#first person

[internet-goblin]

Huh? That’s a thing?! I wonder how would people do it with the novel I’m writing which is first person, written as an autobiography and the narrator is having a pretty explicit conversation with the reader. Sometimes even trying to lie to them.

This is such a baffling thing to learn about others’ reading experience.

wait do people read first person stories and think they're the ones in the story???

Saw people talking about not liking first person, which is fair, but their reasoning was like "I would not do that" and I don't understand that mindset.

First person stories are still about a character. A character making their own decisions. First person isn't about you???? At least I thought it wasn't. What am I missing? I've always seen first person as just a more in-depth look into a character's mind and stricter POV. Not as a reader stand-in.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

WIBTA for going to my high school reunion even though the two witches I stripped of magic are going?

(Read for free on Patreon (X))

I (28 witch) was in a coven during high school. Not really even a coven. We weren’t recognized and there wasn’t a clear division of responsibilities. We did have a high priestess but she hadn’t Declared or been Initiated or whatever she believed. Looking back, her learning was all over the place (and a little problematic, honestly. I remember her calling a poppet a Voodoo doll before being called out by another member). Let’s call her Sarah.

Sarah was a year older than the rest of us (still the same grade though) and her mom was a witch so that made her the high priestess. She was the one who would organize all of our rituals and held the power of veto over any proposed spells. While you think that’d mean she’d provide the ingredients, she never did. She did tell us what to buy and, let me tell you, some of those things were expensive for a high schooler. We met in the park behind her house, and she demanded that at least one of us be in every one of her classes. If we weren’t, we’d be “cycled” out of the coven until our parents convinced the school to transfer us in.

Any alt kid knows what I’m talking about because they had a Sarah in their life. If she was angry, we had to be angry (and a little afraid of her). If she was sad, we were expected to ask why. If she was happy, we had to be even more happy. You get the picture.

The problem came when Sarah added Jess (fake name) to the Coven during the start of our junior year. It was the first time Sarah allowed someone else from a witch family to join. Jess was a transfer student from England. She told us all that that made her magic deeper and more powerful because she was a “daughter of the witches you could not burn.” When I pointed out that that statement is historically inaccurate, Jess called me a “pilgrim.” She tried to convince Sarah to blind me (take away my decision-making power in the coven), but I was the only one with reliable access to dried herbs (my mom’s a botanist and didn’t count her stores like Sarah’s mom did), so Sarah said no.

Jess’ dislike of me got worse when I actually did dress like a pilgrim for Halloween that year. And, if I’m honest, I did take it a little far. I was a hot-headed kid. I followed her around the entire day and had kids sign one of two petitions – “Burn” or “Not Burn.” When the Burn Petition won, I could tell I went too far (there were a LOT of signatures).  I tried to make it a joke and told her that now she really was a witch we couldn’t burn.

Jess and I got in our first physical fight. Sarah eventually broke it up, but not before Jess ripped out a good chunk of my hair, and I broke the tiger’s eye bracelet she wore.

 I later heard from another coven member that Jess tried to lay a curse on me that night. Unfortunately for her, I was pretty interested in defensive work and had a fresh witch’s jar buried under my window. Her curse got caught in it and rebounded. Apparently, that’s how Jess got pink eye, not from her younger sister.

We fought like cats and dogs. Any time Jess would talk about England, I’d make fun of her accent. When I brought up what spell I’d like to do, Jess would call me a juvenile pilgrim. Eventually, Jess got smart. She’d text me insults rather than say them to my face so that she’d have a chance to tattle to Sarah before I got the chance to hit back.

Sarah pulled me aside at least three times to “address” the fights. She basically said that I needed to respect Jess more because she came from a witch family, like her. She told me I could learn a lot from Jess if I stopped acting like a human. When I pointed out that we are humans, just humans who have elected to use magic, she got really mad.

And when Sarah got mad, she could make life really difficult.

My spell for luck on midterms got passed over for Jess’ jinx on our English teacher. The jinx worked and Ms. Edel tripped, but guess who still came to class with a broken leg? MS. EDEL. Guess who failed their midterm?

ALL SEVEN OF US.

Damn, I can’t believe I’m still upset by this petty high school drama. Therapy did not work.

So safe to say that Jess and I never became friends. I love magic now and loved it then, but she took it so seriously. I’ve always believed magic should be fun. All the spells she brought to the coven required a spirit element—blood, hair, sacrifice. One of the members was a strict green witch and had to drop out because of it. We missed two full moons until Sarah approved Eileen to rejoin after she woke up from her coma.

(And before anyone freaks out about the coma – we all ended up in comas here and there. We were a bunch of uneducated and untrained baby witches who all had different belief systems. The fact that there wasn’t anything worse than a coma is a miracle. She wasn’t traumatized by it any more than I was by mine.)

Jess and I mostly avoided each other for the rest of the year. We always voted against the other’s spell and I’m fairly certain she tried to trip jinx me in the hall as often as I tried to trip jinx her. Sarah never tried to diffuse the tension between us. She confided in Eileen that she was grateful we kept each other in check.

Things could have continued on that way until we all moved away for college (or repeated the year after failing all those midterms) if it weren’t for the vernal equinox. Or, as we inaccurately called it, the Spring Solstice.

The way it worked was that we all got to propose a ritual during equinoxes. They’re powerful magical events on their own and when you bring intent to the party? They were always our biggest, most successful workings.

Sarah always chose what we did on those days. She pretended like we got to vote, but we all knew she would never choose one of our rituals. My freshman year, she made us all do one for beauty. Because it was a “make real what is in the eye of the beholder” type, some of our transformations were a little…traumatizing. I’m only telling you this so you understand the power an equinox has, okay? I do not think this way anymore. Other members were just as extreme. Eileen went from a Wendy from Wendy’s to a Jessica Rabbit. And I…

Well.

I grew rabbit ears and teeth. That doesn’t make me a furry! Who Framed Roger Rabbit? was super influential on BOTH Eileen and me. I was a kid and didn’t understand my own concept of beauty. It took almost three months before I got the ears to go away entirely.

Suffice it to say, we were all excited and nervous for what ritual Sarah would pick, which is why it was a blow to find out that she had picked a ritual - Jess’ ritual.

A ritual for power.

I didn’t want to do it from day one, okay? My belief is that whatever magic comes to you naturally is what’s okay to take. I think if you rip magic up from the earth or the abyss, it’ll change you. Maybe even corrupt you or change your personality.

But I was a kid and didn’t know how to explain that. Jess and Sarah were both from witch families and they seemed to think it was okay. Even though I didn’t like Jess, I did see her as a more “authentic” witch because of that. I know better now, but as a kid seeing all of her grimoires, I gave her false authority.

Jess explained the ritual to us over the next month. She talked about how we were going to be “tested.” The ritual would pull our spiritual selves from our bodies, and depending on how long we chanted, we’d return to them with more or less magic than when we started. She said that everyone in her family did it when they turned 18.

It wasn’t until three days before the equinox that she told us what would happen if one of us were to be judged unworthy.

“Mostly nothing,” she said. I remember her exact words, how her black hair spun as she soared through the air on the swings. We stood in a half circle before her and Sarah as they swung higher and higher. An audience to their aerial court. She said, “Sometimes people lose some of their magic. When the ritual decides they don’t deserve it.”

Eileen asked, “When the ritual decides? It’s sentient?”

“There’s an overseer we’ll call on,” Sarah said. She’d been the only one allowed to read Jess’ grimoire. Her lip curled and she leaned forward so she could look down over Eileen like an avenging angel as she swung overhead. “An impartial entity.”

“I am not a deity witch,” I said. I had long ago committed that I would never call on a higher being in any ritual. Most of our spells had to be modified for me so that I could swear to the cardinal directions rather than to the Morrigan or Hecate. “You know that.”

“You’re not swearing to anyone,” Sarah said and rolled her eyes.

“Which means no one is swearing to us,” Eileen muttered under her breath. But I could tell she had given up by the slump of her shoulders.

“It’s only the unworthy who lose their magic,” Jess reassured. Her eyes flashed at me. “Scared you’re unworthy?”

Yes. I was scared. I know better now than to think lineage has any place in witchcraft. It’s about the magic, always just the magic. But months of hearing their rhetoric had worn at my self-esteem. It really felt like if I didn’t do the ritual, I was as good as admitting I wasn’t a witch. If I did do the ritual…

Well. Obviously, I did the ritual.

I was a hot-headed teen, okay? I felt challenged. I decided that I would wear extra protections. Tiger’s eye and quartz charged with intention. I picked out a silver locket my mother gave me, filled with belladonna. She told me it symbolized beauty and choice.

Now, here’s where I may be the asshole.

I can’t give you a play-by-play of the ritual. It was ten years ago, and calling on that much magic has a funny way of warping memory. But what I do remember is this:

We gathered in the park before sunrise. Seven of us in new colors – spring green, white, soft yellow and pink. Jess made us get rid of anything with a working on it – crystals, cards, and ladders. She collected them all in a linen bag and threw them into the woods. I couldn’t get away with my tiger’s eye or quartz, but she missed the pendant my mother gave me. It was a warm comfort against my chest as we began.

We lit the fire together, each of us frantically thumbing our lighter to make sure the sparks caught at the same time.

Jess brought the chalice. We all cut our palms and let seven drops fall into it. (No, we didn’t use a clean blade. My cut got infected as hell and it itches like a witch. I know better now!) She bade us drink, and we did.

“Now the magic will see us as equal,” Sarah said while Jess prepared the next step. She licked her lips as if savoring the blood. “It will only be our wills determining the outcome.”

Jess doused us with oil and herbs. It smelled sharp and uneasy. I had provided the herbs and knew all of them were either fresh or dried to perfection. But it was rancid. There was rot in the air, but I couldn’t place it then. I wrinkled my nose and took up the chanting with the others to distract myself from the smell.

If you’ve ever chanted before, you know the stages. First, you’re just talking. You say the words and they mean something, but you don’t feel them. Then your mouth gets tired. You start messing up the timing of the words. You stutter. You stumble. The words lose meaning. Most people stop there. They fall silent and sink into a shallow meditation with heads full of fog.

You’re only a witch if you can reach the next step. You keep saying the words. They become comfortable. You wear the words like clothes and feel your cadence curl through you like a companion. Your body goes on autopilot and your mind relaxes. The chant turns smooth as silk. Depending on the chant, you lose yourself to the sweetness of your coven singing. Sometimes, you sink into the earth with them. Other times, you ride the flow of the magic like waves.

This time, the words pulled us away from our bodies. Jess slowly introduced new words to our chant. Words of summoning.

We called upon the Overseer.

Pressure fell around me like a vice. I couldn’t breathe even as the ritual fell from my lips without breaking. Magic had, at that point, always given me control. This? This was a complete loss of it.

I felt myself compressing. Smaller and smaller in the face of the being that was rising in the middle of the flames. It was not an observer. The moment I “saw” it, its endless form writhing in the space between the smoke, I knew that. It was a judge and jury.

It was a spider.

We chanted. It grew. It pulled us from our bodies like spiderweb and spooled our essences onto its forelimbs. It was not what Jess described and, simultaneously, it was. We were being tested. Our psyches were being tested.

So long as we chanted, the being would be contained. However, the longer it was contained, the more of us it could take. If we let it go, what would it do? Would it return any part of our magic to us? Any part of who we were?

