#I��m but a humble farmer

[sometimesanalice]

for the prompt party, how about: “i can’t help it,  i feel so sleepy and cozy now.” with our fave blue eyed WSO?

💖 @callsignspark

A reason to write a sleepy, cozy, domestic Bob?!?! Don’t mind if I do, Elle! 🫶🏻 (ps I still owe you a birthday fic, but please accept this humble offering in the meantime!)

There were a lot of things you liked about Bob Floyd.

You liked that he’d made a point to read your favorite book when you’d first started dating, because he wanted understand the things that made you you. 

You liked that he was the type of man to remember an offhand remark, it was as if he wanted to collect every crumb of you and nothing was too small to escape his notice. Like the time you mentioned being excited for summer fruit season, and he’d brought you a box of peaches from the farmers market the moment they’d arrived.

And you really liked the way he whispered the sweetest things as he fucked you into the mattress, the intoxicating sound of his baritone murmuring in your ear as he rendered you thoroughly boneless. His honeyed tongue was just as good at making you swoon as it did at making you come. 

But one of the most unexpected things you’d learned about him since he’d become your boyfriend, was that he could not seem to make it past the first 40 minutes of a movie without falling asleep. 

The two of you had sailed through that tentatively affectionate part of starting a new relationship, where every inch moved the two of you moved closer to each other felt like a new milestone. 

From sitting a respectful distance, pinkies just barely touching, in the getting to know you stage. To sitting snuggled close with his arm over your shoulder, enjoying getting to be curled up against him because you could and he was yours. To straddling his lap, those big hands roaming everywhere, and missing whatever was on TV completely because close enough wasn’t close enough. 

You’d been a big fan of each phase, but your favorite was easily when he was sprawled out on top of you like your own personal weighted blanket.

The first time he’d done it was after you’d made him your family’s favorite chicken soup recipe. The weather had just started to change, which in San Diego didn’t mean much, but you’d decided that since it was technically Fall it had been time to woo him with something warm.

He’d just finished doing the dishes, at his insistence, since you’d been the one to cook. You were lounging across the couch trying to find a movie to watch when he’d come over- with a groan and stretch that had revealed just a peek of skin- and flopped himself right on top of you, still ever careful in that way of his. All of his warmth, all of his sturdy weight pressing you into the cushions of your couch.

No one had ever made you feel as safe and secure as he did.

You were only a few minutes into the comedy you’d put on when you felt him stir, trying to sit up. “‘m sorry, honey, I’m probably squishing you.”

“I can take it,” you’d teased, with a wink before wrapping your arms and legs around him, keeping him in place.

He didn’t protest further, only inched himself over a little bit so that the couch was doing most of the work, while you combed your fingers through his hair.

The movie hadn’t even reached the half way point when you heard the first of his soft snores. You’d smiled to yourself and let the movie finish playing, not wanting to disturb him by reaching for the remote.

What you didn’t expect was for it to become a thing. 

You thought it was a fluke the first time it had happened.

The second time it happened, you thought he might have been messing with you. 

By the third, you were entirely amused.

When the two of you were curled up together on the couch, Bob was always slipping a hand under your shirt, his fingers idly tracing patterns onto your skin until slowly but surely they stopped moving at all. Usually right around the time you hear those first deep, slow breaths and quiet sighs of sleep.

But tonight, you’d decide to put your theory to the test. With your handsome blue eyed boy draped across you, you cued up a movie, stealthily starting the timer on your phone at the same time you’d clicked play. 

And sure enough, around 33 minutes in those long fingers of his stopped their circling. And just past the 40 minute mark you’d heard that gentle snore. 

You bite your lip, trying not to giggle. "Bob."

There's a long beat. “Hm.”

"Are you awake?” you ask, rubbing his back.

“Just resting my eyes.” It’s a sleepy mumble.

“Oh, really,” you muse. “Well then, can you tell me what just happened? It was pretty big plot twist.”

He lifts his head up, propping himself up on an arm to look at you.

“If you get me a couple minutes to google it I can,” he says with a sheepish smile.

You tip your head back and laugh, entirely and thoroughly charmed by him. “Is that what you’ve been doing after every movie night? Because I’ve been keeping track, and you sir, have yet to make it all the way through any of movies we’ve watched in the last few weeks.”

“Busted, huh?”

“Very. I had a theory and everything, backed with some serious scientific evidence,” you tease, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

Bob huffs a laugh, his ears a sweet shade of pink. “I can’t help it,” he says, doubling down and nuzzling his face into your neck, “I feel so sleepy and cozy now. You’re so soft and you smell really nice.”

Fond. You’re just so fond of him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you suggest, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “As the official resident de facto cinephile in the relationship, I’ll handle all the movie related questions the next time we go to trivia night with your friends, sounds good?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” You feel his smile pressed against your neck.

“Ok, you can go back to ‘resting your eyes’. I’ll send you the wiki article for you to read later.”

He chuckles softly. “I love you, honey. You’re the best.”

You were already warm with him on you, but now it radiates all the way down to your toes. “I love you too.”

[ponderingsoflife]

My brain has been utterly shot writing wise since finishing losing ghosts, however I have been toying with a little role swap idea I'm calling Hermit Kingdoms and Empire Craft, where the concepts of Hermitcraft and Empires smp are swapped, so the Hermits have their empires and the Empires folks have a more joined together and fractionated kinda vibe rather than being entirely alone.

Since the crossover happened in season nine, that is the season I used as a base for who to use in the role swap, so it's the members of Hermitcraft Season 9 (minus one) and all the members of Empires smp season 2. Here are the first five I've cooked up ideas for, tell me what you think or if you have ideas for the others!

Hermit Kingdoms:

Cleo: Cleo’s domain is known as The Machinations. It’s located in a desert but that’s mostly irrelevant, as all action in this kingdom takes place inside of giant statues that roam around the desert. Steampunk king my beloved. Cleo’s role in this society is that of the head mechanic building the giant robots. The creatures that inhabit the giant robots are… also robots, no one tell Cleo they’re actually alone.

Pearl: Pearl’s domain is the Scorched Earth, and it’s located in the basalt delta of the nether. Stories say the former farmer was resurrected after death, and placed in a purgatory where she is unable to rest until she manages to grow her crops. Day in and day out she works tirelessly, but she cannot bring life to the barren land no matter how hard she tries to do so. Pearl refers to her role in this society as the Caretaker of the Scorched Earth.

Zed: Zed’s domain is known as The Spiral. Tucked away in a savanna biome Zed is the only occupant of this space with cognitive function. Everything inside of the spiral is topsy turvy, with mob appearances being switched around so you can never tell what you are actually hitting (could that cow have been a villager? Guess you won’t know until you eat the meat it dropped). A favorite pastime of his is trapping people in a nether portal maze that resembles M. C. Escher painting: Relativity (that's the one with all the weird and upside down stairs). Zed calls himself the Host of the Spiral.

Empire Craft:

Scott: The server's guy to go to for any kind of food, which he sells out of a Wonka-esque factory. Everything is priced the same, with two stacks costing one player head and two diamonds. Everyone asks him what the player heads are used for but he never tells. His hair turning a soft purple is also definitely a choice he made and not at all connected to the increased amount of player blood he’s consuming.

Kathrine: Oddly enough, Kathrine is the one to supply the server with anything hostile mob related, be it rotten flesh or bones to ender pearls and the dragon egg, Kathrine has it. Everyone is always searching for her farms but the truth is she doesn’t have any, she just goes out and hunts things for fun. With all her time spent hunting she avoids building a large base, and instead lives in a small and humble shack next to Shelby’s base.

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Your Humble Servant (Hannigram AU)

Explicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Tags: Alternate Universe - historical, primarily 1912 - 1920s, lord Hannibal, farm boy Will, abandoned Will, adopted Will, childhood friendship, getting to know each other, developing relationship, first kiss, yearning, pining, separation, parental death (Hannibal's parents), angst, period typical societal bullshit, financial ruin, misunderstandings, The Great War, WW1, warfare, trench warfare, kissing, hand jobs, secret relationship, flashbacks, period typical lube, anal fingering, anal sex, love confessions, The Battle of the Somme, injury, injury recovery multiple separations and reunions, pining, angst, life altering injuries, disability, PTSD, nightmares, London secret gay community, 1920s London, classism, reunion, rekindled relationship, revelations, (belated) reunion sex, biting, possessive sex, dirty talk, morning blow job, unexpected visitors, jealousy, flashbacks, revelations, hurt/comfort, family drama, more separation and more angst (sorry), brief Hannibal/Donald Sutcliffe, semi-public sex, declarations of love, family secrets, growing old together, time skips, happy ending. 

From abandoned baby to farm hand, from soldier to clerk, Will's life is a twisted road with only one constant, a love he is sure he can never have.

_______________________________________________________

“Can I help you, my lord?”

Hannibal looked up and blushed when he realised he’d been seen by Mr Graham, peering into his pigpen.

“I, uh…” Hannibal stammered. Almost ten years old and the heir of the lord of this great estate, he knew he should always be eloquent and fair like his father. This, despite the fact that being caught snooping made him feel ashamed to the point of anger. He schooled himself and cleared his throat, but before he could continue the farmer chuckled and shook his head. 

“If it’s young Will you’re after, he’s inside helping his mother with the crate. If you’re wanting to wait m’lord, he’ll be taking it up to the big house shortly. He could keep you company on your way back.”

Hannibal straightened himself and gave a curt nod to the farmer, who smiled warmly and tipped his hat. 

“Go on in then, m’lord. I dare say Mrs Graham has some tea brewing.”

Hannibal gave another nod and finally replied, “my thanks, Mr Graham.”

The farmer tipped his hat with another smile and Hannibal took his leave, trying not to seem too eager in his gait as he strode over the flagstones up to the little farmhouse. 

Hannibal knew from the etiquette lessons his nanny had begun to instil in him that it wasn’t proper to be too enthusiastic or overbearing in a friendship, even as a child. Frivolities should be in measure, and must always be proper. 

