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fairqves · 4 months ago

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── ❝ ꒰ 𝑂𝑁𝐿𝑌 𝐵𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻𝑇 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐷𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝑆𝑂 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐶𝑂𝑈𝐿𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸 𝐼𝑇 𝑂𝐹𝐹 .ᐟㅤ ៸៸ ﹙ 심재윤 ﹚ ᶻ𐰁

GENRE ៸៸ suggestive ៸ b2l ៸ oneshot ﹔ SYPNOSIS┆in which you and jake can’t ignore your feelings for each other anymore.ᐟㅤ ꒰ WORD COUNT﹕1559 ꒱── 𝓦ARNING(S) not proofread ៸ very suggestive!! ៸ skinship ៸ . ݁ ✦ ݁ . ⊱ LIBRARY . . . ﹕LUNA 💭 —ngl this was so freaky of me im sorry!!(✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ݁𖥔 ݁˖

YOU NEVER THOUGHT THINGS WITH JAKE SIM COULD BE ANYTHING MORE THAN A FRIENDSHIP.

well, maybe you did—maybe you've thought about it more than you’d care to admit.

but for so long, you've kept those feelings locked away, buried under the bond of being "best friends."

you've known jake for years, seen him at his best and his worst.

you've laughed until you cried at his terrible jokes, stayed up late watching movies, even fallen asleep on his shoulder more times than you can count.

for the longest time, you convinced yourself that what you felt for jake was the kind of love you reserved for a friend—a really good friend, but nothing more.

lately, though, it's been different.

it's not just the little glances he gives you when he thinks you aren't paying attention, or the way his hand seems to linger on your lower back when he hugs you goodbye. ── 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘊𝘜𝘛 .ᐟㅤ

no, it's the way your heart speeds up when he's near, the way your pulse races when his voice drops low, just for you.

the way your breath catches when his eyes flicker to your lips during a conversation, even if he doesn't kiss you.

the lines have blurred—lines you swore to yourself wouldn't cross, and tonight, they feel like they're disappearing altogether.

you're at one of jake's usual parties, something casual with a few friends, but you can hardly focus on the conversations going on around you.

the music blasts softly in the background, and you're very aware of the dress you chose for the evening.

it's unlike anything you'd normally wear in front of him-delicate, fitted in all the right places, with the perfect amount of skin that makes you feel bold.

it's a quiet statement, one you're hoping he'll notice.

and oh, he's noticed.

from the moment you walked through the door, his eyes had been on you—an intensity behind them that you haven't seen before.

every time you catch him looking, your heart flutters, and you wonder if tonight will finally be the night when everything changes.

when the night winds down, and everyone else says their goodbyes, it's just you and jake left.

the silence in his apartment feels heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken words.

you sit on the couch, trying to play it cool, but you can't help the way your mind is racing, wondering if he's feeling what you're feeling right now.

jake stands in the doorway of the kitchen, watching you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

the tension is thick, you could probably cut it with a knife.

"you're quiet tonight," jake finally says, his voice softer than usual, his eyes still on you in a way that makes your skin tingle.

you shrug, trying to act casual even though you're anything but. "just... thinking."

"about what?" he asks, walking over to the couch and sitting down beside you.

not just beside you—closer than usual, his knee brushes against yours, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through you.

you swallow, trying to keep your composure.

but the air feels too thick, too charged. "you..me, us."

jake's brow furrows slightly, his eyes searching your face for answers. "what about us?"

you take a deep breath, knowing you're standing on the edge of something that could either change everything or break it.

"do you ever think about... crossing that line? the one we've been avoiding for a while?"

his gaze sharpens at your words, and for a moment, he says nothing, his silence speaking volumes.

his hand comes up to rest on the back of the couch behind you, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

it's such a simple gesture, but the touch feels loaded, like he's testing the waters, seeing how far he can go.

"every day," jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "i think about it all the time.”

your heart skips a beat at his confession, and suddenly, it's like the doors have finally opened.

the tension that's been simmering between you for months rushes to the surface, impossible to ignore anymore.

"i don't want to keep pretending," he continues, his eyes locked on yours now, filled with an intensity that makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

"i don't want you like a best friend."

his words hit you like a wave, and you can't breathe, can't think.

it's what you've been wanting to hear, but now that it's out in the open, it feels all too big to grasp all at once.

"i... i don't either," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky and nervous. "i haven't for a long time."

the confession hangs in the air between you, heavy and real.

jake's fingers move to your chin, gently lifting your face so you're forced to meet his gaze.

there's something vulnerable in his eyes, like he's laying all his cards on the table, waiting for you to do the same.

"you drive me crazy, you know that?" his thumb brushes softly over your cheek, the touch sending sparks down your spine.

"every time i'm with you, i have to stop myself from... from doing this."

before you can ask what he means, jake leans in, his lips hovering inches from yours.

the anticipation makes your head spin, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to close the distance.

and when he does, it feels like the world stops.

his lips are soft, hesitant at first, as if he's giving you the chance to pull away.

but you don't—instead, you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself.

the kiss deepens, slow and consuming, like both of you are finally letting go of everything you’ve been holding back.

jake's hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer until you're practically sitting in his lap.

his fingers trace patterns on your skin, burning through the fabric of your dress, and all you can think about is how much you've wanted this-how long you've been waiting for him.

when you finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, jake rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

there's a look in his eyes that you've never seen before, something raw and filled with want.

"you're all i think about," he murmurs, his voice raspy. "every time i'm with you, it's like i forget how to pretend."

your heart races as you take in his words, and you know there's no going back now.

the truth is out there, hanging between you, and you're both too far gone to stop.

"i bought this dress for you, you know," you say softly, your voice trembling with anticipation as you run your hands down his chest. "i didn't buy it for no reason."

jake's brow furrows slightly in confusion, but the way his eyes darken with understanding makes your breath hitch.

"what do you mean?" he asks, though you can tell he's starting to piece it together.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper,

"i only bought this dress so you could take it off."

jake's breath hitches, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in the tension between you.

his hand tightens on your waist, and when he pulls back to look at you, there's a fire in his eyes that makes your skin tingle with excitement.

"you're killing me," he mutters, but there's a teasing grin on his face as his fingers trail down your arm, grazing the edge of the dress.

you smile, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering on his skin as you whisper, "then do something about it."

jake doesn't need to be told twice.

in one swift motion, he lifts you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash into yours again.

the kiss is different this time-deeper, more desperate, like he's making up for all the time you've both spent pretending.

his hands move to the zipper of your dress, fingers fumbling slightly as he pulls it down, the sound loud in the quiet of the room.

your heart pounds in your chest as his hands roam your body, every touch igniting a fire in your veins.

the dress slips off your shoulders, and jake pulls back for a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

"you're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe.

you feel a blush rise to your cheeks, but you don't have time to be self-conscious.

jake's lips are back on yours, his hands sliding up your bare back as he pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together in a way that makes you forget everything else.

it's been building to this for so long-the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken words.

now, it's all out in the open, and neither of you are holding back anymore.

as you fall back against the couch, jake hovering over you, his eyes filled with nothing but want and love, you realize that this was always where you were meant to end up—with him.

and tonight, everything that's been unsaid will finally be spoken.

𝒯aglist open ‹𝟹 @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @greentulip @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @pockyyasii @iluvnikism @wonsprincess @rikibwn @niawonn

៸៸ ❝ PLEASE REBLoG AND LiKE .ᐟㅤ 💌

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kii-nami · 10 days ago

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WHITE COMET'S DESCENT | IL CAPITANO

You never state for what reason you are holding him back, but it is already obvious. The Commander of the Khaenri’ahn army went missing with one swift strike of the starbound ice. You don’t seem to think of people as disposable yet cannot bring yourself to warm the snake’s nest willingly. Thrain shares the sentiment: he has never been a fan of holding his enemies closer than his friends. And despite your peculiar character, this is definitely something Thrain cannot fault you for. Queen [Name] Einherjar is incapable of trusting even herself. He fears that one day it can become your downfall. He accepts the position with no hesitation, yet it does not save either of you from damnation.

CW: 7K WORDS; PART ONE OF TWO; FEM!MC; MADE-UP KHAENRI'AHN LORE; OCS MENTIONED; PART OF A WIDER GENSHIN AU BY ME AND MY FRIEND; THRAIN GET BEHIND ME THEY'RE BURYING YOU ALIVE

The rightful heir is beautiful even when drowning in the blood of the usurper king.

The crimson is dripping down your fingers like holy water, just like the unstoppable streams of stars that the royal astrologers love to blabber about so much. Not that Thrain cares for things like that, at least not right now.

Irmin’s decapitated head is on the table, and you’re occupying the seat of the Vinster King with the grace of inteyvat, silks swaying with your each move akin to the petals trembling under the lukewarm currents. His wife, stars save her soul, cannot find peace even in death, following her unwilling husband into eons of non-existence. The golden-haired youth, the one Irmin cracked the red skies and split the white stones for, stands to your right with nothing but a morose distaste woven into her silence. Yet it is directed not at you, the one who is stealing her heavy crown with one slash of a sharpened blade and two shards of glowing ice, but the last supper of those who stand against you.

She seemed so eager to please the king not so long ago yet now she denounces even the remains of the usurper who granted her the reign over the nation with little wits yet all the madness put behind his reasons. Where such defiance came from is unclear, even how this alliance she has with you came to be is uncertain, but it is not something he understands. Neither is he meant to. Thrain is a simple knight, despite the strenuous burden forced upon him by those higher than him. Deciphering things like these is better suited for the likes of Surtalogi or Vedrfolnir, incapacitated as he may be.

What Thrain is truly interested in is the blade carelessly dropped on the dining table, a misplaced butter knife amidst the finest porcelain. The sword, the one that was deemed forever lost amongst the thousands winds of time, is also painted the same crimson as the silks of your sleeves. Hundreds of cheap copies of it are floating around the markets, dozens of recreations worth a small fortune are gathering dust in the collections of the rich that just get richer. None of them come even close to the sheer power of the true Blade of Fólkvangr. It cracks and buzzes, sparks of lights sizzling like electricity, responding the each and every move of your chest. Inhale. Exhale. The banquet room is silent, fallen in a deep courtesy, everyone fears for their life.