Or would it eat?

This wasn’t a test of magic. It was a test of faith. Faith in each other and faith in the ritual.

For those practitioners out there, you can see the problem. I didn’t enter the ritual with faith. My intent was flawed from the beginning. We’d had spells fail because of lack of belief. I had never been the person who didn’t believe.

Until then

My words wavered. The Overseer turned its eyes to me. I could see my magic like thread before it, shimmering against the backdrop of its maw.

Then another tremor. Eileen dropped a word. The Overseer split and looked at both of us. Someone else faltered. One of the coven – I couldn’t see them – fell and went silent.

The sky yawned overhead, empty and cold. The embers from the fire spun up into it and were lost. The Overseer rippled and I felt our coven shrink in the face of it.

I gasped around the chant and looked across the fire. The light licked Jess’ gleeful face. Her eyes hungered for my failure. I could see it. Through the connection of the Overseer, I could feel it.

Jess and Sarah changed the chant. To this day, I don’t remember if they taught it to the rest of us. There are so many parts of the ritual that I’ve left out or forgotten. But I remember them chanting different words. The circle grew discordant.

“I offer my magic so I may be unspun and woven anew,” they said. The words have imprinted themselves like bitters under my tongue. “I offer my magic so I may—”

Some of the other members tried to pick up the new chant. Their voices grew weaker and the Overseer’s limbs began to extend out towards each one of us.

I wouldn’t offer my magic to that thing. I wouldn’t be unspun.  Eileen was stuttering. I saw her fall to her knees. I was close behind.

I threw my necklace into the flames.

Belladonna. Beautiful and deadly. It has meant choice to many women and many of them have been from my own family. It's extreme and it’s final. An end that doesn’t always make room for a new beginning.

Pretty words that cover up what I meant when I threw it into the Overseer.

My intent was Death.

Entities never die. I’m sure the Overseer didn’t. It howled. The wind kicked up and brought the flames into a spiral ten feet tall. Its forelimbs shattered, and I reeled myself back together greedily.

Not all of us were safe from the Overseer’s desperate struggle against my death curse.

Sarah and Jess were alone in the third phase of the ritual. They had changed the chant. They had offered their magic and asked the entity to do with it what it will. They believed.

And because they believed, the Overseer took their magic with it.

I think it was the first coma Jess ever fell into. Her family certainly acted like it. They whisked her back to the East Coast before the end of the year. I heard from Eileen that she woke up shortly after I left for college.

Magicless.

Sarah too.

I fully own that I was responsible for the ritual failing. I panicked. I’ve gone through every excuse over the years. I didn’t know what the ritual really was. I was just a kid. I took magic too lightly. It was their fault for not letting us read the grimoire for ourselves. But, at the end of the day, the real reason the ritual failed was because I panicked and I let that panic break my belief.

I moved on to college and it felt like running away. I’ve never returned to my hometown. I’m happy with the life I’ve built. My magic summer camp gives me time to travel during the winter months, and I feel like I’m making a real difference in young witches’ lives.

Nowadays I teach young witches to never do a working without full intent. If they have doubts, they don’t do it. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way ten years ago. I tell them it can cost them more than their magic. It can cost them their lives.

Eileen is still back home and she says Sarah rarely comes out of her house. Sometimes she sees our former high priestess wandering the school grounds on nights of the full moon. I hear from other members of the coven that Jess’ family put out a bounty on me a few years ago. However, I never saw an assassin so I think that was just a rumor.

So, knowing that they’re still not over it, would I be the asshole for attending my high school reunion next month? I’ve been craving reconnection with my roots, but I’d be subjecting Sarah and Jess (though Jess marked Maybe on the RSVP) to my presence.

I know they must hold a grudge. If they were still witches, that would be a problem. I don’t think I’d be able to defend myself from one of their workings since I blame myself for what happened. But since they’re not, it’s not really a danger. That’s pretty asshole-ish, right? Ignoring their feelings because they don’t have the magic to back it up?

So WIBTA for attending my high school reunion even though the two girls I stripped of magic will be attending?

-----

Thanks for reading! It looks like I'll have quite a few updates for the anthology! I am still obsessed with this format and can't wait to share some of the updates over the next few weeks.

If you'd like to support me before the anthology, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)! I post new stories every week and many of my patrons saw the above story a week early.

The current AITA story takes place in the same universe as our former Cryptid (X). About a poor, poor boy who is just proud to be a regional Nightmare. Why is everyone so mad at him?

See y'all next week!

[nerdyperday]

Day 2985 Baby Metroid

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 1

Part 2 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I'll update the tags as the story progresses, there should only be two more parts.

I'm not sure how far I'll go with certain behaviors, so leave a comment and let me know what you think <3

(This first part is to provide context, the other two will set the story in motion)

Becoming a Padawan was a lifelong dream. Of course, I was young, so my view of the world and what I would experience in the coming years was very limited. The idea of being taken under the wing of a more experienced Jedi master, learning many more techniques, the missions, the travels, all the people and aliens I could meet... I was bursting with happiness.

Not that the exercises at the temple weren't stimulating, I was glad to have made friends, to have developed a routine with them, but I was ready for something new.

So, when I was finally introduced to my future master, I was bursting with joy. I recognized her immediately, it was hard not to. Vernestra was an important member of the Order, involved with the Senate, and was known for her numerous successes. It was an honor for me to receive that position by her side.

Over the years, I had been recognized as an excellent future Padawan, with the ability to learn quickly, a strong sense of observation, and a positive and kind character that always accompanied me. I was often praised for the way I presented myself to others. In short, everyone saw a bright future for me, but I had difficulty seeing it myself. I was young and inexperienced and I believed that the important thing was to follow the rules, the rest was just a part of me, something I did naturally.

I imagine that becoming Vernestra’s Padawan was just the confirmation of that golden path everyone saw me on, but I was too caught up in the newness to really think about it.

However, I soon realized that I lost the balance I had created up to that point, I lost some friends, some simply due to distance, others were... cold towards me.

I didn't understand what had changed. I would never have accused anyone of feeling emotions like jealousy or anger towards me, we were children. Missteps were normal, and we were taught that it was right to face them and learn from them.

But if you asked around, many would have described me as someone who never made mistakes, who always responded with a gentle smile, a comforting word, a hand on the shoulder, or even just a pleasant company if you needed to vent. Perhaps that was the problem. I appeared too perfect in the eyes of others.

And yet, the Master didn’t make me feel that way. She taught me everything calmly, I followed her every step, she reprimanded me harshly, but always with care. She soon realized how much I sought validation in everything I did.

It was stronger than me, I believed I was always making a mistake, that I was in the wrong. After all, who was I to say something was right or wrong? I was just a Padawan. A child.

And anyway, it wasn’t the Jedi’s job to give answers, but rather to push people to understand for themselves.

Even though it was a concept I found difficult to grasp myself.

Anyway, that’s how I met Qimir.

He was Vernestra’s former Padawan, now promoted to Jedi Knight and independent in his duties, but he often visited us, either to seek advice from his old Master or just to ask how she was doing. I found him very sweet.

The first time I met him in person, I already knew his name. He had managed to stand out as soon as he started his duties as a Knight. Among the younger ones, there was a sense of reverence towards him even though we had never seen him in person. And besides, it was rumored that he was terribly handsome, not that it particularly interested me at the time.

I remember I was in the library with Vernestra, she had assigned me some basic readings to start my future physical training. Young ones are already taught at an early age to defend themselves and to learn various positions, but it was more about building an understanding of your Force signature, learning to trust your senses. The real training would then be individual for the student once they had a Master, so she had recommended these introductory readings on the various forms of combat and their use.

Those were afternoons I remembered with particular affection. Sitting in silence, she would take a more suitable book or bring her work documents on her datapad, and the hours would pass in an instant. Sometimes, I would glance at her to see what she was doing. She noticed every time, smiled slightly, and gently scolded me, telling me to return to my tasks.

I was happy. I felt cared for, appreciated, but not in the cold manner of a teacher with their student. It was a feeling I didn’t quite know how to place in my heart, and it worried me a bit, but I kept my doubts for another day.

On one of those quiet afternoons, I met Qimir. The room was particularly deserted that day, so the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard clearly along the shelves. Thinking it was the librarian, I didn’t pay much attention and remained with my nose buried in the book. Even when he stopped in front of our table I didn’t pay attention. Then, a deep male voice I didn’t recognize spoke Vernestra’s name.

Curiosity flared up in an instant, and as the two began a light conversation next to me, I slowly raised my gaze, the book almost serving as a shield, my hair partly covering my eyes. In front of us stood a young man in his twenties, dressed in the classic brown Jedi Knight attire, speaking casually to Vernestra. His slightly long, smooth hair, a light smile, and dark eyes framed by a chiseled jaw.

It was the first time I saw him. And the first time my heart beat so fast in my chest.

I didn’t know if it was because he was undeniably a handsome guy. I had never been too interested in that sort of thing, and anyway, it was forbidden for Jedi to have too impure thoughts. It was more... his aura. The amused smile but attentive eyes, the neat but relaxed posture... he seemed to shine with his own light. It was what I felt when I saw a member of the council, when I glimpsed Master Yoda in the corridors, reverence, respect, a bit of fear.

He was captivating, and he seemed to be aware of it.

I didn’t even realize that I had been staring at him longer than I should have. He noticed the insistent gaze on him. I must have looked quite ridiculous, a young girl hiding behind a book while staring at the great Jedi Knight, but the smile he gave me right after almost took my breath away as I blushed, perhaps for the first time in my life.

“And you must be the new Padawan who took my place. Nice to meet you, I’m Qimir” he said, extending a hand, and after casting a nervous glance at Vernestra, who was smiling at me, I hugged the book to my chest with one arm, my palm tingling, unsure whether to return the handshake.

Another inner turmoil came with that first touch. His hands had long, slender fingers, marked by numerous calluses, probably from gripping the lightsaber or the various missions he faced. It was just another reason why I started to admire him. I could see all the dots connecting in this figure that represented everything I wanted to become. A Jedi. A reference point for those in need.

I said my name in a low, timid voice, and he leaned towards me with a slight frown “Such a small voice, are you always like this, or am I making you nervous?” he joked, but I bit my lip, not knowing what to reply, I pulled my hand away, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he began to gently rub my knuckles with his thumb.

“Leave her alone, Qimir. She’s shy, don’t start with your teasing” Vernestra scolded him, at which he let go. I hid my hand under the table, clenching it into a fist, my skin tingling.

“Sorry, sorry. It must be a relief for you to have someone like this after me” she sighed but didn’t deny it either, at which I let out a smile and he, noticing, winked at me.

That was the first time I had dealings with him. But soon I began to see him everywhere. When he wasn’t on a mission, he stayed around the temple, so I encountered him in the corridors, in the halls, in the meditation room, and he always had a kind smile for me.

He made me feel special even though I knew it was a selfish feeling. When I managed to study with other Padawans in the library or practiced in the courtyard, he always stopped by to give me a nod. My friends were jealous, but I wasn’t really offended. Qimir was... kind.

It was like seeing the Force alive and pulsing around him. It was impossible not to look at him, not to wish that he would glance at you even just once.

Everyone wanted to be like him. Charismatic. Confident. Everyone wanted to be his friend.