Perhaps his friendship with the farmer’s son was improper in some ways - by virtue of their birth at least. But, at almost eight years of age, Will Graham was the only child even remotely near his age in the near vicinity. 

And the truth was, he found Will fascinating.

Your Humble Servant is now posting on AO3

All chapters are already available on my Patreon!

[simomo-the-smol]

Simomo Simo

B A S I C S

Name: Simomo Simo!

Nicknames: None.

Age: Mid-late twenties, I thiiiink?

Nameday: 21st Sun of the 4th Astral Moon.

Race: Plainsfolk Lalafell.

Gender: Agender really, has never had a thought about gender, it's something other impose on her, she is v much an any pronouns binch. She doesn't care what others register her as.

Orientation: Grey Ace, pan but rarely interested. Believed none of that was for her before she fell for Raha.

Profession: Adventurer, omni crafting artisan.

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C  T S

Hair: Black with mid green highlights, fringe and ponytail.

Eyes: Green

Skin: A reasonably pale popoto, with white freckles.

Tattoos/scars: None visible

F A M I L Y

Parents: Her parents are farmers in Middle La Noscea, her father regularly making trips by foot into Limsa to trade. Humble family, employing former pirates looking to go "straight". As such, Simo has had a propensity for swearing since she was pretty young!

Siblings: None, Simo is an only child.

Grandparents: ???

In-laws and Other: In a relationship with G'raha Tia, not intrinsically mono, but has never thought about it one way or another. Views the Scions as family, and has a constant (platonic) companion in Rivi Feathersage @feathersage

Pets: Simomo's chocobo is called Greffie- named after Grehfar, the Yellowjacket Lift Attendant stationed in Bulwark Hall, Limsa Lominsa. Grehfar showed a little too much willingness to listen to little Simo's stories when she started venturing into the city on her own, and as such became Simomo's first proudly-declared friend of her own in the city.

Greffie is a pumpkin orange Belah'dian Jennet chocobo who has accompanied Simo into many battles and over varied terrain. His favourite food is curiel roots. Despite his diminutive size, he can hold his own in battle and in play with other 'bos.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Simo first learned arcanima when they began adventuring, inspired by the stories of their forebears, subsequently specialising into summoning. A chance encounter with a dance troupe who had arrived in Limsa. While at first discouraged by the troupe's flowy attire, Simo realised one could dance in all manner of garb, and has been throwing chakrams at ne'er-do-well faces ever since!

Hobbies: Foraging, as this is something done since Simo's childhood to supplement farmed produce, and in turn, crafting with said gathered materials. At the end of the day, there will always be a certain lure to the market board for a Lalafell, after all!

Simomo also spends a somewhat questionable amount of time in the Gold Saucer, especially enjoying tests of agility like the Cliffhanger and Leap of Faith GATEs.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Her giving heart, Simo will seldom turn from someone in need, lending a hand with even quite minor gripes even after battling to save the very star. She's generous with her time and complimentary to (almost) all.

Most Negative Trait: Zenos may have had a point... she does enjoy the fight. Not that she's ever admitted her answer to any of her loved ones.

Some may also argue the fact that she will put ketchup on pretty much any savoury foodstuff.

L I K E S

Colors: Hunter green.

Smells: Vanilla, cinnamon, sweet spices in general.

Textures: soft fabrics that move with her.

Drinks: She's partial to a cup of tea!

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Nope.

Drinks: Doesn't drink alcohol regularly, but can hold a surprising amount of drink due to the upbringing around pirates and in and around Limsa Lominsa!

Drugs: No.

Mount Issuance: Greffie, issued from the Grand Company of Limsa Lominsa, The Maelstrom.

Been Arrested: Simo has, thus far, always managed to talk herself out of sticky situations. Gods know how, given how goofy she typically is when trying to do said talking!

Tagged by: @feathersage

Not tagging anyone bc I think everyone's probably been tagged as I am late to the game, but if you see this and want to do it, I'd love to see yours, so pls tag me!

[bapydemonprincess]

A Vampire Snake in London

The flithiest, slimiest, most cowardly of beast ought to be hiding out in the equally most disgusting and dank hiding spots, Bardroy thought, standing before a back alley door to the most popular opium den of London.

It was the Witching Hour and Bard was restless. He'd seen and heard of too many deaths in this damn town. Night after night. Innocent neighbors and unwitting bystanders just vanishing. Like they left and forgot to write. Or couldn't.

But once a Hunter, always a Hunter.

Bardroy knew too well the signs of one of those blood sucking leeches.

And he'd do everyone a favor getting right to the point and offing this one right quick.

Of course, a little spot of ale certainly helped him push through.

Not like he was busy or needed.. since everyone actually thought his kind were making things worse...

But he'd show 'em.

He kicked the old door in, and pointed his gun firmly around at the present company.

"Nob'dy move! 'M 'ere fer the VAMPIRE!"

He heard ladies and men scream alike, but that was to be expected. It was a vampire's feeding pit after all! The damn beast probably supped day and night on poor humans in this box!

"Sir, sir," a small lass was calling, inching up to him, "please no gun! No weapons! We are humble proprietors.. We here to make you feel good!"

She'd learned pretty good English for a little likely leech jr., or maybe a human pet. Wouldn't it it past even Vampires to go that far. Humans were just their food. Like cows and chickens to a farmer.

Bard pushed his gun to her head.

"I won't blow yer brain out... yet.. if ya take me to yer boss, luv."

Sober Bard would have likely not done this.

But Sober Bard could piss off.

This vampire was gonna die.

Tonight.

Through open sobbing, all professionalism gone, the young Chinese girl turned very shakily and nodded frantically her understanding.

"C-Come this way, come.. I.. I w-will take you... I promise..."

And nevermind all the other ladies standing around... and the so called "customers".

Whether they were all in on it, or victims, Bard would sort out later.

The big one had to fall first.

One minute of escorting through the long, fragrant room passed and Bard blessed himself for intoxicating his faculties with drink before he was thrust into this torrent of fragrant air.

It stunk. But he'd push through.

Clamoring and avoiding eye contact with everyone milling around on pillows...

"What is this," a deeper female voice demanded as they finally reached another back door.

The tiny Chinese lass frantically hissed Chinese to the taller Chinese lass and instantly Bard knew he'd made an error.

Lamp light bright eyes struck the man, the other woman standing still but looking ready to charge at Bard in seconds.

"Get out," She said.

"Ah, no," Bard said.

But had no time to pat himself on the back for managing a quick, witty response back with no slurring in this state.

A whole fucking leg hit him upside the jaw in one second.

He caught a flash of bare thigh and cheek. Lovely. Before crashing to the floor.

Darkness starting to drown out his sight.

"Fuckin'... b-bitch.." he managed somehow to drool out, and then sweet, sweet sleep.

Lau grinned with glee, continuously as he stared on at the unconscious vampire hunter now lying all cozy and snug amongst his pillows and personal quarters when his sister Ran Mao had brought the man to him.

Well, this was certainly a first...

Years and years had gone by, and Lau had idled away his time in this country, serving as an opium dealer to the dumb human populous, as a front.

It was all so perfect.

None of them were the wiser when they'd wake up and stumble out, satisfied with the service, but now a couple dozen pints short of blood.

It was the perfect arrangement so Lau could get money and a meal, nobody died and nobody ever caught on!

But somehow, some way...

This one lone vampire hunter, managed to discover their ruse.

While being absolutely piss drunk in the process, no less!

Lau had searched the man immediately when Ran Mao had brought him. The poor thing was such a heavy sleeper in this inebriated state he barely noticed all the rummaging.

Upon finding things like a stake and silver bullets, holy water and garlic all in the contents of this one, dead beat drunk human, Lau promptly blew up laughing.

It wasn't the first time a human or two had brought Lau to practically hysterics but this special case was certainly something!

Had he been tipped off by someone? Had Lau somehow let his true intentions shine through?

This one human had clearly never even been in this den before as a customer, and Lau was certain he would have recognized such a..

Charming, grizzled, hardened face.

Lau caught himself stroking the man's wheat-toned hair, and five o'clock shadow.

But he couldn't stop..

"Hm.. what does this one's blood taste like, I wonder.." he whispered.

A tilted up that strong jaw.

Long fangs curled out from Lau's always smiling maw, like a serpents. Ready to snap exactly at the right time.

But Lau wanted to.. savor this one.

After all the blood of a man who was this outrageous by his own right, as well as a hunter of Lau's kind in the first place must be quite the delicacy...

Until suddenly pressure was in Lau's chest.

Right exactly at where a heart should be.

And the hunter's eyes squinted open.

"Bite me and it'll be yer last drink, ya damn blighter."

A rugged, sharp combat knife. Of the military kind was digging into Lau's left breast.

Lau's eyes opened a tad wider.

And he smiled fondly at the other man.

"How funny this is, my dear good sir," he purred, "even if you reach my heart, it'll take just that same amount of time for my fangs to puncture your jugular.. You'll bleed out along with me.."

The man chuckled, or tried to. He was struggling to breathe a little, as the vampire truly revealed his true power via grabbing at his measly short locks and tugging at his scalp.

"Sounds 'bout right," he growled, "'t go out not with a whimper but a bang, y'know?"

Lau chuckled too.

And then he was.. mist.

The human man roared a curse or two and started diving forward, swiping at air aggressively with his big knife.

"However I don't want to kill you, you know," the vampire sang out, his voice surrounding the man who couldn't even manage to fully stand up just yet..

"I want to cherish my time meeting and knowing you, for this has been a first for me.."

The man charged in every direction, leaping just when Lau started to form himself even just a little bit solid.

But then face planting immediately.

"I've never met a human so... animated like you in this country.. So stubborn, so unrelenting..."

He easily got right behind the man, grabbed up his throat again with one hand, and the other grabbed up the hand gripping the knife.

"So undaunted about the danger your own life is in.."

"Ah, sod off monster-" The man spat, and then roared when his arm was twisted, the knife slipping from his grip.

