny, I don’t do big romantic gestures. I’m not the kind of man to tell you all the time how I feel. I’m the kind of man who is a selfish bastard because I don’t give a fuck if you deserve someone who does. You are mine. You have been for years. Do you understand me?”

You could only blink wide-eyed as your brain tried to catch up with the whole world restarting itself after the shock.  

“Do you understand me?” he snapped. 

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl… wanna get married?”

You stuttered out an outraged shout, feeling the tears that had been building drying up at the audacity of this man. 

“Johnny took me to the cabin. He made me a replica of the first dinner we had together and set the table outside during the sunset. He organised for fireworks!”

“Told you I don’t do romantic gestures.”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine, let’s get married Casper. You’re the fucking worst.”

“Don’t I know it princess. I’m not wearing a tie.”

“Then I’m not wearing a dress.”

“Yes you bloody well are!”

“Wanna bet?!”

-

He did not wear a tie, but Joey did. Your dress was beautiful. Gaz officiated your wedding for the second time. Price said there was an emergency so he couldn’t make it - you weren’t really sure you believed him.

-

As you cleared up after the whirlwind that was breakfast in a house with a 9 year old late for school, you sighed and stuck on a heat patch. You were starting to wonder if being off birth control was maybe a little pointless because in the past 18 months it had only reminded you how much you hated periods after years of them being gone as a useful side effect.

It had been something you were speaking about since you got married. You had always wanted more kids. Simon had never even expected he’d have one. You were terrified of a repeat of your first pregnancy, he was terrified that his genes were poisonous. You had enough money with his hefty pay and your small business (you had started it up soon after Joey had started nursery and you got a lot of orders for events, birthdays and weddings for sets of biscuits. You imagined wherever Johnny was he was howling with laughter that you had turned into a home baker after all the kitchen disasters he had seen). 

In the end it had been Joseph who made the decision. One shrugged mention of how he thought it’d be nice to have a little sibling and that was that. There was not one thing in the whole wide world you and Simon would not give him if it was in your power. Although you were starting to think it wasn’t in your power at all. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t have an active sex life and in honesty it had only gotten more active from the breeding kink Simon had uncovered as soon as it was a possibility. But it just hadn’t happened. 

You wondered if it was better that it hadn’t, at least until Joey was 10. That was when you had agreed you would tell him everything. On advice of a psychologist you had told him that Simon wasn’t his biological father very early on, as early as he could understand the concept, although stressed he was still his dad. The only thing you mentioned about his biological father was that he had died even though that was very much against the psychologists advice, she had said to tell him everything about Johnny.

But in 4 months he would turn 10 and he knew that you would answer his questions then. It was shitty of the two of you really, to hide Johnny until now. Joey’s grandmother still saw him, but she never talked about her son or who he was. It was cowardice. Simon had been speaking with a therapist for years about how to let go of the idea that Johnny died because he couldn’t save him. You felt ill at the idea of your son knowing you had married his dead father’s best friend. Both of you were so scared of Johnny’s ghost that you kept him from his son for nearly a decade. 

Well sort of. Joey knew who Johnny was, just not that he was his father. There were photos of him in the house. Whenever Gaz, Price and their partner (that had been a whole drama, but you were happy the three of them finally worked it out) were around, sometimes they would reminisce about him. Well Gaz and Simon did, Price would just look pained and excuse himself to get a drink.

You could only hope that Joey wouldn’t hate you, but then he was such a great kid. A little wild, but incredibly kind and empathetic beyond his years. He had Johnny’s eyes. You thought that he’d understand when you explained it all. Maybe he’d yell at you for thinking he would blame you for falling in love with his dad, but he’d understand. 

You focused on cleaning up and getting the kitchen back clean and cosy how you liked it, deciding not to borrow worries from the future.

–

Price had told him to settle his arse down in the base and let him travel down and talk to him before he went anywhere. Johnny ignored him. He had just saved the fucking world, there was not one thing that was going to keep him from his wife and child one second longer.

He had debriefed already, been medically cleared to leave. He knew the paperwork was going to be horrendous given that he was legally dead, but frankly he’d leave it for the intelligence agencies to deal with given how much of a big bloody favour he had just done them. He got your address off of them given that Price hadn’t given it to him, just telling him to wait until he got there. Fuck that.

It didn’t take too long to get himself there. It was oddly comforting hearing all the English accents after a decade of hearing almost entirely Russian even if he’d be moving your pretty arse back North of the border as soon as he could. Not a chance was his family living in Carlisle. He wondered why you would move that far from the Highlands where his family was. You had always been no contact with your own family, maybe you had reconciled with them and moved to be closer? 

He would find out. Whatever it was he’d support you. God he loved you, he had missed you so fucking much. He had imagined the reunion for years, thought of your smile and your laugh when he needed to remind himself what he was fighting for, thought of your soft skin and tight pussy when he needed to relieve some tension with his right hand. Whenever he sent up a prayer in the prospect of death, it was for you that he prayed he would survive.

He thought of how he’d hold you for days when he got back. He knew you would have raised a wonderful son and he could not wait to meet the person he had become. He’d hold him as well, spend days cuddled up and watching movies with his family. 

And then he’d take you to the cabin and lose himself in your body. Fuck it was strange to think he’d have to consider it wasn’t just you two anymore. He didn’t want to lose any time with his son, but he needed alone time with you as well. He’d work it out. 

The house was nice, sort of quaint with the pretty flowers both real and painted on the door. It hurt knowing if he hadn’t been away you’d have something bigger. You would have had to for a growing family. 

He wished he had stopped and gotten a change of clothes and a haircut. He was in military issued sweats and a hoodie and his hair had grown out to curl around his ears. He really should have shaved as well, a task he hadn’t had time for in the chaos of the last few months. But fuck it, he was here and he couldn’t wait. 

It was almost like an out of body experience knocking on the door, knowing he was seconds away from you. He should have realised that there was another person around who could answer the door, but he hadn’t been thinking. The Joseph he knew was a tiny baby, not a bright eyed kid with a toothy grin in a football strip (a bloody Man U strip at that, Johnny just knew his uncle Simon would have had a hand in that and it made him grin knowing his best friend was still in his son’s life).

“Ye got big!” he belted, excited beyond proper introductions at seeing his son. 

The kid furrowed his brows for a moment before he brightened with recognition. Johnny assumed now was about the time for crying and yelling and hugging. He was unprepared for the alternative. 

“I know you! You’re dad’s Sergeant! I thought you died.”

His heart lurched, putting the dots together well before his brain could. 

“Joe hurry it up! We’ll miss kick-off!”

Johnny knew that voice. It was not yours. 

“I’m ready!”

“You better be! Right, who’s at the door then?”

The voice got closer and even though he wanted to run Johnny was rooted to the spot. It felt like the next 10 seconds as the footsteps and voice came closer was hours. The door swung wider open as a hand pulled on it from behind and then he was looking into the eyes of Simon Riley. The silence was deafening until Johnny broke it.

“What the fuck did you do Si!”

[aequorin-fr]

About Account Closures, Banxiety, etc

Good morning, Flight Rising Tumblr!

I posted a reblog not that long ago (this morning) responding to banxiety concerns. It appears to have been eaten by Tumblr, which happens; but I know a lot of you are concerned and there's a lot of misinformation and misunderstandings flying about. So I'm going to go ahead and repost this directly to the tags so anyone with concerns or anxiety can see this <3 (06:47 Flight Rising server time: Title edited to be clearer.)

—————

Oh dear, there's been quite a misunderstanding. What you've described here isn't true and likely to send our players into a banxiety panic. I'm sure that's not what you meant to do and I'm happy to clarify where I can!

We're fully aware people can change physical locations throughout the day which means their IPs will change. Some folks play or check in from home, school, work, a friend's house, etc. That means their account will log multiple IP addresses on any given day, sometimes within a thirty minute period.

Example: Player accesses on their school network —> School lets out —> They access via mobile data on transit —> Player then logs in on their home network

Closing accounts for having multiple IP addresses associated with them—especially in the mobile era!—would be wrong. And, frankly, absurd.

Account closures are based on activity data and reviewed by staff. Do we always get it 100% right? No, of course not. We're human. We make mistakes. Sometimes we do close an account in error and upon review, reopen the account. And sometimes it even means an account we're almost certain is cheating stays open a bit longer, because of that chance we're wrong.

Unless by "moving stuff over" you mean funneling to a new account, because our Terms of Use are clear that players agree to register only one account per individual. Multiple accounts provide a player not only with multiple opportunities for dailies and Roundsey, but access to various Flight Forums (including private Flight Dominance planning!) not just their original Flight, ways around our block feature, and the means to scam players during trades, giveaways, etc. The above ranges from cheating and gaining an advantage over others to outright harassment.

Now, there is also friend and family member funneling, where someone stops playing for themselves and just starts sending the earnings from their dailies or festivals to their friend or family member. That's still cheating and we've been clear about that for some time now.

Finally, we don't discuss account actions with third-parties and we don't discuss them publicly for privacy, security, and safety reasons. Even when the player who lost their account takes to the forums or social media with claims that are untrue, exaggerated, or minimize/downplay the violation that lead to the closure of their account. Unless they've taken the extra step to alter a screenshot as "proof" we said or did something we didn't do, we can't engage with their claims. This means the community will only see one side of the story, one version of events.

And as a note for anyone following along and concerned about their account, we do have an article in our Knowledge Base that explains account penalties: Account Penalties Explained.

I hope this helps clarify the confusion and concerns surrounding account closures! You don't have to worry about logging multiple IPs, moving, playing with your friends or family, etc. <3

[thankspete]

Reunion | dob

Word Count: 4.6k Rating: M Summary: Doesn't matter how long you've waited for it; it's always worth it. | Also on Ao3! Warnings: (the usual, minors dni etc) praise, oral (m+f receiving), unprotected sex (+creampie), marking??, pretty boy is always in charge <3, overstimulation, brief somnophilia + masturbation mentions, they're so in love, no use of y/n as always A/N: this is my belated x(xx)mas gift to u. mwah ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

You couldn’t blame anyone but yourself, not really.

It was always like this. Maybe it would’ve worked if your back was flat against your mattress, in solitude at eleven at night. You always fell asleep, so content, within minutes. But succumbing to your desires, utilizing your free will to make yourself tremble and squirm during the daylight hours of three in the afternoon while he’s out there, so sexy and so unaware… it was over as soon as you turned the faucet to hot.

There was nothing like cumming in the shower; maybe it was the adrenaline of holding yourself upright at the risk of shattering the glass door or maybe it was the rough pulse setting of your showerhead. Who knows.

There couldn’t have been a better–more scorching–late spring afternoon after days of uncharacteristic gloom. Your late-morning was spent lounging by the pool, grazing on cubed pineapple and hiding greedy looks at Dylan’s body behind your sunglasses. It’d been nearly a week since you’d last had him; he was fresh off a red-eye from his sibling’s birthday celebrations on the east coast. The early flight, coupled with Tommy’s insistence on taking him to a show at a bar in the East Village last night, meant he was schlubbing around all day, falling in and out of a day-long nap. You could admit it was cute when he dozed off on the lounge chair, cap brim low on his face and chin on his chest, but it reached a breaking point when you were sprawled on the couch together, his large hand cupping your breast and a soft snore in your ear. His grip was loose, allowing you to slide easily from his arms, slink to your room, and grab your bathrobe.

Your skin felt warm when you stepped onto the cool tile, still deciding between waiting it out and dealing with the thud in your cunt. You stood beneath the stream, feeling the hot water funnel into the main line as the shower temperature quickly rose from frigid to steaming. You were focused at first, fingers diligently massaging shampoo into your scalp, but they roamed a little further while you scrubbed your torso. With a sigh, you reached for the chrome showerhead and twisted to change the water pressure. It’s quick, you thought. He’d likely still be asleep by the time you left the bathroom, so gorgeous but so unavailable. 