One of the first missions I did with Master Vernestra was another point of contact. Being young, I wasn’t yet allowed in particularly dangerous scenarios, not to mention that if there was one thing I was lacking in, it was combat. I followed the Master almost everywhere, political life was just as important in a Jedi’s path, and I had to understand the mechanics early on for when I would be older, even though they were often more moments of leisure.

The meetings lasted hours, often discussing places, people, and things I knew nothing about. I tried to stay focused, but it was really difficult, and even Vernestra thought I shouldn’t strain myself too much, so she let me roam around, maybe continue studying, or even just take a little break.

One day, ready to depart, we were loading the luggage onto the ship. We were going to spend a few days on Hoth, and I was incredibly excited since I had never experienced a planet with that kind of climate before. As I was lost in my thoughts, a light knock interrupted me. At the foot of the ramp, Qimir gave me a half-smile "Is there room for me too?" I was still intimidated by his presence since we had never really spoken before. I opened my mouth several times, glancing around awkwardly, not sure if he was teasing me or if I was too stupid to understand what he meant.

"I hope you didn’t bring your usual baggage" Vernestra said behind me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, confused "Excuse me Master, is Qimir coming with us?" I struggled even to pronounce his name, it felt like an insult to do so, as if I didn’t have enough experience to earn such a privilege.

"What, you don't want me around?" he smiled as he walked up the ramp. I squirmed uncomfortably, realizing the embarrassing situation I had caused "N-no, I didn’t mean that—" He smiled even more, but Vernestra intervened again, scolding him "Give her some space Qimir."

The plan was simple: it was a diplomatic mission, and Qimir had joined us to study for a few days with his former master. I didn’t know exactly what he needed, but he wanted her advice. We left a few minutes later, and I avoided the control room like the plague. I only entered once to ask how much longer it would take, burning alive under Qimir’s gaze, then I shut myself in the bedroom and did my homework.

Hoth was as beautiful as it was freezing. But it was worth it; I had never seen such an immense expanse of white, the ground soft underfoot from the snow, the ice mountains, creatures I had never seen before. Vernestra stopped to talk to some locals, and I approached the enormous door overlooking the ice field. I wondered if the entire planet was like this. Did anyone live in those isolated areas? How could anyone survive in such a harsh climate?

A gloved hand rested on my back, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turned, expecting to see my master, but under the hood, it was Qimir’s dark eyes that looked at me with a gentle smile on his face.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" he asked before turning back to look at the white expanse before us. I nodded hesitantly. Nervous about speaking to him, I bit my lip but managed to gather the courage "Do you know... if there’s anyone who lives in these lands?" He looked at me, puzzled, and I quickly corrected myself "I mean... besides the local species. Or aliens accustomed to these temperatures. Do you think others could live in a place like this?" He let out a small amused puff, "Well, we actually know for sure. There are many bandits or pirates hiding in these lands. Mainly to hide something, you know, it’s not worth sending search teams into snowstorms for a single man" he explained.

I made a sound of acknowledgment, but he continued "And if we’re talking about others... I think so. Someone who likes solitude or seeks peace. It seems like a good place not to be found" At that point, I turned toward him "Completely alone? It seems..." sad. But I was afraid to say it out loud, sadness wasn’t one of those emotions a Jedi should typically feel, but it felt natural to feel melancholy at the thought of people wanting to lose themselves in nothingness, to never be found again.

"Sad?" he seemed to read my mind "You see, emotions are very complicated to recognize. What might seem sad to you might mean peace to others. As Jedi, we often take many emotions for granted, but we often forget to give them context" I listened, hanging on his every word.

The conversation seemed... strange in some way. It made sense. Of course it did, he was older than me, had more experience in the field, and knew what he was talking about. I should have just nodded and thanked him for sharing those words.

I ignored the burning sensation I felt and thanked him in a faint voice It felt silly to do so, but it was the least I could do.

He smiled at me and gently took my hand "Let’s go, we need to warm up a bit. Trust me, in two more minutes, you won’t be able to feel the tip of your nose" he joked. I stifled a giggle and let him lead me inside toward the rooms. I didn’t know if it was because we were both wearing gloves or because of the conversation we had just had, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable being held by the hand.

A couple of days later, I was alone in one of the bases scattered across the ice. Vernestra was in a meeting and had forbidden me from attending due to the sensitivity of some of the information that would be exchanged. The problem was that these places weren’t particularly full of people or things to do. Yes, there was a bar area, but after the third cup of hot chocolate, I was afraid of pushing my stomach to the limit, so I stayed at the entrance, my feet in a pile of snow as I doodled or made small, questionable-looking statues.

I was so engrossed in the crooked little house I was shaping out of the ice that I didn’t notice the snowball being thrown in my direction.

I let out a startled yelp when it hit the hood on my head. I spun around just in time to see Qimir burst into laughter "Why did you do that?!" I stood up quickly, brushing the snow off my head.

"You looked so bored, I woke you up, didn’t I?" he chuckled.

I glared at him with a pout while he continued to laugh, so I decided to get revenge.

I bent down to grab a pile of snow, quickly making two balls. I threw the first one, but he easily dodged it.

He turned with an arrogant smile, ready to boast when the second one hit him square in the face.

I burst into laughter. He wiped the snow from his nose, his smile gone before bending down to grab more snow.

I shouted his name, realizing immediately what he was about to do, and started running through the snow with him on my heels. We didn’t even have time to make proper snowballs, we just grabbed the snow in our hands, compacted it as best we could, and threw it at each other in a never-ending war. Sometimes I noticed people giving us amused looks as they arrived or departed from the base, but I didn’t care, I was so happy that, for the first time, I didn’t even care what people thought of me.

An hour later, Vernestra called us back, giving us a confused look. She sighed and sent us to dry off. I felt a bit embarrassed at that moment, and I apologized for the childish behavior, but she smiled at me and assured me there was nothing wrong with what we had done.

In the end I took a full shower someone had left dinner on my bed, considering how long I had been under the hot water. I ate and, putting on one of the heavy local pajamas, decided to step out into the hallway to ask the Master what we would be doing the next day. I knew she wasn’t in bed yet, based on her nightly habits.

I walked down the hallway on the second floor, where the various guest rooms were located, when I noticed that her door was already open.

I approached slowly and immediately recognized Qimir’s voice.

"I’m just saying, if we block the main routes, they’d be forced to come out into the open" With a sense of curiosity, I pressed myself against the wall to peek into the room. The two were looking at an old map spread out on the table.

"I agree, but it would take too many resources, and we don’t know the exact times or routes. It would take a lot of time" she replied wearily. Qimir, standing next to her, bit his lip before flashing one of his smiles, "Or... we could sneak in"

She sighed again "The point is the same. We don’t have the resources—"

"I’ll go in myself. I’ll cut the power right under their noses, and—" She interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

"Do you realize what you’re saying? Sneaking in like a thief, and then what? Even if I let you do it, they could still escape, and..." He circled the desk, positioning himself in front of her, his back to me, so I barely heard what he said "No one said we need them alive—"

A sudden thud made me jump. I pressed my hands to my mouth, paralyzed, afraid they had heard me "No. Stop this nonsense, Qimir."

I don’t know what they said after that, I was too busy slipping back into my room, the conversation I had just overheard spinning in my head.

Sometimes, as a Jedi, you had to make drastic choices, right?

Or at least, it seemed that way.

I tried to forget about it and went to sleep.

[vikintor]

Made an enemy

[maybeacloud]

Only The Good Die Young || E. Bridgerton

Summary: Fem!reader is staying with the Bridgertons for the social season and decides to confront Eloise about her feelings.

Word count: 0.8k

Warnings: None

<A/N> This is the first piece of fanfiction I have shared with anyone so it might be a bit rough, but if you have any feedback don’t be afraid to comment! Also, English isn’t my first language, sorry about any spelling errors :P

…

It was already past dark and most of the Bridgerton household had retired for the night. Only one person remained, curled up on a small sofa in the drawing room, her nose buried deep in a book. You could not help but stare. You were not sure you could ever get enough of it. Eloise’s hair, which had previously been pinned up, now hung loose around her face, and a burning candle cast a gentle light on her face.

You walked up to her, drawing her attention away from the yellowed parchment. “May I speak to you about something?” You said hesitantly, suddenly too nervous to meet her gaze.

She laughed “Of course you may. You can always come to me.” Her smile was as warm as always, and her eyes looked like deep blue waters in the flickering candlelight. You suddenly felt hot, as if you skin was burning, and you forced yourself to look away.

“If we are to remain friends-“

Eloise cut you off; “Of course we are, what makes you believe that we would not?” She tried to make it sound light hearted, but the words came out sharper than she had intended.

“If we are to remain friends” you started again “I can not keep secrets from you”

You looked down on your friend. Her face had settled in a worried expression. You suddenly regretted bringing up the topic but that was to no avail. You must finish what you started.

“I have these - feelings - that I would like to discuss. And I do not expect you to feel the same way…” at this point you had started pacing back and forth like a trapped animal.

“… but in these past few weeks I have come to know you as someone who is not quick to judge others, and I sincerely hope you will grant me that kindness…” Your steps slowed.

“For I hope I have not misjudged you, ms. Bridgerton.”

As you turned to look at her, your eyes meeting for the first time since you started you rambling, you knew you had to tell her. You could not keep a friendship build on lies.

Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted slightly as if she was wanting to say something. You stood in silence for a moment allowing her time to intervene. But she just tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows furrowing into an expression of worry and confusion.

You realised you had dragged this out for far too long. And you suspected your nervous fidgeting had not helped soothe your friend’s worries.

“Every time I look at you, Eloise, it’s as if my whole world disappears and I am left with nothing but blank space; I am left grasping to find my way back to reality because if I am alone with you my mind will wander to places it should not.” You could not afford to stop talking, for if you did you might not find you way back.

“I am willing to throw away whatever dignity I have if it means I get to hold you, and it scares me. Because I- I have never felt like this before.” That last sentence came out more as a whisper.

Eloise sat still as a statue, unchanged, and for a second you started to wonder if you had imagined the whole thing, but then she moved. She straightened her posture, looked down at the book laying on her lap and hesitated for a moment before fixing her gaze back onto you. You suddenly felt unable to breathe, as if a weight was put on you chest.

Eloise, without breaking eye contact, untangled her bare feet from her nightgown and slowly stood up, meeting you at eye level.

Her face was impossible to read as her expression seemed to change constantly.

“Eloise, I-“ You started to apologise, but all words left you as you felt her hand reach for yours. Her touch was warm, like a small spark that quickly grew into a burning fire. She held onto your hand, still with her eyes fixed on you. And without thinking you took a single step, almost closing the distance between your bodies.

She was close enough for you to feel her warm breaths against your skin and you could not pull your eyes from her face. You were desperate to memorise every freckle on her face, the way the flickering shadows from the candlelight softened her features and then there were her eyes. They were like a frozen lake; idle on the surface, but beneath it lies a deeper water, constantly moving with the current. They wandered across your face before settling on your lips.

“Tell me…“ She trailed of, her voice was low and husky. A shaky breath escaped your lips and she took that as an invitation to start slowly guiding your hand upward until your palm rested against the bare skin right below her collarbone. “…tell me if you want me to stop.”

