#windows robust

[gophergal]

"now I am become death..."

I come bearing another Emesis Blue AMV

[linuxgamenews]

Get Ready for the Intriguing Story of Loco Motive on Steam Deck

Loco Motive mystery point and click comedy adventure game is coming to Steam Deck and Linux via Windows PC. Developer Robust Games brings their creative touch to this adventure. Due to release on Steam, GOG, and Humble Store. Exciting news for anyone into quirky mysteries and classic point and click comedy adventure — Loco Motive. The latest from Robust Games and Chucklefish, is chugging onto Steam Deck (verified) and Linux (via Windows PC) on November 21st! If you’re a fan of comedy mysteries with a dash of retro charm, this release is going to be a blast. So, what’s the setup? Picture this: a ritzy 1930s express train, the Reuss Express, is rolling through Europe when the eccentric heiress. And as a result, Lady Unterwald, is now dead. She’s not just any passenger; she’s the head of the Wald-Bahn Rail Company. Now, at 89 years young, she’s cut down in her prime (as they say), and that leaves her empire, her fortune, and a ton of questions. You’re also one of the main suspects. In Loco Motive, you’ll be proving your innocence by switching between three unique characters. Such as a super serious lawyer, a novelist who’s got some amateur detective skills, and an undercover agent with a knack for getting into (and out of) sticky situations. Each of these characters has their own set of skills. This also comes in handy as you solve puzzles, hunt for clues, and, ultimately, try to clear your name.

Loco Motive - Release Date Trailer

The train’s packed with all sorts of quirky characters—suspicious passengers, each with a story and secrets of their own. And this isn’t just about unravelling the mystery; it’s full of comedy, sharp wit, and clever dialogue to keep things fun and light. Plus, it’s fully voice-acted by an all-star cast, adding that extra level of personality to every interaction. And if you ever hit a wall with a tricky puzzle? No problem! Loco Motive includes an in-game tip line called the Dirk Chiselton Hotline. Need a little push in the right direction? Just give the hotline a call, and you’ll get a hint—no big spoilers, just enough to keep you on track without taking away the satisfaction of solving it yourself.

Here’s a quick rundown of what this title brings to the table:

A 1930s mystery adventure that feels as smooth as jazz and as intriguing as a classic detective novel.

Three characters to play, each with their own strengths and perspectives, interlinking in a fun, comedic way.

Plenty of item-based puzzles that keep things challenging but not headache-inducing.

Beautiful pixel art that’s rich with detail and full of that vintage charm.

Full voice acting, so every character is as lively as the last.

Steam Deck verified, so you can take the mystery on the go.

Loco Motive point and click comedy adventure releases on November 21st for PC (Steam Deck Verified and Linux via Windows PC). Priced at $17.99 USD / £14.99 / €17.99. If you’re quick, there’s also a 10% launch week discount from November 21st - 27th, so you can hop on board early for less. Releasing on Steam, GOG (via UMU Launcher or Lutris), and Humble Store. If you’re ready to dive into a train full of laughs, mystery, and a whole lot of retro-style charm, Loco Motive should be right for you. Grab your ticket and get ready for a wild ride.

[certified-anti-microsoft-posts]

This is completely on brand and awful at the same time

I love how Microsoft is always adding new spyware ai features into windows instead of fixing the autohide taskbar that's been broken since windows 10 or making the login/unlock screen more usable

[vamptastic]

truly my father made a mistake giving me a laptop with linux (and a battery so shot it was functionally a desktop) for my first computer. like as an enlightened adult im sure its great but 11 year old me who lied my way into an old computer via online homework and just wanted to play the sims did not understand that. and now i am a linux hater 5ever. does he even understand the amount of t4t pussy ive fumbled due to this.

[sophsun1]

This is the vampire, Louis du Lac. I live in the penthouse apartment at the Al Sharaf Towers in Dubai, United Arab Emirates. The security staff here is robust but mortal. My front door is always unlocked, as are the windows to my balcony, which were designed with a protective film coating for those of us "sun challenged."