“Rise, Khaenri’ah.” Your voice is even yet soft, and somehow, a stark contrast to your appearance, nonetheless.

Nobody moves except for you, as the golden-haired youth offers you her steady hand. Thrain does not pride himself in knowing much about poetry, yet the sentiment is there. Your fingers stain her palm with red, the remnants of the crimson moon glimmer in your eyes in the shape of a star long fallen. You wish for Khaenri’ah to rise, and so you do.

“You shall not bow any longer.” His heart hurts when he lifts his heavy head. All that is left of it is rushing to win a race that simply does not exist. The Blade hums the song of frostborn starlight, the lost souls yearn for something he could never truly grant them. Yet you, whoever you are and whatever your name may be; the one made of burning shards of shattered sky and the freezing rubble of broken stone; the one in the image of the marble still polished, you can. And you will.

“This torturous eon of suffering has finally come to its end and now it’s time for you to seize the freedom that has been taken from you by the Vinster King’s rule.” The rightful heir is as well versed in the way of the word as she is in the way of the bloodshed. Next to him, a blonde Æsir woman stares up at you with a masterfully hidden horror, given away only by the tremble of her wet lashes. Tense palm on the small of her back, Surtalogi is uncharacteristically solemn. “The walls must be broken. The ties must be restored. Khaenri’ah must become whole again. The sun shall rise above our heads and drown our lands in light. For I, [Name] Einherjar, am your rightful queen.”

Well-polished marble indeed. The dull ache of his all-inviting heart never goes away even after the crowd accepts a new monarch with a bit more hope than yesterday. The king is dead, long live the queen. Or however it goes.

Maybe he should start this new chapter by reading some more poetry.

Queen [Name] of the House Einherjar, the Second of Her Name, Supreme Sovereign of Khaenri’ah, trusts no one despite appearing as if she trusts all.

Surtalogi has been staring at the parchment in his hands for a little while now. Enough for Thrain to understand that nothing good would come out of it, not that he faults the man for being apprehensive. Despite not actively participating in the conversation or being asked to voice his opinion, this meeting – the first of many tiresome discussions of the nation’s future with its greatest of minds present – has been long and taxing on both soul and body. Even the reason for acquiring a place at this table remains a little vague at best, yet he stays seated. Orders are orders and Thrain is not yet included in Khaenri’ah’s brightest constellation despite his tremendous responsibility.

“If I so may… There is a peculiar clause I cannot seem to wrap my head around.” When Surtalogi finally speaks, the tension snaps in the form of Lady Syn’s heavy sigh. The Æsir woman is not good with dealing with men having opinions, Thrain gathers easily. She is conservative in her beliefs, and you allow her to be; the thin line between reparations and indulgence is never crossed and something tells him you agree with most of her sentiments, anyway. “You titled my future wife a princess, yet you state none of her children can inherit the throne. It seems rather… discriminating… to exclude her this way, don’t you think?”

Surtalogi is careful in choosing words, especially in the presence of the leader of a rebellious faction that just happens to be that aforementioned future wife’s maternal aunt. You have gathered quite a circle around yourself, and the voices remind him that nothing in this world is a coincidence, but everything is destiny. Whether this fate leads you to ruin is another question entirely and Thrain wishes not to explore it. The new era only just began, and it seems as promising at the sunlight that a lot of god-defying refugees claim to miss. Neither you nor Syn seem perplexed by Surtalogi’s incriminating claims either, so why should someone like Thrain dwell on it any longer.

“This title is nothing but a meaningless word. Saga is a princess in the same way Lumine is.” You state firmly. The scroll in your grasp snaps closed, the golden-haired youth – Lumine – reaches to remove it from the table entirely. She still doesn’t mind being robbed of authority, if anything, she looks relieved by it being taken off her palms. “She is a princess by her good deeds and gracious nature, yet there is nothing about her or her blood that is strong enough to hold the weight of the Bough.”

“That is not what he asked, my lady.” Something about Vedrfolnir’s lack of accountability is unsettling, but Thrain can only guess that playing the role of a blinded prophet for so long strips one off their sense of self-preservation entirely. “If something were to happen, who would be the next in line to inherit your will? Should this not be a pressing matter?”

Under the sparkling rain of diamonds covering your face, you smile, “Am I expected to die soon, Vedrfolnir? Since you seem to be so worried about my ability to produce an heir.”

Thrain can never discern whether you take things seriously or not, the sheer coat of frost forbids everyone from seeing the you that is authentic. Or maybe he is simply way too guarded and is looking for something that isn’t there to begin with. Thrain is not the one for political games and the court intrigue, that is not what he signed up for entering the Khaenri’ahn military. Yet just like with poetry, with being invited here he guesses he must start learning.

“No, no, that is not what I meant.” Vedrfolnir is quick to dismiss your – however faux they may be – worries. Or smooth out a vague threat he made on your life with pleasantries; Thrain is yet to pick which one is more scandalous.

No matter that royal conspiracies, Syn’s patience is as frail as it is fleeting, so it blows up quite loudly and echoes for far too long, “Then you should stop questioning your queen. This is a matrilineal monarchy, not a democracy.”

Surtalogi has a way of speaking over his soon-to-be-wife in a style that is almost endearing, if it wasn’t for the fact that she is yet to voice her own opinion on the matter. And Khaenri’ah is indeed a matrilineal monarchy. At least it used to be before Irmin usurped the Bough from its rightful barer. And now that the crown is back home, there is nothing stopping you from reverting back to the old world if you so wish.

Despite having all the rights to, however, the newly crowned Princess doesn’t appear to mind such a transgression. And Thrain knows little of Saga Trygg. She is as cautious as she is protected; and despite finding the woman quite pleasant, something tells him it’s better to keep his distance. Nothing good can come out of mingling with the Bough and its thorns.

“Lady Syn, with all due respect, don’t you find it humiliating?” This time Surtalogi is direct and open with his accusations.

You still do not pay him any mind, the diamonds of your overly complicated headpiece glimmer with the identical glow as that of the Holy Blade. Mismatched eyes catch his gaze, your expression doesn’t change. You know something others don’t, that is what his heart tells him. And Thrain has collected too many a lost soul in the emptiness of his ribcage to doubt this premonition.

“I was the one to suggest this.” Syn spits with such ferocity, the red of her lips could be mistaken for blood. “The Bough must remain with the Einherjars, there is a million other ways to unite this nation.”

She is objectively correct, even someone like Thrain – so far removed from politics yet far too entangled in the remembrance of the past – knows that Khaenri’ah can only thrive with the blood that fertilized the soil for the inteyvat to bloom. No technological progress could save the nation from damnation of soul and corrosion of memories, as it is slowly being swallowed by the abyss.

Those unworthy can never get to the Plane of Fólkvangr. And they all have been unworthy for centuries. For so long, in fact, that even Irmin’s hopeless wife – your unfortunate mother you have slain with your own hands – could not summon the Blade and slice open the fabric of time and space to visit the land of the dead even if it was her duty to do so.

All in due time and all with due fate. Maybe under your rule there would be no need for artificial ley lines forged out of human hearts. Maybe with the Bough finally home, everyone would be able to rest in peace, and not in the hollowness of his being.

Surtalogi frowns; as always, he is playing up his true emotional state with an exaggerated furrow of his eyebrows, “Not going to lie, Lady Syn, I feel a little hurt.”

The Æsir huffs, “I do not care for the feelings of men. You are all disposable and serve no purpose outside of your dick and balls.”

Lumine stiffens an amused scoff, the pinnacle of emotional expression coming from Irmin’s chosen heir. You simply raise your hand in a polite wave, reminding the woman where she is right now, “Lady Syn, please do be more tactful.”

“No place for tact in the throne room.” Despite her words, Syn does not interfere any longer. Simply crossed her hands over her chest, a disappointed shake of her head when she noticed Saga readying herself to speak.

“[Name], please answer his question.” Thrain has no clue what exactly she’s doubting. Whether it is your faith in her or the level of care you hold for her. Whatever it is, there is something more to this conversation than just a simple debate over a hypothetical untimely death of a new queen. And you know it. Orchestrated or not, there is something brilliant in a way everything plays out in a way you seemingly expect, “What is the purpose of naming me a princess yet not allowing my children to inherit the throne?”

The air cracks with a chilling wave of buzz, you get up from your chair. Step after careful step you stop right beside Saga and kneel before her. The Blade in your arm is glistening with a sheen of starlight. You ask for her hand with a silent motion, and she opens her palm readily. The troubled wrinkle between her eyebrows deepens. Alice and Gold cannot seem to stop arguing over semantics of magic related physics, and Skirk – ever the voice of reason – doesn’t rush to separate them this time around.

“If you truly desire the crown so bad, then may I offer you my life right now?” You ask, the sword hovering over Saga’s trembling hand. “You are the only one capable of spilling my blood, after all.” When you suddenly drop it, beside Thrain, Dainsleif winces. Everyone in this room knows what is about to happen, yet somehow the tension remains impossibly strained. As if transparent, the Blade of Fólkvangr falls right through Saga’s shaky palm, right through the marble floors of the palace and then emerges back at your side, fully tangible and real in your hold. Alice remains victorious: one can never reign over a concept that is not of their creation. “Otherwise, I shall live long enough for you to never need to carry a burden that your shoulders are incapable of withstanding, my most beloved friend.”

You get up on your feet, dusting the sheer tulle of your dress and silently stroll back to your seat, deeming this discussion finally over. A firm hand on your wrist, Vedrfolnir is extremely capable of pinpointing object’s location while being completely blinded under Irmin’s crazed commands. It is then that Thrain decides that no, the line must be drawn somewhere. He can appreciate the intricate poetry of dramatic irony yet if everything about royalty is akin to this, then he wishes to stay as far away from the courtroom politics as possible. Against his better judgment, Thrain will soon find out that his endeavor has proven to be unsuccessful the second he crossed the threshold of this room.