And with that she fully closed the distance between you, and as your lips met hers you knew that you never wanted her to let go.

…

[sirjaketkiszka]

Jake Kiszka One Shot: Stand Guard

You and Jake have the tour bus all to yourselves after a show. He wants to put it to good use.

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Jake x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,483

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, unprotected sex, cursing, dirty talk, grinding, very light choking, teasing, begging, overstimulation, slightly rough!Jake, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, the pet name “baby,” and, of course, mediocre writing.

Disclaimer: apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

Jake Kiszka One Shot Masterpost

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Jake grabs my hand as soon as he’s off the stage, forgetting to wave a final goodbye to his fans. “Geez, Jake, what’s the rush?” I yell, my ears still ringing from the concert. I try to keep up with him as he speed walks down the backstage halls, and to the back exit where we entered the venue many hours ago. Looking behind me, I see the band’s main security guard following us as well.

“We have the bus to ourselves for a bit,” He quickly says while pushing open the exit door. Frantically looking around, the three of us make sure there are no fans waiting outside while we rush to the tour bus.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, a little out of breath, when he stops in front of the tour bus’s entrance.

“Just get in, please,” He nudges my lower back and opens the door for me, allowing me to step in first. When I do, I look over my shoulder to see him whispering to the security guard, who seems to stay standing outside the door. I catch the final words of their conversation, “Keep watch.” Jake says as the guard nods, closing the tour bus door behind him.

“What are we doing?” I ask, but he ignores my question by pulling me in by the waist. He places a gentle kiss on my lips, and I kiss back.

“I missed you.” He says while pulling away, a devious smile on his lips.

“I missed you, too,” I respond, giving him a questioning look, “What are you up to, Jake?” The question pulls a chuckle from him.

“I said we have the bus to ourselves, didn’t I?” He smirks.

“Huh?” I look around the bus and realization dawns on me, my eyes widening, “You want to– Jake! Really? Here?!”

“Yes, here.” He leans in, capturing my lips with his, but I pull away quickly before we can get carried away.

“But your security-”

“He’s keeping watch, don’t worry,” His eyes are reassuring, “No one’s coming in here.”

After considering his words for a moment, I shrug and lean back into him, our lips meeting each other once again. Swiping my tongue on his lower lip, I feel his grip on my waist tighten, pulling me in even more. His lips part slightly, our tongues dancing fluidly. He tastes of whiskey and sweat, the sensation shooting straight to my core.

A muffled moan escapes my throat when one of his hands leaves my waist and rests on my neck. The grip on my throat is gentle, hardly noticeable, but he uses the leverage to push me further into the bus. He stops when we reach the bus’s couch, which resides behind the driver’s seat.

He sits on the couch first while pulling me down with him, our lips still moving against each other. My legs find their way on either side of his hips, falling into a straddling position. When I settle down on his lap, his hard cock immediately pushes against my clothed cunt, pulling a surprised gasp out of me and breaking our kiss.

“See what you do to me?” His voice is thickly laced with lust, coming out in barely a whisper. His hand on my waist lowers to my hip, as well as the hand previously on my neck, and he guides me up and down his erection in a grinding motion. We let out satisfied, needy sighs in unison, his eyes bouncing from mine to his lap. “I could come just like this, baby.”

His praises cause heat to rise to my face, blush cascading along my cheeks. “Please touch me, Jake,” I beg, “I need to feel you.”

“I love when you beg, baby,” He says, his hands still guiding my hips, “Keep riding.” He instructs me, reaching for the bottom of my shirt. I raise my arms and let him take it off, my hands coming down to rest on his shoulders. I continue my pace as he leans forward, peppering kisses along the tops of my breasts.

My head tilts back, quiet sighs leaving open lips with every quickened breath. Not wanting to remove his grip, he uses his teeth to tug on the straps of my bra, sliding them down my shoulders. Still using his teeth, he pulls one of the bra cups down, exposing my breast. The cool air of the tour bus causes my bare nipple to harden, Jake quickly gathering it in his warm mouth.

A moan hitches in my throat as I try to be mindful of the company right outside of the bus. His hot tongue swirls circles around my hard nipple, and he catches it in his teeth, slightly tugging on it. When my painful whine fills the bus, he sucks on the stinging peak to soothe the pain.

Removing his mouth with an audible pop, the lingering spit becomes cold, sending a chill down my spine. He quickly moves to the other breast, performing the same ritual as the previous one. The mixed feeling of his affection and my grinding clouds my mind with pure need and lust. “Jake-”

“Stand up, baby,” He tells me, urging me to get off of him. When I do, I watch as he stands up as well and takes his suit jacket off. He grabs my hand and leads me to the very back of the tour bus. We pass by rows of bunks, the tour bus bathroom, and we arrive in the separate room where a larger U-shaped couch resides. Releasing my hand, his hands fly to his pants’ zipper and button, “Take them off.” He says, nodding to my own pants, pulling his down, as well as his boxers in the process.

The sight of his erection causes me to pause, my dilated pupils spreading to the edges of my irises, no doubt. A cocky smirk is plastered on his face, and I shoot him a playful glare, finally taking my pants and underwear off. He takes my hands and sits down, “Come here,” he demands, impatience on his tongue.

Doing as he says, I go back to straddling him. His hands are on my hips again, guiding me back to his bare erection. When my naked cunt rests on his cock, not yet inside me, he lets out a choked groan. “You’re so fucking wet,” he’s back to guiding me back and forth on his cock, “Soak my fucking cock, baby.”

“Yes, Jake,” I manage to let the words out in a pleased sigh when the feeling of his erection rubbing my clit catches me off guard. He continues to move my hips at a steady rhythm, making me pant with that familiar feeling creeping in my gut.

“Put it in, baby,” He lifts my hips, losing all friction. He nudges his head toward his cock, telling me to put him in myself. My shaky hand comes down between us and when my fingers wrap around his cock, it’s soaked, hot, and hard. His hips move up slightly, chasing the feeling of my firm grip. “Don’t tease me.”

“I would never,” I say, fighting back a mischievous smirk, “I want this as much as you do.” I really do. Holding his erection, I slide the tip up and down my wet slit, both of us holding our breath at the feeling.

“Come on, baby,” He urges, his voice bordering on a whine.

His grip on my hips tightens in anticipation when his tip nudges my entrance, not putting it in yet. I guide his tip back up to my clit, circling it. My jaw falls agape at the sensation, and Jake’s eyes snap up to look at me, no longer watching my hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, irritation flaming in his eyes. I quicken the pace on my swollen clit when I notice his reaction.

“Yes,” I moan, my head falling back. My thighs twitch around his legs, signaling my growing peak.

“No,” Jake grunts, lifting my hips higher, making me lose the grip on his cock. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” I ask innocently, my chest heaving slightly.

“What did I say about teasing me?” His voice is dark and his eyes match his tone, making the hair on my neck and arms stand up.

“I wasn’t-”

“No more talking,” He says, swiftly lining his cock with my entrance and setting me down, my pussy stretching around him until he fits snugly inside of me. I open my mouth to moan his name, but nothing comes out when the dull, but welcomed pain causes me to hold my breath. “Yeah? Want to try that again?” He taunts, tilting his head when he examines my face.

Satisfied with my lack of response, he lifts my hips once more and guides me back down, slowly pumping in and out of my cunt. The pain disappears and is replaced with growing pleasure from every pass of my g-spot. Finally, I move my hips with his hands still resting on them, my breathing becoming heavy.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” He asks, pulling my gaze to look at him.

“Yes,” I whisper, afraid of being too loud; still conscious of the company outside.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he leans forward and whispers in my ear, “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“He'll hear us,” I pant, my eyes squeezing shut when my climax slowly builds up again.

“Who cares,” he says nonchalantly while leaning back, “look at me,” My eyes open and our gazes hold, “Just focus on me, baby, focus on how good this feels.” He starts lifting his hips to meet mine, the pressure in my gut growing quickly and intensely.

“Oh, god!” I yell at the new pace, forgetting my previous concern, “Fuck!”

“That’s right,” He forces my hips down harder and faster, “I wanna hear you.”

“Fuck, Jake, I’m so close!” My high-pitch moans and the sound of our skin connecting fills the small room, “Keep going, please,” I beg.

My brows furrow, preparing for an intense orgasm, and I feel the walls of my pussy begin to flutter around his cock. “Yes, Jake, I’m going to come!” I cry out, keeping the same relentless pace.

“Not yet,” He grunts out, lifting me off of his cock. A yelp exits my throat, my building orgasm dissolving in my lower belly, gone just as quick as it arrived.

“What?” I ask, confused and in disbelief, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You heard me,” He lowers me back onto his cock, slipping in easily this time, “You’ll come when I tell you to.”

“But, Jake-”

“You’ll have to beg first,” He says, “Keep riding my cock.”

“Okay,” A shaky breath passes my lips as I lift my hips, sinking back down when his tip nearly slips out. I keep the pace slow at first, my body still recovering from my near orgasm, and when the pressure builds in my gut again, my hips move quicker. Needy moans and concentrated grunts leave our parted lips, dangling in the empty space between us.

“Keep going,” He encourages with a grunt, “You look so good doing that, baby.”

“Please, Jake, I think I’m getting close again.” I let out in a tired sigh.

“Not yet, baby,” His grip on my hips strengthens, keeping me from changing the pace to my liking, “I don’t think you’ve earned it yet.”

I groan, letting him control the speed. It’s consistent, but it’s not enough to push me over the edge. The feeling of tingling stalls in my gut, never building up to where I want it. It’s too much stimulation, causing my eyes to close in order to concentrate. My moans border on desperate whines, needing to chase my climax.

Growing frustrated, one of my hands travels between us, searching for the bundle of nerves that begs my attention.

“Ah- nice try,” One of Jake’s hands grabs my wrist, stopping my hips, and keeping me from rubbing my clit. “I don’t hear you begging, sweetheart.”

“Jake, please, I need to come.” My eyes sting from frustration.

“Then keep begging,” He demands, his hand returning to my hip and resuming the consistent pace.

When the feeling becomes unbearable, I lose all other senses. I have no idea how loud or how quiet I am. All I can focus on is chasing a release, “Please,” I whine, “Please, go faster.”

Surprisingly, he actually listens, and his hands begin forcing my hips down at a fast pace. Finally, the heat in my belly spreads again, letting me know my climax is near. “Keep doing that, Jake, please don’t stop.” I’m hoping my words are encouraging him enough to continue, and more importantly, to let me orgasm.

“Beg for it, baby.” He says, slightly slowing the pace down again. “Tell me what you want— Let me hear you.”

“Please, Jake, let me come on your cock,” I answer, my whining voice surely loud enough for outsiders to hear. “I need it.”

“Good girl,” He speeds my hips up, causing my hands to reach for his shoulders from the strong force behind his thrusts.

“Oh my god!” My voice gets a pitch higher the closer I get to an orgasm, “So fucking good,” I say through gritted teeth, my eyebrows scrunching at my approaching orgasm.

“Yeah?” He taunts while sliding one of his hands from my hip to my pussy, his thumb brushing roughly against my aching clit. “How’s this?”