And it was quick, but it also left your knees rattling and head spinning from the thick, waterlogged air. Tiny shockwaves are still traveling up your body when you step out onto the plush bath mat, intensifying as the cold bathroom air rushes past your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. A tiny whine escapes your lips as you shimmy into your fleece bathrobe and wrap a towel around your head. Looking at yourself in the mirror is a struggle of its own, a visible warmth spread across your face and a well-bitten bottom lip alerting you to the levels of your own arousal. You grunt when you step away, attempting to designate your urges to after dinner, and instead thinking about if you need to take anything out of the freezer to defrost. 

“Hi,” Dylan’s soft greeting is a surprise when you step out of the bathroom into your shared bedroom. He’s lying on his side, head resting on his elongated arm and phone screen-down on the bed. His eyes look tired, but his silhouette glows in the light from the window. Dark green sweatpants hang low on his hips, exposing the elastic of his underwear. 

“Hi.” You hang your hair towel up behind the bathroom door and begin to walk towards him. “Looking for me?”

“Mmhm.” You twirl a lock of his chestnut hair around your pointer finger, enjoying the length before he inevitably buzzes it all off. “S’boring out there, every episode of Curb is the same.”

“Yeah?” He shifts, sitting up to swing his legs over the side of the bed and face you. “You know what happened during the episodes you were asleep for?” Your hand is in his and he pulls it to rest on his cheek. 

“Yeah.” He smiles up at you. “Larry David acts like an asshole, gets what he deserves, goofy end credits song, repeat.” You refrain from rolling your eyes as you settle into his lap, your knees on either side of his body.

“Hm. You’re right,” you mumble between pressing kisses into the scratchy skin of his cheek. One of his hands settles comfortably on your lower back. “That’s it? You came to find me because you were bored?”

“I missed you.” Dylan’s free hand travels up your thigh until he is forearm-deep beneath your robe. “Woke up an’ you were gone.” The water droplets on your skin provide no retaliation to his hot breath on your neck. Something about it makes you want to curve your spine to press your chest to his. Would he feel the rattle behind your breastbone? Could he feel the heat from between your legs, so deftly pressed against the lump in the front of his sweatpants? “Had a dream about you.”

You’re certain now you’re both on the same page, but you pull back and narrow your eyes at him anyway. “Just now?” He narrows his eyes right back at you, a playful smile teasing the corners of his lips. His eyes are a decadent shade of brown as they gaze sleepily into yours. 

“Maybe it’s been recurrent.” He shrugs as if he has no clue what you’re talking about, but you catch a glint of mischief in his look. His hands are moving now, one groping your outer thigh and the other fiddling with the fabric rope keeping your bathrobe tied shut. 

You almost fall into him at that moment. The flood between your legs only feels more and more apparent since you’d hooked the shower head to its mount and twisted the faucet tightly to the left. Instead of finding comfort against his mouth or alerting him to the wet spot you’re leaving in his lap, you blurt out, “You wanna tell me about it?”

“Would rather show you.” His lips lock onto yours, arms pressing your body into his, molding yourself around him. He’s diligent and in control, mouth firm and domineering against yours. His tongue is soft and wetter than yours, with access to it allowing you to taste a hint of sweetness and tobacco. His hands roam dutifully across the hems of your garment, pushing the fabric off your shoulder and loosening the belt around your waist. Dylan’s back falls to the bed, tugging you down with him. Your robe is splayed open now, caught on your shoulders and thighs. His mouth disconnects from yours to watch you, properly feel you softly grinding yourself against him. It’s almost enough to make you self conscious, but his gaze is always so soft when you’re at your most vulnerable. He doesn’t haphazardly grasp at your body as you lean over him; his hands are deliberately placed on your upper thighs, ghosting feather-light circles into your skin. The sensation makes you slightly ticklish, immediately sending electricity up your spine and goosebumps rippling across your skin. How he knew that would get your nipples pointed and directly in front of his face, you’d never know. You’re not being watched by Dylan, you’re being seen. “You like using me, huh angel?” It’s posed as a question, but you don’t need to answer. You just press your hands to his stomach, your center to the firm bulge in his pants. “Mine,” he says quietly to himself, greedily holding you by your hips and guiding your movements. It’s not enough, but you can feel a pool slowly form in your lower stomach as he works your cunt against his increasingly hard cock. His hips press harder into yours as he moves, fucking into you. You surrender control over your core to him entirely, letting him scrape his clothed cock into your swollen center, twitching when he’d move just right. Your nails leave crescent shaped marks as you hold tightly to his sides. You’re trembling, soft sighs escaping your lips with each swipe of his hips. “Is this really how you wanna cum, sweetheart? Like you’re a teenager again, can’t control yourself?” The condescension dripping from his tongue is almost enough to send you over the edge right then and there. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” You whimper pitifully as he halts your movements and pushes you onto your back. 

“Thought you’d take it as a compliment if I came on your pants.” Your breathing is shallow, eyes watching the way he leans over you, caging you onto the bed with his body.

“Mm.” Dylan’s thinking about it, even if he’s pretending to be preoccupied with touching you. The shift in his eye contact and slight bob in his throat is what gives him away. “Yeah… I have some other ideas, though.” He absentmindedly traces up your stomach, under your breasts, to your collarbone. “My dream, remember?” His tired eyes shine as they look down at you. He is deliberate in his touches, your skin sensitive and lower abdomen incredibly keyed-up. 

“I’ve been so good,” you pant, letting your hands roam across the firmness of his chest to his shoulders, then his triceps. “Missed you.”

“I believe it,” he says off-handedly, too busy determining whether to attack your collarbone with his tongue or his teeth. “Thank you for picking me up from the airport this morning.” The sentence comes out muffled; he chose teeth. 

“You’re so welcome,” you sigh. “But that’s not what I meant.” You hook your right knee around his thigh and he holds it in place. “You’ve been so busy snoozin’... I’m feeling a little neglected.” He licks his lips as he stares down at you. You’re looking up at him from beneath your lashes, seemingly too bashful for what stumbles from your mouth next. “Maybe it’s unfair, but I was hoping you’d fuck me when we got home this morning.” His eyes, calculating and a remarkably burnt umber color, remain steady as they bore into yours. He’s always so much better at this than you are. “Maybe in front of the mirror by the entryway.” You swallow. Your voice is small, mind distant with nothing but his body keeping you grounded in reality. “Or against the front door.” You guide his hand down your stomach, over your stubbly pubic mound to the dampness that has been accumulating for what feels like hours. It probably has been hours. His eyebrows shoot up. It was only seven in the morning when you’d gotten back, the golden warmth of sunrise peeking through the ornate crystal gaps in your wooden front door. Dylan looked beautiful in the light, especially with a duffel over his shoulder and raccoon circles around his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You feel yourself falling into your favorite dynamic as your senses become overloaded with him. Dylan is bigger than you’d think from afar, experiencing no issue trapping you between his arms and beneath his body; his gentle breathing, smelling faintly of spearmint and American Spirits, fans over your skin. He’s looking at you like you’re dinner, but something in his eyes tells you he’s going to savor it. “You’ve been so patient, haven’t you?” The hand you placed over your cunt is lazily spreading your pleasure between your folds, brushing past your clit and occasionally circling your trembling hole at excruciating intervals. His other hand travels everywhere, brushing wet hair from your face to ghosting around your neck and gently caressing your breasts. “All day, bet you were soaked for me the whole time, my good girl.” Your eyes roll back and you feel your chest cave in with your breath. “You could’ve said something, y’know.” It comes out almost like a purr and electricity zips up your spine.

“If you hadn’t passed out every fifteen minutes,” you bite. He pinches your nipple sharply between his pointer finger and thumb in response to your attitude, resulting in a yelp escaping your throat. Luckily, it’s the only punishment you get.

“Baby, you know what you want is always alright with me.” You swallow as you watch him intently, your eyes flickering between his eyes and lips, unsure of his next move. “You know how incredible it would’ve been,” he pauses his movements between your legs and shifts his arms to the sides of your head before continuing, “seeing you needing me, in my sleep, taking me like I know you can… to wake up to you messy, doe-eyed, and gagging all over me?” Your face is hot, you’re sweating, and you’re squirming under his firm gaze. “You’d like that too, huh? Be honest, my love. You trust me, don’t you?” His voice is satiny to your ears. Your vision is blurred by pure adrenaline and adoration. The dryness in your mouth prevents speech, but you nod weakly, ready to succumb to whatever he wants to do. “Say it.” His fingers press into your cheeks and puff your lips forward. “You’ll get anything you want as long as you keep talking, keep telling me how much you want it.” His hand rests gently on your mound, feeling like a promise.

“Yes.” It’s hoarse, but it’s there. “Yes, please.”

“I want to hear you, okay? I know you love it, angel, but I need to hear how good I can  make my pretty girl feel.” His voice falls to a whisper. “You don’t know how hard it is to be away from you.” Dylan is always like this after returning from a trip, thoughts jumbled from lustfully depraved and tenderly sweet, fighting urges that exist somewhere in between. “No one is like you…” He loses himself in the kisses he’s pressing to your shoulder, your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “No one can make me feel the way you do.” His hands move sporadically across your torso, grasping at your skin haphazardly. “Not in this lifetime, anyway.” 

You whine at his touch and words, head spinning but wholly devoted to him. “I love you.” It comes out quietly, a pledge kept solely between you two. A layer of static feels like it is embedded into the top layer of your skin. His fingers are gentle and precise; his pointer and middle finger nestle themselves comfortably around your clit, squeezing occasionally as he moves his fingers vertically. There’s no chance you’ll last under these conditions and there’s no way he doesn’t know it. You’re not in control of your movements against his fingers; you’d be embarrassed by the arhythmic pace of your hips, but you’re too honed in to his touch to care. You’re not even sure what you’re doing, but you know his eyes are illuminated by the light from the window and the look he’s giving you is all-consuming. You also know it feels good. “Dylan,” you whisper. You move your hands from his neck to his shoulder and bicep; he may like being scratched and squeezed, but it doesn't mean he wants a punctured jugular. “I don’t think–” A soft gasp bubbles up your throat. The sheer consistent repetitive movement of his fingers are  increasingly enough. 

“It’s okay… it’s okay.” Dylan’s mouth covers yours, almost overwhelmingly. His breath is hot as it mingles with yours, your tongue desperately needy in his mouth. The knee hooked around his thigh shifts to rest on his lower back. Your hand slides from his bicep, down the front of his chest rather clumsily until it reaches the elastic of his sweatpants. A frustrated rumble emanates from your chest. You’re surprised he’s had the self control to keep them on this long, especially given the tent he was pitching. Your hand breaches the drawstring, fingers dipping past the elastic of his underwear.  “You wan’ me to feel you, sweetheart?” He nips at your bottom lip, already so raw you taste a metallic warmth slowly dripping  into your mouth as soon as his teeth make contact. Something about the action and the sharp, but sweet flavor on your tongue feels carnal, your mind sinking to its most feral form. Your fingers dip entirely into his tight boxers, thumb spreading the stickiness from his slit to the bottom of his head. His hips jerk slightly to your touch and your second hand slinks to palm the hot girth in his pants. “Always so considerate, my girl’s always thinking of me.” You nod, out of breath and drunk on the feeling of his middle finger being smoothly inserted into your slick. When he’s successfully knuckle deep, he pulls out and reinserts, adding his pointer finger. You can’t control the sounds that leak from your mouth when he licks at the droplets of blood that have re-emerged from the cracks in your lips. “It’s okay, baby, don’t worry. Let go for me.” He taps his thumb on your bud and you grip tightly to his fingers. You feel ragged, tired from both incessantly thinking about being your boyfriend’s little fuck doll and actually following through on your shared desire. The pool in your lower stomach has only been expanding, tendrils of pleasure seeping up your back, through your limbs. There’s no way to hold on, not with his voice in your ear and his fingers in your cunt.  “Promise next time it’ll be around my cock, but I need you to come now.” With a final flick at your clit, at his instruction, the dam breaks. Your hips flick forward, back arching to press your stomach firmly into him. The trembling in your thighs feels like it rocks through your whole body. His fingers fuck you through it, the squelching noises almost embarrassingly sinful. You’re leaking as Dylan pulls his fingers out from your center, coated in your own creaminess. He presses them into your mouth, watching intently as you circle them with your tongue. He seems satisfied by your method, pulling the fingers out and replacing them with a quick peck. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, brushing against his with each breath. “My girl,” he breathes. “My girl, my good girl.” His thumb gently caresses the upper part of your cheek.. “I love you. You’re gonna give it to me again, sweetheart.”