“You have always been so cold.” Despite the blindfold covering Vedrfolnir’s missing eyes, Thrain can almost see the mischievous glimmer lighting them up when the prophet smiles at you. “Do you not trust us, my dear?”

You dismiss the insubordination, arm limp in his hold and turn to look at the man through the hundreds of diamonds obscuring your vision. “On the contrary, I have all the faith in humanity.”

You too, choose your words with the extreme expertise of someone who was born into a lie and then decided to remain living in it. You may have faith in all of humanity, but you do not trust a single person in this room; that is what the voices tell Thrain is true. He does not doubt it even for a second.

Whether Vedrfolnir catches it is a question that Thrain does not care to reveal the answer to, however. Nor does Vedrfolnir himself seem to be interested in musing over your precise choice of vocabulary, instead opting for asking something else entirely, “Should I expect my brother to be promoted then, since you have such faith in us?”

“No, Twilight Sword must remain with the Royal Guard.” You reject a question – an offer, a suggestion, a statement, an order? – rather bluntly, “I shall appoint the new Commander today. Lady Syn is correct; Khaenri’ah is not a democracy.”

“Ah, how disappointing indeed.” An exaggerated whine falls from Vedrfolnir’s lips, although the smile he’s wearing turns a tad bit too sinister for a second, “Makes me wish to call for the last payment, darling.”

“Vedrfolnir.” You utter his name with the eons of exhaustion woven into your breath, yet complain you do not, “Anything you want, as promised.”

The prophet’s hold on you tightens, “I wish for something that is a one of many, yet also something that is one of a kind.” It is suited for a tortured fortune-teller to speak in riddles, yet the overarching theme of this conversation is a bit too thick right now and Thrain has half a mind to curse the peculiar ruby-eyed witch for snatching him from the training grounds just to forcibly tangle him into shadow politics.

For a fraction of a second you are silent in your musings. Beside Thrain, Dainsleif is as stiff as a board. Then you reach for Vedrfolnir’s face, palm warming his cheek, and press your lips to his. One second. Maybe five. However long for it to remain just on the line of barely appropriate. When you pull away, the crimson hue is bleeding all over Vedrfolnir’s mouth.

“My first.” You clarify offhandedly, noticing the confusion blossoming on the prophet’s visage along with the flush of embarrassment. “One of many, yet the one I could never replicate.” Then you laugh, unrestrained and unapologetic, yet the biting cold never leaves your vocal cords, “Or did you think I was going to promise you the rights on sharing blood with my firstborn daughter, Vedrfolnir?”

Vedrfolnir says nothing. Alice cackles as if woman possessed and grants herself departure even before you offer it to her. The Royal Mage, once discarded by the Vinster King yet welcomed back into the palace by your personal wish, heaves a heavy sigh of disappointment. Thrain cannot exactly pinpoint whether it’s Vedrfolnir’s audacity, your debauchery or Red Witch’s wickedness – maybe even all three – that has the old man lose his last wits. Not that it matters much in the grand scheme of things.

“If there are no further questions, you are dismissed.” Immensely glad to be allowed to leave, Thrain holds onto the exhale of relief for when he is away from the castle walls yet has no chance to. You stop him before he can even move his chair. “Except you, Sentinel Knight. You must stay.”

He accepts the position with no hesitation, yet it does not save either of you from damnation.

Her Majesty finds solace in a routine that would make a demon god’s teeth rot.

It is not everyone who can brag about being invited to have tea with the Queen, yet Thrain doesn’t think you care much about the honor you’re extending to him. What you do care about is what the both of you can gain from those hushed meetings.

The first time Thrain enters your study, you offer him a seat at the small, low table that can only fit four people. It’s a specific seat, not the one opposite of you but the one to your left. Lumine, the ever-haunting presence, quirks a questioning eyebrow at your action; you say nothing. Deciding to not occupy the space to you right any longer, the golden-haired outlander departs quietly, leaving only the rustle of silks in her wake. A rook moves on its own. His knees are not as reliable as Thrain thought they were, as by the time you win – or lose – the game against yourself, his legs are completely numb, and each minuscule moment sends pins and needles right into his tense muscles.

The question comes before he can even weight the pros and cons of voicing it, “Do you often play by yourself, Your Majesty?”

You shrug, a light chime of diamonds of your dress echoes through the room, “Not many are willing to face the consequences of my loss.”

Thrain can’t help but think back to your one-sided game of chess now that you admitted your defeat with the ease of someone who has tasted it fresh far too many times. Checkmate. Utter devastation for your side of the board with not much left standing. He isn’t one for overdramatic sentiments, yet something about this specific time brings a solemn dryness to his throat.

And maybe you notice it as well, reaching for a teapot, “Tea?” There must be something on his face that gives away the absurdity of your actions for your smile to peek through the shimmering veil of your headpiece, “Maybe coffee? Alice said this drink is getting quite popular above ground.”

The obscenity of a queen offering to pour tea for her subject is not lost on either of you, yet you seem to find amusement in his inability to figure you out. In his ten years in the Khaenri’ahn military, Thrain got used to carrying out royal whims with swift precision. Failure meant being disposed, and nobody wished to die knowing there would be nothing left of them to remember them by.

You seem to value human life a lot more than the Vinster King did, despite your quick action to remove those who were still hesitant to part with Irmin’s ideals. But you’re also hard to grasp; you hide your face by heaps of diamonds and stars, you wrap yourself in the finest of silks and tulles, you do anything to separate yourself from the world you clearly cherish so dearly.

Thrain guesses that it’s only fair: your wisdom may be far beyond that of an average person and the distance you are willing to cross for the prosperity of the nation seemingly has no limit, but you are still young. The same age Thrain himself was when he so foolishly gave up his life for the king. Naïve and gullible, Thrain’s twenty-year-old self thought he would be doing good by this country. Now ten years later, disillusioned and jaded, heart far too full and head far too misty, he understands how much of a fool he has been.

In hindsight, it was fairly obvious that Khaenri’ah had been exploited by Irmin long before he turned his coup d'état into the rule of tyranny. For what exactly nobody would ever know, the usurper king took this knowledge with him to his grave. Not that someone as ordinary as Thrain should be privy to such revelations.

You, Thrain is sure, still know something that nobody else does. And this is precisely why you are so distrustful of everything. Thrain may not be a prophet, or a fallen star from a foreign world, neither is he a trusted handmaiden, nor an all-knowing witch, and definitely not the master of khemikhal arts, yet the artificial ley line of his heart seems to help him see what others don’t. When those in the shadows are still following the word of the late mad king, your chess board is preoccupied with a devastation far greater than any court conspiracy. Maybe that’s why you are constantly on the lookout for people you can put even a fraction of your trust in.

For once in his life Thrain is aware of the perils lying ahead, he is even given a convoluted warning albeit with no clear sign of what kind of danger he is getting himself into. Mysterious you may be, but your soul is honest, and your intentions are pure. If death is inevitable, it’s better to die for the liege who stands side by side with you in battle than the one who only dictates whichever hand you should swing your blade with.

“Tea.” He took a little too long to answer so it sounds more like an order than a request. Someone else would have already had his head on a silver platter. Your puzzling smile under the veil of stars only keeps growing. Yet as lenient as you may be, Thrain must fix himself before the Red Witch has any more material to use against him, “If that is not too bold of a request.”

You wave him off, “Oh, never. I must warn you, however…” You pour the drink in the two matching cups, offering one to him gently. “My tea is not for the weak.”

The liquid is deep red, almost black, and the scent that fills the room is not something Thrain has ever experienced in his life. Your words of caution are taken into account, yet Thrain can’t help but doubt them. Unless it’s poison, there is little a man like him cannot stomach. And something tells him you are above working with poisons. If you were, the Vinster King would have wound up dead long before you had to battle your flesh and blood for the key to the underworld.

Legs still numb and a strange tingle in his fingers, Thrain lifts a cup to his mouth. The sweetness hits him before his body can process the pleasant aroma of this deathly concoction. You seem unfazed by this honeyed herbal water solution, however, indulging in it even. Eyebrow raised in a silent question, you’re waiting for his reaction with way too much mirth pooling in the light of your mismatched eyes.

“It’s quite…” he hesitates. Lying to you isn’t something Thrain wishes to do and disrespecting Her Majesty’s peculiar tastes does not spell a very bright future in most case scenarios. Unless, of course, you’re testing him in some convoluted way. Thrain isn’t made for court intrigues, neither is he a master of word picking. But it’s getting progressively more obvious that you wish for him to learn. “Unhealthy tasting.”

“Indeed.” You agree, satisfied and not even the slightest bit offended. Then you down the scorching liquid in one swift gulp, gaze searching for something Thrain isn’t sure you can find on his person. Yet you do, “If you come again next week, I promise to ask for less sweetener. Would you?”

Thrain nods, being difficult for the sake of doing so, “The will of the Queen is the will of the nation.”

“That is not what I asked.” You quip, placing your empty cup back on the tray and beginning to rearrange the chess board once again.

Thrain knows, but the only way to evolve is to mimic. You are a master of khemia, you should understand that better than anyone. “If some free time presents itself.”

Diamonds scatter around the floor in a heap of dying stars. Your face, not obscured by the shadows of light, is still glazed with a thin layer of ice. The white pawn moves on its own. “Care for a game then, Commander?”

Thrain never finishes the tea, but you do it for him. If there was poison in it, then it was made of your own blood, and you have bled so much over the years that it simply cannot faze you anymore. The ache in his chest won’t seem to go away, however. It must be the phantom of memories long gone from souls long lost.

What else could it possibly be?

This tradition continues as the years go by. The ice may not melt, but everyone who has grazed the warmth of your light knows that Her Majesty’s closest companions always walk the path in frosted stardust. Be it the loyal handmaiden with her glimmering delusion of your making, or the outlander from beyond with the light glowing at the tip of her blade. Even Thrain himself learns to accept the gnawing buzz of enigmatic power stored inside his modified heart.