Interview With The Vampire – 2.08: And That's The End of It. There's Nothing Else

[transarsonist]

law idea: products that are not currently and will not be purchasable from the parent company for the foreseeable future are not counted as "copywritten" in regard to the sharing, reproduction, and other "piracy" claims in court of law.

if you aren't selling them your customer doesn't have to buy

this is in regards to all copyright, if someone starts a factory producing clones of iPhone and iMac chips for the purpose of repairing devices, that's not copyright infringement, because apple does not sell those chips :)

if they want to keep their copyright they can put their repair chips on the public market, continue matinance of old products, etc

Nintendo will hate this law the most I'm sure.

widows is surprisingly robust to this law as you can actually buy every copy of windows ever produced right now on windows website, albeit you might have a hard time finding it because they'd PERfer you didn't.

streaming companies dropping original content from their service for tax purposes can expect to find it on YouTube the next day for free no ads

I think you all will be able to see how this will have a hotting effect on the market, where as now copyright holders have the power to delete content from the legal sphere, under this law they cannot do that. they can sell it themselves or they can give it away for free.

no more manufactured scarcity for the sake of inflating already inflated prices

[spicyvampire]

"This is The Vampire Louis du Lac. I live in the penthouse apartment at the Al Sharaf Towers in Dubai, United Arab Emirates. The security staff here is robust but mortal. My front door is always unlocked, as are the windows to my balcony, which were designed with a protective film coating for those of us "sun-challenged"."

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022-) 2.08 "And That's The End of It. There's Nothing Else"

[jaimelannister]

This is the vampire Louis Du Lac. I live in the penthouse apartment of the Al Sharaf Towers in Dubai, United Arab Emirates. The security staff here is robust but mortal. My front door is always unlocked, as are the windows to my balcony, which were designed with a protective film coating for those of us "sun-challenged". So for all you cowards out there talking shit, talking about taking a run at me, hear this now and hear it plain. I own the night.

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 2.08 And That's the End of It. There's Nothing Else

[orchidsarchives]

Jason is fond of the rain.

He adores the sweet earthy smell and the soft, rhythmic pitter patter against his living room window, but above all, he loves spending time with you during the heavy monsoon season.

You walk out of the neighborhood cafe, hand in hand, into the gloomy streets of Gotham. The skyline is grey and somber. It’s quiet, peaceful, a juxtaposition to the city’s usual loud and robust atmosphere.

You scan Jason’s face and he looks content, despite the heavy drizzle that’s soaking him through his sweater. It’s poetic really, a man scattered with scars, a man who bears a heavy past, finds peace in the rain. How truly melancholic.

Loud thunder rumbles through the sky as if a large battle was being fought in the distance. You clutch on to Jason’s hand a little bit tighter, while your eyes still admire his calm demeanour.

���I think we should kiss right now,” he says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“You’re so cliche, you know that right,” you say and he sucks his teeth while rolling his eyes.

His eyes look dark, the usual green colour is almost impossible to see. He stops walking and pulls you into him, his fingers tangling themselves into your wet hair. His lips move in close to yours, but they don’t quite touch.

“I know but can you blame me,” he whispers softly. You try to suppress the small grin on your lips.

“Been reading too much Nicholas Sparks lately,” you inquire, looking up at him through your lashes. Jason lets out a small laugh and the sound touches your heart.

He stares at you in admiration. He often finds himself getting lost in your eyes.

The moment is intimate, it brought his troubled mind to ease. Jason takes the opportunity to close the gap and kisses your lips. The rain dances on your skin. There’s a soft breeze and you pull Jason closer.

He tastes like the cigarette he smoked earlier and the strawberry cheesecake you split at the cafe. You want to savour this moment forever.

He smiles against your lips and you pull back only to cover his face in small pecks.

“I…” kiss, “love…” kiss, kiss, “you…” kiss.

Jason adores the rain, the smell, the sounds, but most importantly he loves kissing you in it.