“Off,” you mumble as your hands shakily tug at his underwear. He assists, shooing your hands away to swiftly remove himself of his garments. You use the shift in his weight and attention to your advantage, pushing Dylan onto his back. He’s gorgeous–looking angelically warm in the afternoon light and body hair deliciously untrimmed. You swallow the saliva that floods your mouth as your vision hones in on the twitching, sticky cock resting on his stomach. It’s pure instinct, the way you lean over his lower half, tongue readily lubricating his tip. You pump your spit down his shaft until you’re able to get the first four inches into your mouth.

“I don’t think this was part of my dream, pretty girl.” His verbal attempt at protest is weak while his hand is firmly in your still-damp hair, steadying your head to take him further. In response, you reshift your tongue’s focus to his head, while your saliva-coated hands tug at the base of his cock and balls. 

“It’s not a dream of yours to get head from me?” You look up at him for only a few seconds, caught in his lidded yet bemused gaze, before redirecting your attention back to your favorite plaything. 

“Definitely not what I meant. You’re…” He trails off and pulls your head up by your hair. His hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping spit off your chin. “Come here. Would rather finish inside of you.” There’s nothing he can say that you won’t agree to. Especially not the most fulfilling way of feeling his. You clamber up his torso and he sits up to meet you in the middle. You unceremoniously fist his dick, swiping his head through your folds and beginning to press it into your core. From your perspective, playtime is over; no need to drag it out further when it’s already been a week without each other. “Eht–! Tsk.” His hand is on your throat, lifting you slightly as he pulls his head out from your quivering hole. It falls onto his stomach with a wet, heavy thud. “Let me.” Your jaw is slack, breath whizzing past your lips as your pussy clenches at the loss of his stretch. He lets go of your neck, moving his hand down to the hollow of your collarbone. Gently, he pushes your shoulder, body falling backwards onto the bed. He towers over you, perfectly silhouetted in front of the window. He pauses after placing his hands on your inner thighs and spreading you, one knee perpendicular to your crotch and the other pulled up by your shoulder. His fingers glide across the smooth skin of your inner thighs without purpose.

You jokingly rasp, “Won’t let me be in charge, but you haven’t decided what you’re gonna do to me?” He shifts his gaze from your little box, gaping and thumping for him, and narrows his eyes at you.

“Debating if I’m gonna break my promise or not.” Your heart nearly stops.

“What do you mean?” The fingers on your left hand tangle with his as you stare, wide eyed at his pretty, stubbly face. There’s no possibility he wouldn’t finish the job, not by now. He crouches further down the bed, head nearly resting on your lower stomach.

“You think you can handle three today for me, sweetheart?” Oh. His face is so close, you can feel his cool breathing against your warm dampness. You swallow the saliva that has built up in your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’ll get to it eventually, I swear.” His fingers spread you open and he leaves a soft kiss on your clit. “Jus’ missed you. Please?”

“Yes,” you breathe. He wastes no time pressing his flat tongue along the entirety of your slick. “Whatever you want.” 

He groans in protest, the vibrations making you gasp. “Whatever you want.” Your hands find his hair, a little oily and just long enough that he looks ruggedly sexy when his beard is grown out. He’s going for the gold, suckling and circling your clit directly with his tongue, well aware that you’re sensitive enough to flood his mouth in under a minute if he plays his cards right. It’s an ego thing for him, knowing exactly how to take care of you. He’s certain no one could make you fall apart the way he can and today he would prove it to himself again. Prove it to you. “You’ve been so lonely without me, huh?” His tongue flicks slow down, but the pressure against your slit increases. “How many nights did you go to bed thinking the time difference fucked you over? Did you think of me when you couldn’t get me on the phone?”

“Dylan.” A wringing motion comes from deep inside of your gut, alerting you to your incoming orgasm.

“Answer me.” His stern voice cuts through the air and reverberates against your cunt. “I know your fingers aren’t enough. Were you left unsatisfied without me here to make you feel good?”

“Yes,” you pant. “I need you. All I can do is think about you when you’re gone. Please keep going, I need you.” He places his thumb right above your clit and pulls to stretch it upwards. With one final thick swipe of his tongue, he has your eyes rolling and fingers pulling his hair. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, pressing his face further into your flooding core as your hand holds him exactly where it feels best. He’s literally moaning into you as he laps you up, occasionally praising your receptiveness and taste. When you let go of his hair and begin to jerk your hips away from his face, he pulls away.

“Good?” He sits up and wipes his mouth on his forearm. You nod weakly, hands wobbly as you attempt to touch his knees. You’re pounding and leaking still, limbs incredibly heavy. With no hesitation, he presses his cock into your weary little hole, messy and slick from your cum and his spit. All of the air rushes from your lungs when he bottoms out. 

“S-so sensitive, Dyl,” you whine. 

“One more for me. You want it, don’t you?” You tighten around him as he pulls out and slowly presses back in. “Breathe. I’ll take you through it.” He reaches a comfortable pace, fast enough to override the overstimulated numbness but not painful in its force. Each deep thrust scrapes his pubic bone against your button, making you feel like you’re glitching in and out of existence.The pillow to your left disappears and, while still inside of you, Dylan lifts your hips to place it beneath you. You’re wide open for him now, hips tilted up as he changes his angle and begins to slap himself into you. “So good for me, taking me so well. You’re tired aren’t you, baby? Waitin’ on me all day…” Your noises only get louder as he pokes the fleshy roof of your cunt. “We’re almost done,” he coos. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you hiccup. You’re holding onto his forearms, still trembling. “Please, faster. I need it but it feels, I feel so–”

“Okay, honey. Just trust me, alright?” Dylan’s lips purse and a glob of saliva falls from his lips to where your bodies meet. He uses a finger to spread it around, then holds your hips by the curvature of your lower back. He grinds you against him with each full-length thrust, his spit messily coating your point of contact. He doesn’t even pull out anymore, just pushing himself as deeply as possible inside of you. Your ankles link together behind his back, pressing him so deep you can feel a tingly pressure next to your cervix. It almost hurts, the feeling shooting between your pussy and your brain. He spits again, harder this time, directly onto your clit. The pace of his hips combined with a quick pinch of his fingers sends you over the edge without warning. Your final orgasm rips a small cry from deep in your chest, whole body vibrating as you clench around the hot girth inside of you. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, your body feeling tight and loose at the same time, alive and dead. In purgatory, maybe. “Fuck.” He grunts and presses himself as deeply as he can, spurting hot stickiness as your orgasm milks him. “‘It’s like you were made for me, swear to God.” Your body relaxes as he claims you, filling you to satisfaction. He pumps into you a few times, coating your inner and outer cunt with his essence. His body covers yours completely, kissing you as he continues to lazily thrust. Your hands roam his back, arms, and hair as he continues to purposelessly move inside of you. It’s hard to take a deep breath; you’re still trying to address the trembling in your limbs and stretch in your core. 

“Missed you.” It’s all you can muster. Your brain and body are composed of nothing but mush and Dylan.

“Missed you.” He’s smiling, eyes shining happily as they look at your weary face.

“Can we cuddle?” He nods and almost laughs, pressing a final kiss to your cheek. The air feels cold against you when he sits up and pulls out.

“Stay right there, gonna get a towel.” He squeezes your hand as he stands from the bed. You watch him saunter towards the bathroom and your eyes snap all the way open when he grabs the towel you’d been using for your hair.

“Dylan–!”

ermmm anyway so. ty for reading <3 as always, i'll love u forever if u like, rb, and/or lmk what u think :) (this is a sideblog so i cant respond to replies but i see them and ily)

[iveleftitwithyou]

ruderal pt. 3 | paul lahote x reader

hey all! sorry for the delay on this, i've honestly just been so busy reading other people's fanfictions that i haven't found time to write! but i know work will be busy this week so wanted to get this out, even if it's shorter than intended. love u guys!

word count: 1.1k

warnings: slight angst, swearing

you hated that you spent all night wrapped up in Paul’s shirt again. you hated that you couldn’t stop staring at your phone, silently begging it to light up with his old contact photo. 

of course, it never did.

after a restless night of drifting in and out of consciousness, your phone buzzed on your nightstand, ringing loudly. your heart jumped before you realized it was just your alarm signaling it was time to get up for work, entirely too early, in your opinion. you’d taken a gap year between high school and college, working as a barista at the local coffee shop, lucky that your father was fine with you continuing to live under his roof while you figured out what you wanted to do with your life.

you groaned as you let your feet hit the carpet, stretching as you begrudgingly began your day. the floorboards creaked underneath your steps as you made your way to your dresser and pulled out the same uniform you wore five days a week. 

the hot water of the shower. the soft towel on your skin. the cold water on your toothbrush. the hairbrush running through your hair. the mascara brush on your eyelashes. all of these familiar sensations did nothing to slow your racing mind. 

why couldn’t you get him out of your head? why did he have to insert himself back into your life?

the engine of your old Honda sputtered to life. the familiar whines and vibrations of the vehicle were comforting. you turned up the radio to drown them out anyway.

after a few minutes of driving on autopilot, the coffee shop was in front of you. you made eye contact with yourself in the rearview mirror, took a deep breath, and flung open the car door to start your shift.

it was a normal Thursday shift. you opened the store as you always did, prepping the different areas for the day. generally, Thursdays were very slow in the morning, so it was no big deal you’d be here by yourself. your copy of The Great Gatsby was on the counter by the register, waiting to keep you company in the dull moments. 

of course, you took the few minutes you had left after getting everything prepped to make yourself your first drink of the day. working in a coffee shop had its perks, like free coffee, but the caffeine addiction you’d developed wasn’t one of them.

the first customer of the day came in shortly after you unlocked the door. it was Chief Swan, on his way to his shift at the station. he was a regular, and you appreciated the simplicity of his order.

“good morning, Chief, your usual?” you sing-songed, putting on the customer-service voice that was second nature to you at this point. 

“you know it, kid.” he’d grown pretty fond of you since you started, appreciating the lack of small talk.

there was a comfortable silence as you prepped the Chief’s order - a large black coffee. the pour-over process was tedious to some, but you found it therapeutic. the grinder whirred as it pulverized a small scoop of coffee beans. you placed the plastic funnel on top of the large to-go cup, lining it with a coffee filter and wetting it with hot water. after ejecting the grounds from the machine into a small metal cup, you scooped approximately four tablespoons of grounds into the funnel. after that, you grabbed the small metal teapot-looking vessel and filled it to the marked line with water.

now was the fun part. you poured water from the thin spout on top of the grounds, starting from the middle and working your way around in a spiral pattern until all of the grounds were saturated. the water dripped through the grounds and you waited until there was no more water visibly sitting on top of them before beginning to pour again, in the same spiral pattern. this step was repeated a few times until all of the water was gone and you were left with a full cup of coffee and some spent coffee beans.