In hindsight, he should have known that your interest in him was never all that simple. However, Thrain is yet to decide whether he is worthy of the knowledge you bestowed him with or not. It is not an easy task to use the power which was unfairly ripped away from someone far more deserving of it, after all. You, despite his doubts, make it all seem so easy; turning his soul-tearing dilemma into a simple question of do or don’t, will or won’t.

You say not using it is nothing but potential wasted, an opportunity missed. Letting the power forced upon him by Irmin’s finest khemists rot in the depth of his chest is nothing more than a memory slowly fading into obscurity. And someone like you and him have no right to forget.

The dull grey of the glaciers of his making is far kinder to the touch than Thrain anticipated, it is also quite a useful tool in mundane tasks like cooling his freshly brewed tea. It lost most of its sweetness a long time ago, and you learned to adapt by dropping copious amounts of honey into your own teacup. A big step for you, considering he found out the hard way just how unwilling you are to accept change. Two years in, and you are yet to change your seat or let Thrain occupy any other space except the one you offered him on the day he entered your study for the first time.

It is in this very spot that Thrain also learns that each and every of your presumably illogical actions guided by your whims alone, is carefully planned years ahead of time. For better or for worse.

You drop the king back on the board, breaking the rules and forfeiting the game. Thrain, startled by your sudden action throws a curious glance your way but you bring your silk-covered finger to your lips to shush whatever question is boiling in his mind. Then you put your headpiece back on and you wait. The king is floating above the board, shimmering with a transparent sheen of rime.

The door opens without a knock. Vedrfolnir, Thrain learns extremely quickly, has a peculiar habit of thinking he owns your personal space. Maybe you’re given the prophet a tad bit much hope, maybe the years of confinement have sent him spiraling into insanity. Whichever it is doesn’t really matter, it will never change the fact that Vedrfolnir allows himself things far out of his league.

“Have you been playing by yourself all this time, my dear?” Hand on your bare shoulder, Vedrfolnir stops to your right, easily avoiding the spot you reserved for Lumine as if he can see it. You do not spare the prophet even a glance, the white king takes its place on the board. A black rook catches flight. “I know my darling baby brother is not quite on par with Khaenri’ahn grandmasters, but I thought you were at least willing to count on me to keep you company.”

“Good evening, Vedrfolnir.” You murmur, palm on your chin, seemingly deep in thought. “What is it that you need this time?”

The mad fortune teller doesn’t waste any time dropping to his knees beside you. He leans closer to your side, hand sliding along your shoulders until it finds its resting place on your other forearm, and you are locked in some convoluted version of an embrace with your back pressed tightly to his chest, “Reconsider.”

Thrain isn’t sure whether Vedrfolnir is simply that shameless to act upon his whims in the presence of another person or simply does not consider the Commander of Khaenri’ahn army a man worth acknowledging. Not that Thrain would be surprised if it were to be both of those.

“No.” You wave Vedrfolnir off like a pesky fly.

Face hidden in the crook of your neck, Vedrfolnir’s voice is muffled by the volume of your hair, “You are making a grave mistake.”

“You have exhausted your three wishes, Vedrfolnir. Should have been more careful with words.” You chastise the prophet as if he was a child. Thrain doesn’t blame you for doing so: Vedrfolnir, despite his reputation, has always been rather quick in throwing temper tantrum if something wasn’t going his way. Which wasn’t often, yet when it rains, it pours. And by the looks of it, a reminder of whatever defeat Vedrfolnir tasted the time you gifted him your first kiss hit too close to home.

“If Lady Syn wishes to have connection to the crown so bad, then why did you deny Saga the right of inheritance?” A shameless whine, strained fingers digging into the exposed skin of your forearm. You take it all in stride, the glacier star that you are. The game continues, Vedrfolnir’s patience is steadily evaporating, “Why sell yourself to a man you do not love? We both know you would live a miserable life. You need someone–”

Your laugh interrupts Vedrfolnir’s manic blabbering. He lifts his head from your shoulder, watching you with his missing eyes. You glance back at the prophet: from the blindfold to the nose to the pout on his lips. Then you sigh, the pawn finds its place on the chessboard.

“He is a man of a formidable character. Easy on the eyes too. I can learn to love him.” You press your finger to the flushed skin of Vedrfolnir’s cheek, gliding your thumb along his jaw until you reach his mouth. “We both know I do not care for the trivial matters of the firsts.”

Everyone knows you do not. That is why Vedrfolnir stills, breathless and motionless. He is so still, in fact, Thrain would have mistaken him for a statue if it wasn’t for the fact that the prophet was so easily flustered by shameless behavior as long as it is you who is being obscene. You don’t let anything escalate beyond the grasp of your control, however, so you push Vedrfolnir away with the same hand that has been holding his face so tenderly not even a second ago.

Your action wakes the prophet up, it looks like. Reevaluating his behavior and approach, Vedrfolnir gets up on his feet and steps away from your personal space, dusting some invisible particles from his clothes. “You will regret it, [Name].”

“I know.” You don’t argue, simply show him to the door with an absentminded wave of your hand. The diamonds clink when you do so, the stars keep falling along with the fabric of your long sleeve. “You should leave now. I have a game to finish.”

Vedrfolnir clears his throat awkwardly, defeated yet not a little bit ashamed, “Don’t stay up too late, darling.”

You huff, almost amused, “Be careful, Vedrfolnir. You call me that so often one might think you’re in love with me.”

The prophet turns on his heels and makes his way to the door, not even once turning to cast his empty gaze at you for the last time, “I wouldn’t dare to fight for your divine hand, my dear. It would break my poor brother’s heart in two.”

The door clicks shut. You sit in silence for a little while even after Vedrfolnir’s footsteps have long faded into nothing. Your expression, veiled by stardust and tulle, is frozen over and doesn’t truly melt away for the rest of Thrain’s stay in your study that evening. Not knowing what to do with himself, Thrain watches the tea in your cup freeze and then melt back into lukewarm concoction of herbal water and honey.

You groan, a tad bit too dramatic and out of character, but Thrain can’t ever claim to know you fully. Not when Alice is fond of saying you are prone to hysterical temper tantrums when your inventions don’t succeed in fulfilling their purpose on your first try. He isn’t sure if you know that the Red Witch is spreading what seems to be confidential information around, or whether those rumors are even true in the first place, but the annoyed huff that escapes your crimson lips says a lot about validity of Alice’s claims.

Despite your stoicism and ability to handle whatever Vedrfolnir throws his way, you are not immune to all poisons.

“He did not sense my presence.” Thrain mentions casually; a nice, easy way to switch the topic from your impending engagement to Lady Syn’s younger brother but not good enough to distract you from whatever it was that Vedrfolnir was implying by bringing up Dainsleif as his secret weapon. Not yet a master of picking and choosing words, Thrain must own up to his mistakes, “He must be quite troubled with your love life.”

“It appears so.” You shrug, the frost not fully melted but the semblance of a smile curves your lips into an oddly mysterious expression. Then you give him a good once over, from head to toe, lingering on his lap for a while. “How convenient.”

You gently pat the pillow you are sitting on, beckoning Thrain to check under his seat. There is nothing under the pillow, and Thrain finds himself almost disappointed by the revelation. You shake your head when he looks back at you, sliding the glove of your hand silently. He follows your instructions, repeating his search until the tips of his fingers graze a thin indent of missing marble, lines precise and delicate. Vedrfolnir may be blinded, yet he sees beyond the realm of what a human eye can perceive. Elemental energy, memories, the power of human will. Whatever those runes do, you found a way to do what even Irmin couldn’t accomplish and blinded the prophet once and for all. Terrifying, yet hauntingly admirable, nonetheless.

Her Majesty truly trusts no one, but the way you share this secret with him means way more to Thrain than he is willing to admit. Maybe it’s fine to cross some lines once in a while. He never truly liked staring at you just to catch the woman under the wall of glowing ice, anyway.

“The madman seemed to get under your skin at last.” Thrain cannot deduce whether his observation offended you or not, but you were never the type to get insulted by the truth.

“I love him, for I can’t see him.” You admit casually, never specifying who you are talking about or what exactly you mean by that. That is as much as you are willing to give and Thrain isn’t even sure he should know any of that. He did ask, so he must own up to it once more.

“I am not sure you see anything behind those stones.” A clumsy joke lands surprisingly well, considering sometimes his tongue is Thrain’s greatest enemy.

Eyes closed, and shoulders less stiff, you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand. Your laugher has a tinge of sorrow to it, and it only dies when you drop your hand on your lap and gaze at him through the veil. “I am glad, Thrain.” You admit all of a sudden, a hushed whisper uttered like a secret.

“About what, Your Majesty?” Your eyebrows furrow at the mention of your title, as if you have forgotten who you are.

Thrain, for better or for worse, memorizes this knowledge to carry it with him far into the future. You were never fond of titles, or maybe everyone around you just never got used to using them. Despite it being years, Thrain cannot confidently call himself your friend just yet, neither has he dared to assume you wish for him to do so. Now, however, it seems like things are changing. They always do whenever you are involved.

“That it is you they chose.” Your eyes are focused on Thrain’s heart, or whatever is left of it after Rhinedottir finished butchering his flesh.

Somber and wistful, your gaze is full of longing. You have lost your childhood, your forgotten past, your unlived present and your possible future, all of your dreams yet to be dreamt. Thrain lost but a heart, yet gained something that, in a way, is far greater than a soul of one simple mortal man. You once mentioned how all in this life is a matter of equal exchange. To gain something you must give something up first. So what have you gained from losing the will that could rival even this world?

The glowing device on your hip doesn’t appear to come even close in terms of fair trade. And yet… “I see nobody better suited to carry out my will after I can no longer sustain the Plane of Fólkvangr.”