"I'm the monster, hm?" Lau hummed, letting his nails sharpen to almost-claws, and dig into the mans neck.

"You're the one who came barging into my legit, hard-working establishment- well-known through-out all of Great Britain I might add -and terrorized my hard working ladies and all of my guests."

He started to lift the man completely off the floor, by his throat.

And let his form go fully solid again.

"Do you really think, by day time, when news hits of your nightly visit here... I'll look like the monster?"

"Yu... th... I..."

Lau's nostrils flaired, and he took a breath in and then out.

He'd gone a bit far, he'd admit... Poor thing couldn't even speak!

Slowly he loosened his grip while also putting the human back down on his feet.

But still kept his hand firmly around that thick neck, as he stepped around, to face him from the front, and meet those bright blue lively eyes.

"Well..?"

The man coughed, and gagged, his face paled. Lau was certain his throat was perfectly fine but well..

Hadn't accounted for the man's still drunken state to catch up once again with him.

Right there, in Lau's proudly pristine private quarters, this grim old drunken vampire hunter found himself curling in and then collapsing and vomiting everywhere.

Lau almost felt he'd cry.

...And then the man stopped moving.

He was out again.

Well.

This had been quite a night.

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #21:

Time Fades Away, Part 2

So. I headed north as promised last night, straight into L.A., Neil's very own uptight city in the smog (city in the smog), to see my famous brother make some very grown up music.

It was amazing and upsetting. Amazing in that Prairewolf are, for our current moment, what Booker T and the MG's were for 1967.

But it was upsetting in that my famous brother and his almost as famous bandmates did not obey my directive and perform Neil Young's Yonder Stands the Sinner with a generous dollop of their own wordless cosmic white man cowboy jazz funk slathered on top. Rather they played songs from their first two records.

I made some videos but have no idea how to paste them in here. If I could figure it out, you'd hear me grooving and hollering and jostling about as everyone in the room blissfully lost their minds amidst the rowdy crowd action and psychedelic vibes.

Naw, it wasn't really that kinda show. Even though Dr. Demento himself was allegedly in the room everyone just sat and nodded with appreciative thoughtfulness while they played. My buddy Greg points out that we probably looked a lot like the studious white folks in the Booker T clip. The band made no speeches and pensively sipped at their Tecates. The projected images behind them swirled and danced in time with my brother's patient yet nimble fretwork. I was filled with intensely mellow joy. Then I drove home.

It was awesome.

And yet, because Prairiewolf didn't bust out a single Time Fades Away cover, I do need to issue the following apology: yesterday's post had nothing whatsoever to do with Neil Young's reckless live album of entirely new songs from 73. Please accept my humble apologies and send all your angry feedback to my famous brother at doomandgloomfromthetomb.

I didn't understand Time Fades Away on any level as a teenager. Neil sounded cranky throughout; the pace was frantic until it was dull; there were no noticeable guitar solos (somehow I didn't notice the fairly groovy interludes on Last Dance); and even at the tender age of 16 I wanted to find David Crosby and punch him squarely in the nose for smugly interrupting the record to announce that what followed would be "a little experimental".

For reasons that are not well-founded or clear I've always associated Crosby with my middle school woodshop teacher Mr Halferty: he would not let us touch any wood in his classroom. Rather, we made keychains and sugar scoopers (as if any of had sugar barrels at home that needed accessing a la Laura Ingall's Farmer Boy) outta plastic and he drove an El Camino. On the last day of school we surreptitiously placed all our finished projects around the wheels of his sweet ride gleefully figuring that as soon as he peeled out there'd be shattered plastic everywhere.

The plan was to hide in the bushes and watch it all go down. I don't think we followed through on that part of the plan. But I felt it then and I feel it now: neither Mr. Halferty nor Crosby have any business on a Neil Young record of any kind post Deja Vu (unless they're glowing unobtrusively in the background as in Through in My Sails).

And so I didn't dig Time Fades Away as a kid.

But it's over 30 years later and I now carry Neil's cranky frantic energy on the record around with me just about everywhere I go. I berate my 11th grade students whenever they enter the classroom more than 6 seconds late or act like their phones are their friends. I drive either way too fast or way too slow. I dream of punching Donald Trump, not David Crosby or poor old Mr. Halferty, squarely in the nose.

So, these days Time Fades Away is right up my alley.

Let me count the ways:

The title track sounds like it's played by angry, drunk monkeys. I mistakenly had my turntable turned up to 45 rpm this weekend when I first dropped the needle; aside from the fact that Neil sounds like a bubbly chipmunk at that speed the song sounds basically the same: terrifying, and good.

Neil must have issued 48 different live versions of Journey Through the Past in the last decade and a half. They're all good. But on Time Fades Away's original take Neil is more plastered than on all the other versions combined.

And you know what they say when it comes to Shakey and Freezermen concerts at Vassar College in 01: the drunker, the better.

As Neil works towards and through the last chorus I feel the room spin wildly around him. It's terrifying, drunk and bleak; it's awesome.

Yonder Stands the Sinner is one of the most unhinged tracks in Young's entire oeuvre. It does not sound experimental, David Crosby; rather it sounds wonderfully insane. At 16 years old I just scratched my head and thought about playing The Joshua Tree or something else instead. Today I feel like Neil is reading the words inscribed on my very soul:

Neil Young: he calls my name without a sound.

Up next we've got L.A. I grew up there. It was alright. But this song is way better: Neil borrows much of the hook from Come on Baby Let's Go Downtown and slows it way the hell down. He's already finding his Tonight's The Night sound and groove here with Ben Keith alongside him, the steel guitar throwing shadows on every available wall of the theater. This is probably my favorite song on the record.

Love in Mind, like The Bridge on Side 2, is just lovely. Neil could nail a ballad like no one else at this point. Everything is fragile and quavering. You want to give the poor guy a hug and recommend a good therapist.

My nearly 80 year old mother talked after the show last night about how seeing her son on stage in Prairiewolf was the opposite of all the Kris Kristofferson shows she saw around LA before Kris became a household name. Seeing her drunk, vulnerable, potentially doomed and beloved cousin play live was utterly stressful. She saw that Kris was not well but that he simply had to make earnest art anyway.

I think it would have been similarly stressful to have been an alive and well Neil Young fan in 1972/3. (I was born in 76 and encountered Young as he entered his 90's heyday.) Fans on the Time Fades Away tour must have worried about whether he was even gonna make it through the show without keeling over.

Folks my age and younger have never been properly stressed out by any of Neil's Ditch era; we encountered all that wonderful music with the knowledge that he survived it all; indeed, we knew that he spun the whole era on its head and made it the foundation for his greatness rather than the soundtrack for his demise.

When it comes to great art like this record, time doesn't fade away. It morphs, it swells and it alters perspectives. Kinda like the lights and sounds I saw on stage in LA last night... And check it out: I figured out how to put in a video of it all which captures... almost nothing. But take my word for it, it was awesome!

[yesyourstalker]

I don't know what part this is. I wrote this at 6 am

Slight NSFW mostly implied

_______________________________________________

Ikkan: Neta... Hey you ok?

Neta: yeah.... .. I'm fine I'm just waiting for him to leave completely..... He's such an asshole!!

Ikkan: hey come here.... Don't let him get to you okay? He doesn't know anything about you, your life and you never tried...

Neta: yeah.......he never got to see how amazing I am

Ikkan:oh you're so humble.... He doesn't know what he's missing come here [kiss] also you look good baby.... Look a lot happier... [Kiss]...Hehe...more relaxed...[kiss]

Neta: hehehe.....[kiss]

Ikkan: softer.......and warmer............

Neta:.......[smiles].....

Ikkan:........*sigh*.....[kissing]

Neta: We're alone

Ikkan: yeah we are...heheheh

Neta: no cameras

Ikkan:....... .... You want to slow dance like we used to. Remember during our first date?

Neta: oh........ Ok

Ikkan: what what did you think I was implying?

Neta: nothing nothing it's stupid come here. Let's dance just the two of us away from the commotion.

_______________________________________________

Koi: so you must be my granddaughter... I've heard so much about you. You have straight A's, your captain on your turf war team, you play second chair

Cirrina: actually I play first chair now

Koi: wonderful!... Look at all that confidence and pride amazing... Oh look at me being so rude. Hi my name is koi koi you can call me Grandma Koi, grandma, admiral koi is also an option. I'm a former CEO now head of the advertisement for tech company venton industries.

Cirrina: weren't you the company that started out with game cards and now he's home consoles and arcades? You guys made jump squid right?

Koi: That's the one. I also dipped my foot in farm life raising krill herding sea cows some experience in going produce

Cirrina: I have a houseplant that I bought from the grocery store. I had to change its pot twice and it's taller than me now...oh I'm also skipping the grade and heading straight to high school next year.. My guidance counselor says if I'm good I can maybe even start college classes early. I'll get ahead of everyone else.

Koi: ohhh impressive... So proud to have you as a granddaughter. I see so much of myself in you. I can just tell you're going to be as powerful and successful as me.

Cirrina: I hope I do.......Grandma admiral koi.

Merv: they ran out of wine but I did snatch up the shrimp puffs They're not that bad..... Hello, who's this?

Koi: *ugh* ..... Hone... this is our granddaughter... Remember Neta told us about

Merv: ohhhhhhh nice to meet you.. you must be cirrina.... You're just as pretty as the picture he gave us. Nice to meet you sweetheart.

Cirrina: awww thank you........ Ikkan told me about you. He used to be a farmer. He told me you had acres of strawberries and would first place for best decal 3 years in a row. That's very impressive. You must know a lot about agriculture

Merv: that's correct! Wow you're really something!

Koi: I know! Ah! I just want to pick her in a bag and take her back to haddaido!

Cirrina:hehehe You're too kind..

Koi: well we have to go We're trying to find our kids. I know your uncle is somewhere.. do expect some presents to be in the mail for you sweetie. You just stole our little hearts.

Cirrina: ok bye....hehee

Mizole: You're a snake. You know that?