“here you go, Chief Swan. that will be two forty-nine.”

he handed you a five. “keep the change, kiddo. get your tip jar started.” he glanced at the empty glass jar in front of the register.

“thanks, Chief. good luck out there.” you mused, flashing him a smile.

“you too, kid.” he didn’t know how much you needed it.

the next few hours drummed by slowly, customers trickling in here and there, some staying to work or read. the constant humming of the espresso machine usually helped muffle your thoughts, but not today. even your book couldn’t distract you - your eyes darted over the same paragraph over and over, mind wandering back to a familiar set of brown eyes staring at you while the waves crashed against the shore.

before you could get too lost in thought, the door chimed, signaling that someone had entered. your eyes darted from the page to the person walking in the door.

“hey, y/n,” he spoke, “i hoped you’d be here.”

“hey, Jacob,” you sighed, not bothering with the customer service voice. the only young people from the reservation that ever came in here were Emily Young and sometimes Seth Clearwater - Paul must have sent Jacob here - let’s test that theory. “what can i get for you?”

“i’m actually just here to talk to you…” he rubbed the back of his neck.

you were right. here it goes.

“listen, i know Paul hurt you, and i don’t blame you for being pissed at him. there’s a lot you don’t know about, though - a lot has changed.” a small smirk played on his face as he said that. 

“like what? he won’t tell me anything.” you deadpanned. you weren’t sure if you could trust Jacob. he was Paul’s friend, after all, and that was enough to be suspicious.

“it’s not my place to say,” a small groan left your throat before you could stop it. “but he’s going to have to tell you eventually. when he decides to, just give him a chance.” 

and who was Jacob to tell you what to do? 

“listen, Jacob. it’s really not your place to be here. i’m not sure if Paul sent you or not, but you can tell him he can either get his head out of his ass and tell me the big secret everyone is dancing around, or he can stop trying to contact me. i’m over this.” the tone was harsher than you intended, and slightly louder too, seeing as there were still other customers in the seating area.

Jacob flinched slightly before regaining his composure. “trust me, y/n. give him a chance.”

with that, the bell rang once again as Jacob swiftly exited the coffee shop.

tags: @vavafaure1994

[eddiexmunsonlover]

One Step Away From You (Chapter 7)

BSF!Eddie Munson x PlusSize!Fem!Reader

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Chapter Summary: You spend some much needed one-on-one time with Max, and celebrate Halloween with the Party. WC: 5.8k Warnings: MDNI as always. Explicit language. Talks about death, grief, trauma, depression, guilt, all the fun stuff. Brief run in with Jason and his lackies. Total idiots in love, mutual pining fest in here. We're helping Max heal this chapter <3 Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, life has been lifing but I hope y'all enjoy it! I had fun writing this one. Taglist: @eddie-is-a-god @siriusmaraudeers

Friday, October 25th, 1985

The cool October night breeze caresses your skin as you step out the doors of Hawkins High, the excited chatter of the club members following behind you. When you hear quick steps approaching behind you, you turn to see Eddie fall in step next to you.

“So remind me again why you’re bailing on me for our only just recently reinstated Friday movie nights?” he questions, feigning offense. You scoff out a small laugh as you dig for your keys in your bag, approaching your truck parked next to his van.

“Because I already told you, I’m taking Max out to the drive-in.”

“Oh yeah, what movie are you gonna see?”

“They’re playing Silver Bullet tonight.”

“Oh man. Yeah, I’ve heard about that one. Looks really good, I’ve been really wanting to see it.” He leans against his van, putting on the dramatics and fake disappointment that you see right through, unable to stop the big smile from creeping onto your face as you watch his little show. 

“Oh is that so?” you tease, popping out your hip as you cross your arms, amusement written across your face.

“Come on. What, you think I’m gonna dampen your girl party?” 

You roll your eyes.

“Under any other circumstances, I’d insist you join along. But Max… she’s already been isolating herself enough as it is, anyone else being there would just close her walls right back up, you know? And I’m trying to bring those walls down so…” 

“Yeah, I get it. I’m only teasing. I hope you guys have a good time. Tell me if the movie's any good, yeah?” He offers you a soft smile, a smile you return that quickly turns into a smirk as you watch the younger boys approaching.

“Uh huh, you too” you respond, gesturing with your eyebrows as you unlock the door to your truck.

Eddie’s eyes follow yours behind him, shoulder’s quickly slumping at the sight and question he already knows is coming.

“Hey uh, you mind giving us a ride home?” you overhear Dustin ask as you start your engine, quickly leaving Eddie to fulfill the drop offs you’ve done countless times since the beginning of the semester.

You turn the knob on your radio through the channels of static till the sound of the opening credits come through your speakers. With a bag of popcorn and slushies set between you, you and Max settle against your clothed truck seats, focusing on the huge screen set out 100 feet away in the big field now filled to the brim with cars full of other teenagers seeking a scary late night flick. 

You let yourselves get pulled into the film, mindlessly funneling popcorn into your mouths between sips of cherry Icees. You find yourself wondering how to spark a deeper conversation with Max. As much as you don’t want to force her to open up, with each week that passes you’ve only grown more worried and concerned for her.

You’ve spent some brief time together since you moved back, giving her a ride here and there given her mom is always working, but this is the first extended time you’ve been able to spend together. As you’re lost in thought, the sound of her throat clearing from the seat next to you grabs your attention.

“Hey, I-uh, just want to say thanks. For bringing me. This is the first time I’ve gone out and done anything in a while, so…” She mutters almost shyly, hesitantly. You offer her a genuine smile that relaxes the tension in her body.

“Anytime, I’m glad you could join me. I’ve missed this, you know, our girl time.” You offer, pulling a smirk and eye roll from her. As your eyes move back to the movie, hers drift to examine your Hellfire shirt.

“Since when are you in Hellfire?” she asks curiously.

“Oh, well since last Friday. Once me and Eddie made up I decided to join.” You answer, shrugging nonchalantly as you look down and admire your new Hellfire shirt Eddie rushed to get made for you.

“Made up?” She prods with an eyebrow cocked.

“It’s a long story.” You answer dismissively as you shake your head, assuming she wouldn’t be interested.

“Oh, so you got to hear all the gossip about my relationship back in the summer but I don’t get to hear about yours?”

Your eyes widen as you look at her with a smirk, caught off-guard by the witty remark you always knew her for but haven’t seen much of in the last few weeks. 

“Eddie and I aren’t in a relationship. We’re just friends, Max.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious!”

“Well, I still wanna know the juicy details of the ‘making up’ you two did.” She insists, crossing her arms across her chest as she settles further into the passenger seat of your truck. 

You scoff out a mix between a laugh and a groan before letting your eyes survey her again.

“There’s no ‘juicy’ details, not that I’d tell you if there was anyway.” You emphasize before continuing, “We just have always been best friends, ever since I first moved to Hawkins. We got close pretty quickly. But then I moved back to Virginia and…”

“And?”

“I um, I stopped talking to him. Stopped returning his calls.” You answer with a sigh, meeting her blue eyes as they begin to reflect a knowing feeling.

“Why?”

“It was just too painful to deal with, to hear his voice, to be reminded of the loss that came with the move. It’s like, being so overcome with that pain that you just avoid everyone, let alone that person that it’s attached to. Sometimes it just feels easier to be alone in your pain.” You end with a shrug despite knowing how true some of that may ring for her too.

She pulls her eyes from you to the sweating cup of slushie in her hands as she nods briefly.

“Yeah, I get that.” Is all she offers in the moment. You let a few seconds pass by before you continue.

“I mean I ended up regretting it but, it was just too easy to get stuck in the pain and then the anxiety, you know. I never spoke to him again till I just moved back. We had some brief hurdles to overcome but, we talked things out and we’ve been able to start our friendship again.”

She nods again, briefly lifting her eyes to meet yours again with a forced smile before turning her gaze to the movie.

“I’m glad you guys worked things out.”

“Yeah, me too.” you mutter softly as you turn your own gaze back to the movie.

Part of you is hoping this is a small step in the right direction. Hoping that Max takes the fact that you can somewhat understand how she’s feeling, what she’s going through as a sign you’re a safe space for her. Someone she can open up to and who will actually understand. 

Opening up about your own experience with Eddie, and your struggle with depression and isolation is your first step, initiating the bigger conversation with Max in a way. So you leave it at that, leaving it to her to decide what she wants to do with it as you attempt to get yourself back into the film you can tell you’ve already lost key information in due to your conversation.

The drive back to Forest Hills is silent besides the sound of the breeze blowing through the cracked windows and your joined hums along to the Kate Bush Hounds of Love cassette playing through the speakers. You pull into your driveway close to 11pm, turning to Max with an almost shy smile as you shift into park. 

“Did you have a good time?” You ask with a hint of nervousness as you search her face and body language. She leans forward in the seat, nodding her head gently.

“Yeah, thanks again.” She reassures you. You remove your keys from the ignition, but stop yourself from opening your door and getting out when you notice her hand hesitating on the door handle.

“Hey, what’s up?” you ask, voice soft. Her body leans back slightly, but her eyes still refuse to lift from the floor of your truck to your eyes.

“What you told me earlier about you and Eddie. I just- I know how you felt.”

“I know, sweetie.” You reply with a sigh, leaning back into your own seat. When her eyes look up to meet yours, you elaborate. “That’s why I told you. So you’d know I understand. I won’t lie and say I completely know everything you’re probably going through, but I do know some of it and... I just hope you know I’m always here, no judgment.”

She takes your words in and lets them settle, staring down at her fidgeting hands as she musters together the courage to let you in, like she had so easily before all summer. But this is different.

“I just… I feel so guilty. I can’t escape that night, that image of Billy, even in my dreams. He-He sacrificed himself for me and I just…watched.” You listen to her intently, giving her the space to say all she wants before you speak up.

“I understand why you feel that way. I still get flashbacks and nightmares of that night sometimes too.”

“You do?” 

“Of course. Living through something like that, it’s gonna stick with us. And that guilt part? That’s normal too, there's even a name for it. Survivor’s guilt. You blame yourself for what happened, maybe you even wish it happened to you instead. But you are not to blame, Max. None of that was your fault.”

“Still, I just stood there and watched, I was frozen. Maybe I could have done something, maybe I could have helped.” She stutters out, pain and frustration sketched across her face. Your heart breaks at the sight, at seeing her carry all the responsibility for what happened on her shoulders, weighing her down for months.

“I hear you. I know it’s frustrating, eating you up. You’re mad at yourself, wishing you could change what happened. Have you ever heard of fight or flight?” When she nods, you keep going. “Well, that’s not all there is to it. Freezing is also a very normal reaction to something traumatic. You didn’t have a choice, your nervous system decided for you.”

She looks at you, wiping a tear as it falls from her eyes.

���Really? You're not just making that up to make me feel better, right?”

You shake your head in reassurance, both taking a deep breath against heavy chests with the weight of the pain.

“I was there with you too, Max. It all happened so fast, even if we hadn’t frozen… there’s nothing we could have done.” 

Flashbacks hit you as you speak, seeing Billy get trapped under falling pillars and rubble from the mall fire, and his instant death from the crushing weight. Rubble that would’ve fallen on Max. 

She reluctantly shakes her head in agreement as you finish, the same memories flashing through her mind, knowing you’re right. Beginning to let herself believe it. Letting you chip away at the weight she’s been carrying, letting herself feel the small relief that comes with it.

“I know you’re right. It’s been hard to try to convince myself of it but… hearing it from you too. It helps. That’s not all of it though… I think about how much I hated him, all the thoughts I had about him. I’d lay in bed at night and wish something bad would happen to him.” She whispers, shame bleeding through her words.