[bonbonly]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray - when bishop!max decides to stay for the christmas festivities, chapter!charles leclerc finds it harder to hide his true religion: you. (this is a continuation of Temptation) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you are not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following: noncon/dubcon, slapping, p in v, fingering, lactation, oral (m receiving), stoning, almost burning at the stake. this fic contains heavy catholic themes/guilt, and also includes angst and redemption. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on popular demand, i've made the sequel for Temptation! (read it if you haven't already!) writing this series made me a charles girlie omg

from the light through the cathedral's glass windows, the heavenly father centered his glory around the statue of virgin mary carrying her holy son, the loving baby jesus. above the ledge from where you stood, you glimpsed down to see the swarm of people shuffling into the main altar, getting on their knees as your child's father offered the lord's blessings to each loyal devotee. you watched the gentle smile on his face as he bowed his head, forming a cross on his chest with his hands. a soft amen fell from his lips, his eyes creased together as he giggled at something a child had said to him. his soft nature contrasted his demeanor towards you every night when he snuck into the attic to deliver another basket of bread and milk. he was a different man past the hours of the cathedral, the devil himself. you glanced down to your blissfully asleep bundle of joy in your arms, his tiny hands wrapped your finger as you gently rocked him back and forth. you could've loved the being in your arms had it not been out of a horrendous union that brought you turmoil more than love. you could've had the heart to smother him in kisses like any mother would to their child, to gift him every joy in the world had he been born to a man that you loved.

"you look cold, here have my cloak," charles leaned forward to kiss your forehead, draping the fabric over your shoulders. his head nestled onto your shoulder, ignoring the disdainful expression on your face. both your eyes fell down to your son, his soft coos echoing in the dark room where charles stored his obsessions. love was not in his vocabulary. for if he loved you, you knew he would let you go. charles gave your cheek a soft kiss, letting his warm lips linger on your cold skin, so that you could understand he would always be a part of you. a reminder of your new life as the mother to his child, another servant of god. your shoulders sagged at the declaration inside your head: this was your life. this was how you would spend the rest of your years. buried away in a dark attic where no man shall ever know of you existence - save your son - and you would rot away without the luxury of having a stable family. you envied your friends who were married and had a robust family tree, a dozen children to their name which they had wanted willingly. charles could see the sadness in your eyes, the way your head cast downwards with tears rolling down your cheeks. his breath hitched when the rays of light shone down on you; he saw the weeping virgin stand before him for a split second, her pain from the earthly world, from him. his eyes cast down to his child giggling with his arms outstretched for his father, and charles picked up the infant.

"leo is looking very healthy," he whispered, his eyes flickering to you for confirmation. you slowly nodded your head, your gaze transfixed onto the stone cracks. "i expect some words from you, mon ange."

"he is very healthy," you murmured, slowly lifting your gaze to face his. his eyes hardened into a glare, not happy with your attitude as of late. you acted as if it was the end of the world. what better pleasure would a woman such as yourself have if not being a servant of the lord, the mother to his child, his only possession far greater than the rosary he hung around his neck. he placed his son in the wooden cradle secretly made a long time ago when he first learned you were pregnant, and he grabbed hold of your arm to have you stand on your feet. his fingers dug into your jaw, forcing you to stare at him,

"what is wrong with you? have you forgotten your duties?" he questioned, watching you squirm under his grasp. your pitiful attempts to push him off were swatted away with his free hand, "you could've been a whore on the streets had i not rescued you. the grace of the holy father has led you to me, this is your chance at salvation and yet you act as if you'd rather live in perdition than with the heaven i have gifted you!"

he watched your tears collect onto his fingers, those rosy lips of yours now a small pout. he sighed out loud, repenting for his mistake of treating you so harshly and he leaned down to capture your lips into a kiss.