You always have a way of making things go as planned, choose your words carefully, treat your creations with utmost care. Yet Thrain can never forget the first time he saw you play a game of chess against yourself. Your defeat is inevitable. Whichever way you go, no hope remains for you at the end.

“This implies you plan to part with this life before I do.” Thrain voices his concern with a level of steadiness that astounds even himself.

“We can never foresee the fate that those fake stars have given us, Thrain.” You don’t dismiss him or dispel his unease. You are nothing but honest and somehow it is far worse than any lie you could have given him. “But we should know better than anyone that the winds of time are the most unpredictable.”

Your gaze shifts. Thrain follows your line of sight with the caution of a soldier thrown into the raging battlefield completely unarmed. He is right to do so.

For the first time in 2000 years, the skies of Khaenri’ah burn deep crimson once more.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #capitano x reader #capitano x you

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caitified · 2 months ago

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experience

paige bueckers x reader

warnings: slow burn then smut. this is probably my most requested fic, period so i hope this is ok. still not the best smut writer.

"hey, rookie," the voice called out from across the crowded locker room. paige leaned against the metal frame, a smirk playing on her lips as she assessed the newest addition to uconn's women's basketball team. you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves at the sight of the star player. her reputation preceded her - a force on the court, and even more so off of it.

you, the rookie, blushed under the scrutiny, fumbling with your gear trying to vacate the scene as fast as possible post practice. "hi," you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. your heart raced as the whispers grew louder around you. you knew the stories about paige, the rumors of her endless conquests and fearless charm.

paige pushed off the lockers and strolled over, her confidence radiating with every step. "why so nervous rookie? you did good" she said, grabbing your hand. "everyone’s saying good things." her grip was firm, her eyes piercing, making you feel both seen and insignificant at the same time.

you took a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. "y-yeah," you stuttered, shaking her hand. "i'm just trying to fit in."

a knowing smile curled her lips. "well, i can help you with that." her tone was playful, yet there was an underlying seriousness that sent a shiver down your spine. "i'll show you the ropes, take you under my wing."

the first weeks of training were intense. paige was a relentless coach, pushing you to your limits and beyond. her methods were unorthodox, often leaving the other players bewildered, but she had an uncanny ability to draw out potential that others didn't see. you found yourself improving at an unprecedented rate, your skills sharpening like a knife under her watchful eye.

but it wasn't just on the court where she had an effect on you. her charisma was magnetic, and you couldn't help but be drawn to her. her stories of late-night escapades and wild adventures made you feel like you were living in a shadow of her vibrant life. you'd listen intently, blushing at the more risqué details, while she'd throw her head back and laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet gym.

one evening, after a particularly grueling practice, paige suggested you grab dinner together. just the two of you. you agreed, eager for the chance to get to know her better, away from the prying eyes of the team. as you sat across from her at a dimly lit diner, the air grew thick with a tension you didn't quite understand.

her hand reached out, brushing against yours on the table. "you know, you're different from the others," she said, her gaze intense. "there's something about you that's... pure."

your cheeks grew hot as you avoided her eyes. "what do you mean?"

leaning in, she whispered, "you're a good girl, aren't you?" her voice was a soft caress that sent a thrill through you.

the question hung in the air like a challenge. you nodded, unable to find your voice.

her smile widened, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "i have a feeling this season is going to be more interesting than i thought."

the conversation shifted gears, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that something had changed between you. the way she looked at you now was different, a new kind of curiosity in her gaze. it was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

as the days went by, you found yourself spending more and more time with paige. she'd invite you to her off-campus apartment, where you'd watch movies and share stories late into the night. sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, sending waves of electricity through your body. each time, you'd tense up, unsure of what to do, but she'd just laugh and squeeze gently, as if reassuring you that you were safe.

the tension grew palpable, and you began to wonder if the rumors about her were true. if she had any intention of adding you to her list of conquests. yet, she never made a move, never pushed you further than you were comfortable with. instead, she'd pull away, leaving you feeling both disappointed and relieved.

then came the night of the first big home game. you'd been playing better than anyone could have predicted, and the crowd was electric. after the final buzzer, as you walked off the court drenched in sweat and adrenaline, paige was waiting for you. she pulled you into a hug, her strong arms lifting you off the ground.

"you're a natural," she murmured into your ear. "and i want to be the one to show you everything."

for a moment, you were suspended in time. her words resonated deep within you, igniting a fire you didn't know existed. and as she set you down, her hand lingering on your waist, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you wanted her to.

you tried to ignore the feeling, to focus on the season ahead, but it was like trying to ignore the sun in the middle of a bright summer day. it was there, burning and inescapable. you began to crave her touch, the way she'd look at you when she thought you weren't watching. her confidence was contagious, and you found yourself wanting to be more like her, to experience what she had, even if just a little.

one night, as you lay in bed, unable to sleep, you made a decision. you texted her, your heart racing with each tap of your thumbs. "do you... want to come over?" the message hovered, unsent, for what felt like an eternity before you hit send.

her response was almost immediate. "on my way."

your stomach flipped as you waited for her to arrive. you straightened your dorm room, trying to make it look more welcoming. when the door finally creaked open, she stepped in, casual in sweatpants and a hoodie, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"couldn't sleep?" she asked, shutting the door behind her.

you swallowed hard. "no, i... i had some things on my mind."

she sat down on the edge of your bed, her eyes searching yours. "what's up?"

you took a deep breath and leaned in. "i want you to be the one," you whispered. "i want you to show me everything."

the room seemed to still, the only sound the thundering of your heart in your ears. her gaze softened, and she leaned closer, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. "are you sure?"

you nodded, your eyes never leaving hers.

her smile grew gentle, and she leaned in, brushing her lips against yours in a kiss so soft, it was like a promise.

as her lips left yours, paige’s fingers find the waistband of your shorts pulling them down below your thighs.

your breath hitches with anticipation, your body aching for paige’s touch.

her face breaks into a smirk, teasing you further. “you sure you want this baby?” paige whispers, the nickname sending an immediate blush to your cheeks.

“yes i’m ready. i trust you”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤyou stared at paige with bright eyes and she nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. she maintained eye contact with you as she leaned down and flicked her tongue against your clit.

you let out a loud moan at the feeling of her warm tongue against you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

paige lifted her head to warn you, “tell me to stop if it hurts, yeah?”

before you could respond, paige thrust her finger into you relentlessly, beginning to pump her finger into you”

“fuck, paige.” you moaned out when her finger grazed your sweet spot.

she continued her pursuit as she began curling her fingers, testing out what got her the greatest reaction. she wanted to memorize every inch of you for future purposes.

when you had almost reached your climax, paige hastily removed her fingers from you.

your eyes flew open. “paige please, don’t tease.”

smiling, she went back to licking at your clit, and the combination of that and her fingers sent you off the edge and you struggled to catch your breath.

as you settled down, she removed her fingers from you, pulling you into a kiss.

both of you knew you had a lot to discuss, but that could wait until morning..

i didn’t proofread this as i thought it was terrible but i can continue it if people would like.

#wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wbb headcannons #wbb imagine #wbb x reader #uconn wbb #paige bueckers imagine #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers

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gretavanlace · 2 years ago

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Animosity

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, unprotected sex, aggression, arguing, name calling, digital penetration, dirty talk, pet names, etc.

Porn without plot. Arguably an extended blurb, but we have much to celebrate! so my gift, on the eve of Starcatcher, is smut. I love you all! Shout out to this crazy hot request!! Thank you, anon…we adore you and your beautiful mind ❤️

“So, you’re just going to walk away from me? Like what I have to say means fuck all? Like I mean fuck all?” He sinks further back into the couch, crossing his arms like a sullen, bad-tempered child.

“No, Jake,” you snipe right back. A cruel, dismissive edge sharpening your tone until it slices through the anger-choked air in the living room like a rusty steak knife yanked from the back of the drawer. “I’m just sick of listening to you run your mouth about shit that doesn’t matter. I pissed you off. Fucking enthralling story, can you tell it again?”

“You’re tired of listening to me, or you want me to tell it again?” His boots slam down on the coffee table just to pluck at your nerves further. “Make up your fucking mind, sweetheart.”

Christ, you don’t know that you’ve ever been this furious with him, though you really can’t even remember why. It’s been all day. Back and forth. Bitter bickering. Button pushing. Poking and poking, until it feels like the energy between the two of you could break apart with fevered electricity.

“Fuck you.” Is all you can summon. It hisses out of you as you spin on your heel to find solace in the kitchen…the closest room where he isn’t.

With more force than would ever be necessary, you’re throwing open the refrigerator door, fingers wrapped around a bottle of water, when you feel his arms wrap around you, tugging you away from the task at hand with a quiet grunt low in his throat.

The bottle clatters to the floor with a bouncing thud, as you’re pressed against the counter. You’ve hardly had a blink to register, but his hand is fisted in your hair and squeezing against your scalp until it stings like delicious fire. “Fuck me?” He hums, soft and saccharine. “But you seem so angry with me, kitty cat. Seems like maybe you might even hate me. S’that what baby wants? A little hate fucking?”

“Jake, stop!” you snap, with an elbow digging into his stomach, unwilling to let go of your upset even though your thighs are clenched and aching to spread wide for him.

“Have you forgotten your safe word?” The heated query growls into your ear, though he already knows what the answer will be.

Your teeth are clenched - but with wrath or lust, you can’t be sure, “No.”

“Fucking use it, then.” His thigh is between yours now, shoving your legs open further apart exactly the way you’d longed for just moments ago.

“No.” You repeat, once more, even nastier than before. It physically pains you to give him the upper hand, but you love it, too. Fuck, how you love it.

“Oh,” you can hear the smug, cocky, fucking smirk in his tone. “So, my angry little kitty cat wants to be stroked. Is that why you’ve been so goddamn irritating all day? Pretty girl wants to fuck?”

You arch your back, pressing against him in the hopes that he’ll just go ahead and shut up. That he’ll go ahead and destroy you right there at the counter like a whore. Like his whore.