“Max” you breathe out in empathy at her confession, reaching out to grab and squeeze her hand, pulling her attention back to you. “Wanting someone who did nothing but torment you out of your life does not make you a bad person, and it doesn’t make you responsible for what happened to him, either. Billy was not a good person, but everyday I am so grateful he had enough good left in him to save you. Because you are good and you deserve to forgive yourself, hun.”

You pour your heart into every word, staring intently into her blue eyes as tears now freely stream from them and fill your own waterline. You see her breath stuttering in her chest before she throws her arms around you, both quickly closing the space between as you embrace each other.

“You are so loved, Max Mayfield. Don’t you ever forget that.” You mutter out the words you know she needs to hear. You know the dark place the guilt, shame, and trauma have taken her too well. You hold her for a minute until you feel her arms begin to slip from you. As she comes back into your vision, an idea hits you.

“I know something else that might help. Why don’t you write him a letter?” She looks at you in slight confusion, so you push further. “I’m serious! Write him a letter with everything you want to say to him, what you’ve been holding in. Go to his grave and read it out loud like you're actually saying it to him, let it all out. And then, burn it, bury it, I don’t care. As long as you get rid of it in some way. Say what you want to say to him, and then let it go.”

She considers your words for a moment before she nods.

“Yeah, that actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“I’ll even take you, I’ll stay in the truck the whole time too. You just let me know, okay?” You offer, voice soaked in sincerity.

She’s quiet sitting there, lost in thought as she fidgets with her zipper. After a moment, you hear her voice quietly croak out.

“I wish you were my sister.”

It’s a whisper, a nervous confession you could’ve easily missed had all of your attention not already been on her. You greet her with a smile as she chances a look from her hands to your face, wiping the fallen tears on her cheeks with her jacket sleeves.

“We may not be blood, but I’ll be your older sister for as long as you’ll have me.”

When she returns your small smile, you raise your hand in front of you, pinky finger extended. A short giggle at the lighthearted childishness of it escapes her mouth before she wraps her pinky around yours. 

Soft smiles, dried tear stains, and a promise to always be there for her.

Thursday, October 31st, 1985

Halloween Night

You examine yourself in your vanity mirror, fluffing your hair you spent nearly an hour on to make sure it’s perfect. Purple eyeshadow matching your purple dress, sharp winged eyeliner. You smile at yourself, hands following the way your dress accentuates your wide hips before flowing out around your thick thighs. Looking down at your high heels, you wish you’d picked a different character to dress up as, already foreseeing the pain your feet would be in at the end of the night.

With a sigh, one final look over in the mirror, and the clock nearing the time of the scheduled meet-up with your friends, you turn off your lights and close your bedroom door.

“Don’t you look cute!” your mother exclaims as you enter the living room, hands covering her cheeks as she gushes over you. You bashfully roll your eyes but share a big smile with her.

“You like it? It looks good?” You ask with your arms spread out, giving a little twirl.

“You look beautiful, honey. I wish you’d dress like this more often!” You stop yourself from giving a less than bashful eye roll this time, but can’t deny that you feel and look good in this dress. 

“Don’t stay out too late, it’s still a school night!” She gives you a kiss on the cheek as you part, you give her the reassurance you’ll be back before 11 as you head out the front door. 

The sound of your heels clapping against the cement fills the silence of the neighborhood as you begin crossing the road toward Eddie’s trailer. Your head shoots up when you hear a low whistle, eyes landing on Eddie as he sits on his porch steps with a smug grin on his face.

“My, my, my. Look at you.” he mutters, observing you as you approach. The darkness of the night casting a shadow over him to hide the way his eyes rake over your exposed thighs, dress swishing against them with each step. He hasn’t seen you in a dress since you were kids and your mom had more control over your outfit choices. Seeing you now, he thinks it’s one thing he might take your mom’s side on, you need to add more dresses to your wardrobe.

“Yeah, yeah. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“You know what, I think that’s a fantastic idea. Bring a camera?”

“Shut up.” You giggle, slapping him on the shoulder as you stand beside him.

“What?! You look nice. I can’t tell my best friend she looks nice?”

“Whatever you say, Munson. Besides, you know your pants are supposed to be khaki right? Or atleast brown!” You tease as you pull at a loose string around the knee of his ripped black jeans.

“Hey, at least I got the shirt right.” He retorts as he points at his green shirt, literally the only item of clothing he's sporting to mimic his character. 

Both your heads turn at the sound of feet approaching. You smile at the sight of your red-headed younger friend. Ever since that night at the drive-in, that Sunday when you gave her a ride to Billy’s grave, she’s slowly started coming back around the party again, beginning to let everyone back in and you couldn’t be happier. You wrap your arms around her for a quick hug as she joins you and Eddie.

“I’m so happy you came!” you beam, pulling a laugh from her as you move your bodies side to side in the embrace.

“You look good.” She remarks with a quirked eyebrow as you part.

“Thanks, Red.” 

Eddie stands up from the porch steps during your greeting.

“Nice to officially meet you, Mad Max. Who are you supposed to be anyway?” He asks, both of you examining her outfit.

“Dr. Sarah Bowman from Day of the Dead. Already had everything I needed for it in my closet.” She answers with a shrug, gaining a nod of approval from both of you.

“Well, we ready to get this party started?” He asks, dangling the keys to his van from his fingers. 

With that, the three of you load into Eddie’s van and head to pick up the boys before going to the final meeting place of Steve’s house. Steve ensuring all of you his neighborhood is the best trick or treating spot in town. Full of well-off families who give out full-sized candy bars.

When you pull up to the end of Mike’s driveway to pick up the three boys, your eyes widen and mouth drops open in disbelief at the sight of Dustin. While Mike dressed up as the Hulk, Lucas as Indiana Jones, you can't believe your eyes when you see Dustin clad with dog ears, a tail, and collar.

“No fucking way.” you laugh out in disbelief.

“What? You can’t have the gang without Scooby!”

You and Eddie try to bite back your chuckles, shaking your heads at the sight.

“Oh, I can’t wait till Steve sees this.”

“Just get in the van.” Eddie finally gets out between bits of laughter, cheeks turning red.

“See? We’ve even got the Mystery Machine van too, only thing missing was me.”

When Eddie and you share a glance, it only sends you into another bout of laughter as he shifts into drive, rolling out of the neighborhood toward Steve’s.

When Steve’s door opens to reveal him in full Fred get-up, with Robin next to him as Velma you smile brightly, the costumes suiting them both so well.

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me” Steve exhales at the sight of Dustin who only greets him with his ‘pearly whites’.

“I had nothing to do with this” you claim defensively, hands up as you approach Steve and Robin, the latter’s face adorned with a shit-eating grin. When Steve sees it, the hands go on the hips.

“Rob- Seriously?”

“What? What are we just gonna have Shaggy, Daphne, Fred, Velma and no Scooby?”

“That’s what I said!” Dustin interjects in agreement.

“I can’t believe this” he mutters.

“I have to admit, you showed some great ingenuity with the costume, though.” Eddie adds amid Steve’s groans. When his eyebrows shoot up in response, looking at Eddie in disbelief, he retorts. “What? The kid’s creative, what can I say?”

“Thank you” Dustin finishes with a smug smile.

“We all look great, okay? Now, we gonna take these rich folks for all they’ve got or what?” You press, pushing everyone to begin the trek down the streets of Steve’s neighborhood, younger kids taking the lead.

Only a few houses in, the streets are littered with kids and teens in costumes. You talk amongst yourselves, commenting on your favorites and the craftiness of a few of the ones you see.

You’re filled with warmth watching the younger teens walking ahead, watching Max let herself come back out of her shell. You don’t miss the shy glances shared between her and Lucas either, smiling at the sight. While Eddie and Robin are deep in conversation about band, Steve falls in step next to you, sharing your gaze ahead.

“That’s cute” he remarks watching the two. “How did you manage that?”

“I don’t know, just told her what she needed to hear I guess.”

He peeks a glance toward Robin and Eddie before leaning closer to you.

“So, when are you and Eddie finally gonna get your head out of your asses and get together?”

You stagger in your step, taken aback as you look at him like he just spawned a second head.

“What?” Is all you can scoff out.

“Oh come on.” he remarks, hands in his pockets as he saunters down the sidewalk before he leans closer once again, “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

You roll your eyes at him, but the warmth filling your cheeks and smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

“Is it that obvious?” you whisper worriedly.

You two stop at the end of a walkway to a house as the rest of the group goes to the front door.

“Well to me and Robin, yeah. But obviously not to him.” 

You watch as they begin their walk back towards you, admiring the smile on Eddie’s face while amongst conversation with the kids. 

“He doesn’t see me like that. I’m just his best friend.” You decide with a sigh, slightly shaking your head before looking back up to Steve who’s observing you with a sympathetic smile.

“Are you kidding? He’d be crazy not to, you’re a total catch.” he says, playfully bumping your hip with his. 

“Thanks, Stevie.”

Eddie’s smile falters slightly as they approach, catching sight of you and Steve standing there staring and smiling at each other. Being dressed as Fred and Daphne, a couple, doesn’t help either. He doesn’t believe you’d have any reason to lie to him that you don’t like Steve as more than a friend, but as he eyes the way Steve smiles at you, the ping of jealousy in his chest tells him he’s not too sure Steve’s on the same page. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, maybe it’s the way Steve’s playful with you like he is, and Eddie knows the deeper feelings that underlie his own teasing nature with you.

When your breath-taking smile turns to him, those thoughts falter slightly and he can’t help but flash his dimples right back at you.

“You know you’re sharing some of that loot with me, right?” You ask him, bumping his shoulder as he falls in step next to you as you continue your walk through the neighborhood.

“Psh, I’ve worked hard for this. Should’ve brought your own pillowcase and ring some doorbells if you wanted some candy.” He smirks at you, dark eyes glimmering in the night.

“Uh huh, you’re all talk, Munson. We both know by the end of the night half that bag is coming home with me.”

“Hmph, well I suggest you start putting in the work if you want some of this sugar.” 

The thoughts that immediately run through your head from his teasing remark make your cheeks flush and send a jolt right to your core. You squeeze your thighs together as you walk, attempting to push the sensation away. Thoughts and feelings like this about Eddie are reserved for late nights in your room. As much as you tell yourself it’s wrong, it’s getting harder and harder to resist. The way he teases you doesn’t help either.

The slowly intensifying, pounding pain and soreness from your feet in the cramped purple high heels is a welcomed distracting sensation. You groan softly to yourself as you look around and realize you’re only halfway through Steve’s neighborhood. A glance toward Robin’s red sneakers solidifies your decision that you should’ve followed her steps, switching out the character’s heels for much comfier shoes. 

You look around your group of friends and decide to say fuck it and suck it up. It’s your favorite holiday and you’re with your favorite people, you’re gonna enjoy it despite the pain in your feet and unwelcomed bodily sensations Eddie’s words and looks are striking into you.

As you continue through Steve’s neighborhood, joining in the trick or treating activities despite the few sideways glances from homeowners you earn as teenagers asking for candy, you’re reminded of all the things that make Halloween your favorite.

The cool autumn air.

The changing colors of the leaves that have begun to adorn the streets and sidewalks.

The costumes; from scary to funny, store bought to homemade.

The decorations; glowing orange pumpkins with an array of designs carved into them, orange and purple lights hung along the porches, scarecrows and ghosts littered amongst the lawns.

The slasher films waiting to be watched at home while eating the mountain of candy earned from knocking on your neighbors doors.

The way Dustin takes every chance he can get to say “Ruh roh Raggy”, and the way you and Eddie can’t stop yourselves from giggling every single time. 