"oh, ma chère reine, come now. i am only doing this for your good," he kissed away your tears, caressing your face with his thumb. "it is not good for you to cry, i hate to see you cry. i only want to ever see you happy, n'est-ce pas vrai?"

your response is ignored as he sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed he had placed besides the cradle. there was a small curtain that separated the "room" between yours and your son. charles laid you onto the mattress as if you were a dandelion, at any second you could be blown away out of his arms. his lips found your forehead once more, his touch gentle that for a moment, you were fooled into thinking that maybe he did love you. maybe, despite all the horrible things he had done to you, you could be safe in his arms. with parted lips, he cradled your face in his hands to pepper your face with kisses. your weeping eyes, your red nose, those cold cheeks and those rosy lips that always beckoned to him like the devil that you once were. his lips traveled down your neck, providing your bosom with open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave marks. you were his, and had it not been his fate to serve for the lord, he would've married you as soon as your belly swelled with his child. it would've been a child out of wedlock and it still was but he didn't really care, but you were a mother. a beautiful mother that gave birth to such an extraordinary child. he undid your corset, letting the fabric slide down as his fingers popped through the strings of your shirt, revealing your swollen tits, already leaking with your milk.

the cross on the valley of your breasts was now a pale scar, and his fingers ghosted over the memories of events precisely a year ago. when he made you his. you weren't even looking at him, your attention on the curtain with your son's soft snores flooding the room. it sickened you that there was no comfort anywhere. charles rolled your nipples around with his thumbs, applying pressure on your hardening peaks as your milk trickled down gently. he squeezed them, leaving his mouth wide open to catch your strays. you always tasted so good. he almost envied his own child for being able to nurse off of you. he moved to nestle himself between your legs, hiking the skirt up. he kissed your ankles, using his free hand to push your panties to the side. spitting onto your cunt, he watched his own saliva glide down your folds, spilling onto the bed beneath the both of you. he would've taken his time with you had he not been occupied with his role as the chapter priest, but nonetheless his throbbing cock was free from its confines and he pushed into your velvety walls, groaning at the sensation. even after birthing a child, you still felt so good. so warm. you felt like home to him. he rocked his hips against yours, smiling when you finally broke your vow of silence to moan out loud and he leaned over to capture your areola in his mouth, drinking up the milk you had to offer him. his thrusts were always sharp, burying himself to the hilt to ensure that even without him filling you up, you'd always feel him inside.

"si parfait et tout à moi," he whispered, tilting his head up to watch you throw your head, completely gone in pleasure. he wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body flush against him, his cock drilling into you with fervor. "that's it, you can cum for me..."

that's all you needed to let yourself go, lips parting into an oval shape as you let out a guttural moan, sobbing into his arms. he silenced your whimpers with his lips, his cock still pummeling into you with erratic thrusts that signaled his climax was approaching. his goal was to fill you up again and again, hoping you'd be able to grow his family. you were so beautiful like this, slumped out against the bed, completely spent. upon hearing leo fussing, he dressed himself up quickly and scooped the baby up in his arms. you deserved some rest anyway.

"you have such a beautiful mother, you are so lucky leo. the lord has bestowed everything you ever need to you, un garçon vraiment très chanceux" he smiled. your eyes traveled up to the debilitated ceiling, unsure if your body could take the toll of having any more children. leo's birth was so tiresome, and it didn't help that you were kept as a secret. charles had acted as if he wasn't the actual father of the child, and he had your face covered so that no one could see that you were back from the supposed dead. you barely had time to recover from giving birth when charles immediately placed you on the wagon to head back to the cathedral. it was a nightmare you never wanted to relive ever again.

charles had left you and the baby to sleep, locking the door behind him. he trusted you enough not to try and escape him, but he knew for sure if you were willing to stay with him. the lord worked in mysterious ways, and perhaps his doubts were best to be cleared after a few hours of prayer. as he descended the back staircase, he passed by father gasly's cell who grinned at the sight of his friend.

"father leclerc! i was just wondering where you could've gone, mon cher ami, you almost could've missed it!" the french man slapped his hand onto charles' back, guiding him down the hallway.

"missed what?"