“Fuck, yes, Jake,” My head falls back, jaw falling open. Obscenities fill the entire bus, and my orgasm finally hits. “Holy shit, I’m coming!” My hips violently sputter against his, my pussy walls squeezing his cock in a pulsing pattern. For a moment, my vision goes hazy and my ears ring, making all senses dull while I ride out my orgasm. My thighs are clenching tightly around him, the final spasms of my climax involuntarily squeezing him.

When my orgasm subsides, Jake continues the same pace of my hips as he still rubs my clit. The sensation becomes too much to bear, the aftershocks of my orgasm already receding and being replaced by overstimulation. “Jake-”

“I’m not done yet,” he doesn’t let up as his cock slides in and out of me, wet sounds of my previous release filling the air around us. “It feels so good when you come on my cock, baby.” He praises, his thumb still pressing firm circles on my clit. Whiny moans catch in my throat, unable to come out when he fucks me harder.

After just a few more thrusts, he gives me a quick peck on the lips and lifts me up, pulling out of me. “Stand up.” He demands.

Standing up, I step away from him, immediately being met with trembling legs. He stands up as well, his fist pumping his erect cock. “Come here,” he orders as he situates me to stand in front of the couch. I’m facing him, my back to the couch, when he tells me, “Turn around.”

Turning to face the couch, I’m now staring at the wall. I feel his presence behind me when his free hand grips the back of my neck and bends me forward. My hands land on the headrest of the couch, my legs still standing straight as I’m bent at the waist. “Spread your legs.”

I do as he says, feeling his hand on my lower back and pushing down slightly, “Arch your back, baby.” Doing as he says, it causes my ass to stick out, “Yeah, just like that. God, you should see yourself right now.”

Looking over my shoulder, I watch as he steps closer to me, still pumping his cock. When it’s out of view, I feel the tip teasing my entrance, my back arching further at the feeling. My hands grip the couch in anticipation when one of his hands grabs my hip.

In one swift motion, he thrusts back inside of me, earning a small yelp from me. “Fuck, yes,” Jake huffs out, already pumping in and out of me, “You take my cock so well.”

Moaning in response, my walls squeeze around him. His free hand reaches around, finding my clit with ease, and he rubs thorough, firm circles around the bundle of nerves, “I want you to come again.” He states.

“I’m not sure if I can,” I whine.

“You begged me to let you come,” He says matter-of-factly, “so you can do it again, baby.”

I let out a frustrated moan, his pace on my clit relentless. He slides in and out of me vigorously, the new position making his cock discover different angles in my weeping cunt. I feel another orgasm coming on, but no matter what, it never reaches its peak.

The sound of skin slapping fills the room, his grip on my hips becoming firmer, “I don’t have much longer, baby, I need you to come with me.” Jake says from behind me.

“I’m trying,” A small whimper catches in my throat, “I can’t do it again.”

“We’ll see,” Jake grunts out, no doubt losing his control. He pounds harder, and faster, his fingers on my clit working faster as well.

“Oh, fuck!” I cry out as my moans become consistently louder, with every breath carrying a moan soon after.

“Oh, you poor thing.” His words come out in a low, frustrated grunt. His hand moves from my hip to my hair, gathering it and firmly tugging on it, pounding even harder while using me as support. “This is what you wanted, baby,” He says through clenched teeth, “You can do it, come on my fucking cock.”

The force behind his thrusts causes me to stand on my tip toes, pushing my grip further into the couch cushions. Jake’s breathing is getting heavy, and his thrusts are getting slightly sloppier, but it’s barely noticeable. He’s really starting to lose control as his grunts and moans grow louder and more frequent.

“Just one more time, baby,” He manages to get out in between low grunts. “Fuck, fuck,” twando more thrusts and, “Fuck!” He can no longer hold it when I feel his cock jerk inside of me. Although the strength of his final thrust sends me over the edge, my second climax erupts simultaneously with his first.

“Oh, God!” I cry out, making my moans mix with satisfied sobs, and my second climax begging my legs to give out. His cock twitches inside of me, amplifying the pleasure, and spurts of hot cum coat my walls as they squeeze him in return. My arched back spasms and my ass rubs against him as my clenched stomach releases the final pulses of my orgasm.

“That was so good, baby,” He whispers from behind me, his voice exhausted. He bends over me to leave sloppy, wet kisses on my back and shoulders. Finally releasing my bunched hair, the dull ache of my scalp soothes, “I’ll never get enough of you.” He says close to my ear, his voice soft and genuine.

After a moment, when our breathing has evened, he pulls out of me and I feel our mixed fluids run down my thighs. “Stay there,” He orders, crouching down and inspecting my soaked cunt. I swear I can see his pupils dilate even more when I look back at him, watching his cum leak out of me, “Such a fucking mess. I love it.” He places a tender kiss on my ass, standing up.

He quickly leaves the room, leaving me in my bent-over position, and returns with a wet washcloth and my shirt that we discarded earlier. It’s warm when he begins rubbing up my thighs, folding the cloth over to use clean sides with each wipe. “All done,” He says, playfully swatting my ass, making me stand up straight. “Let’s get dressed.”

We both get our clothes on, with Jake changing into a more comfortable after-show outfit. He takes a seat on the couch, away from where we just were, and pats the spot next to him.

Taking a seat next to him, I curl up into his side. He gently brushes the hair from my face, and plants tender kisses on my temple, forehead, and the top of my head. “I really did miss you.” He breaks our comfortable silence.

“I missed you, too,” I smile at him.

The tour bus door opens, catching our attention, and the security guard finds us in the back of the bus, “The other boys will be here soon.”

“Geez, man, don’t you knock?” Jake jokes, chuckling.

“Well, I didn’t hear anything for a while so I figured you were done,” He fights a smirk, “And I can see that you are.” He says, leaving us.

My smile fades and my cheeks turn a dark shade of crimson, “Wait, what did he say?”

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Sorry for the silly ending lol! I hope you enjoyed!

Btw— let me know if I ever miss any warnings for all of my writing. By the time I post these, my brain is jumbled and I can’t remember every single warning. Thank you!!

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One Shot Tag List:

@sunandthemoontwinflames

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Tags:

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was the daughter of a rich guy who faked an earthquake warning to make everyone leave the town. It was just us and some other people left in his mansion. When he told me, I ran off and he chased me with dogs. Eventually I ended up in a first person fucked-up playthrough of Undertale with jumpscares.

[hearts4werka]

Missing

Summary: it’s been six months since your sister went missing, everyone gave up on the investigation but you’re determined to find her no matter what but someone comes along the way… Genre: first person pov’s Stalker, missing person, thriller, horror, crime investigation, dark aesthetic, stalker romance, double pov Warnings: stalking, mentions of possible murder and torturous acts on children, mental health problems, dark fantasy dreams, exploration of the dark web, mention of an asshole boyfriend and possibly more that might trigger some readers. Read At Your Own Risk!

This is part 3 of the ‘Missing’ series!

7:00 AM

🤍 - Rosalla’s POV

The sun starts rising and the sun pools into my room through the windows as I wake up from my slumber with a weird feeling of soreness and bruised skin on the inner parts of my thighs.

Immediately ripping the duvet off the lower half of my body I slide down my pyjama pants to my mid-thighs, seeing several marks left behind on the inner skin of my thighs.

Inspecting it, confused on how the fuck did I get them? I don’t think I woke up in the middle of the night to go take a piss and even if did, I wouldn’t have bruises on my inner thighs.

Searching my mind for a presumable answer, I scout out one most reasonable answer that makes the most sense.

My stalker.

But what was he doing between my thighs?…

Realization hits me like a big bookshelf falling down, it’s obvious what he was doing there now. Immediately I pull my pyjama pants right back up and a weird feeling of my dark fantasies coming to life…

I’ve never confessed to something like this to anyone except for my now ex-boyfriend, one morning we were just cuddling in bed and I started to talk about a dream I had about a being chased down by a man in a mask and then being taken against my will.

That morning I had woken up all wet and horny so I asked my now ex-boyfriend if we wanted to try something like that, he looked at me and said I was fucked up in the head and proceeded to ignore me for two whole weeks which broke my heart.

Those two weeks I’ve spent at home eating ice-cream, watching romcoms and crying myself to sleep. Blaming myself for even having such dreams, such dark and twisted fantasies in the dark parts of my brain…

He was the one that broke up with me since I had felt seriously emotionally attachted to him, like he actually loved me but it all ended when he found out I have a stalker and he said he couldnt be seen with me, knowing theres some other man lurking and watching our every move somewhere in the dark shadows.

I finally get the strength to get out of bed and make my way over to the bathroom to take a refreshing morning shower. Thank god I have a day off today or I would not survive an hour at work.

Undressing myself I step into the shower, washing my spiraling thoughts taunting me in the dark depths of my mind down my body. Running a hand over my face I silence out all of the voices in my head all speaking at once and allow myself to finally relax and have a moment of peace.

| - 🍂 - |

7:47 AM

I’ve gotten out of the shower and thrown on some random clothes I found in my closet so I won’t sit in my pyjamas all day even though i was being close to doing that. A simple black tank top under an oversized off-shoulder gray hoodie with black sweatpants and mini uggs on my feets, my hair being put up lazily in a messy bun. ( outfit here )

I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen, putting on some my hometown Spanish music on the speakers I start preparing some breakfast, my hips swaying from side to side each time I walk and when I'm standing they start to create circle, dancing to the music using my hips.

🖤 - Matthew’s POV

I watch her every move, every sway of her hips and move of her perfect body. She wont be able to escape me now ever since I've laid my eyes on her that one time, after I got home that day I did all of my research and found out as much as I could without her finding out.

Fuck, she sure knows how to move her hips.

Also I may or may not installed cameras in her house a few weeks after she became my newly found obsession but atleast I can keep an eye on her and protect my girl from any danger coming her way she may not know of. No one touches what’s mine.

Shes preparing breakfast, doing something normal in this moment and still manages to look even more gorgeous each time.

I sit back in my chair at my house, watching her from all different angles on numerous monitors on my wall from the cameras I have scarretered all over her house in those small and invisible spots she would never think to check.

A laptop is dismissently sitting on my lap with the dark web opened and the newly leaked video loading, I'm checking if the new victim isn't her missing sister by any chance and to hopefully track down the location of their new stay. I've been trying to catch those fuckers for some time now with my team and we've been close in the past but never close enough.

I'm moving my gaze from a goddess dancing in her kitchen to a gory, disgusting video of various of tortureous acts being preformend on children, why do I do this you may ask? I don't know it just sucked me into the dark layers of the world and once you go in, you can't get out.

| - 🍂 - |

10:25 AM

She’s already ate breakfast, had a dance party and singing competition with the voices in her head. Finally she’s now resting on the couch of her living room writing in a journal-like notebook with her cat Willow sleeping in her lap.

That journal holds some of her darkest secrets and I’ve somehow managed to get my hands on it one night, reading thought the different things she’s been through and establishing her ex-boyfriend is a total asshole and didn’t deserve her.

If I could I would teach him a goddamn lesson for treating her like the way he did and when I first found out I was close to actually bashing that motherfucker head with a brick but I kept myself under control and decided to leave it alone.

🤍 - Rosalla’s POV

I was just journaling in my notebook, it’s always felt therapeutic to me and helped me to find my peace or to drain my constantly spiralling thoughts onto paper so I don’t have to bottle them up inside of me.