Your silence won’t do for him, and a swift tug at your tangles tells you so, before his voice rasps into the night. “Is that it? Does pretty girl with her pretty wet pussy want to fuck?”

The feverish nod against his clutch comes before you can stop it.

“Say it.”

Oh, fuck you, Jacob. Smug little bastard who can’t let the opportunity to make you taste his victory, pass.

“Hmm-mm,” you moan out, shaking your head, lips squeezed into an impossibly flat line to bite back the flurry of obscene pleas that threaten to tear out of you.

“Okay,” he’s taunting now, and you know you’re in trouble before you’ve even felt his fingers creeping beneath the hem of your panties. “But look at this. You’re dripping. Don’t you want to drip, all filthy and gorgeous, all over me? All over my cock?”

“Yeah,” it shivers out of you with a wanton desperation that should make your cheeks flush with shame. Instead, your entire body flushes with need.

He stands firm and sickeningly sexy “Then say it. Do as you’re fucking told, kitten, and I’ll make you feel good, promise.”

Every ounce of fight drains from your body as you relax down against the butcher's block countertop, and you know without a doubt you’ll need to be careful not to rake tracks into the wood once he’s buried inside you. Careful not to claw marks where you shouldn’t. Careful not to live up to the pet name he only trots out when he’s feeling particularly nasty.

“Say it, baby.” He presses, petting your hair so gently you sigh.

“Pretty girl wants to fuck,” you’re nearly panting between words, but you can’t help it, nor do you care to. Let him hear what he does to you. Let him bear witness to the depravity he sets free to boil through your veins. Let him see.

“Good girl.” He slips the pad of his finger over your slick clit, groaning at how swollen you already are. How ready. How fucking needy. All for him. “Say it. Who’s my good girl?”

“I am.” Your hips are circling and rocking into his touch…you need more, more, more. “I’m your good girl.”

“Yeah, you are.” He nods, forehead resting at your shoulder. “Such a good girl. So, why do you insist on being so fucking bad? Naughty, mouthy little witch. Fucking heartless.”

His touch teases at your entrance, waiting, gentle and nearly still, until you fuck yourself back onto them, slipping him inside with a roll of your hips. “Oh, fuck yes, kitten…just like that. Baby thinks she’s just gonna take what she wants, but she’s wrong…” his voice is quiet, yet melodic. He’s almost singing to you, teasing you, baiting you along with a blissful, bullying, air.

“Whose pretty pussy is this?” He rasps, toying with you.

“It’s yours, Jake.” You purr, arching and trembling. “That’s your pretty pussy.”

“It’s yours, Jake.” He mocks, all high pitched and airy. You half expect him to pull your hair and call you names. To shove you down and skin your knees…and you’re not ashamed to admit, you wouldn’t hate it.

“Tell me you want to feel my fingers inside your greedy, soaked cunt.” True to his role, he snatches your head back by the strands of your hair still locked in his grip. “Tell me you want me to finger fuck you until you cum all over the kitchen tile.”

Your will power has vanished, as though it never existed to begin with. Where is all that fight that once burned in your belly? “I want it…” you’re breathless, whining like a slut, spread out on the counter, tongue sweeping out to curl against the wood because you just need to fucking taste something, anything.

You carry on, happy to complete your pornographic request, if only to make him as weak for you as you are for him. But, he is weaker for you, always…you just can’t ever seem to see it. Instead, his palm covers your mouth, strong and sure.

“It’s cute that you think I really want to hear it. Adorable, even, kitty cat.” He sounds hateful, but you hear the devotion behind the facade, he’s happy to be here with you, wrapped up close, no more angry, blistering space between your bodies.

“I’ve listened to you enough today, don’t you think?” His teeth sink into your earlobe until your knees buckle with a whimpered hum.

“Oh, now you’ve got nothing to say?” His accusation is gritted out between the clamp of his teeth at your ear, sending blazing chills down your spine to curl your toes against the frigid ceramic. “You wanna stay quiet now? Alright then, whatever you want, baby girl. Quiet it is. I’ll help you with that…”

His grip is suddenly iron clad around your throat, squeezing until your gasps rasp and your eyes roll back. His opposite hand is at your mouth, fingers sliding against your tongue, nudging into your throat until you’re silencing a gag.

It doesn’t matter, he feels it. “Be glad it isn’t my cock, shutting this pretty mouth up. Be grateful you aren’t fucking swallowing me and praying I’ll let you breathe.”

You aren’t grateful at all. In fact, you’d give just about anything to be on your knees for him…

And he knows it.

Like a cat in heat, you slink further down, presenting and preening. You want more. You need more…

And he knows that, too.

“C’mere,” it growls out of him, low and rumbling like a feral animal descending upon stalked prey - and before the shudder has even finished shaking through your taxed system, he’s gathering you up in his arms.

Small in stature he might be, but the strength in his grasp has never failed to amaze you. Now, as he jerks you around until you’re caged in his embrace like a writhing doll, is certainly no different.

“Are you sorry, kitten?” He hisses, manhandling you as he throws a dining chair away from the table and spins it just so. “Are you sorry for making me throw you around like the insubordinate little fuck slut you are? Are you sorry for making my cock so hard? It aches for you…it wants its pretty, pretty baby, with her pretty, pretty cunt.”

Down he lumbers, positioning himself on the chair with you, held up away from his lap, watching with rapt attention and a watering mouth as he violently tugs his pants open without care.

And then, there it is, his beautiful cock. Flushed and pulsing. Flexing fiercely and bobbing in the air so pink, so thick, so slick at the blushing crown, so fucking captivating. You can’t take your eyes off of it, and why would you ever want to?

His hands are ripping at you, tearing your panties off ruthlessly until the silk burns across your skin leaving strawberry pink welts in its wake…pulling at the neck of your tshirt until it, too, gives way to his madness and rips apart enough for him to unleash his mouth against your breasts.

It’s a flurry of perfect teeth burying their way into your nipple, the delicious pressure of his lips and tongue, wet, warm, and sucking, as your fingers twist in his hair, crushing him closer to you. His moans are muffled and unidentifiable against the goosebumps he has raised upon your skin.

“Jake, please.” You’re rocking at the air, as still, he holds you away from his lap. “Please please please…”

“That’s it, kitten.” He sounds self-satisfied and disgustingly content with your despair. He’s such a prick when he gets this way, and fuck if you don’t absolutely live for it. “Beg for my cock like a whore. Beg for me to fill your sweet, slutty, cunt. God, look at you. Fucking gorgeous.”

But, rather than beg, out comes the pout he can never seem to resist. “Give it to me.” Your puckered bottom lip tucks between your teeth as you stare down longingly at the prize your body longs to swallow up. “Fuck me, Jake…fuck your kitten. Please, baby?”

“You fuckin’ brat.” He snaps, but his arms loosen, allowing just a hint more freedom to your movement. “Spoiled little thing isn’t playing fair.” He tugs your mouth open and licks against your tongue.

“Go on, then,” his palm, warm and insistent, cracks your ass cheek, hard and firm. Milk chocolate eyes dancing wildly when you suck in a sharp gasp. “You want it so badly? Fuck me. Kitty wants some dick? Kitty can fucking work for it.”

Your hips lower without hesitation and rock this way and that until the tip of his cock is resting at your entrance. “C’mon, kitty cat,” he coaxes like the arrogant prince he likes to pretend to be. “Fuck me.”

Without preamble, without thought for angle, or the consequence of pain, you sink down around him all at once. Sucking him in, hot and snug, tightening around him with a wail of relief as your head tips back until you're crying out to the ceiling.

His face is hidden between your breasts, mouth searching, tongue lapping at your skin as he groans and murmurs your name. “You feel so good, baby girl. So fucking good. Too fucking good. Fuck…fuck…”

Back and forth his pretty face nuzzles, his mouth searching out places to mark you, sucking bruises into your tits as you shove them further in his face, silently begging him to brand you.

But as he grows louder, he begins fighting back to the surface, shaking off your riptide in favor of that delectable dominance he favors “Faster.” He orders, both hands taking hold of your throat just hard enough to make you writhe. “Do it, baby. Come on…” there’s that teasing, coaxing tone that sets your entire body alive in white hot, licking, flames. “Come on. You know how to do it. You know how to fuck me, c’mon.”

Harder and faster you ride him, clutching at the back of his chair for leverage until your knuckles are ghost-white and your nails are screaming, threatening to snap off in the wood.

“Good girl…” his grip is twisting so gently around your neck as your keening moans vibrate into his palms. “Good fucking girl. Say it.”

You know what he wants, and so he shall have it. “I’m a good fucking girl.” They are hardly words at all, more like breathless whines, but they do just fine for him.

“Yes, you are, kitten, yes you are.” Now one of his hands is at your cheek, cupping it as agonized tears streak into his palm…you’re just so fucking close. “And you’re gonna be a good girl and fuck me until I cum, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” it’s ineloquent and cut off by a shaking moan, but you’ve never cared about anything less.

“Yeah, you are. Make me cum, kitty cat. Come on, make me fucking cum…”

This time, it's his words that drift off into incoherent, desperate whines that flip your stomach and trip you over the edge. You finish, hard and fast, lulled by the obscenities tumbling off of his filthy tongue.

“Please, baby…” he’s clutching at you now, thrusting up to meet you so forcefully you absently worry he might tip the chair over, toppling you both to the floor. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna, oh fuck…”

His teeth catch your shoulder through the tattered remnants of your shirt, gnawing at your flesh as grunts and wails and growls of release seep into your skin.

Finally, though you wish it would never end, his arms fall slack, swinging at the sides of the chair, as his mouth soothes over the bites he’s left you with.

“God damn, baby girl…” he laughs softly, kneading softly into the screaming muscles of your thighs. “Thought you were gonna fuck it right off.”

“Shut up,” you giggle, quiet with exhaustion. “Take me upstairs and take care of me? I’m sleepy.”