"bishop max is coming to spend christmas week with us. he was issued by the pope to see how large the spirit is during the holidays," father gasly explained, and charles rolled his eyes. since the day he joined the church, he'd always hated max. it didn't help that max had such close connections to the former pope at such a young age. if charles was the golden boy to his church, max was the son of the catholic religion. it was so clear that in another 10 years, max would become the pope one day. charles hated him for it, he already saw what was going to happen: max would come over and gloat in his face. he always used to beat him to prayer, getting the guidance offered by the senior priests first and charles would get the crumbs. he sucked his teeth, stepping into the main altar to find archdeacon vasseur laughing along with a man in a pointed hat, a cane in his hand that he tossed from one side to another. the archdeacon glanced over the man's shoulder to see charles, a wide grin on his face as he greeted the young man.

"ah, father leclerc! look who has brought glory to our cathedral with his presence!" the old man laughed, and charles' jaw went taut at the sight of max standing there, a crooked smile on his lips.

"ah, father leclerc! such a pleasure to see you again!" max's accent was still as thick as charles last remembered,

"good to see you again bishop verstappen," charles bowed his head slightly, feeling all his anger boil up to his head. he bit his tongue, remembering father bozzi's words from a year ago: never let your emotions get the best of you. keep that tongue of yours in check. charles clutched onto his rosary, hoping the holy cross would burn into his palm so that he would remain silent.

"you may call me father, no need for even more formalities," max laughed, "now i haven't been to this cathedral in quite some times. looks a bit worn, does it not?"

"we have so many visitors that our focus is mainly on them," charles snapped, ignoring the blatant side-eye father gasly was giving his friend. max raised an eyebrow, a hint of an amused smirk on his lips,

"i suppose so. i might need to go around this entire place. do some checks and see what could be added before christmas. pope hamilton said this place was one of the holiest in the world, and it ought to look like it." max adjusted his hat, glancing around the altar with an indifferent expression on his face. using his cane, he pushed charles to the side before walking off.

"what did pope hamilton see in him to promote him to bishop?" charles seethed, and father gasly nudged him with his elbow,

"father leclerc, jealousy does not suit you. if he heard you, he'd have you-"

"let him hear, i don't care. walking into my church and acting like he owns the place," he scoffed.

"your church?" father gasly snickered, "is this church not in the rightful ownership of the holy father? you don't own anything save your bible and rosary."

charles stared at his friend with a very dark expression on his face. he did have ownership. maybe not to the church, but definitely you and your child. he held his tongue, moving towards the altar to get onto his knees and pray. the father from the heavens had to ensure nothing bad would happen with max's presence. christmas was only a few days away, and the last thing charles' needed was a reflection on his cruel actions. no matter how many times he convinced himself that he was doing the world good by having you as his personal whore, he still felt like something was amiss. the light from the cross above him always seemed to dim when he stood before the altar. the organs did not sing the same tunes it once did when he pressed his fingers upon the keys. a mystery that he could not understand. the rosary around his neck reflected the light from the glass panels, right onto his heart. his eyes were closed, however, blind as always to the message the lord gave him.

max had past the hallway to the individual cells for the priests, but his eyes quickly caught hold of the staircase that was covered in sooth and dust. he frowned, running his fingers over the railings and recoiled in disgust at the dirt that stained his pale skin. he shook it off and grabbed his cane, tapping at the wood to make it wouldn't collapse onto him if he decided to climb the staircase. when his checks were through, he carefully ascended up to the top of the cathedral where the gargoyles slept peacefully. the bell-ringers were out for break so he wouldn't have to deal with their thousand questions. from what he could see, it was an open empty space, a clear view to the village down below. there was a room at the end of the passageway that had a few windows. he assumed it was for the bell-ringers to take short breaks and was about to head back downstairs when he heard a slight hum travel through the air. he circled back to the room, taking note of the lock on the door. pressing his ear against the door, he could hear a baby laughing while another voice sang soft lullabies. max moved to the window, peering through the bars to see you sitting on the ground, holding your son up as you took note of the way his legs scrunched together. you bent down to kiss his nose, watching his little face light up.

"didn't know the church held its own nursery here," max watched you stare at him with wide eyes, fear in your features as you held your baby firmly against your chest, his little head nestled in your neck.