You breathe it all in, grounding yourself in this shared moment with your friends you’ll never forget, a permanent smile settling in on your face for the night.

A smile that not even Jason and his idiot friends can stop from creasing your round cheeks. You’re so consumed living in the moment that you don’t even notice them until you hear a loud

“Hey!” Both you and Eddie’s heads turn and spot them across the street, but refuse to let your strides falter.

“Look guys, it’s the Freaks Inc. gang!” he booms, buddies bending over in laughter as they watch your group.

“Pfft, what a tool.” Steve remarks with a scoff, shaking his head as he fixes his gaze away from them and forward, unbothered. Grateful to no longer be grouped with people like him.

When you feel yourself begin to bump into the younger boys whose steps have staggered and attention drawn to the insult, you gently nudge them forward. Muttering a “Keep going, I’ve got this.”

You should just ignore them, not even give them the slither of attention or acknowledgement they’re so desperate for, but you just can’t help yourself. Not when an opportunity arises to burst their egotistical bubble. 

Ever since you and Eddie’s altercation with Jason a month ago, him and his friends have generally left the club alone, not directly confronting any of you. Traded insults with his friends when any of you would walk by, sure, but to be fair the threat you gave him only pertained to if he ever put his hands on any of you again. Anything else is fair game, and it’s a game you have no problem playing. 

You quickly eye him and his costume. He-Man. It’s a nice costume too, nearly identical to the show. Easy when you have Daddy’s money to pay for it. 

“Nice He-Man costume, Jason. Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble filling it out though, huh? Tsk, what a shame.” you say sarcastically, feigning a pouty face with a shrug before your smile returns, rolling your eyes at them as you draw your attention back to your friends. Continuing your walk down the street unphased.

You see Eddie staring at you from the corner of your eye. When you look at him, he’s looking down at you in a mix of endearment, pride, and amazement.

“What? He deserves to get knocked down a peg. Should keep his mouth shut next time.”

“Agreed.” Steve declares from the other side of Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a tight side hug as you walk down the street. You let him, resisting the urge to bury your face and body into his side, his warmth, when his grip lightens and falls from your arm.

After another half hour of knocking on doors, you’re nearly done sweeping through Steve’s neighborhood, his house and Eddie’s van coming back into sight as you approach the last couple of houses. If it wasn’t for already going to every house in the neighborhood, the boys' complaints about how heavy their bags have gotten with candy is signaling the end of the night.

You stand with Eddie at the end of the walkways to the last few houses as the rest get the last of the candy for the night. He catches your eye when he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a rolled joint and a lighter. Just before he lights it, your laugh grabs his attention.

“Really, Eddie? In the middle of this uppity neighborhood?”

“What? I’m only being in character.” He laughs out, only to have you meet him with raised brows and a smirk. “Shaggy and Scooby are stoners and that’s a fact. Constantly having the munchies? I mean, HELLO!”

“You’re so dumb” you jest playfully as you resume your slow stride on the sidewalk.

“Well, you know what they say. Birds of a feather flock together.” He breathes out, keeping in step next to you.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh really? How’s about I push your ass down this hill right here?” you tease, gesturing toward the down sloped hill between the houses as you pass.

“Pfft, I’d like to see you try.” he scoffs, playing unphased despite the wide grin on his face.

“Your skinny ass will go flying, right down into that drop off in the woods. Lost forever. Such a tragedy. Some say he's still tumbling to this day.” you sigh dramatically, earning a short but loud laugh from him.

“Uh huh. Well I’m pretty quick on my feet if I do say so myself, and I don’t think you’ll be getting too far in those heels.” he retorts, pointing down to the heels that have made your feet numb at this point.

“Well you see, there’s this concept called taking them off?” You tease, bumping your body against his. “I could outrun you.”

The rest of your friends at the last house on the route are forgotten behind you as you near Steve’s.

“That so?”

“Mhmm.” you state simply, arms crossed against your chest and head held high.

“Say, you still ticklish around… here”

You squeal at the quick flicker of his fingers at the side of your waist, jumping away from him. You take wary steps backward as you move in front of him, hands slightly held out.

“You can outrun me, huh? Wanna test that?” he pushes, creeping closer to you with a mischievous smirk and sparkle in his eye. You’ve known him long enough to know he’s about to make you eat your words.

A quick flinch towards you sends you scurrying. With no chance to take off your heels, your strides are stifled as you run the short distance to Steve’s driveway as quickly as you can. Eddie follows closely behind, tickling your sensitive sides every chance he can get, giggling maniacally when it falters your steps as you flinch away. 

Everyone else on the street probably thinks you’re crazy, freaks. You aren’t paying them any attention anyway as the smile on your face begins hurting your cheeks, eyes zeroing in on Eddie’s van a few short paces away.

You throw yourself against it, but Eddie’s relentless. Going for both your sides at the same time as you turn around to face him, sending you into a fit of giggles as you feebly attempt to push him away.

You see your opportunity and quickly jab your fingers into his armpits, sending him back with a flinch and a chuckle. He gives up, leaning back against the van next to you as you both laugh between attempts to catch your breath.

You playfully smack his arm, earning a fake “Ouch” and one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen adorn his beautiful face.

“You asshole, Eddie-Bo-Beddie” you tease, emphasizing the pronunciation of your favorite personal nickname for him that he’s always claimed to hate. In truth, he loves it.

“Alright, alright. How’s about I share half my loot to make it up to you, what do you say?” he teases back with the plan you both knew was already going to happen anyway.

“Oh my god” you groan and roll your eyes, only making him to laugh more as you push yourself off the van with the rest of your friends quickly approaching.

“Ugh, they make me sick. I wish they’d just kiss already and get it over with.” Robin mumbles to Steve, pulling a laugh from him as he nods in agreement, watching the show you two have put on.

“Tell me about it.”

With both yours and the younger members of the party’s curfews approaching, you say your goodbyes to Robin and Steve. Embracing them both with tight hugs before piling into Eddie’s van.

Riding down the empty streets of Hawkins with the van windows cracked, the cool air a welcomed sensation against your warm cheeks. The smile never fading from your lips as the sounds of Metallica playing low through the van speakers and the chatter from the kids in the back fill your ears. Your head leaning back against the passenger seat headrest rolls to spare a glance to Eddie. His eyes meet yours, mimicking your smile and sending a shock wave right to your heart.

You make me feel like I am young again.

You sigh in content as you face the winding roads again, deciding this year just might be your favorite Halloween yet.

[w-wolfhard]

hi would u write for rodrick heffley? i’m living off of crumbs lmaoooo

paring : rodrick heffley x f!reader.

warning(s) : none.

a/n : yall oh em gee i havent been on tumblr in so long holy shit😭 missed y'all�� also i'm writing f!reader cus thats what im used to but if ya need me to write it differently i could try and do so 🫡🫡

in which y/n & rodrick try to bake cookies for a thanksgiving party but fail horribly.

it was thanksgiving weekend and rodrick's family next door was throwing a party. everyone had to bring a dish if they wanted to enter, so there you were; in your house next door, trying to bake a batch of last minute cookies with rodrick.

he pulled out the cookie dough from the fridge, slapping the package on the counter, "soooo.." he sighed. "do you know how to do this?" rodrick questioned, looking at the package of cookie dough as if it were a question from his previous math test.

"sure i do!" you said hesitantly. "you just have to– i dunno." you sighed as well.

"well okay.. that's fine. that's alright! neither of us know how to bake fucking cookies but that's decent!" he tried to be enthusiastic but he just sounded stupid.

"rodrick no, we're being fucking dumb. we don't even have to make the cookie dough. how are we gonna fuck this up if the cookie dough is already made?!" you rambled, slapping the cookie dough.

"i don't know man! it's you and i, and we could never cook!"

"we've never even tried cooking, dumbass!" you slapped your forehead. "y'know what, directions exist for a reason; let's read the directions." you told him, taking a deep breath.

"nuh-uh! directions are for babies, y/n. we're highschoolers, we can do this without that dumb shit." he scoffed.

"yeah, we're highschoolers that don't know how to bake cookies," you bit the inside of your cheek. "if you don't wanna read the directions then be the director! go on, i'll follow."

"fine! then i will," he folded his arms. "why dont we just roll up the cookie dough into a ball, place it on a paper plate then pop it in the oven?" he said proudly. "ya ever thought of that smartass?"

"i'm glad i haven't, 'cause what in the world kind of plan was that. you sound like a kindergartener rodrick." you narrowed your eyes at him and he looked at you offended. "seriously?! a big ball of cookie dough, on a paper plate, in the oven? we'll blow up or something!"

"will not!" he argued.

"gosh, i'm dating someone insane," you muttered.

"well do you got a better plan? 'cause if you do, i'd like to hear it." rodrick scoffed.

"how 'bout we, i dunno, read the directions?"

he groaned, giving in. "fine. just so we can get this over with so we could finally feast back at my house."

you chuckled and picked up the package, reading what it says; step #1 – get a trey. step #2 – put small pieces of dough onto the trey. step #3 – bake the cookies in the oven at 350° for 10-12 minutes. step #4 – take them out let them sit for a bit & feast on your cookies!

"that's basically what i said—"

"that's the complete opposite of what you said." you cut him off, shaking your head. you both did as the directions said; rodrick handed you the trey and you covered it with parchment paper while rodrick was preheating the oven. you and rodrick made small balls of dough together and placed them on the trey, spaced out good enough.

once they finished doing all that, rodrick popped the trey of cookies into the oven and closed it. once they finished, they pumped their fists in the air, celebrating. "woohoo! we so just did that!" you gave him a high five.

"definitely! i can't wait for them to be done!"

"yup, then we can finally go to your place and feast on the funnel cake your mom made." you licked your lips.

you both cheered and went over to the couch in your living room and watched tv. you guys were so indulged in the movie that was playing that you forgot about the cookies. except the smell reminded the both of you. "rodrick! the cookies!" it's definitely been over 10-12 minutes since you guys last popped those in the oven.

"fuckfuckfuck" rodrick hurriedly took out the cookies which looked burnt but still looked edible. you both sighed, "well we tried?"

"did we rodrick, did we?"

"yes we did." he nodded slowly. " atleast that's what we'll tell them," he chortled, grabbing two paper plates and stacking the cookies on it neatly, he made his way to the front door while you followed. he handed you one of the plates, as he unlocked the front door, "after you m'lady."

"never call me that again," you both laughed and he shut the door behind him locking it. he picked a cookie from the top of the stack, "cheers to shitty cookies on thanksgiving?"

you chuckled and grabbed the cookie on the top of your stack, "cheers to shitty cookies on thanksgiving." you clinged your cookies together and then took a bite.

god were they burnt.

you both forced yourselves to choke it down. "i'll stick to your mom's funnel cake." you sighed as rodrick unlocked his front door.

"yeah same."

susan answered with a grin, "hello y/n! come in, come in!" she stared down at your cookies and her grin morphed into a different look, "are those edible?" she motioned to the cookies in your guys' hands.

"well yeah, but i advise that you don't eat them. leave it to the little ones to chow it down." you snorted and rodrick nodded in agreement.

[elminx]

DIY Egg Candle Molds For New Beginnings

I've been working on my candlemaking skills for a while now with mitigating success but these are the easiest candles I have ever made.

I really like these for all kinds of spring spell work. They would work perfectly for a Spring Solstice or May Day spell but I also see them as a perfect vessel for a spell to invoke new beginnings. I personally associate eggs with pure potentiality.

Here the goal is to create an egg candle with the "Seed" of your intention, then incubate your intention, and finally burn your candle to hatch your magic into the real world.

Note: This is not a magical how-to on how to CAST a spell, this is a how-to on how to make a vessel for your spell. I expect you to bring your own magic and traditions to this.