Without a word, you’re gathered up in his arms. You know you’ll be tenderly deposited at the foot of the stairs, to navigate them on your own, with your hand held in his…but that’s perfect, you’re always happy to let him lead the way.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @mckenna4 @tripthelight-fanfic @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

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takami-takami · 1 year ago

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Cut To The Chase.

kinktober day 2: knife play

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— afab!reader. heavy knife play. discussions of piercing, but no actual cuts. still, this is a knife play fic. be warned. gags. bullying/kinkshaming. praise kink. aftercare.

"You're shaking, dove," Keigo whispers above you. "Relax a little for me, yeah?"

The rhythmic beat of your heart pounds in your ears. The heady bass of it hammers behind your ribs. A single drop of perspiration crawls its way down your neck like a snake might slither down a tree, hissing sharp against the searing heat of your skin. It bobs with the swallow in your throat. It glistens with your tremors as you writhe so subtly against the silken sheets.

And there’s something about the way your life rests in your partner’s steady hand that surges the adrenaline screaming within your veins. It sings a chorus through your chilling blood.

The quirk of his lips is practically audible when he speaks— infuriating, even; but his appraisal of the situation is undeniably on point.

Of course you’re staring. Twisting and gliding along the edge of your skin, just the lightest squirm away from piercing through your flesh, is the tip of something sharp, icy, and unfathomably lethal— had Keigo been in a more dangerous mood and blindfolded you, the object would feel indiscernible from the steel of a curved dagger, the crescent point pressing the slightest divot into the skin of your navel.

Even the light reflects with a glint off his feather as if it were metal when it’s sharpened like this.

“You actually like this sort of thing?” Keigo interrogates you, raising his brows. A scoff of disbelief follows quickly behind the inquiry, the heat of his breath fogging against your neck when he noses your jaw. Achingly slow, the scarlet weapon drags up your core, crawling its way toward your utterly exposed chest.

He could pierce you at any moment. One flick and the skin could burst, one breath and your body would become a canvas to his liking. It's a dance of trust, of control, when he plucks that velvet red feather between his thumb and forefinger as if it were merely a pen to be dipped into ink.

“Your heart rate's pickin' up. It's gonna give you away, dove,” he observes, skimming the skin at the exact spot where he can sense the beat. He drags the feather in circles, a melody in his voice when he sings, low, taunting, and dangerous: "You like this."

“Don’t even care that I could just slip it a little deeper, do you," he realizes, increasing the pressure of the feather against your hammering chest. He can barely hold the click of disappointment from his tongue when you whimper in response.

"Nah. That’d just get you wet, wouldn’t it?”

You see the flash of reflected light under your chin before you can feel the feather against your neck— the metallic sound of the blade cutting through the air rings in your ears, louder than the hitch of your breath from the whirlwind speed of his actions.

“Oh, you like that?”

Keigo doesn't bother to suppress the laughter that builds and erupts. Why would he? He'd place a hefty bet that someone like you would hear a condescending sound like that and feel it like electricity instead, jolting down to crackle between your poor, trembling legs.

You're so fucking predictable. You like a bit of danger, and Keigo is more than willing to indulge your little fantasies in the only way he knows how: famished, unreserved, and entirely committed to every intricacy of his role.

Besides, he'd be lying if he said this little image of you wasn't absolutely gorgeous; you, the picture of prey spread beneath him under the shadow cast by his wings, blubbering and unsure if you want to beg to be pierced by his feather or his cock.

When he slips two slicked fingers inside to scissor them, it's entirely unsurprising that your body opens easily to accept them; so unsurprising, in fact, that his eyes roll almost as immediately as yours do, though he wears a smirk rather than a slack jaw.

The heel of his palm graciously grinds against you each time he bottoms out, the motion made with each rocking thrust expertly positioning his curled fingers upwards. Ever intentional, the heel presses firm against your throbbing core.

When he speaks, you get the impression he's moreso musing to himself than addressing you.

"And what if I fucked you like this, huh? A cock in your pussy and a knife at your throat… Sounds like your own personal heaven, doesn't it, angel?" Keigo punctuates the last word with a mocking lilt, pouting in bastardized sympathy to match your wobbling bottom lip.

"Aww, not gonna bother answering that?" He smiles and pulls at the fabric stuffing your drooling mouth. "C'mon, speak. Wanna hear you when you break for me, 'kay?"

You swallow dry before you attempt to catch your voice, gasping in a bit of air as you arch your chest and whine some garbled words Keigo can only assume are supposed to resemble a beg.

"Oh you're close to close," he posits through a smile, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of his drenched fingers that pump knuckle deep and curl up. "It's okay, baby. Let it out. I've got you. Cum on my fingers, c'mon baby, cum f'me, you're such a good—"

Your back bows when your world shatters. His sweet words never cease, pouring praises over your body like the heat that envelops you, over and over in trembling waves.

The first thing you feel when you float down from your high, catching you like a feather landing slowly in his palm, is a methodical barrage of kisses against your cheeks. Feather discarded, Keigo holds your face in place with cradling palms, crooning at the far-gone smile that remains etched in your expression.

"Hi, baby," he whispers, lopsided smile wide as he pulls back and thumbs the apples of your cheeks, smooshing them in little clockwise circles. "Still with me?"

"Hi, Kei'," you simply mumble, words as sluggish and limp as you are; and just like that, your partner is solid and stable once more above you.

When words elude you, your body begins to speak instead. Your fingers crawl down his biceps and up his neck, nestling in the thickets of his hair and clutching at the scalp as if to settle your own roots there for stability; and on the inside, Keigo's heart trips over itself. Your very center is open to him, pawing at his body and swallowing everything he gives you— and he'll give it all.

Clear eyes attempt to catch your bleary ones, searching for signs of discomfort as you continue to cling to the haziness that envelops your mind. Once he's thoroughly checked for any nicks or scratches, your body is laid back against the sheets.

"C'mon, pretty bird," Keigo whispers, rubbing the highest points of your cheekbones. "Gimme a smile, yeah?"

When you do, it's with a glaze in your eyes, gazing up at him like he's a newfound city of gold.

"That good, huh," he teases, and you yawn. There's a rich, golden butter in his voice when he speaks. It's warm like the sheets he rolls you both up in, hot like his bare chest against your back when he lays you down to cuddle.

"I wasn't too mean, was I?"

"You were perfect for me," you sigh.

The plush of his feathers shudders once in the corner of your vision. He rests his chin along your bare shoulder, clutching your body as close to his chest as it can go.

"You're perfect for me, too."

#hope the aftercare was cute <3 #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #smut #x reader #mha thirst #bnha thirst

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bulletfragment · 2 months ago

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85 Granny jokes by Adam Lanza