Cirrina: You've had spinach between your teeth the last 2 hour shut up.

_______________________________________________

Mahi: you think that is going to be mad when we bring this?

Warabi: what's so bad about it? It's just wine?

Mahi: when he expected us to bring drinks He expected it to be in bottles Something you just place on the table make it look nice

Warabi: Oh come on the parties like going to be over in like 4 more hours. We need something like this, that's why I bought five.....for the party

Mahi: We're definitely not going to use all of this. He just wanted one in the apartment

Candi: If he says anything I'm not involved.

Mahi: Baja! Help us bring this in

Baja: ok uhhh what is this exactly

Warabi: its for the party trust me

Baja: ok....

_______________________________________________

Neta: so yeah apparently I've been a captain for the military for 7 years and they didn't tell me- what the hell is this? what happened to the bottles of wine you were supposed to get??

Warabi: didn't have any I just so we just bought the barrel of wine. Five of them. I feel like that's enough right?

Neta: get a little too much where we even going to put this

Mahi: we can just put in the back and have waiters fill up cups

Candi: or you can just have all the guests fill up their own cups

Ikkan: That's not a bad idea...

Neta:....*sigh* ....... Yeah okay that's fine..... I'm gone for 2 minutes and y'all turn this into a keg party

Baja: You've actually gone for 45 minutes

Neta: ............ Just set up the barrels....

Ikkan: hehehehe...... Tonight is still early. Come on, let the guests have a little fun.. it'll be funny seeing some of these producers get drunk off their ass.

Koi: I hope one of them isn't you honey

Ikkan: mom! Uh hah.....wooow so good to see you!...... Neta didn't tell me.... He was inviting my parents. Mmmmm

Koi: well I think it would be nice to spend the holidays with my two boys this year...... I actually came here to see my granddaughter and also talk to my son-in-law. We had a conversation about installing a small arcade original in his original store to keep the traction going once his other store opens.

Neta: Yes we do need to talk more about that I also wanted to talk to Noji about buying vending machines as well, let's walk and talk. You look beautiful by the way Koi. Merv is a lucky man

Koi: you damn right it is... You know how long it took me to convince him to come here. I swear he thinks he bursts into flames interacting with people.

Ikkan:......*sigh*......

Warabi: what were you two doing for 45 minutes?

Ikkan: fuck off

Warabi: hehehehehehe going to tell your mom on you

Ikkan: Warabi!

Warabi:[wheeze]

_______________________________________________

Mahi and @fish-at-fish-fish-resort or caught stealing one of the wine barrels

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for October 9, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 26:1 (KJV): 1 As snow in summer, and as rain in harvest, so honour is not seemly for a fool. Proverbs 26:1 (AMP): 1 Like snow in summer and like rain in harvest, so honor is not fitting for a (self-confident) fool.

Thought for the Day

Honor bestowed upon a self-confident fool is not fitting, because when attention and honor are given to one who is already prideful, it only causes them to be more prideful and haughtier. Just as snow in summer will damage the plants, so praise and honor cause a prideful person to cause damage to others. Rain in harvest-time is also unfitting, as it prevents the farmer from being able to harvest his crops. Honor is fitting only for those who prove themselves worthy of it. What a travesty for an ungodly fool to be put on a par with heroes and leaders, simply because he has wealth or influence with people in power. In the book of Isaiah, we find a scripture that describes how a fool acts: "For the fool speaks folly and his mind plans iniquity: practicing profane ungodliness and speaking error concerning the LORD, leaving the craving of the hungry unsatisfied and causing the drink of the thirsty to fail" (Isaiah 32:6, AMP).

"The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that they have imagined. For the wicked boasteth of his heart's desire, and blesseth the covetous, whom the LORD abhorreth. The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God: God is not in all his thoughts" (Psalm 10:2-4). Proud, self-confident people are consumed with accomplishing their own desires. We saw in Proverbs 19:29 and 21:11 that fools should be punished and that the simple may be warned not to do evil. Even if a fool is too stubborn to let his punishment turn him from wickedness, some of those who see him punished will turn away from doing evil.

As frost coming in summer would destroy crops, praise and honor coming on a fool hurts people. Honoring a fool increases his stubbornness and pride because it implies that we approve of his godlessness. Rather than help him to find the Lord, we help him harden his heart and thus share in his guilt. By praising a fool, we may also cause others to stumble. Sometimes it is costly not to do as the crowd does. Not giving honor to an ungodly fool may cost us a great deal in this world, but we need to choose the eternal riches of good character over earthly gain. We ought to be careful not to share in the guilt of a fool's sin or sow compromise in ourselves and cause others to stumble, for we all shall reap what we sow (Galatians 6:7-8).

If we sow evil things, we shall also reap those things; however, we have a choice, and can sow good things. If we reach out to the poor and help others, God will send people to help us in our hour of need. If we are merciful to those who sin against us, God will be merciful to us when we fail Him. If we give to others and the work of the Lord, the Lord will cause our finances to be blessed. If we encourage others, others will encourage us when we need encouragement. If we humble ourselves, the Lord will lift us up, but if we brag and exalt our own selves, then we shall fall. We should ask God to help us remain humble and pray for those who walk in pride.

Prayer Devotional for the Day Dear Heavenly Father, I love You Lord and thank You for the many blessings You have bestowed upon me. Lord, I humble myself before You and ask You to forgive me for demonstrating any pride before men. I know that I could do nothing without You. You are the One who gives us life and breath, and health and well-being. Without Your touch on my life, I could not do the things that I do every day. Lord, I bless Your name and worship You! You are a mighty God. Reach out to all of Your children and help us, as we follow in the straight and narrow path of holiness. I pray in the name of Jesus. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller, @ParkermillerQ,gatekeeperwatchman. org TM ‎Founder and Administrator of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida USA, Tuesday, October 8, 2024, X … @ParkermillerQ, #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO.

[ameliaella]

The UNCOMMON MAN: From Humble Beginnings To A Confidante Of President Marcos, An Inside Story by CELEDONIO M Javier (Author)

The Author of this book, The UNCOMMON MAN, tells a story of one man's humble beginnings to becoming a confidante of President FERDINAND E. MARCOS of the Philippines.

My roots stem from a family of farmers living in the barrio of Magsalise, in the town of Jaen, Province of Nueva Ecija, Philippines. From there, I grew up and struggled on my way to acquiring knowledge from Primary and Elementary, to Secondary and College education, earning the Degree of Bachelor of Science in Mechanical Engineering (BSME) from one of the best Universities in Manila.

At a very young age, I knew that my parents could not afford to pay for my High School and College education. At age of 10, while still in my 3rd year grade in primary school, I strived to learn a musical instrument with the intention of securing a scholarship in music someday. I knew that joining a school band allows me to obtain free tuition in both High School and College.

I graduated with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Mechanical Engineering (BSME). In 1962, I passed the board exam (MPE) given by the Board of Mechanical Engineering Examiners. After receiving my Board Certificate in February,1963, I married Rizalina Juan of Manila on June 29,1963 and started a business entrepreneurship in the Philippines from then on.

I was in close relationship with President Ferdinand E. Marcos from the time he was elected as the President of the Philippines in 1965 until the time he stepped down from Presidency in 1986.

[writer59january13]

The remnants of August 2024 Hurricane Debbie

Like a humane huntress, she

(the anthropomorphized storm)

brought a spate of cool Autumn like

temperatures and gentle soothing rain here within my neck of the woods

for the last couple of days.

No matter the fall equinox and first day of autumn arrives countless weeks from now on Sunday, September 22, 2024, at 08:44 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time in the Northern Hemisphere synonymous with The Eastern Time Zone a time zone encompassing part or all of 23 states in the eastern part of the United States, parts of eastern Canada, and the state of Quintana Roo in Mexico

the only Mexican state to observe EST. Said geographical area moved from Central Time to Eastern Time after a successful lobbying effort by tourism interests. In 2015, the state of Quintana Roo changed to a new time zone, Zona Sureste (Southeast Zone), and discontinued daylight saving time, being in UTC−05:00 all year. Quintana Roo does not observe daylight saving time.

Though record breaking triple digit temperatures showed no mercy against the sheltering sky, (when humanity

gets bowled over like ten pins

not sparing anyone after fury of coming storm and indiscriminate havoc of mother nature

poised to strike) unleashing brutally hazy, hot, and humid dog days gave

weather weary woebegone wretched earthlings something to complain about and blame the Republicans

no doubt, aforementioned swath of land experienced temporary respite and relief against relentless horrid umpteenth heat wave,

which reprieve and blessing from the blustering, blistering,

and blasting fiery solar blast furnace

summoning gratitude regarding

temporary prized lull heaven sent

buzzfeeding, and nursing biosphere with good n plenti liquid precipitation offering sneak preview when at long last summer two thousand twenty four segues into September days awash with refreshing temperatures and bathing the terrestrial firmament with much welcoming rain. Soon empyrean découpage citadel

will betoken (bespeak) autumnal arrival

as chariot of fire emblazons telltale signature

one humble human doth bid summer adieu. Already an imperceptible merest trace hints of crisp cool mornings and evenings ushering fresh air French kissed yours truly tongue in cheek refreshing air wafts thru longish hair trademark characteristic property aging pencil neck geek attends brief bathroom charge coffee exotic brew jolted kidneys leak urine not kidding water closet doth reek.

Back after I did potty hod dee.

How grand when third season of two thousand and twenty four

visits upon us mortals

Montgomery county, Pennsylvania said geographic real estate sloughs (i.e. sheds) summer dog days

necessitating unshuttered windows

allowing, enabling and providing natural aeration

to circulate thru unit B44 cozy one bedroom apartment.