"w-who are you? h-how... what are you doing here?" you questioned. even the bell-ringers had never come over. charles had convinced them all that they could do their duty one floor down. the well kept secret was now in the hands of a man you didn't even know.

"no need to fear me, schat." he smiled, "i'm bishop verstappen. i've come here to celebrate christmas with your church."

there was some sort of an edge in his voice, something that you could not explain. you glanced around your room, trying to avoid his sharp gaze. you never realized how suffocating this room really was until now. you set leo back down in his cradle, feeling your back being burned just being in his line of sight.

"you live here?" max inquired, the sound of his cane raking against the bars of the window making you clutch your ears. the metal scraping brought back horrid memories of the confines charles had you in, the whip of air as the flog drew red marks on your tits. you clutched your chest, still feeling the edge of the rosary being dragged on your skin to form the cross.

"y-yes," you breathed out, peering over your shoulder to see what new devil was at your doorstep. he frowned, tilting his head,

"interesting. and who knows about you? other than me of course."

you debated on telling him the truth. should you tell him the events from a year ago? but what if he was just as bad as charles? what if he found out you were originally a heretic and wanted to kill you? you gulped, deciding to play safe in the moment, "father leclerc, but he is nice enough to gift me bread and milk for the baby and i. aside from him, no one else knows."

"father leclerc does charity work? that's new of him," max snickered, "he keeps you locked away in here, though. do you offer him service for his hospitality?"

"n-no," you whispered, gulping, "none of that kind."

"a child out of wedlock," max pointed towards the cradle where leo was fast asleep, "and father leclerc has pitied you for it? he never was the type to do so. he was always stuck up from what i remember."

"he has changed."

"very much so indeed." max's lips formed into a thin line, "well, i shall see to it that you are free from your confines. a woman such as yourself should have the right to roam around this cathedral freely. as long as no one sees your baby, you should be safe." had he known the truth of your situation, you knew he wouldn't have been so kind to you. you nodded your head, listening to his footsteps fade away. you collapsed onto your bed, head in your hands as you thought about what would happen if charles came to hear of this.

charles was listening to a father lament about his dying son, torn between wanting to give him a proper burial but not having enough money to do so. he furrowed his brows, feeling sympathetic towards the man and he took off one of the rings given to him a long time ago by his late father. it was made out of gold, and he usually wouldn't have parted with it but he figured his father would rather the ring be used for something good than just an accessory. he dropped the ring into the palm of the man's hand and bowed his head,

"it is not quite equal to your son's burial but as stated from genesis 23:6 - none of us will withhold from you his tomb to hinder you from burying your dead," charles began, watching the man's face light up, "bury your son with the money the ring offers. if one dares question you, bring him to me and i shall discuss with him. may the lord guide your son's soul to the heavens. i shall send a chaplain soon to your quarters for his last rites."

the man held onto charles' hand, kissing it gently with tears in his eyes, "thank you, father leclerc. thank you, thank you. the holy father has done us all great service by having you among us."

charles' chest tightened at his words, a sensation that became more frequent these days. guilt was eating him alive, but he did not know why. he knew he was continuing the lord's work, being a very devout servant. but in the back of his mind, he remembered you all alone up in that cold room with leo, the sad look in your eyes. he watched the man exit the tall doors of the cathedral, and he caught hold of the statue of virgin mary carrying the infant jesus. his chest tightened once more, remembering the weeping virgin he saw in your eyes earlier. right when he was about to head back to his cell, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. much to his dismay, it was bishop verstappen and charles rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek.

"father verstappen, did you have a nice tour of our church?" charles glared at him, wanting to make his disgust extremely evident.

"mhm, very nice. i just didn't think you to be so charitable. giving away your father's ring just like that?" max sighed,

"i had nothing to bury my father in when he passed away. i only wish for this man's son to not suffer the same fate. everyone deserves to be buried," charles responded.

"tsk, tsk, tsk, you have gotten much softer, father leclerc, last i remember you were very keen on banishing my soul to hell if given the opportunity."