My cat Willow is snuggly cuddled up on my lap, peacefully sleeping. I wish I could be so carefree with no worries on my head like her, maybe if I was a cat I wouldn’t constantly be burying myself in my thoughts?

As I try to relax, placing the journal down next to me the memories of me and my missing sister together flood back into my mind, clouding any other thought I might have had in there.

A single small tear swirls in my eye and falls down onto the delicate fur of my cat as I pet her back, smiling at the funny and wholesome memories we had together as tears start to prick my eyes.

I wish she was here with me.

authors note: I didn’t know how to end this, kinda ended on a sad note but I finally finished it and fed you my children, there’s more backstory here to go indeep with the characters pasts. Hope I didn’t make you wait long and hope you enjoyed this!

Guestlist!

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Please turn on your mentions if you’re not here!

Reblogs, likes are very much appreciated!

[horvival]

Alien: Isolation (2014)

[jjkpilled]

“Do you know how pretty you are?”

WARNINGS: mentions of disordered eating, body image issues :3 enjoy!

As I stood silently infront of my mirror observing my figure, he walked in. He didnt say anything, im sure he didnt even see me. I continued silently flexing my stomach to make it look flatter, and sucking in my jaw to make the line sharper.

“Thats whats wrong with people these days.” he broke the silence, causing me to jump slightly.

“hm?” Satoru walked towards me and stopped just behind me, him being around a foot taller than me, he could see me in the mirror.

“They-… tend to make such beautiful girls think theyre any less than they are. With all these-… standards.” I stayed quiet, until i felt his lengthy fingers snake around my waist, pulling me backwards into him.

“Do you know how pretty you are, princess..?” Honestly right now I felt like anything but a princess… I continued my silence as his hands trailed up and down my sides, his distinct chuckle making my heart race.

“Well..? do you…?” He repeated, i didnt really know the answer to that. Because, sometimes i felt pretty. But.. sometimes i wanted to crawl into a hole and never be seen again.

I wasnt sure how to respond so I just shrugged. He sighed and walked away, was he upset with me…? My attachment issues wanted me to fall to my knees, crying and begging for his forgiveness, but the logical side of things told me to just shake it off.

Maybe he wasnt sure how to help.

“Have you had lunch?” He echoed through the house, getting louder as he re-approached my room.

“Mhm.” I hadnt, but I know he’d yell at me if he caught me skipping meals again.

“Dont lie, princess. That’s not cute.” damnit. He always knew when I was lying.. it was weird.

“Im not.” I sighed, turning around to face him. He had his dark, round sunglasses propped up on his head. He looked at me through those piercing blue eyes and quietly made his way towards me, cupping my face in his hands.

“Why?” he asked, to which I cocked my head sideways at him in confusion.

“Why do you do this to yourself…? Who made you think like this..?” He said quietly, his hands running through my hair. When I didnt answer his question he grabbed my face and slightly squeezed.

“Why are you so quiet today?”

“I-I dont know…” I, pathetically, answered. He sighed and unexpectedly hugged me, tight. I hugged him back and he… started sniffling…? Was the Satoru Gojo crying on me?

“Youre so.. beautiful.. and you dont see it… Yet you-… You hurt yourself a-and.. you just- youre gonna kill yourself some day doing that! A-And, it seems like you dont even care!” He cried, he didnt cry.. he just- wasnt a person who did that… yet, he was quite literally sobbing on me.

“Are you starving yourself?” his question was met with silence, he let go of me and took a step back.

“Answer me, damnit! I need to know! Are you fucking starving yourself, again?!” I felt tears welling up, i shook my head quietly.

“Stop lying to me!” He yelled, he didnt yell, ever. At least not at me. But.. he seemed really upset.

I whimpered quietly as he tightly gripped my shoulders, enough to send a painful jolt down my spine.

“You are going to stop with this nonsense! Do you hear me?! Do you fucking hear me, y/n?!” I nodded while tears started to trickle. Seeing this made his anger immediately subside. He hugged me tightly.

“Do you… know… how pretty you are…?”

[mmeepp-mmeepp]

I found an idea =)

And it's... puppy eyed nightmare or nootmare =)

I hope you like it!

Tbh I drew this under 30min so it look alittle wacky heh ('– v –)

Should I do another sans?

Inspiration from @flowerscentedartist

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Excerpt of upcoming fic, "Players"

My touch trails down his thighs to his knees while my face is at eye level with his desire. “What do I do now?” My voice, painfully innocent, only makes him grow harder.

One of his hands cups my jaw, his thumb gently padding on the fat of my lips. “I think you know.” His voice was raspy and low like gravel.

Softly smiling, I lean into his hand, slipping his thumb in my mouth and twirling my tongue around it. Joe sucks in a gasp, his teeth gnawing at his lips as I let his thumb go with a slick pop.

“Is that what you want?” 

Yall likey?😇

[julieverne]

Jane rows the boat so I can use the underwater camera. She's so weak now, her body bony where it used to be muscular, her arms like twigs. I can see her biceps flex, and they're nowhere near as impressive as they used to be. I try to feed her when I can, but it feels like she's been avoiding me for some time. Either since she lost the baby, or since we lost Frost. Perhaps even when I started seeing Jack; Jane had been nice to him, but her eyes, when turned on me, have been unusually sad since. It's understandable; Jane had asked me to co-parent with her - which was a moment when Jane was as vulnerable and insecure as she had ever been. Perhaps she'd been picturing it as I'd been picturing it; the two of us exhausted, an infant held between us, the way it had been with TJ. Just the two of us, no one else, falling asleep curled together, the baby in a proper crib this time instead of being cradled in a soft blanket on a pillow surrounded by medical textbooks. Perhaps she'd been scared by that, perhaps she'd realised that it hadn't been the most heterosexual thing to ask. Perhaps I hadn't helped by calling out that she was gay out loud in our favourite dining place. Perhaps she regretted asking me; perhaps she was still mourning all the loss in her life; her almost fiance, her almost child, her former partner.

Perhaps she simply doesn't love me any more. She'd never said it. The closest she came once was "you too" after I told her I loved her. It had been enough, at the time, and now it felt like so little.

She had been engaged to Casey, or almost engaged, so it feels unfair of her to withdraw so completely once I'd found someone else to date, since she'd made it clear that she never would date me.

But if she really didn't care for me at all. then she'd never have come out here on the lake with me, in a ridiculous rowboat from a Jane Austen book. She pauses, her lanky arms easily resting on the oars, and I envy her the comfort she has in her own body.

It's peaceful here without the splashing of the oars. The lake water is clear and bright, and the sun warms my already too-freckled shoulders. I'd insisted we both wear sunscreen, and Jane had rolled her eyes but held out her hands anyway, applying her own, then tugging my hair away from the nape of my neck to slide her cool hand over the skin there, retreating with a furrowed brow as though she had only done it out of habit. I returned the favour, her thick, unruly hair spilling over my tentative fingers, the knobs of her spine harsh and obvious, painful to witness. Jane didn't flinch at my touch for once, even though it was my bare skin against hers once more, something I craved that she no longer supplied. She even relaxed after a moment, a low hum spilling from her lips as I dug in more than necessary with my fingertips at the residual tension residing there. When she tensed again I left her neck, brushed my fingers against the tips of her ears, which she'd forgotten to apply sunscreen to, and she gave me a smile that slipped all too soon from her tentative lips.

A bird calls from a tree nearby, breaking the easy silence between us as I tell Jane the species and genus from the call. Jane rolls her eyes, but not unkindly. Usually I'd have insisted on both of us wearing the life vests on the seat behind her, but Jane had rolled her eyes at those as well. She used to do anything for me, and now I am too scared to ask for even basic health and safety accommodations with her. I watch the underwater terrain from the wireless screen my camera is sending images to; technology is wonderful, for my view is unfettered. I look through the area, and when I look up Jane has an inscrutable expression on her face.

She is looking at me, and she looks scared, or annoyed, or affectionate, or perhaps all of these at once. Her eyes beneath her dark glasses give her away, and she turns and yawns, feigning disinterest.

I know her tells, but I don't push. Not now, when what we have is so fragile. Jane would probably rather swim to shore than discuss what we have between us, so I turn back to the screen.

"We might be here for a while. I packed a lunch," I tell her. I pull out an umbrella I packed to provide some shade, and Jane lashes it like a mast to the seat between us. She almost upends the boat and the basket trying to get at the food, and she calls it a pic-a-nick basket with a big grin.

She'd made me binge-watch the cartoon some years ago, falling asleep heavily against me. Curling into my lap, almost purring with contentment. I don't remember much, just that one phrase, bears in bowties, and the inherent loveliness of Jane being comfortable enough with me to snuggle up against me, my hand resting on her ribcage as it rose and fell with her breath.

Jane unfolds a large napkin into her lap while I watch the feed on the camera still, observing the fish behaviour in the area as I had proposed for the outing. Jane flings the second napkin at me, which I fit over my canary-yellow pants. I wish I'd worn my alfresco pants, but then Jane would have realised this was all a ploy to get time alone with her if I'd come any more prepared than this. The wicker basket itself is almost a giveaway; it's the thing of romance novels. I feel like I belong in one; I'm the daughter of a mobster, a wealthy heiress, an orphan, an outcast. Jane unwraps a sandwich, examines it, and from the contents she is able to ascertain that it is mine. She hands it over, then digs into her own sandwich with such relish that I'm relieved. I packed two each, but the second of mine can easily be hers too. We like a lot of the same things.

We used to even like each other, and now it feels like she can barely stand to be in the same room as me.

Was I too harsh when she jumped off that bridge? No, I was devastated to see her disappear into that dark, sinking water. To think she had so little concern if she lived or died.

That she had no reason to stay. That I wasn't reason enough to stay. It hurts even now, and I find I cannot look at her. I brush my cheek to hide a tear that comes too readily.

Along with the sandwiches, everything else of mine could be hers too, if only she wasn't so scared.

I swallow, trying not to cry, and Jane mistakes my respiratory needs for thirst and hands me a cool bottle of iced tea. I steady myself, snap the top and read her the fun fact, then spend several minutes while her mouth is full explaining why the fact is neither fun nor factual, as it has been debunked recently in a scientific forum. Jane just chews stoically, a captive audience. I let myself enjoy the moment; the sundappled water, the occassion bird call from the shore, the wading birds at the muddy banks foraging, the soft splash of water against the hull of our little sanctuary against the world, the afternoon shade finally finding us and making me shiver with the sudden refreshing coolness after such a warm day. Jane has discarded her jacket and throws it at me. It's covered in the scent of Jane, lavender and adrenaline. I have to restrain myself from huffing it.

I feel safe here; the safest I've felt for a long time, and it's because Jane is relaxed and happy, because Jane is finally eating like she has an appetite, because Jane is here. A fish swims past, circles around and mouths the camera. I jerk it out of the water with a little squeal and Jane laughs at me. It's not hurtful laughter; it's comfortable. I slide the camera back below the water, glad I am recording, for Jane's laughter will now be forever preserved.

Jane finishes both her sandwiches and looks longingly at mine. I nod, but she only takes half, handing the rest over to me. Her fingertips leave little divots in the soft bread, and I let my lips close slowly over them before I bite into cheese and salad.