For this project you will need:

One egg (probably chicken but goose or duck works too)

A pokey tool

Candle Wax*

A wax-safe container for melting

A wick

Something to stabilize your eggshell (egg cartons work fine)

Scents, wax color, powdered botanicals (optional)

I'm assuming here that if you're interested in this project, you have some experience with candlemaking and the right tools to do so. If not, you can buy a basic candlemaking kit nearly anywhere on the internet that includes some wax, a wax boiler, and wicks. *I would suggest using beeswax for this candle as it will help the candle to maintain its shape as it burns. Soy wax has a low burn point and tends to melt which will deform the shape of your candle more quickly

1. Clean out your Egg

You need to make a small hole at the top of your egg with a pokey tool. I used a knife to make the hole and then inserted a chopstick to whip the insides so the yoke would come out. Pour out the egg (and eat it! Yumm!) and then wash it until the water running out of the egg runs clear. From this step, you want the inside of the egg to dry out - you can put it into a 200°f oven for two hours or let it sit out until it dries (it may take a couple of days depending on your humidity levels).

Letting your egg dry out isn't strictly necessary but if you don't take this step, the egg membrane will stick to your candle. This will make more work for you when you remove the egg mold later.

Note: My friend gave me two goose eggs to try, so I used them for this test run of egg-shaped candles. If you use chicken eggs, they will be significantly smaller (3/4 the size probably).

2. Heat wax in a double boiler until it is fully melted.

You can add in anything that supports your intention here: scents, coloring, or powdered herbs/flowers work well. (please practice good fire safety here and only add in things that are safe for candlemaking)

Note: if you are adding botanicals to your wax, you want to be very careful to make sure they are fully powdered or they may cause a fire.

3. Pour Your Wax

Place your eggshell mold in an egg carton for stabilization and carefully pour the hot wax into your mold. You want to fill to the top as much as you can - the wax may settle as it starts to cool so you may want to add more.

Note: the hole in your egg should be wide enough to accommodate pouring your wax. I used an extra flask funnel I had on hand to facilitate this process.

4. Add Your Wick

Let your wax cool slightly (approximately 10 minutes) and then add in your wick. With a chicken egg, you can use a birthday candle for this step or any wick that you have on hand. You can use a wick stabilizer or chopsticks to keep your wick in place while your wax hardens.

5. Cure Your Candle

Candles should cure for 7-10 days (for beeswax, this may differ for other types - do your research!) before you burn them. Though there is some debate on the internet, it is generally considered true that curing is a part of candle safety as a young candle that has not properly hardened can burn unevenly which may cause fires.

You can choose to begin the process of changing/incubating your candle (listed below) during the curing stage.

6. Remove Your Shell

Once your candle is done curing, it is time to remove the eggshell. For chicken eggs purchased from the grocery store, this should be a relatively easy process. Simply roll your egg candle on a hard surface until the shell cracks and then carefully peal the eggshell away from the wax.

If you are using non-chicken egg or a farm-fresh egg, the shell may be more difficult to crack. I used a goose egg for my candle so I had to use a tool to remove the shell - I used a dental pick that my partner uses for clay sculpting.

Take your time with this process, if you use tools, it is easy to scratch the surface of your egg.

7. Incubate/Charge Your Egg Candle

Unless you added magic during the wax step in this process (which is totally valid), this is where the major magic begins. You want to imbue your magic into the egg at this stage - this can be done in any way that suits your level of creativity and your personal practice. You can carve your intention directly into the wax or mark it with bindrunes or sigils. You can charge it with energy. You can dedicate it to a particular deity or spirit that you work closely with or set it on your altar. You can charge it in the sunlight or moonlight (beware of low-temperature wax and high heat from the sun here). You can make it a nest full of objects that represent your intentions.

The goal in this step is to build your intention by returning to your egg over a period of time (or, alternatively, letting it sit in a way that charges it) before you burn it to release this intention. You can use numerology here by choosing a number that aligns with your intentions, or begin your incubation on the new moon and burn your candle on the full moon.

Pro-tip here: Chicken eggs need to incubate for around 21 days so this is a good number to use if your mold was a chicken egg, or you otherwise work with chickens in your craft.

Note: This was a test on the applicability of this method, but I couldn't help but enchant my candle. I carved my intentions into my candle and then glued (with wax) dried violets onto my candle because I use violets in my craft to encourage transformation. I also used other methods to create a vessel for magic.

8. Use Your Charged Egg Candle in a Magic Ritual

The majority of work is already done here, the rest, as they say, is up to you. Because egg shells are round, you will need to find some way to stabilize the bottom of your candle while you burn it. You could choose to level the bottom of the candle or use any other method that works for you.

I happened to have a piece of pottery from a friend that made the perfect stand for an egg-shaped candle.

______________________________________________________________

Do you like my work? I am doing a fundraiser over on my KoFi page to help pay off an unexpected bill. You can tip me there, commission me to write an astrology report for you, or sign up to be a monthly supporter of my writing.

[starfeedings]

The County Fair 

The day has finally arrived!! We were going to attend the County Fair!  You were so excited and couldn’t wait to get dressed after your giant breakfast. You started to get dressed and the first pair of jeans didn't fit.  The struggle got you winded and for a moment you really panicked because you thought you had gained again.  You then realized that they were the last pair you outgrew  .... Phew!!! You checked again and found a brand new pair of pants and a cute white top, and then came in the kitchen to help me pack some food for the trip.  It was going to be a 30 min drive, maybe 45 with traffic.  We packed some muffins, chips and cookies just in case.

We got in the SUV and headed down the road.  I loved watching your belly shake and wobble when we hit bumps and was so glad you had room to sit comfortably.  We sold our previous car about 6 months ago when you no longer fit.  With you gaining so fast, this one should work for a while.  About 10 min down the road you reached for the muffins and cookies and finished them all in a hurry.

Arriving at the fair, I dropped you off by the front entrance and then went to park.  A good thing since it took me about 15 min to walk from the truck back to the entrance.  You would need to save your steps as the fair grounds were big and your waddle was not geared for distances (or speed).  You were sitting on a bench when I returned eating some funnel cake with powdered sugar that was sold just outside the gate.  You were smiling, with some sugar around your lips ... so cute!

After buying tickets we walked in and started towards the main food area.  I had to walk very slow so that you could keep up.  You were doing pretty well.  After about 2 minutes you asked to stop to look at a map.  You were starting to sweat a little and wanted to catch your breath.  I told you I knew where we were going but you had me double check to make sure we went the shortest route.  After assuring you, we continued.  We stopping again a few minutes later so you could try some bacon dipped in chocolate. So yummy, but a little messy.  We sat down on a bench so you could eat it without it getting all over your white shirt.  You did pretty well, spilling only tiny bit of chocolate by your collar.

We got up again and continued toward the food.  It was so fun seeing all the people, hearing music, sounds from games and the popcorn machines.  There was also an unmistakable  aroma from all the foods, animals, hay and rides.  It was a lot to take in.  At first I really commended your willpower as we made it past the popcorn.  I'm guessing you didn't see it?

Arriving at the main food pavilion, we got in line for some of the celebrity chef dishes.  The lines were long, so I told you to find a seat and that I'd bring back the food.  "Make sure you get something good" you said as you waddled towards the picnic tables.  I watched you from a far navigating the picnic table and I was amazed how you figured it out.  My guess is that getting out will be a lot harder.

As I waited in line, I couldn't help but notice how many other fat girls and guys there were.  It seems like a perfect gathering place.  One woman was holding about 4 plates and looked to be about your size.  Another girl was much bigger,  and was riding a scooter.  Not a bad idea with all the walking needed.  Her belly was pressing into the steering wheel and her hips and side belly far surpassed the width of the scooter.  It was hot!

The first stand I got to had duck bacon wontons. The wontons were stuffed with duck bacon, grilled sweet corn, and cream cheese, and served with a creamy dipping sauce.  I knew you would love it, so I picked up 3 servings.

At the next stand I picked up bacon-wrapped pork belly and mashed potato croquettes served on a skewer, topped with either home-style gravy, Korean bulgogi barbecue sauce, or sweet chili sauce.  I got all 3 sauces in large cups so you could experiment.  I picked up 3 of these also and headed over to you.

You were so excited to try the food!  You were also a little upset I didn't get dessert.  I mentioned that I thought we could get some later, but seeing how upset you were I headed back and picked up some Bowl o' Dough. Basically cookie dough in 3 flavors -- brownie batter swirl, European cookie butter, lemon ricotta cheesecake with blueberries.  I got 3 of each.

You had already finished the wontons when I got back and were so excited about the cookie dough.  I wasn't quite hungry yet, but had fun watching you stuff yourself.  The pork belly was finished next and then you dove into the cookie dough.  About 15 minutes later you were done.  "Stuffed?" I asked.  "far from it." you said  as you tried to heave yourself up from the table.  Uh oh.  You your belly was stuck and wouldn't let your leg raise up enough to get out.  I had suspected this wouldn't be easy.  You tried again, leaning to side.  Better, but it was so hard tho raise your leg!  I let you regroup and then helped you by pulling your leg out and to the side.  It worked and you got up sweating and winded.  "Ugh. that was so tight!" you said.  Lets go see the animals

It was clear that you were  more full than you led onto, as your waddle was much slower and you were breathing heavier.  I hated to see you uncomfortable and suggested we sit for a break.  You happily obliged.  "Wow, it's really hot here" you said panting.  I agreed, but was  honestly glad I was wearing a long sleeve shirt.   65 degrees is not hot to me.

After you caught your breath, we made our way towards the animals.  On the way, I caught a stand in the distance and knew we had to stop. Fried Butter Balls.  I chuckled.  I had to see you eat those fat bombs.  You couldn't believe they had them and were so excited to give them a try.  I got you 3 servings and we sat down.  "OMG these are good!!!" you said in between bites.  "Get me more".  I did, 5 more.  You were eating like the pigs we were about to see.

After eating those you felt full.  Lets just sit hear and listen to the music.  The arena was close by and a band was playing.  I said we could go in, but knowing the size of arena seats, agreed we should just chill and relax.  There were picnic tables closer, but after the earlier fiasco the bench was a much safer bet.  I rubbed your distended belly and we leaned into each other.  So comfy.

About an hour or so later, we passed the heavy machinery section.  You joked about needing the forklift to carry you around. haha.  Getting tired from all the waddling today you were not happy.  You saw another fat girl waddling that looked to be in a similar place.  Who knew that you needed so much athleticism to attend the fair?  We passed a log flume ride, which looked fun, however it would require way too much energy.  It was also unclear if you would fit in the seat?

We arrived at another food court and you declared it time to feed.  You sat down on a bench and I picked up a bunch of treats.  Cheeseburgers with Fried Ice Cream, Deep-Fried Mashed Potatoes on a Stick, Krispy Kreme Hamburgers, Foot-long hot-dogs, Fried Oreos and Fried Twinkies.

You were pleased for sure with my choices and made your way through them without breaking stride.  You especially loved the deep fried potatoes and Krispy Kreme Hamburgers.  I went back and got you 3 more of each.

You were feeling very stuffed now and really just wanted to go home.  I said that we needed to see the animals.  You agreed and began the short slog waddle to the barn area.  I noticed you now had ketchup, mustard and sauce on your shirt now in addition to the earlier spilled chocolate.

We finally got to the animals and grabbed a seat fully winded.  You saw that there was Fried cheesecake and despite being stuffed just had had to try some.  You said to just get one.  I brought it and after the first bite you held up 2 fingers.  "2 more". wow.  this was sooo good.

I noticed your shirt was a lot tighter.  Your belly was so distended from all the calories during your multiple feedings.  You honestly looked like the pig who won the blue ribbon.  Both of you were super fat and glowing!