I will stave off clicking

the central air conditioning unnecessarily,

nor crank up british thermal units

(the amount of heat needed to raise

one pound of water at maximum density through one degree Fahrenheit,

equivalent to 1.055 × 103 joules)

until bone chilling cold arrives,

though hard to believe,

yet invariably come Jack Frost will make his debut

and like clockwork, yours truly will renege and surrender creature comfort, albeit climate controlled temptation similar when global warming quite evident predicated upon Farmers' Almanac prophetic prediction. Though ecology minded quick acclimation to unseasonable hot or cold temperatures

will find me (a contrarian) eating his words

adjusting thermostat dial by way of explanation to remove the chill no matter cranking up heat will invariably aggravate palmar hyperhidrosis

whereas turning on air conditioning

doth thwart excessive sweating of palms

during sweltering triple digit

Ah... remembrance of wood burning stove papa lit,

to dispense chill pervading childhood home

324 Level Road christened "Glen Elm"

within national (local registry)

when Leiper family initially occupied estate

at that time (think early twentieth century)

merely intended as summer getaway.

This time of year finds me

to reminisce and wax poetic

nostalgia more pronounced,

particularly as aspiring wordsmith

orbitz the sun seemingly with greater rapidity

twelve months cycling at light speed

accentuated when flora and fauna

exhibit metaphorical raiment

presaging fall fashion

linkedin with approaching senescence

prompting choleric, generic, and homeric garden variety Homo sapien

to rue his transience upon oblate spheroid.

Gentrification impossible mission

thus thy lovely bones will subsequently

become repurposed into ashes sprinkled

hither and yon to and fro

across elysium fields of happy hunting grounds.

[johnnysslaughter]

his smile widens when noting the flush in cheeks, when lithe fingers fit relaxed against his rougher, larger ones in a handshake. it's with a simple gesture, a simple turn of their hands & leaving enough room to pull away if it is too much or unwanted, for johnny to lift her hand up to him, lips pressing soft kiss onto the knuckles, lowering her hand & releasing, hand laxed. like shaking hands with the devil, like talking & kissing death itself before it comes down to reap its wants. johnny's tongue presses to his cheek. laying his cards, laying his charm, on the table, thick.

❛ julie, ❜ he tastes how it feels on his tongue, drawl & all, & how divine it tastes. blood, gore, & all, he's sure, would match how pretty the name & appearance was. brow raises at her question -- his eyes observing her, going from her face to her hair, to her eyes. taking her in without straying.

❛ i do, ❜ johnny answers, simply. not too much to tell. ❛ 'm just a humble ol' farmer boy, when i ain't workin' with my uncle, ❜ the old man earlier, drayton. it gives johnny the heebie jeebies even calling him such a title. he'd rather call him a bastard, an old shit that ain't good for nothin'. sour, but johnny manages to make it sound fine. ❛ on down in the country side of town, just over yonder, if y' kept goin' west, y' bound to come across our homes. we gots lots of property & farmland on that way, ❜ johnny explains, using his hand & waving it to the presumed west in mention to gesture that way ( all he knew is he drove from that way ).

johnny clicks his tongue once. that's enough about him for now. ❛ where y' from, baby? i can tell y' ain't no southern belle now. y' from the city or ... ? ❜

her  cheeks  flush  a  few  shades  brighter,  all  the  while,  the  sweat  from  the  sweltering  sun  casts  tiny  beads  to  crawl  out  from  her  pores.  the  borders  of  olive  hued  eyes  begin  to  sting  from  the  melting  wax  of  her  eyeliner.  she  certainly  didn't  feel  very  pretty  right  now,  but  boy  was  it  hard  to  look  away  from  this  man.  there  was  just  something  about  him.  other  than  him  being, like,   ridiculously  handsome,  of  course.

although  her  chin  is  held  high  to  shield  her  true  thoughts,  her  parched  lips  eventually  crack  into  a  small,  lopsided  grin  while  fluttering  red  orange  and  black  blotched  lids.  'babydoll? like. . . . really?'  mouth  presses  thin  to  subdue  a  chuckle  that  threatens  to  surface.  almost  flattering,  but  not  quite.  still,  she'd  give  him  a  chance.  it  wasn't  as  if  she  was  seriously  seeing  anybody.

❝.  .  .  i'm  julie.❞  the  hand  on  her  hip  reaches  out  towards  his,  lithe  fingers  fitting  relaxed  against  his  much  larger  ones.  ❝  so, do  you  live  around  here,  johnny?  ❞

[lgbtqreads]

I humbly request a recommendation of wlw sport romance books please dear all knowing queer library

Ta da! (And, I mean, I'm a little biased, but Home Field Advantage is a great place to start.) You can also find these here: https://lgbtqreads.com/romanceadult/by-tropearchetype/

Home Field Advantage by Dahlia Adler (High School Football, Cheerleading)

The Long Shot by A.L. Brooks (Amz) (Golf)

Match Point by R.L. Burgess (Tennis)

Bring Her On by Chelsea M. Cameron (Cheerleading)

Prize Money by Celeste Castro (Professional Rodeo)

Hard Drive by Shae Connor (Baseball)

Out on the Ice by Kelly Farmer (Hockey)

Stuck Landing by Lauren Gallagher (Gymnastics)

Slammed by Lola Keeley (Tennis)

Off Pitch by Brianna Kienitz (Soccer)

Crash Into You by Diana Morland (Roller Derby)

Roller Girl by Vanessa North (T) (Amz) (Roller Derby)

Gold by E.J. Noyes (Skiing)

Never Mine by Bryce Oakley (Soccer)

In Her Court by Tamsen Parker (Amz) (Tennis)

Fire on the Ice by Tamsen Parker (Amz) (Speed Skating)

She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen (High School Cheerleading, Basketball)

Interference by Zoe Reed (High School Hockey)

Endgame by Zoe Reed (College Soccer)

Delay of Game by Tracey Richardson (Hockey)

Catch and Cradle by Katia Rose (College Lacrosse)

Edge of Glory by Rachel Spangler (Amz) (Snowboarding, Skiing)

Love All by Rachel Spangler (Amz) (Tennis)

Top of Her Game by M. Ullrich (Soccer)

Break Point by Yolanda Wallace (Tennis)

Lucky Loser by Yolanda Wallace (Tennis)

[malewife-central]

21?

Ah! One of my fave songs on the playlist!

Here’s my Mafia Au! Headcanons (Under the cut for length)

Warnings: Slight violence and blood mentions, Slight change in a few characters personalities

[Link for the songfic game that inspired this]

Heartslabyul-

Riddle as the quick tempered boss who believes rules need to followed…He’s from a long line of bosses who all stemmed from the Queen of Hearts… His wrath is well known and his protectiveness of what is apart of his kingdom is even more so well known

Trey is the long time friend of Riddle and is now his right hand man…His family bakery was used as a way to transport…”goods” and so, He helps to transport “goods” and money through…various means.

Cater is in charge of keeping mafia stuff quiet…any rats are found by him and he may act like a fun loving sweetheart but…According to those who work under him…he’s the scariest of all three of them…Met Riddle through Trey when he helped hide a misstep in Trey’s ranks

Ace and Deuce are working to control the police force in Her Majesty’s favor…Both are pretty high ranking but they’re not leaders really…at least not yet

Savanaclaw-

Leona is gonna be a boss in this au…mans definitely killed his brother (reminder these guys are evil…er now) He acts fairly lazy but he’s a genius…nothing gets in the way of the kings pride…Be prepared~

Ruggie is one of Leona’s closest confidants and since he comes from humble beginnings he’s the one who has helped recruit the most people…He’s terrifying and since he’s close to the people of the slums he’s got a good connection to the black market down there…Look at my short king, running the show 💕

Jack comes from a family who is close to Leona’s, Jack is commonly used as a bodyguard to Leona or Ruggie (Like they need one lmao)

Octivinelle

Azul my beloved nerd…The vibes don’t change much from how they usually are since fish mafia is def canon…But our dear octo boy isn’t a leader just yet…All praise our beloved octo queen AKA his mom…He’s set to take her place in a couple years and he’s already got it down pat lol

Jade and Floyd are Azul’s childhood friends…Having “chosen each other” in canon it’s definitely true that they’re still his bodyguards/right and left hand men. Personalities stay about the same but Once Jade and Floyd get attached to someone they’re even more protective of them than in canon…Trust me, You’re safe with them.

(Lowkey I think the only way to get close to these guys is to have met them in a way where you saved them from cops or if you grew up with them…So if y’all are interested I can maybe start writing this 👀)

Scarabia

Kalim is still a silly goofy lil guy! Except he’s only acting stupid. Don’t underestimate him. This young man grew up rich but unlike in canon he wasn’t just the firstborn…He had to fight for this title…His 30+ younger siblings are too scared to try and take the title since…”The Incident” (He’s still my blorbo)

Jamil is still from a family that owes the Asim family and he honestly hasn’t changed much…besides the fact that Jamil has a greater respect for Kalim in this au…It’s recommended you don’t ask why

Pomefiore

Vil is the leaders son, He’s literally a year away from taking “the crown” and carrying on the legacy of his mother and fathers skill in crime…He’s still an actor and model…And he’s still famous too…Extra protective of his status tho soooo…watch out bestie he’ll carve ur eyes out

Rook is still definitely a hunter…Anyone who presents a threat to Vil or the royal line is exterminated quickly…Rook is still in love with love but I feel that now his hunter qualities (Bloodlust) are much more present…Traumatized, your honor. He’s traumatized.