She's left the same fingerprints all over my life, all over my heart. Her mother lives with me; we're intangible, intractable. The scar on my throat from being moral support; a scar that matches one of her own. The way I no longer flinch when someone I know well tries to hug me. The way I know she mumbles in her sleep about Darkwing Duck. The way she comes to me when she's scared because she trusts me above all else. The way we fit together in our sleep, no space between us for any untruths, except this one I habour so deep in my chest that I hadn't been ready to admit it until I'd seen someone else's ring on a finger I wanted to be mine.

I packed two muffins as well, and Jane devours hers with the kind of hunger that does something to me; she is so passionate and fierce that sometimes I feel the tightening in my chest, the fluttering in my stomach, the clench of muscles a little lower. She's a strong, powerful woman at her best, and to see her at her worst is no less endearing because it's her passion that had always enticed me to her.

She hands me my muffin; our fingers brush. I'm very aware that we're having what would look like a romantic picnic in a rowboat on a lake to any observers, but perhaps it hasn't struck Jane yet, and I hope it doesn't. She'll tense up and be awkward again at the implications, and she'll respond only in a series of grunts until she delivers me safely to shore.

"That was great, Maura. Something about being outdoors always gives me an appetite, and no ants out here on the boat." She smiles at me; behind her sunglasses her eyes are soft again, so I can tell she means it, that she understands that I'm trying, in my own awkward way, to make sure she's eating.

Her feet are either side of mine, her long legs splayed, and she's in a good mood for once. Well, she's cracking jokes. All I can think of is her straddling me, brushing my hair from my face, cupping my jaw. My eyes close from wanting it so much; from wanting her so much. It wouldn't be easy or convenient in a rowboat, but I'm flexible and I've already thought of at least three positions that wouldn't be too uncomfortable for either of us.

I don't know why I chose the rowboat; some romantic Anne of Green Gables notion of mine, but it feels like it's brought us closer together. She seems calm out here, perhaps even happy. Relaxed and sure of herself. She loves to prove herself, to do manly activities, to show off a little, especially to me. She's very chivalrous and entirely unwilling to explore what that means in terms of gender roles.

To me, it means Jane would be a good provider, a good protector. I see what happens to women who have neither, and it makes me scared. I know what evil lurks in the heart of men because I have seen it myself. I wasn't allowed to perform Hoyts autopsy, but I was allowed to observe. I was allowed to hold his heart; small and unremarkable in any way. Jane's heart is large and strong; I watched them measure it in echocardiography after she'd shot herself. It's as remarkable as the woman herself, even after she'd been so thoroughly broken.

I look over at her; she's watching me carefully, and I pull up the camera and tell her we can be on our way. She picks up the oars in her strong hands. I can see the scars in the bright daylight when I take down the umbrella, shining pale against her dark skin, and I want so badly to touch her, to tell her everything I cannot say because she will not listen to me.

Jane rows strongly, with a purpose, and soon we are back at the dock.

When we disembark, Jane lets me tie off on the dock, listening to my lecture on nautical knots with patience that doesn't come easily to her. She climbs out easily and holds a hand out for me.

I take it gratefully, then pull myself in against Jane. The ground is lurching unpleasantly under my feet. Jane tenses and shifts as though to push me away, but I whimper in fear and she grasps me as soon as she understands that I am not taking advantage of our proximity, merely struck by solid ground.

Her hand slides to my back; we're not hugging. We haven't hugged since before the funeral. She's holding me while I grip her, embarrassed and uncertain and unsteady on my feet in a landscape that lurches like a funhouse mirror.

It's like she thinks her sunglasses aren't transparent, because her eyes are finally soft as she looks down at me sympathetically. Her lips quirk and she leans in closer. Her eyes are focused on my mouth, but she veers away and moves her lips instead to my ear.

"Landlubber," she chuckles, her breath spilling through my hair, sliding over the very present helix of my ear. "C'mon, what did you tell me? Focus on the horizon?"

Jane turns me carefully to look over the lake again. It's disconcerting to have solid ground under my feet while my body assumes it's still swaying with the rocking of the water ahead of us. Jane holds me still, and she is solid and stable and loyal. Her hand spans my far hip, her forearm over my abdominal plain, and I can feel her deliciously soft breasts press against my back, and that is what grounds me. It's so intimate, how well she knows my body, how familiar she is with me, the gentle rub of her thumb over the crest of my hip. Her hand is so close to where I want it to be that I whimper again, but there is no fear left in me now. Jane's hand tightens its grip, pulling me closer to her, her soft warmth accepting my body against hers in a way Jane wouldn't allow if she knew how much I thought about moments like this. I close my eyes, and wait for the swaying sensation to stop. Jane hums sympathetically in my ear, and her arm remains around me as she guides me back to the car. She's worked up a little sweat from her hard work and I want to lick it from her bare throat like an animal. I want to pin her against her cop cruiser filled with fast food debris and take her, claim her as mine.

But Jane simply opens the door for me and helps me in, unaware of all my swirling thoughts. She looks at me, once, like I'm glowing in the sunlight, like she regrets everything unsaid, then turns away and starts the car.

"I have some nausea meds," Jane says finally, pointing to her glovebox. When I find them, I read the package. They're six years old and Jane won't look at me.

"Frost," I say flatly. Jane nods, her mouth a straight line, her mood instantly dark again. I take them anyway, because I feel awful, and sip from Jane's cold black coffee to wash it down. Jane holds out her hand and I pass her the coffee, watch as her lips settle on the rim, where mine had been. I watch her tongue when she pulls the cup away, and I drink again although it is afternoon and I require no further caffeine.

I want to make her pull over, I want to push her back in her seat and climb into her lap. I want to be held and comforted even though nothing is wrong. I want to hold her and make her tell me what's wrong. I want whatever is broken between us to fix itself. I want Jane to know how important she is to me, how much I love her.

But her eyes are on the road and I turn away with a sigh. I see her head move as she glances at me, and then I see her lips twitch into a smile.

"Thanks for today," Jane says, her deep voice low and confidential. "Really needed to just... be... for a while. Forget about all the pressure, trying to be what everyone wants me to be."

"The only person that matters is you." I mean that the only person she should try to please is herself, but Jane's smile grows and her hand reaches over the console and squeezes mine. She knows I can't lie, and the contact keeps me from sputtering out anything to cover up how I feel.

"The only person who matters is you," Jane repeats. "I like that."

"I meant-" I start, but Jane's hand tightens on mine, and then her thumb smoothes over my knuckles so tenderly that I know I don't have to explain, that Jane understands, that she accepts it even though part of her is still trying to be the person she thinks people want her to be. Angela. Tommy and Frankie. Korsak. Frost, may he rest in peace. Cavanaugh.

The only people realistic in their expectations of Jane, funnily enough, are my adopted mother and my biological father. Both expect Jane to keep me safe, to treasure me above all else.

Everyone else doesn't seem to see it, what's between the two of us, the way Jane calms immediately when I approach her, the way Jane looks for me the instant panic edges into her face. And perhaps that's for the best, because Jane would feel judged and slip away.

I just turn my hand so my palm meets Jane's, feeling the thick scar press against my own palm. I squeeze Jane's hand to tell her I understand, that as soon as she's ready I'm willing and waiting for her. Another smile ghosts across Jane's face and she retrieves her hand to grasp the steering wheel instead.

"It was a beautiful day," Jane says, and I return my hand to my lap. I've heard Jane sing a song like that in the shower, and the refrain repeats to take advantage of said day. However, telling her all my thoughts doesn't seem an appropriate end; it would be a shame to end such a beautiful day on a bad note, and it will be a bad note since Jane clearly isn't ready to address whatever lurks between us. Instead I hum as best as I can.

"You know U2?" Jane asks, and I'm confused. It's not a grammatically correct question, but I'm used to those from Jane. Do I know me too? Does she know me too? How well do we really know each other?

And then Jane belts out:

"You're out of luck

And the reason that you had to care

The traffic is stuck

And you're not moving anywhere"

She's not exactly wrong. We're in Boston proper now, and we're crawling between errant sets of traffic lights, always red.

Jane reaches over me to dig in her glovebox. She gives up.

"U2," she instructs, so I dig through, not knowing what she wants. She nods when I find a CD folder, and it's only when I flick through that I understand.

It's the name of a band. As usual, my minor existential crisis was for nothing. I slide it into the cruiser's cd player, and I listen to the song once Jane skips to it, familiar with the album.

"I love U2," Jane says while the cd starts. I look at her because from my understanding the band is quite pedestrian - it's not outstanding in any way. It's pop pulp with an European flavour. But at least now I understand that U2 is the band, that Jane isn't confessing - finally - her love for me. I nod in agreement and she chuckles and her face slides into the grin that always crosses it when she feels like she's gotten away with something.

I feel the warmth of the day right down in my chest now, radiating out. I pull Jane's jacket closer around me and it feels like a hug.

It feels like a road trip. It feels like coming back from summer camp on the big bus, girls singing around me

But this time I know the words, and I sing along with Jane, loving the way she chuckles when I get them wrong. She doesn't laugh at me; it's not unkind the way it had been at camp. She laughs because she thinks I'm clever and witty and funny. She laughs because she loves me.

And I love her too.

[aubrietarose]

POV: Something doesn't feel right... (Or maybe it's VERY right. Happy TFTuesday !) Don't forget, I post new stuff like this animation several days early 2x per week over on Patreon, along with other perks. 😊

[sirjaketkiszka]

Josh Kiszka One Shot: Welcome Home

Josh comes home from tour. You want to make sure he’s taken care of.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Josh x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,815

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, unprotected sex, oral m!receiving, use of the pet name “baby,” somewhat sub!josh, cursing, dirty talk, and, of course, mediocre writing.

Disclaimer: apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Josh is finally coming back from the first leg of tour, and I’ve been waiting patiently for him to return home. My body grows more anxious each time I check the clock; one more minute. He should be here any minute.

The second I hear a key jingling in the front door, I shoot up from my seated position on the couch. Rushing over to the door, I see Josh cross the threshold, and I wrap my arms around his neck in an instant. An oof sound exits his throat with an exhale.

“Missed me?” He asks, chuckling.

“You have no idea,” I respond, my voice muffled in the crook of his neck.

“I missed you, too,” He says, dropping his bags on either side of him and wrapping his arms around my waist while nuzzling his face into the side of my neck. He uses his foot to kick the door closed behind him, rocking us back and forth to step deeper into the house. His embrace is firm and comforting, his fingers grasping at the soft material of my shirt.

He pulls his head away, his hold still around my waist and his eyes meeting mine, “What have you been up to?”

“Waiting for you,” I smile, taking in his beautiful features, “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, on tour with my brothers,” He jokes, “And waiting to come home to you.” He leans in and kisses the tip of my nose.

“Well,” I begin, planting a quick, but firm, peck on his lips, “I’m happy you’re here.” My voice becomes suggestively low.

“Oh yeah?” His lips form a knowing smirk and his eyes darkening slightly.

“Mhm,” I lean in again, my lips landing softly on his. My eyes flutter close when he leans in as well, pushing back to deepen the kiss. We both hum in satisfaction when the kiss grows more heated, the pace picking up quickly. His plump lips feel soft against mine, moving fluidly and more hungrily.

He begins stepping forward, causing me to step backward into the living room, where I sat just seconds ago. Our lips move effortlessly, our kiss unbreaking when I feel the back of my knees hit the couch.