After seeing the animals and eating the fried cheesecake, we walked very very slowly over to the gondola. / aerial lift ride that carried fairgoers across the grounds. You were soooo relieved that you wouldn't have to walk back!!!  I was a little concerned about the weight limit in the car.  Anyway, it dropped us right by the front gate.  We got out, or should I say struggled out as the door was a bit of a squeeze for you.  

I left you at the gate and went to go pick up the truck.  I was hungry and grabbed some peanuts.  When I returned you had a bag.  "What's in the bag?" I asked.  "Oh, just some food for home" you said.  You had picked up deep-fried avocado, cream puffs, sweet corn ice cream and some Fried macaroni and cheese.  "Awesome" I said, knowing that you would likely polish them off tonight.

"What a fun day" I said.  "Yes, lets come back tomorrow" you replied before falling asleep on the short ride home.

[reblogandlikes]

ACOTAR 5.5 CHALLENGE:

1) Have Cassian and Azriel stop being self-hating of their Illyrian heritage and putting these high fae's on a pedestal like their shit don't stink, too. Have them work out their trauma and inadequacies. Instead, try to integrate themselves into illyrian communities, bringing forward less obvious hostility and think of ways to stop the toxic cycle of self fulfilling prophecies where children are funneled into becoming soliders in horrid conditions despite the NC's (Rhysand's) wealth and actually stop wing clipping. If not, bring innocents into Velaris or, better yet, build them a Velaris of their own.

2) Create a scene where the sisters are together without the interference of outside influence. No talk of mates or duties or expectations. Talk about themselves, together, instead. An insight of adjusting from human to fae. Their fears. Their uncertainties. A way to become closer that doesn't feel forced. There can be some obvious tension, but have it come to a resolution of some sort.

3) If it is an Elucien book, please, God please, Sjm, don't debase Lucien into a pounding sex machine and suddenly making Elain the kinkiest motherfucker out there. Soft romantic love is still very much appreciated. Body worship and shy/embarrassing moments are endearing, too. Mix and match, that's all I'm asking. A girl can want both.

4) I'd add something controversial like, "Leave Tamlin alone and let the man be without feeling the need to insult him at every given moment," or "Call out Rhysand’s bad behaviours often brushed away and have him work on his oppressive actions towards his own court," but that's probably a step too far.

5) More world building. The magic system barely makes sense nor court dynamics.

[mortiskiller]

Ruin The Pig

Content warning: This story contains extreme fat shaming, non-consensual weight gain, health play, and death feedism.

I am going to ruin you pig. I told you that when we first met up after you spent weeks begging me to feed you and use you.

You were lying in the hotel bed naked after I stuffed and pumped you full of 10K calories in a few hours, you were so small then, barely 300 pounds. It was cute that you pretended to be immobile while I fed you. Listening as you played the panic up and begged “fuck fuck fuck we have to slow down! I’m getting too big I don’t want to be trapped in bed!” I would silence you by shoving a messy burger into my face a shush you, "Shut your dumb fucking mouth and eat." I said forcefully but calmly, I saw the acceptance and submission wash over you as the realization that no choice is being offered but to eat and like a passive cow as you let out oinks and weakly pawed at my crotch.

I remember that fat ball gut you had, so small compared to now. That was pure surface-level fat, pushing your organs down, putting pressure on your GI tract, and making it harder for your body to pump blood. You are at a point where every new pound of fat is a step toward utter and complete obesity.

We would meet up every few weeks and you would pretend your arteries were clogging already from an absolute binge of cheese and grease, that you I loved only wanting the cheapest unhealthy slop. Preferring a ketchup-slathered triple cheeseburger and a pile of chocolates to some fancy steak and a nice cake.

I remember the first time you panicked and begged for me to slow down, right after you hit 690 pounds. I had woken you up for your 2 a.m. funnel session, I never let you sleep for more than 4 hours without eating till you passed out, I say, "Get up and walk to the scale.", pointing to a large black metal livestock scale in the middle of the room. Your mind was weak from being fed nothing but junk, weed, alcohol, and the hormones mixed into your slop. You throw your heavy flabby arms up to gather enough momentum to heave your billowing body up. I watched as nothing happened, you tried again. Again your body moved not an inch off the bed, all you accomplished was shaking the sea of lard that was your body.

Your face flushed with sweat and burned red as you strained your body, but you were stuck. Attempt after attempt, after an attempt to lift yourself, grunts and wheezing fill the basement.

A minute later your eyes went wild, and my hand on your chest felt a heart racing faster and faster.

I see that panic, it makes me hard. You are locked in now. A complete loss of agency and now you are nothing. I own your life. Any money, anything you own is gone. All you have is my pity.

Pity that feeds you.

Food and nothing else.

I told you my plans now that you were a helpless fucking lard-ass NEET in my home.

1. Hormones to make you the perfect pile of shame. Bury your dick in fat, widen your hips and tits, make a perfect pussy for Daddy to fuck.

2. We are starting an Only Fans! You get to be my immobile plaything that I take every sadistic desire out on, and I get all the money.

3. Some more feeders are going to stop by and have their way with you. You are my toy to loan out to other feeders and chasers.

I lean into your sweating, beat red face, and put a hand around your neck roll. "You are just a waddling weak whore doing what I say till your bloated wrecked corpse is left in a hotel room covered in cum and food, got it?"

As you opened your mouth to answer, I shoved the funnel in. You asked for this pig. 

[ereardon]

At Sea [Bob Floyd x Reader]

Chapter 3

Overview: I’ll be home in five weeks. That’s what naval aviator Y/N told her fiance before leaving for deployment in the Atlantic. But time ceased to stop when she met Bob Floyd, the ship surgeon. Shy and honest, Bob quietly slipped into Y/N’s life, creating a complicated dynamic on an already intense mission. Falling for Bob was not in Y/N’s plan, and as she continues to weave a web of lies, she must make a choice: return to the life she left on land, or forge ahead into the unknown with Bob. But before Y/N can decide, disaster strikes, leaving Bob to make the decision that will alter their lives forever. 

Chapter summary: Y/N and Bob have a close encounter that leads Y/N to ponder cheating on her finace

Pairing: Navy Doctor Bob Floyd x Female Aviator Reader

Warnings: Implied emotional cheating, lots of Naval inaccuracies

WC: 1.2K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You could see Bob the moment you stepped out onto the deck. He had his back toward you, his face gazing out at the dark sea. 

You crept up behind him, one hand on his arm. “Hey.” 

He jostled beneath your touch, kind brown eyes looking down behind wire frames. “Hey there.” 

“So what’s the plan?” 

Bob held out one hand. It was steady, nails trimmed neatly, silver watch fastened slightly loosely at the wrist. “Come and see.” 

You let your fingertips rest in his. There was a moment of hesitation before he started to lead me away from the edge of the deck. You saw the flicker of a question cross his eyes in that moment of hesitation. Wondering if he should kiss you or not. 

You found myself disappointed he didn’t. 

He led you across the ship deck, toward the stern. You passed a few people, their eyes darting between you and Bob, down to your hands. 

At the stern of the boat, you were sheltered behind the funnel. Almost immediately, the wind died down. Your flyaway hairs, which has been whipping at your temples, settled. 

“Why weren’t we meeting here the whole time?” you asked. 

“Good question.” 

“So what’s the game plan?” 

Bob smiled. “Do you always need a plan?” 

“You don’t know me very well, but I’m super impatient, and always in a rush. I’m chronically type A. I hate gum because I think hearing people chew is disgusting. And I'll make you stop every hour on a road trip to pee.” 

He leaned closer. “Nothing you’ve just said has turned me off.” 

“Oh, I know, I was trying to turn you on.” 

Bob laughed, and it was contagious. There wasn’t much laughter on a mission like this. He was a breath of fresh air. 

Below deck, Bob led you through a labyrinth of doors through personal quarters before landing at a door at the end of the hall. He turned the handle. 

Inside, white string Christmas lights had been looped around the ceiling. Pressed against a wall was a bed, but massive, like two standard issues had been shoved together. 

You turned to Bob with eyebrows raised. 

“I thought you might be getting sick of listening to me talk. And you’d rather watch a movie instead.” He walked over to the computer monitor facing the bed, plugging in a jack and forcing the screen to light up. “Our options are limited,” he added. “The Lion King. Hercules, or Shrek.” 

You laughed and took a seat on the edge of the bed. It was monumentally more comfortable than your cot out in the barracks. “Love your taste in films.” 

“You’re a little older than my usual movie-watching companions,” he replied. 

“They’re all classics, don’t get me wrong. But I feel like you can’t go wrong with The Lion King.” 

Bob nodded, inserting the DVD as you slid off your shoes, climbing further onto the bed toward the corner. On the desk, you spotted a bottle of pinot noir, and two coffee mugs.

“Where did you get wine?” 

“I have my ways. Is red OK?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

“Good.” He grabbed the remote and then bent down to untie his shoes. When he stood, he flushed, and you patted the space on the bed next to you. An invitation. 

When Mufasa reached up his paw, and Scar let him fall into the valley, you felt Bob’s breath do a sharp intake. You looked up at him, his eyes rapt on the screen, but a small tear had made its way into the corner of his eye. You looked at him for a beat too long, and then worried that he would catch you staring, you turned your head back downwards. This time, you laid your head down on his abdomen, slinging an arm across him. There was a moment of hesitation before his hand came down on your shoulder, gently resting across your upper arm. 

You stayed like that, cuddled together, until the movie was done. As the credits rolled, it was clear neither of you were ready to untangle yourselves. Thirty seconds passed before you pushed yourself up into a seated position facing Bob. “A classic.” 

He nodded. There was something he wasn’t saying. It was clear from his eyes. 

You scooted closer, until your knees were touching his. “What are you thinking?” 

“That no matter how many times I watch this movie, it never ceases to impress me.” 

“Strong feelings for a Disney movie, but I get it.” 

“I had a patient once,” Bob said. “He was six. His father had just died, and he was dying, too. One day he asked me to watch a movie with him. It was the end of a call shift, so I stayed, and we watched The Lion King. I’ll never forget the way he broke down when Scar let Mufasa fall. And all I could do was hold his hand and tell him it was just a movie. But it wasn’t just a movie. That was his real life. He wasn’t going to wake up the next day and see his dad. He might not even wake up the next day. What do you say to someone like that?” 

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” 

“Nobody does. And that’s what makes it so hard. All you want to do is tell them it’ll get better. But sometimes that just isn’t true.” 

“You do the best you can. That’s all anyone can ask for.” 

Bob was quiet. You reached up, placing both hands on either side of his head, slowly stroking his blond hair. As you started to pull back, his hands shot out and gripped your wrists. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “But I won’t.” 

“Why?” You were breathless. 

“Because you deserve a really amazing first kiss. And I don’t want our first kiss to be because you feel bad for me.” 

“That’s not it.” 

He pressed his eyes closed for a second. “Even if it isn’t, you still deserve more.” 

You laid back on the bed. Bob mimicked your movements so you were facing each other. “It’s nice how highly you think of me,” you murmured. “But don’t.” 

“I can’t help it.” Bob trailed his fingers over your hip. “Can I ask you something? And feel free to say no, no matter how pathetic I look.” 

“Anything.” 

He was timid. You could see it in every line across his face. The way his voice shook as he spoke. “Will you stay here tonight? You don’t have to. I promise I won’t try anything. I just really want you here.” 

“Yes.” You said it without hesitation. His smile – soft, quiet, harrowing – was enough to get you to commit murder. Another girl would say no, go back to her bunk, contemplate what she had done to get herself into that position. Another girl, a better girl, would feel guilty.

But guilt felt like a far off whisper. Instead, you were overcome by excitement. It bubbled in your chest. 

Being with Bob made you feel weightless. And that terrified you. 

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