Epel is a young farmer boy who caught the eye of Vil one day…His grandfather was a mentor figure to Vil’s father and so, Vil’s father introduced him to Vil and taught him how to defend his son…Bodyguard who’s also used for spy jobs because he passes as a girl 💀 poor little meow meow

Diasomnia

Malleus is still the “prince” seeing as his grandmother is in charge since his mother and father were murdered…He’s followed everywhere by extreme guards (*cough* his found family *cough*) because he’s an heir…He’s still very lonely but he’s definitely more…purposefully scary

Since Malleus doesn’t have a right hand man Lilia serves as more of a mentor figure and advisor for Malleus…Lilia was best friends with Malleus’s father and is technically Malleus’s god father…(He was definitely gay lovers with Malleus’s dad… Just let me have this please god the angst hurts so good)

Silver serves as another guard for Malleus and as Lilia’s adopted son he’s grown up with Malleus and considers him a brother…He’s a very secretive man and he’s considered to almost be a ghost…hardly a single record of his life…How odd

Sebek is the most loyal follower of the Prince and has sworn his life to keeping him safe since his parents were the previous King and Queens guards (until they were killed attempting to save Mal’s parents) And so Sebek grew up only knowing how to serve…Yes he’s loud but he’s also much more…Prone to immediate violence

Ignihyde

Idia is a lot less spooked by contact with people…But do not think for a second he enjoys human contact…Idia’s family runs a “computer/IT company” AKA they launder a hell of a lot of money…Idia is still incredibly skilled with Code and consistently steals money from people just…for funsies…He lost his younger brother 5 years ago when the car he was in was target with a car bomb…He’s yet to take the role of leader but he might as well have it lol

Ortho is a young orphan who looks eerily familiar to Idia’s dead little brother…He is still very young and so not much knowledge is available on him…any far research into this boy has led a lot of journalists to…disappear…Ortho constantly wears a and long clothing to keep his identity a secret…

I hope you’ve enjoyed! My inbox is always open to more ideas or even requests on this topic but first I ask that you read my rules!

[scyllas-revenge]

Customer Service

Boromir/Reader

Word count: 5,966 (what the hell I meant for this to be like 3k words)

Rating: M (some relatively mild sexual content. think a fade-to-black-sex scene)

Summary:

When Lord Boromir graces your humble inn for the night in a remote corner of Rohan on his way to Edoras, you know this is your one chance to save your family business and turn your fortune around at last.

Unfortunately, your friends have convinced you that the best way to do that is to seduce your guest.

Read on AO3

“Lord Boromir, eh?”  Your mother folded her bony arms, eyeing the letter in your hands as though the words scrolling across it were a form of witchcraft. “What do you make of this, girl? Why do we need a letter warning us of his visit? Is he so high and mighty as all that?”

“He is the Steward's heir,” you said absently, studying the thick parchment. Thankfully, you'd learned your letters years ago, though you hadn't needed them in a long while. “It says he'll only be staying one night. He'll be traveling to Edoras, for some matter of state or other, and will bring no retinue. The letter must be meant to ensure that we're prepared to host him—I suppose I'll have to write back and confirm it."

Your mother shrugged, mollified. The letter still seemed pretentious to you, but you supposed that for all those lords in Gondor knew, your little inn might have been raided or burned to the ground since last they'd heard of it, and then their high and mighty lord would have nowhere to sleep but by the roadside. After all, the next-closest village to yours had seen three raids by Dunlendings this winter alone. Those attacks, leaving farmers killed and thatched roofs set alight, had been enough to halt most travel in its tracks. Even as the weather began to improve, your inn had seen precious few guests since.  

In fact, your only customers at the moment were your two friends from Edoras, Elfleda and Aldryth, who braved the journey once a year to visit you and some distant cousins in your village.

“Lord Boromir?” Elfleda exclaimed as you set mugs of ale in front of them. “The Steward-Prince of Gondor?”

“Yes—he’ll be here in just a few weeks,” you said, giddiness rising in your chest to match the bubbles in your tankard. “Just think, one positive word from him and every delegate, every soldier, every merchant traveling between Edoras and Minas Tirith will break their journey here for years to come!”

Aldryth squeezed your shoulder. “What wonderful news for your inn!”

“A perfect opportunity to turn things around,” Elfleda agreed. “When was the last time you had any guests to host? Besides us, of course.”

You wilted slightly at the question, and Aldryth elbowed her violently. “Don't dwell on that, dear. So long as Lord Boromir enjoys his stay, he will certainly spread the word, and your inn will be as prosperous as it was in your grandparents' time.”

Elfleda tapped her chin thoughtfully. “But are you prepared to cater to so noble a guest? Your inn has only ever hosted soldiers and traders and such.”

"Oh." You gulped at your ale worriedly—you hadn’t thought of that. You had been forced to let your cook and stable hands go last year, and your ailing mother was all but retired. Would hosting the Gondorian equivalent of royalty prove too much for you to manage alone? “I could serve beef for his evening meal,” you offered lamely, "though how we are to afford it I couldn't say."

“And what else?”

You shrugged. "What else can I do?"

Elfleda and Aldryth exchanged a glance. "You have never met any Gondorians," Elfleda said. "But we have. On occasion, delegates and traders come to the Golden Hall, you know."

"And?"

"They're a pretentious lot, I should say," she informed you. "So stern and subdued. All handsome enough, I suppose, though not a blond head to be seen among them."

"And they care little for their horses," Aldryth added. "Why, nearly all of them just handed the reins to a passing stable boy the moment they arrived in Edoras, then stalked up to the Golden Hall without a backward glance!"

“Goodness,” you muttered, taken aback by their carelessness. Still, you were more than capable of looking after a neglectful lord's steed. "What else?"

For the next half-hour, your friends outlined all the details of Gondorian customs they had observed: they preferred fish to game (as though you could acquire fish here on the plains), heavily spiced food to bland fare (your kitchens were stocked with nothing hotter than peppercorns), and red wine to white (your inn had nothing but ale anyway). "And make sure to stock his quarters with quill and ink," Aldryth added. "They must have terrible memories in Gondor, for they are always writing things down."

You sighed. "Perhaps I was over-ambitious," you muttered, staring despondently at the last drops of ale in your mug. "Lord Boromir will be miserable here, and my inn will never see another guest again."

"But there is another thing these Gondorians are fond of," Aldryth offered, waggling her eyebrows at Elfleda. "Nearly all the men who visited Edoras went to the whore-houses in the evenings."

You made a face. "So?"

"So they were all quite accustomed to it. They expected it, it seemed to me. As though it were a standard part of travel. Crass as anything, I thought, but there you are."

"Do you mean Lord Boromir will be unhappy at my inn if he has no such entertainment? Even for a single night?"

"He may well be."

Groaning, you dragged your hands down your face. "Well, what am I to do about that? We're in the middle of nowhere. There are no whore-houses within fifty leagues." Your friends exchanged another glance, Aldryth’s eyebrows waggling again. Abruptly you understood their meaning, and you wished you hadn't finished your ale so you could splash it in their faces. "You cannot mean for me to take on such a task!"

Aldryth raised her hands placatingly. "Now, dear, it was only a thought—"

"You're mad," you exclaimed.

"Oh, I don't know," Elfleda said. "The Steward-Prince is young, and far from ugly, I have heard."

"You're both mad!"

She skittered back as you kicked her feet under the table. "It would be no great hardship to seduce him, that is all I meant," she told you, grinning slyly.

"Seduce—" Your eyes darted back and forth, as though another option would present itself to you in the corner of the dining hall. "You mean to tell me you would attempt it, then, if you were in my place?"

"To secure my family's livelihood?" Aldryth asked thoughtfully, sharing a nod with Elfleda. "Yes, I suppose so."

"But how would I possibly go about seducing him?" You were not ugly, you allowed, but you were hardly some elegant, courtly lady. You were awkward, fumbling, uncomfortable in your own skin more often than not—you wore homespun dresses the color of dishwater and were heir to nothing more than a dying old inn nestled in the rolling hills of the Mark.

"Oh, just speak sweetly to him," Elfleda said easily, as though seducing foreign lords was an old pastime of hers. "Look at him from under your lashes, like so—" She demonstrated, bugging her eyes out and batting her lashes so exaggeratedly that you and Aldryth dissolved into giggles. "Toss your hair while you speak to him, touch his arm, curtsey low to show off your chest, you know."

"I don't know," you muttered. Such things had never come naturally to you.

Elfleda rolled her eyes. "Oh, you are overthinking this. He is a man of Gondor, isn't he? He will welcome you into his bed gladly, at the slightest provocation!"

You twisted your hands in your lap. "You are certain?"

"Come now," Aldryth exclaimed. "Would we ever steer you wrong?"

-

Your friends returned to Edoras the next day. Lord Boromir arrived three weeks later.

He was young, as your friends had said, and handsome too: he bore dark hair cropped around his broad shoulders, a strong jaw softened by a rather unkempt beard, a sturdy nose and an expressive brow.

A feverish heat rose in your veins as he dismounted his horse and approached the inn in the dying evening light—appealing as his features were, his real charm seemed to be in the way he moved, powerful and self-assured—there was something of a warrior about him, you decided, even far from the battlefield. Altogether he looked like some legendary hero of old, brought to life by the songs sung in mead halls, telling of far-off lands, valiant battles, and towering fortresses of stone.

You swallowed.

Would you really be able to seduce this man?

Boromir greeted you with surprising politeness, inclining his head to you and raising his brows in quiet surprise—he clearly hadn't expected his innkeeper to be so young. A reaction you were used to by now, and one that would hopefully work in your favor.

You introduced yourself with as graceful a curtsey as you could manage, though you weren’t sure you’d quite succeeded in putting your curves on display as Elfleda had taught you. "Allow me to see to your horse, my lord," you said, offering him your best smile.

"Thank you, but I prefer to manage my own steed."

The words were spoken kindly enough, but you showed him to the stables with a frown. Clearly not every Gondorian disrespected his horse—but your friends still knew what they were talking about. Right?

"Shall I—" You coughed and cleared your throat. "Shall I prepare a bath for you before dinner, my lord?"

"A bath?" Boromir smiled gratefully, his teeth white and even. "Ah, you are a queen among innkeepers, miss. I thank you."

The compliment burned your cheeks, and you found yourself beaming at him, all thoughts of saving your inn temporarily forgotten. Then he turned away to begin removing his horse's tack, and your senses returned in a rush. What a great fool you were! His compliment was nothing more than professional, for of course he would want a bath after a long journey.

No, you still had a lot of work ahead of you if you wished to seduce him.