Before he can nudge me to sit down, I swiftly spin us around and unwrap my arms from his neck. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I gently push him, breaking our kiss and making him sit down. He looks up at me, his eyebrows scrunched and eyes wide. His lips are parted slightly, watching me as I step to sit on his lap, my legs kneeling on either side of his hips, straddling him.

His hands immediately find my hips, his fingers sinking effortlessly into the soft flesh. When I settle down on his lap, my hands rest on the back of the couch on either side of him, making him tilt his head back to look up at me. His eyes remain on my lips when I lean back in, resuming our kiss.

He moans softly when I swipe my tongue on his bottom lip, causing his lips to part just enough. When our tongues touch, the taste of him floods my senses. He tastes of mint gum and cinnamon whiskey.

We both breathe heavily through our noses, the heat of the kiss causing me to grind my hips on him. A small noise of surprise catches in my throat when I feel his erection in between my legs. He groans softly at the movement, encouraging me to continue.

Remaining at a steady pace, I break our kiss and lower my attention to his jawline. Peppering gentle kisses along the edge, I stop just below his ear, sucking lightly on the hot skin. A quiet sigh escapes his parted lips, his eyes closing in contentment.

One of my hands leaves the back of the couch and comes between us. Halting my hips, I continue to place tender kisses along his neck and jawline. Unmoved by my stopping, his breathless pants cascade down the side of my face. Continuing to move my now-free hand, I rest it on top of his growing erection and I can feel him straining in his jeans, begging to be released.

Firmly caressing him through his pants, needy groans begin to build in the back of his throat. “Can I?” I ask, lips still on his neck, my hand coming to a stop to rest on the button of his jeans.

“Yes,” He says, out of breath, nodding fervently.

I smile against his skin, my other hand coming down to assist in unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. When I unzip them, I hook my hands into the bottom hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up. He gets the hint and lifts his arms from my hips, allowing me to pull the shirt over his head and throwing it elsewhere.

Leaning back in, my lips scatter sloppy kisses along his exposed collarbone. One of my hands comes back up to rest on the back of the couch behind him while the other fumbles with his boxers. Pulling down the waistband of his boxers, I lower my hand into them, finding his erection and firmly grasping it.

He chokes back a surprised moan when I pull his cock out of its restraints and nip at the sensitive skin on his collarbone simultaneously. His hands desperately grasp at my hips once more, needing to ground himself. “Do you like it when I touch you?” I ask innocently, my lips grazing his bare shoulder now.

“Yes,” He swallows thickly, his voice a little shaky, “I do.”

“Good,” I mumble against his soft skin, placing a kiss on his shoulder and beginning to stroke his cock. He doesn’t hold back his moan, the melodic sound filling my ears and encouraging me to work faster. My hand moves at a steady pace with my thumb occasionally brushing his sensitive tip, spreading the leaking precum.

A consistent string of whines and whimpers brush past his lips, the grip on my hips growing tighter. I pick up the speed of my hand, and notice Josh’s hips nudging upward. I’m still placing messy, wet kisses along his shoulder, neck, and collarbones when he lets out a sharp exhale, “Can I touch you?” he finally speaks.

“Not now, baby,” I whisper against his neck, “You work so hard– let me take care of you.” I say, biting his neck and earning a whimper from him.

With that, I pull away from him, my hand letting go of his erection. Pouting, his eyebrows scrunching in worry and his lips are plump from biting them. I smile at the state of him; his cheeks a dark shade of pink, his eyes shining with anticipation, and his jaw slightly agape.

Without saying a word, he watches curiously as I step off of him and sink to my knees, my hands sliding down the curves and divots of his body in the process. Leaning back on the heels of my feet, I settle down between his legs, the tip of his cock resting just below his belly button.

My eyes don’t leave his while one of my hands comes up and grasps his shaft, my fingers firmly curling around the silk skin. The other hand, however, rests on his hip as support. He looks down at me with eager eyes when I lean forward slightly, tilting his cock to the side a bit and kissing along the length of his shaft.

His breath hitches in his throat and his hips involuntarily move upward, causing his cock to grind into my hand. My eyes are fixed on his face as I watch him bite his lip, his eyes bouncing between my lips and my eyes.

Moving up his shaft with tender kisses, I place an open-mouthed kiss on his tip, licking the precum off of my lips and humming in response. His chest rises and falls in deep breaths as he watches me move from his erection to his v-line.

Curious eyes observe as I press a firm kiss to the definitive outline, a choked moan exiting his mouth. “That feels so good,” He whispers in surprise, a little shy.

Doing it again, I move to the other side this time, my hand still gripping his erection. His hips writhe beneath me, his lower abdomen clenching with every movement. “You want more?” I ask, my eyes on his.

“Yes,” He answers, desperation lacing his tongue, “Please,” Smirking at his complicity, I bring my attention back to his throbbing cock and rest my lips on the tip, keeping my eyes on him. I open my mouth just enough to suck on the tip, swirling my tongue around the sensitive skin. “Oh, fuck,” He whines, throwing his head back.

Releasing him with an audible soft pop, he looks down at me urgently, “Keep your eyes on me,” I order, gently kissing the tip.

He nods while his hooded, lust-filled eyes follow my lips, taking him in my mouth again. His mouth falls slack, a whimper dangling between his lips. Instead of stopping at the tip, I push further down until I feel him twitch in the back of my throat. I hear whispered curses above me as I close my eyes, working up his cock, and pushing back down again.

“Your mouth feels so good,” He says, a whimper following closely behind.

I hum in response, sending a jolt of vibrations to his member, causing his hips to jerk and tip to press against the back of my throat. My eyes water at his reaction, however, I continue my pace on him, using my hand to stroke the rest of his shaft.

One of his hands, previously resting on his side, comes up to push the hair out of my face, his gaze fixed on my plump lips working his cock. “I’m getting close,” He moans out, his stomach clenching in response.

Taking that as my cue, I slowly lift my mouth off of his erection, making sure to swirl my tongue around his tip and suck harshly before pulling off completely. He gasps softly at the loss of contact, his hands bracing on either side of his thighs. His chest is heaving with small breaths filling and exiting his lungs.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, his voice strained.

“I want to feel you come inside me,” I answer, swiftly pulling my shirt over my head and pulling the waistband of my pants and underwear down. With his jaw agape, excited eyes watch my body as I climb back on top of him, his hands instantly grasping at my hips again.

We both hold our breath in suspense while I grip his erection and glide it along my soaking slit. He lets out another small gasp at the sensation, my wetness spreading along his sensitive tip. I swipe the head of his cock a few more times, greedily circling my aching clit and letting the heat pool to my core.

We lock eyes as I line him up with my entrance, my free hand coming up to grip the couch cushion next to his head. Our eyebrows scrunch in pleasure when I sink down excruciatingly slow, allowing his tip to stretch me out. With each inch that follows after, I release his shaft and rest my hand on the other side of his head.

Finally, when he’s fully seated inside of me, a shaky sigh escapes both of our lips. Staying still for a moment, I allow myself to adjust to the feeling of being full. When his grip on my hips tightens for a second, I know he’s silently begging me to do something.

Lifting my hips, I feel his tip at my entrance again, and I sink back down. I let my moans freely pass with each breath as his moans mimic mine with his head tilted back, watching my face as I ride him. I move up and down slowly, reveling in his squirming and needy sighs.

“You feel so good, baby,” I praise as I lean forward, my lips grazing his earlobe, “You fill me up so well,” I whisper, earning a groan in response.

Feeling his fingers sink into my tender skin, he urges me to go faster. Removing my hands from the couch cushions and placing them on top of his, I loosen his grip, “Tell me what you want,” I nip his earlobe, “Use your words.”

“Faster,” He strains, and I feel his abs flex beneath me, “Please,” He begs.

“Yeah?” I tease, “How fast do you want it?” I ask, picking up the speed by only a little.

“More,” He whines, and I pull my head back to look down at him.

“How’s this?” I go a bit faster, the speed causing me to moan between words. “Is this fast enough?”

“Yes,” He gasps, “God, yes,” His head falls back again, his eyes closing.

“Eyes on me,” I tighten my grip on his hands, catching his attention, “This feels so good, Josh– You feel so fucking good.” I gasp out, praising him.

He moans at my words, his eyebrows knitting in concentration and jaw falling slack again to allow whimpers to fill the space around us. Heavy pants exhale from my lungs, my chest heaving and my hips growing tired. I feel my climax nearing, but I push aside the feeling.

“Do I make you feel good?” I ask, breathless.

“So good,” He whimpers, his voice small and whiny.

“You make me feel so good, Josh,” I reply, tired grunts pushing past my lips.

“Oh god, I’m gonna come,” He chokes out, “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“That’s right, Josh,” I continue to encourage him through exasperated groans and clenched teeth, “Let me feel you.”

“Shit!” He throws his head back as I keep my relentless pace, his cock twitching inside me, causing heat to pool in my cunt. “Oh my God, oh my God,” He quietly chants, whining under heavy breaths.

His cock spasms, brushing against my g-spot, bringing me close to my peak. I watch as his mouth hangs open to let out a string of exhausted cries, his abs jerking with every shot of cum inside of me.

Even with his orgasm subsiding, I continue to thrust onto him, chasing my own release and milking his. Strained whimpers dance on the tip of his tongue, his head finally rising to look at me again. His eyes frantically examine my face, my body, and my cunt riding him, his release leaking out of me and making a mess on his unbuttoned pants.

“I’m getting close, baby,” I tell him, his eyes holding mine in these final moments, “You just feel so good,” I lazily smile, “Makes me want to ride you forever.”

He whines in response, overstimulation overtaking his initial pleasure. “Please,” He begs, his hips uncontrollably trembling underneath me.

Nodding understandingly, I start picking up the pace as best as I can, bringing my climax to the edge. I remove my hands from him and grip the couch cushions behind his head, creating extra support. Resting my forehead onto his, we look deeply into each other’s eyes while I reach my orgasm.

“Oh God!” I cry out as my hips frantically sputter against him, my climax spreading like wildfire in my lower belly, causing my eyes to squeeze shut and mouth to open in an O shape.

“Shit!” Josh cries out as well, feeling my walls clench rapidly around his sensitive cock. My fingers desperately grasp at the couch cushions, my knuckles turning white from the forceful grip.

My pace slows gradually when my hips sputter from every swipe of my G-spot. Our breaths are shaky when I come to a complete stop, and we take a moment to catch them.

When the aftershocks of my orgasm diminish, I carefully lift myself off of him, causing a sigh of relief and exhaustion to leave us both.

“Hold on,” I tell him before he can move. Settling beside him on the couch, I grab a couple of tissues from the side table. I gently clean us both up and quickly get up to discard the tissues in the bathroom.

Before sitting back down, I put my underwear and pants back on, and Josh watches me with eyes full of endearment the entire time. I offer him a small smile and open arms when I settle back down beside him. He leans in, resting his head on my chest as I lean us both back to lay down.

With his head on my chest, I twist little curls in his hair and gently caress the side of his face. “I’m happy you’re home,” I break the silence, making him look up at me with a wide smile.

“Me too,” He responds, making me smile in return.

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First Josh one shot woohoo! I hope my Josh besties enjoyed it <3 Let me know if you’d like to see more Josh one shots— this was the only prewritten one I had, but I’m open to writing more!!

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