"that hasn't changed, actually. i'm just trying to be cordial since pope hamilton sent you here." charles growled, "charity is a good thing."

"i never argued with you about it, i'm just surprised the extent to which your charity goes." max narrowed his eyes, "and in the name of charity, i hope you haven't abused your rights as a servant to the lord. the kleine duif wishes to escape her cage. don't keep dogs tied up for too long."

charles gaped in horror as max walked off with a knowing smirk. he straightened his shoulders, glancing up to the ceiling of the cathedral before grabbing his rosary and heading up the back staircase. unbeknownst to him, max saw the chapter priest swiftly ascending the staircase and the bishop laughed to himself, realizing that he had charles exactly where he needed him to be: beneath him at all costs. the pretty dove upstairs was a sight for sore eyes, and by no means was max a perfect man. he had flaws, too. as any man would. years of celibacy could not be easily achieved in this modern world. not when women such as yourself always tempted the innocent priests into sin. he wondered if charles had ever touched you, ever marked you as his. there was no way he wouldn't have, but charles was always known for being so perfect and prudish that it wasn't far out of the question to assume that he was only helping you and nothing else.

charles had unlocked the door to your room, his chest heaving in anger as he saw you laying on your bed with those empty, forlorn eyes. he slammed the door behind him, marching over to see you sitting up on the bed with a finger to your lips.

"you'll wake the baby," you chastised him, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to him,

"did anyone see you?" he hissed, "answer the truth. if you lie to me, i won't hesitate to have you punished for your disobedience to me."

you swallowed, thickly and shook your head slowly. he could see your eyes gloss over, the rosary shining in your eyes. he grabbed your hair and yanked it backwards, disregarding your pained whimpers,

"do. not. lie. to. me." he punctuated each word with a slap to your face. you bottom lip quivered, your scowl deepening, "tell me the truth. who saw you here? was it max?" he would never give the title to a man he hated, much less the respect he deserved.

"max saw me," and you brought out your hands to try and calm charles down, "b-but i didn't tell him anything. i only said that you had me here to save me from the outside world. you were giving me a place to hide my baby and me!"

he raised an eyebrow, "and how should i believe you?"

"you have to trust me, charles!" you begged, growing frustrated at his lack of respect for you, "if i wanted to jeopardize your future at this church i would've done that a long time ago!"

"oh, really?" charles laughed bitterly, "so you've thought about that before have you not? is that what you're telling me?"

"charles, no!" you cried out, struggling to escape his firm grip in your hair, "you're not listening to me! the door was still locked, all max did was ask who i was and i lied to him! he does not know about our arrangement, he does not know anything!"

"get on your knees," charles hauled you off the bed, dragging you onto the stone floor, "open that mouth of yours. unless your mouth serviced me, i'll assume you have used it to speak lies."

you groaned out loud, clamping your mouth shut as you glared at him. that defiance, that anger in your eyes. he'd last seen it when he first captured you. if looks could kill.

"open your mouth, espèce de petit diable," he commanded, his voice brooking no disobedience. "take my cock into your lying mouth and let it purify your wicked tongue." he pressed the swollen, throbbing head of his cock against your lips, rocking his hips to let his cock slide against your sealed mouth. his fingers tightened in your hair, yanking it harshly and when you cried out in pain, he slipped his cock inside your throat, giving you no space to breathe as he began to fuck your throat harshly. tears streamed down your cheek, your drool seeping down your chin as you stared at him with pure hatred in your eyes. he took note of the expression on your face and he snarled as he forced your head to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

"take the holy sacrament deep in your lying throat. let it purify your wicked soul." He held you there, buried to the hilt, as he ground his hips against your face, his heavy balls slapping against your chin. "god commands it," he panted, his voice filled with lust, "you cannot deny his will. you cannot refuse your sacred duty to serve his servant, to serve me."