Your mind was churning as you transferred buckets of steaming water from over the fireplace to the gleaming bathtub. It seemed the most logical method of attack would be to approach him while showing him to his bath, but that wouldn't do—you still had to finish preparing his meal! Your mother was already handling too much of the cooking, bless her. You supposed you would have to wait to attempt your seduction until later, when your mother was asleep. Yes, that would be best—it would give you more time to observe your guest, more time to build up the nerve.

Still, it was with suppressed disappointment that you left Boromir alone to his bath. “Until dinner, then, my lord,” you murmured, and succeeded in a slightly more suggestive curtsey than before.

“What do you think, dear?” your mother asked worriedly as you arranged the dishes on the long table in the empty dining room. “Will it be sufficient for some foreign lord, do you think?”

“More than sufficient!” you assured her. True, there had been no beef nor fish to be had in the whole village, so Boromir would have to make do with venison—but you didn’t think he seemed the sort to complain. Your dining hall had never looked so elegant. The tables were polished, a fire crackled in in the fireplace, and for once, there was no dinted tin plateware in sight; a set of ceramic dishes had been dug up from your mother’s dowry chest and was seeing its first use in over two decades.

You smoothed down your hair determinedly, pinching your cheeks in your brass hand mirror to add color to your face. You would save this old inn yet—no matter what.

Dinner was an awkward affair, at least on your part. Because your inn had seen so few visitors in recent years, you had fallen in the habit of eating alongside your guests. Boromir seemed pleased with this arrangement, eager to make small talk with you and your mother after several days' travel alone.

But you chafed at the stilted conversation—after all, you could hardly attempt to seduce the man in front of your own mother, nor were his questions, about the recent Dunlending raids, ebbing winter storms, and news traveling from the Golden Hall, particularly conducive to flirty banter. So you settled for the friendliest demeanor you could muster, accompanied by as much lingering eye contact as could possibly be considered proper. And when you went to fetch Boromir more ale, you leaned rather farther over the table than you normally would have to fill his mug. Aldryth and Elfleda would have been proud of your efforts to put your cleavage on display, you thought, though frustratingly you weren't sure Boromir even noticed.

When dinner was over at last, your mother complained of an ache in her joints, and you guided her to her room at the far end of the hall.

Your heart jolted as you returned to the dining room and met Boromir’s eyes.

"It is this way to your room, my lord," you beckoned him softly, then winced—you had attempted a sultry, enticing murmur, but strongly suspected you'd achieved nothing more than an inaudible wheeze. "Are you enjoying your stay?" you added, clearing your throat.

"I am indeed," he said politely.

This was it, you thought feverishly, as you led him into his room and lit the candles on his sill with a trembling hand—it was time to launch your attack—“You are my only guest tonight, my lord, as you know,” you said, gazing up at him through your lashes. The words felt awkward on your tongue—you knew the alluring cadence they should have, but you weren’t sure you succeeded in voicing it. “And as such, your satisfaction is my only—”

“Is something the matter?” Boromir interrupted suddenly. “Your eye is twitching.”

You stopped trying to bat your eyelashes at once. “Oh! Um. No, I am perfectly well, I thank you,” you muttered, clearing your throat again. Damn it. And now you’d forgotten what you were going to say. “I only wished to ask if you need anything else, my lord, before you retire.”

“You are kind, miss. I have everything I require for the night.”

“Are you…certain, my lord?”

“Yes, I thank you.” Boromir raised an eyebrow, as though slightly confused as to why you were clarifying.

What was he waiting for? Your friends had assured you beyond any doubt that he would not hesitate, that he would be all too eager. You tried your hardest to turn your voice soft, sensuous, suggestive. “You are far from home, my lord, as I understand. You are weary from your journey, and are deprived of many of the, er—comforts to which you are accustomed...”

A real lady of the night might have tugged her bodice down to reveal more skin as she spoke, or slinked forward to whisper the words in her lord’s ear, but you weren’t sure you were capable of such things. So you stood in the doorway, waiting for Boromir to take the damn hint, twisting a strand of hair in your fingers more out of nerves than a desire to look alluring.

“Comforts,” he repeated. “There is something else you might do for me, in fact.”

“Gladly,” you blurted, hoping you didn’t sound too eager.

“Ah, good.” Boromir folded his arms and glanced back toward his bed—this was it, you'd done it—! “Then, might you spare another blanket or two for my bedding? The spring winds of Rohan are a good deal more cold than those of my homeland, I fear.”

You deflated faster than a croaking frog. “Blankets?” You corrected your tone at lightning speed. “Blankets—of course, my lord.”

A moment later you returned, blankets folded under your arm. “My lord.” You curtseyed low as you pressed the extra bedding into his hands, remembering to pull your shoulders back to maximize the view your neckline might afford—you were becoming quite an expert at indecent curtseys, you thought wryly—but Boromir seemed to be a gentleman through and through, and kept his eyes trained on your face.

“Thank you.” He turned back into his rooms, and before you could stop yourself you slipped into the doorway alongside him—desperate times called for desperate seduction methods, after all. He blinked down at you for a moment, as though trying to work out why you'd followed him. “Ah, forgive me, miss, I have forgotten your name,” he said after a moment, smiling apologetically.

You reminded him, but couldn’t stop yourself from shivering slightly as he repeated it, as though testing the weight of your name on his tongue. You stepped closer to him, smiling. “Your accent is intriguing, my lord.”

“Oh—yes, I suppose it would be, to the people of Rohan.”

“Does my accent not intrigue you, then, lord?” You took a deep breath, praying he couldn't tell how your stomach was tying itself in knots. Stepping even closer, you placed a hand on his forearm. "Do...do I not intrigue you?"

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Yes,” he said slowly, almost cautiously. Now he studied you with a new eye—his gaze roamed over your face, your chest, your hips—and you knew that you’d gotten through to him at last. He wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue, and when he spoke again his voice was low. “Yes, I daresay you do.”

“My lord,” you went on, knowing it was time to go in for the kill, your nerves be damned. “If you desire any other services this night, know that I might provide them, and gladly.” There—your cards were all on the table now.

But Boromir's brows furrowed, and he stepped back, and the dark heat in his eyes went cold. “Services?”

Was he going to make you spell it out for him? What in Bema’s name was his problem? “You are an esteemed guest, lord—I would charge you no further rate.”

Lower sank his eyebrows, forming a hearty scowl. “I thank you,” he said, repeating your name rather more coldly than before, “but I am in no custom to obtain such services, regardless of their cost.”

You froze. “You’re not?”

“No, I am not.”

“But—” Humiliation was cold on your skin, the floorboards tilting under your feet. “But they told me—that is, I was assured that you were—”

“They?”

“Some friends from Edoras,” you explained weakly. “They...they observed your people and their customs, their habits and preferences, and were confident you would be, er—receptive to such a thing.”

“They were mistaken.”

Well, that was obvious! You pressed your face into your hands, thoroughly humiliated. Oh, you had ruined everything now, beyond repair. “I am sorry, my lord,” you stammered, nearly tripping over your skirts in your sudden haste to flee his room, and you retreated into your standard professional farewell: “I hope your evening is comfortable; breakfast will be set out at dawn—”

“Not so fast, if you please.” Boromir’s hand on your shoulder froze you in your tracks, though the touch was light, and his words more confused than angry. “I confess I do not understand.”

You turned to him in mortification. “What is not to understand?” you bit out. “I was mistaken in my assumption of you, my lord, nothing more.”

“But you are—” He paused, as though searching for the right words. “It is not my business, I know. But you are not accustomed to bedding your guests, are you?”

Heat crawled up your cheeks indignantly. “Is it so obvious as that?”

“My dear hostess, I suspect every whore-house in Middle Earth would go out of business if their women took so long to get to the point as you.” He was half-laughing as he said it, and oh, if he weren’t a lord you would have kicked him. “So if I may,” he went on, “why did you make such an offer to me?”

You knew what one of your friends might have said: You were so handsome, my lord, that I forgot myself—but you were sick of playing games. “My lord, this inn has belonged to my family for generations,” you explained bitterly. “But travel has become more perilous of late, and we have seen fewer and fewer guests. And to have the future Captain-General of Gondor patronize our rooms, it seemed to me an unlooked-for opportunity…”

“Ah, I think I understand.” Boromir sat down on the edge of the bed. “You wished to make a regular customer of me at your inn and so save your family’s livelihood.” You nodded. “And because you supposed that I was accustomed to paying for women, you thought you would provide me with such pleasures, thus enticing me to return in the future, eh?”

You had to force yourself to nod. How ridiculous it all sounded when he said it so bluntly!

“Come now, I am not angry; you need not fear my bite.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Please, sit down, if you wish it.”

You glanced around the room stupidly, as though half-expecting a chair to appear in the corner, but there was nowhere to sit but on the bed beside him. You took the seat, though you made sure the pile of blankets rested between you, a last-ditch buffer for your embarrassment.

“I am sorry that such a misunderstanding came about,” he went on. “But please do not fear for the future of your inn. I fully intend to stay here again on my return from Edoras."

"You do?"

"Yes, and whenever I am fortunate enough to pass through this part of your country again. Why would I not? You have provided comfortable rooms, an elegant meal, and—until a few minutes ago—impeccable service." You shot him a look of fury, and he laughed. "I am in earnest!" he insisted. "I shall sing this inn’s praises to everyone with the ears to listen, truly. I shall—forgive me, have I offended you?”  

You had buried your face in your hands again, and you looked up quickly. “Offended me?” He was so far from the truth that you scoffed aloud. “Of course not. It is only—” Oh, why did you have to get flustered so easily? Why did he have to be so kind, so considerate, so breathtakingly handsome? “You are not what I expected, my lord, that is all.”

“I may say the same of you,” he replied, and his smile set your heart to racing. “I had hardly expected my hostess to slip into my quarters and attempt to seduce me.”

You laughed, at first just to cover your embarrassment, but soon you were laughing in earnest, doubled over and gasping for air, wiping at your eyes, entirely overwhelmed by the ridiculous situation you’d found yourself in. Boromir laughed too, and the sound was so pleasant, low and deep and slightly hoarse, that you abruptly wished he had been inclined to accept your offer, inn or no inn.