1. Granny! Swallow this candy! We need a pinata!

2. Granny! I'II never get better at target practice if you keep running away!

3. Granny! I told you steroids would do that to you!

4. Granny! What do you mean you're hungry!? I fed you last week!

5. Granny! I told you that you can't go sky diving without a parachute!

6. Granny! Stop screaming! I told you that coffee was hot! Now go dry your hair!

7. Granny! Don't be selfish! Let the dog eat your last finger!

8. Granny! There is a sale at the funeral home! Die already!

9. Granny! That's not a playground! That's a construction site!

10. Granny! Keep the crumbs in your beard so the rats don't go hungry!

11. Granny! Granny! Why are there seven stuffed dwarfs hung on the wall!?

12. Granny! You breath 7 quarts of oxygen a minute! Not 7 teaspoons!

13. Granny! What are you doing with that butter knife!? Ahh! No! Help me!

14. Granny! The monolith already came, but you are still so stupid!

15. Granny! What is Jimmy Hoffa doing under your bed!?

16. Granny! Get out of the front seat! You know that's where the dog sits!

17. Granny! You have plenty of room in the new car! There is a bigger trunk!

18. Granny! Stop knawing on your leg! You don't kno' where its been!

19. Granny! Hamsters are not part of the four food groups!

20. Granny! Put this tape on your tongue and lick that electrical socket!

21. Granny! How'd you get your diaper off!?

22. Granny! Put your seatbelt back on! Do you want to fly out….. Oops! Too late!

23. Granny! Stop chewing your diaper!

24. Granny! Pull up your pants! You weren't raised in the Ghetto!

25. Granny! Stop screaming or I'II break your other leg!

26. Granny! Stop running in circles or I'll nail your other foot to the floor!

27. Granny! Why are you next to that lava pit with your swimming suit on!?

28. Granny! Why are you pouring petroleum all around the neighbor's house!? And what's up with that lighter!?

29. Granny! What are you doing at the MBA tryouts!?

30. Granny! Open the window! That smell is going to kill me!

31. Granny! Get out of the road! You aren't a speed bump!

32. Granny! Eat this poisonous fish! It's good for you!

33. Granny! Granny! We don't need no steenkin' Granny!

34. Granny! What do you mean you weren't kidnapped by comprachicos!?

35. Granny! Don't play with that knife! Play with the sharper one!

36. Granny! Stop farting! You killed the cat!

37. Granny! There is a lot of Traffic! Why don't you play outside!?

38. Granny! Stop eating! That's how people live!

39. Granny! This is a petting zoo! Not an all-you-can-eat buffet!

40. Granny! This is a sit-down restaurant! Not a disco club!

41. Granny! Aim your cane somwhere else!

42. Granny! Stop drinking out of the toilet!

43. Granny! Stop, drop, and roll!

44. Granny! Who let you out of the refrigerator box!?

45. Granny! Next time we go to the supermarket, we need to get the ultra-absorbancy diapers!

46. Granny! Stop flying around the room! Get back down here!

47. Granny! Why are you still out there!? Didn't the garbage men take you!?

48. Granny! Don't get spit on the dog's chew toy!

49. Granny! Put that fire out! That's the baby!

50. Granny! Get your spleen off the table!

51. Granny! Why aren't you on your leash!?

52. Granny! You smell like a goat!

53. Granny! Why did you put Bess on all the computers in the town!?

54. Granny! Why are you in the furnace!?

55. Granny! Why is John Lennon at the breakfast table!?

56. Granny! If you put your finger in the pencil sharpener, I'lI give you a ring!

57. Granny! I have the $2,000 you wanted from the police! Now slowly hand over the baby hostage!

58. Granny! Why is Elvis Presley in the closet!?

59. Granny! Where are you going with that sledge hammer?!

60. Granny! If you have to up-chuck, do it on the neighbors, not me!

61. Granny! Stick a fork in the toaster when it's on and I'II give you a bottle of water!

62. Granny! Tell Elvis to stop playing with the shades and go home!

63. Granny! How about you go in that refrigerator box so I can lock you in!?

64. Granny! How long have you been stuck under the garage door!?

65. Granny! If you need to go, use the bathroom, not the carpet!

66. Granny! Run around with these scissors!

67. Granny! What are you doing with that chainsaw!?

68. Granny! Hide! The Grim Reaper has come for you!

69. Granny! Get your head out of the mailbox! The mailman is coming!

70. Granny! How'd you get your face on the quarter!?

71. Granny! get your arm out of the meat grinder!

72. Granny! Get out of the stove! I'm baking a turkey!

73. Granny! Stop walking on the walls! I just put up wet paint.

74. Granny! Don't do that! Do you want to give the dog fleas!?

75. Granny! The paint in the bathroom is chipping!

76. Granny! Eat some more! Your worms are still hungry!

77. Granny! Just wipe off the maggots and keep eating!

78. Granny! Of course you don't need water to climb Mount Washington! Now go have some fun!

79. Granny! I told you to fetch the stick, not eat it!

80. Granny! Stop eating and leave some poison for the rats!

81. Granny! Clean your room! The rats have created a union in there!

82. Granny! Put down that beer and use your blinker!

83. Granny! Stop eating those! The carwash will take care of them!

84. Granny! I don't care if the water's cold! Take your bath and flush when you're finished!

85. Granny! That's not a steak, It's the baby's diaper!

#tccblr #tcc tumblr #tee cee cee #teeceecee #tc community #sandy hook #smiggles #lord smiggles #lanzamaxxing

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fiftysevenacademics · 28 days ago

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Another thing I did today that I've been putting off: Sharpened my kitchen knives. This one is extra embarrassing because almost a year and a half ago, I bought an expensive electric sharpener then felt too intimidated to use it.

Meanwhile, my knives are so dull they can hardly cut at all, and I scream when I'm cooking about how much it sucks and cut myself and resolve to tackle the sharpener challenge but never do.

Until today. It was so easy! And my knives sliced through a ripe tomato like butter. I felt like I was in one of those knife commercials.

#my stuff

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houseofknivesaustralia · 1 year ago

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#chef's choice electric knife sharpener 1520

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multipleheartbreakhotels · 1 year ago

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I Sing You Joke

The Joking Starts When I Listen To The Music

February 25th 2006

Laughter. It's such a powerful thing especially when you make people laugh more particularly when you make your favourite band laugh. The first time I listened to them, was in 2004 on the radio covering some songs, I fell in love with them in an instant, the bass, the electric guitars, the drums, and the voice, especially the voice. Later in 2005, I heard them again, but this time with their songs. When I searched my local record shop, I had to dig very deeply since they were local artists. Once I found their single titled “I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor” I bought them immediately with a CD player. The moment I reached home, I listened to it non-stop, but there were unfortunately only 3 songs, until 2006. The beginning of the year with a new album by my favourite band is an excellent start the year, and to my delight, it was much longer than the other album of course, they also shared the same song which was one of my favourites at that moment, I brought the record home and listened to it religiously to the point where my roommate got sick quite literally when she got a fever I had to take care of her, so instead of listening to "Dancing Shoes" or "A Certain Romance" we listened to something my mother used to put when I and my brothers were sick, Mozart. I could only go to college while she was sick, I could not go to work or the pub, the millisecond she got well, I, well, we went to the pub. This was a very special night because not only was it for being back but also it was my 3-year anniversary for working in that pub, the time of my show starts at 11:05 it was 10:45 so shite luckily my roommate was also coming to my show, but she is equally late because we are both getting ready late

"MARYA WHERE IS MY BLUE DRESS?" Emilia yelled from her room

"IT'S IN MY ROOM ON THE BED" I yelled

back preparing my bag and ready to go, she came to my room

"Ok, but why is it here?" Emilia asked me

"Em?" I asked glaring at her,

"Sorry," She replied,

she got dressed and we both ran to the pub, Lucky for us it was near and it was easy to run there for me since I was wearing Converse but Emilia was wearing high heels to feel fancy, how could you feel fancy in a local pub? I thought. I opened the door to the bar

"What the hell Marya it's already 11:10" the bartender Victor yelled

but before he could say another word I got to the stage removed my jacket and threw it not caring where

"Hello ladies and gentlemen apologies for my lateness, my best friend's lazy arse was weighing me down," I said into the microphone.

Laughs were coming from people who sounded like music to me, and after their laughs, they started to clap as a greeting for me

"Thank you Thank you" I said to the audience

"So what shall I tell you today? Mhm Oh, tonight is a very special night, today is my anniversary and no it's not my romantic anniversary unless you think me being yelled at every time I come here late is romantic or sexual " I said

"Ooo Marya your so late it's already time to finish" I mimicked Victor and people started to laugh harder,

"Oi your such dirty-minded people ai......but anyways tonight is when I started to work in this bar the day I started to remove your innocents" I joked.

"It marks 3 years, imagine I was working here for one year, and I was still shocked that Victor has not killed me yet I am pretty sure the reason he is always behind that bar is that he is preparing to murder me, planning the day, and sharpening his knife, so if today is the last you will see of me let my last words be 'Thank you for letting all my friends plan a murder on me and not succeeding, and letting some random french bartender kill me instead' I see women are laughing more, I guess after seeing this you will know what tea to final spill to your ex-college-best friend-roommate" I said

taking the microphone from its holster and continuing speaking for 20 more minutes until I noticed a group of people standing next to the bar, there was a boy my age his back towards me with a leather jacket I wanted to get a better look at him when he finally turned to me, I stopped talking only for a second but it felt like hours, 10 minutes after I was done speaking

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and all the undecided I hope you pissed your pants and you will see me tomorrow night, I basically live her bye bye” I announced

and left the stage, took my thrown coat and bag, and placed them on a stool next to the bar. As Emilia was flirting with any living male soul, I sat at the bar talking to Victor, more precisely, the wall and drinking a bloody Mary,; it was my favourite drink.

"Excuse me, Sir?" One of the boys that I saw earlier from the stage,

"Could I get a-?" He said

not sure what drink to order, his friend that was sitting on the bar stool, the same boy with the leather jacket whispered something to his friend's ear

"A bloody mary, please? For the lady" He finally finished his sentence.

"I should be getting you drinks instead," I said with a smile,

"I get free drinks here so what would you like?" I added,

"How about their most expensive pint?" He asked with a heavy Northerner accent.

"Victor, the most expensive beer you have for this gentleman, please," I asked,

"You have 18 pounds, Marya?" He said,

"No, but I work here, so I give you customers, and you give me free alcohol" I marked.

"I give you money, not alcohol,"

"I give you customers, which means that come with free alcohol and money" I added.

"Fine, you work tomorrow also no holiday" He debated,

"Deal" I smiled,

and he placed the beer to the guy.

"Matt," He said

as he held out his hand,

"Marya, you don't need to know that though I already said my name on stage and it's on the board" I joked,

"And these your fellow shadows?" I asked,

the reason I called them shadows was because they were behind him and I could hardly see them from the light and choice of clothing.

"That's Jamie" He pointed to the blond guy dancing,

"I'm Nick," The brunette with green eyes said.

"Matt, I found a couple of lads come on" He said excitedly

"Will you excuse me?" He said as he finished his entire pint,

"You are excused," I said

and did a fancy bow, they laughed slightly and left, and then the guy next to me, who I assume was also Matt's friend showed me his hand in a gesture to shake it,

"Im Alex," He said in a hoarse or puberty voice with an equally heavy Northerner accent as the rest of his friends.

I shook his hand "Marya" I smiled,

his voice reminded me of something or more precisely someone, I could not put my finger on it though. We talked for hours about our favourite musicians bands, and books it was my favourite subject, and even baking. The night ended with them taking me back to my apartment, while Emilia went out with some lad from the pub.

"You don't have to it's unnecessary" I assured them after they asked if they could take me home,

they didn't exactly ask though they just said they would take me home,

"We are already walking out, and besides you live near us, it's okay" Alex reassured me with a smile,

it was a drunk smile, Matt was also happy to take me home slightly more drunk than Alex, while Jamie and Nick were flat-out drunk, we were all basically knackered.

"Wait, didn't you come to the bar with someone?" Matt asked slurring his words,

"She went with some random bloke, and they are gonna shag," I said,

"How are you sure they are gonna shag, detective?" Nick asked with a funny questioning look on his face,

"Well, her telling me Im gonna shag him tonight in a drunk whisper gave it away" I giggled.

When we reached my building

“I think that’s meh building,” I said slurring my words,

"Yup, it is" I added,

"Wait, wait, wait" Alex said quickly,

"Could you gimmie your number?" He asked while he was searching his phone in his pockets,

"Why not, if I can remember" I giggled,

while the rest laughed, he handed me his phone, and I gave his phone back after I typed my number.

"What does Bella, mean in Italian?" He asked,

"I am too drunk to know, but Bonita I am a pretty drunk bitch, well Bonita is only the pretty part" I giggled,

and he typed something in his phone.

"Well, we shall see each other in the next drunk street," I said in a fancy voice

"We shall" Alex answered in a tone equal to mine,

and he and his mates left. I got up to my apartment as best as possible trying to not let my neighbours think I was an alcoholic it was already bad that they called me a stripper just because I worked in a pub and I was a dance teacher, the moment I opened my apartment door and went to my room I fell asleep, knowing and not knowing how bad and good tomorrow will be.

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