"Why is it you're not in the habit of paying for women?" you asked. "Were my friends so wrong—is it truly such an uncommon thing in your country?"

"It is not uncommon, no. Some of my countrymen visit whore-houses at times. But such impersonal dalliances appeal to me little. I would have a woman come to my bed out of desire for me, not for my coin." How intently he studied you as he spoke. "Surely," he went on, his voice low, "surely you would prefer to bed a man who sees you as more than a transaction to be made, a passing entertainment. A man who truly, thoroughly desires you....and who would seek to pleasure you in turn."

How stiflingly warm the bedroom was, you thought faintly. Had it been so warm before? Surely not. You nodded in answer, swallowing several times as you tried to find your voice. "I should have known it was a ridiculous idea, I suppose. I hope you will forgive me, my lord—both for my plan to seduce you, and its dreadful execution.”

“Your plan was dreadful indeed,” he said, smiling softly. “But its execution was not.”

“Please, do not mock me, my lord—”

“Boromir. Please."

Your eyes widened, darting around the room again, the desire to flee, to fall into his arms, to be swallowed up by the floorboards all clashing in your mind. “My lord, it would not be proper to address you so."

He shook his head, smiling, and with a sweep of his broad arm, moved the pile of blankets away from between you. “Not proper?” he repeated, and when he said your name again his voice held a low, rich cadence that made you swallow hard. He moved closer and took your hand, his fingers calloused from years of sword-work. “I feel I must remind you that you were trying to bed me not five minutes ago.”

“I wish you wouldn’t remind me, my l—Boromir,” you stammered, instantly regretting the use of his name. It felt so intimate on your lips, the syllables foreign and warm and bold. “I’ve apologized for it already, after all.”

“Well, I in turn wish you hadn’t apologized for it,” he returned, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Then I might feel less guilty, were I to kiss you.”

You jumped like a frightened hare, but he only raised his brows, his eyes darker than you had thought them, his pupils blown wide in irises of deepest grey. He was waiting for your permission, you realized. The thought made you feel faint—it was so unlike the crude, thoughtless behavior you’d been prepared for that you leaned forward and kissed him first—it was only fitting, after all, after you had pursued him so clumsily all evening.

Boromir smiled against your lips, murmuring your name again with a heat that threatened to set you on fire. And all at once he was kissing you back, his broad arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap, flooding you with his body heat through the layers of your dress. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, pressing you so close his nose bumped yours and his cropped beard grazed pleasantly against your skin.

Suddenly he groaned into your mouth, and you realized your hands had made their way to his hair and were tugging, rather forcefully, on his dark locks. Yet he didn’t seem to mind—rather the opposite; you gave a harder pull to test your theory and were rewarded with another satisfied growl, rumbling deep in his chest.

You sighed as his lips parted against yours, and you matched his enthusiasm with an eagerness that surprised you. Soon he was drawing your lower lip between his teeth, and his tongue was sliding hot against yours, and he was devouring you, kissing you in a way you'd never thought to experience—single-minded, passionate, yet unhurried, as though he wished to savor the taste of you until dawn.

When you parted for air at last, you found yourself lying flat on your back on the pile of blankets you’d brought him, the length of his body pressing warm and heavy over yours.

“Do—do all the men of Gondor kiss as you do?” you asked breathlessly.

Boromir chuckled, his forehead pressed against yours. “Hmm. In truth, I cannot say I have kissed enough of them to know.”

You laughed too, the lingering taste of him on your lips making you dizzy. Then he was kissing you again, making his way down your jawline and along your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point, his tongue laving hot over your skin. After a moment he pulled away, breathing hard, and began to undo the laces of your dress. As you propped yourself up on your forearms to hasten the process, your hips bucked against his, and your veins caught fire at how hard he was against you. Suddenly wild with impatience, you batted his hand away to untie your laces faster, making him laugh. Slipping your arms out of their sleeves, you rucked your bodice down around your waist, pulled off your stays, nearly tore your chemise as you bared yourself before him.

As gentlemanly as he’d been all evening, he now gazed at your chest with undisguised lust, dipping his head to kiss your breasts. His beard tickled at your skin and you squirmed, your laugh abruptly turning into a gasp as he sucked one of your nipples between his teeth.

You whimpered, arching your back against his chest, desperately pressing against his mouth for more heat, more friction. With shaking hands, you reached up to unbutton his tunic—then you scowled as you realized, belatedly, that the buttons only ran halfway down, doing nobody any good at all. "What sort of ridiculous clothing do they wear in your country?" you grumbled, shoving him upright and tugging at the hem.

Laughing harder, he pulled the garment off altogether, along with his undershirt, then sighed contentedly as you dragged your fingers up the planes of his chest and along his shoulders. You’d been right, you thought distantly, as he pulled you into another kiss. He was built like a hero of legend, muscles bunching under his skin, faded scars decorating his shoulders and side.

Still grinning against you, he rolled to the side and sat up, dragging you close until you were straddling his hips, your dress still bunched up around your waist. You moaned as he rocked his hips against yours, flooding your body with heat. “Boromir,” you gasped against his mouth.

"Valar, I would hear you moaning my name all through the night," he panted, drawing away slightly to study your face through half-lidded eyes. "But I have a long journey ahead of me at dawn..." His words trailed off and he kissed you again, as though unable to help himself. "Yes—a long journey," he repeated slowly. "We ought...we ought not continue."

“Oh. Of course.” You gazed up at him, your heart squeezing in your chest. “If you wish me to leave…"

You waited for him to let go of you, to draw away. He did neither.

“Boromir,” you began softly, but then his lips fell to yours again, and you forgot what you were going to say.

“Perhaps it is not…so long a journey as that,” he amended after a moment, his broad hands clutching your waist to rut his hips against yours. "Perhaps—ah, perhaps I spoke in haste."

"And perhaps the leagues will pass more quickly with a pleasurable memory to sustain you?" you offered, squirming out of his grip to stand and step out of your half-unlaced dress and chemise.

"Yes—” His eyes drank you in greedily, and he stumbled distractedly as he got to his feet to tug his pants off. “Yes, exactly." The moment he divested himself of his clothes he grabbed your bare hips and pulled you to him, his cock pressing hot and hard against your stomach. "Perhaps," he went on, his calloused fingers dancing along your side, then trailing up your inner thigh, "you might help me create such memories, and thus ready me for my journey, eh?"

You moaned helplessly as his fingers began to explore further, your knees giving way and leaving him holding your shuddering form against him, his broad arm around your waist the only thing keeping you from sinking into a heap on the floor.

“Of course,” you murmured. “Anything to make your stay at our inn more pleasant.” You grinned up at him, and Boromir laughed more heartily than ever as he pulled you back down onto the bed.

-

“You look tired, dear,” your mother said critically as you arranged the breakfast table. “I hope your chores did not keep you up too late.”

“Oh! ” You coughed, willing your cheeks not to flush pink. “Not—not too late, no.”

“Well, that’s good. I suppose this breakfast will have to do for our guest, though I wish there was more to be had than bread and eggs. What I wouldn’t have given for fresh fruit or some meat…”

You nodded along, only half-hearing your mother’s words. Still, the moment Boromir’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, you jumped to attention. “Good morning, my lord,” you greeted him, your voice wavering on the words as you curtseyed.  

“Good morning, madam, miss.” Boromir inclined his head to your mother, then to you—the slightest flush was on his cheeks as he met your eyes, and you smiled. “What a lovely meal you have prepared. I do hope you have not gone to too much trouble on my behalf.”

“Oh, it was no trouble, my lord,” your mother lied airily, shooing him toward a seat at the table.

He stepped out of her way politely, inclining his head to her again. “If you will allow me, madam, I would check on my horse before I break my fast. I shall only be a moment.”

“Of course,” she said indulgently, then spun around and called your name, shooing you toward the door. “Go with him, dear, and see that his horse is made ready for an early departure.”

"Yes, mother."

“She seems a rather formidable woman,” Boromir whispered, smiling, as he followed you to the stables.

“Oh, you should have seen her before she left the management of the inn to my care! But a visit from the Steward-Prince of Gondor has put us all on edge, I suppose.” You grinned. “Some more than others.”

“In any case, I am glad to have escaped her, for I wished to speak to you again.”

Warmth fluttered in your chest as you entered the stables. “Then it was a lie, wanting to check that your horse is well?" You shook your head in mock disappointment. "I had heard the Men of Gondor cared little for their steeds, and here is the proof!"

He chuckled and pulled you close. “Did we not establish already that your sources were not to be relied upon?”

“You dare—”

“You were the one who dared, if I remember rightly.” He bent his head to kiss you again, and you melted against his chest. How had you missed kissing him so badly in the space of just a few hours? His lips parted yours more fervently than ever, as though hoping to imprint the taste and feel of him into your memory—as though he hadn’t already. You knew you would never forget this feeling as long as you lived, of him trapping you between the hard plane of his chest and the rough wood of the stable door, his teeth drawing your lower lip into the soft heat of his mouth—

His horse whickered loudly, startling you both back to your senses. “You are going to Edoras,” you said quietly.

“I am.” Boromir held you in his arms, seeming in no hurry to release you. “I did tell you I would be staying at your inn on my return journey, and I meant it,” he offered. “Three weeks from now.”

That’s too far off, you wanted to say. That’s not enough. “And then you return to Minas Tirith.”

“Yes.” He trailed a hand through your hair—were you imagining the wistfulness in his gaze? “Yes.”

That was too much to contemplate, too bitter, too final. You drew as steady a breath as you could manage, and cupped his face in your hand. “Well, then. I shall see you three weeks from now, Boromir.”

“You shall,” he said solemnly, his grey eyes twinkling as he stared down at you. “And when you do, I hope you will attempt to seduce me again.”

You grinned up at him. “Anything for my favorite customer.”

[kookiecrumb]

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

~

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.