you struggled to swallow all of his cum when he came, coughing and gagging uncontrollably, spluttering out his semen. you watched him tuck his cock back in his robes, grabbing your hair once more so that you could look at him, "let this be a reminder, mon cœur, i won't be so forgiving next time. no one sees you, no one other than leo and me." and with that, he stormed out of the room and locked the door. you laid on the ground with a hoarse throat, sobbing on the floor. was this the "lord's" method of punishing you for being a heretic? in what world was this supposed to make you love the holy father? your questions are silenced by the exhaustion that took over your body. your bitterness was only heightened when you noticed how leo was still fast asleep. the plump baby always slept without a care in the world after he had his dose of your milk. you wished you could sleep in peace like that.

it was a rule that after you misbehaved, you would have to seek forgiveness from the holy father. the only way to do this was to walk with charles down to the main altar very late at night when everyone was asleep. he took note of your busted lip from his abuse earlier in the day, running his thumb over your bottom lip as you winced in pain. he muttered a soft apology, kissing your forehead before taking leo from your arms. you needn't burden yourself so much, besides your only focus should be on being forgiven for your sins. while you moved forward to begin your prayer, father gasly had woken up from his sleep to grab some water when he saw charles holding a baby in his hands. he frowned, approaching the latter,

"father leclerc, whose child is that?" he asked, and charles was just about ready to punch his friend. having to explain himself out of this one would be quite difficult. charles glanced down at his son, taking note of his peaceful features. his little fingers were wrapped around charles' forefinger, and he smiled at the sight. it reminded him of the older man from earlier in the day, asking to bury his son. charles' felt the air in his lungs freeze for a split second, imagining if he would have to do the same for his little boy in the future. it was a thought that scared him. he never wanted to lose leo, he never wanted to lose you. he inhaled, sharply and looked up at father gasly,

"i saw this little boy at an orphanage. i didn't have the heart to leave him out there in the cold so i took him in. he's beautiful isn't he?" charles' cooed, kissing leo's nose.

in the meantime, you had gotten to your knees and clasped your hands together. no matter how many times charles taught you how to pray, it never was an easy task. not when you still refused to believe in the existence of a higher being. if such a god existed, why didn't he save you? why would he have let you be tormented like this? you stared at the cross, tears welling up in your eyes at how hopeless everything seemed. you casted your eyes downwards, remembering what charles had said to you months before when you were faced complications in your pregnancy. your eyes had to be hidden. no one should know about your existence. no one should recognize.

"and if in the case someone meets your eyes, and sees you as (y/n) (l/n) the whore who used to dance in festivals and preach hersey with her followers, i shall find a diamond-encrusted dagger and gouge your eyes out so that no one shall remember what you used to look like..." charles' words echoed in your ears. you shook as you pretended to pray, your head empty with silence surrounding you. you felt a presence besides you, and you turned to tell charles that you had finished your prayer when instead you faced max.

"he's finally let you out, what a surprise," he whispered. you snapped your head back to the cross, your breathing now rapid as you tried to calm yourself. he took note of the way your breasts - from the small glimpse he had under your cloak - rose and fell in quick successions. "schatje, i've told you before, you need not fear me. i won't do anything to you."

"i cannot risk it. i cannot bring attention to myself," you whispered, and max rolled his eyes,

"there's barely anyone awake at this hour. come, i know a good place." he held out his hand, standing up on his feet. you hesitantly accepted his offer, finding it strange that he was treating you so kindly. he was asking, rather than demanding. you knew following max into the confession booth would land you in much more trouble tonight, but sat down besides you with a very soft look in those blue eyes. "here, you can tell me anything, schatje. how did you end up here? who is your child's father? whatever you wish to tell me you can."

perhaps it was out of desperation to finally have someone to properly talk to, but you revealed everything to max. you told him about your previous life, you told him how charles was obsessed with you, how he fucked a prostitute dreaming about you and how he burned your house down when your parents were away, kidnapping you and storing you away in the top of the cathedral in that hidden room to teach you the bible. you told him of your baby leo, how he had your eyes. you cared for the baby, but you could never bring yourself to love him. you sighed out loud after finishing your tale, staring at max as you waited for his reaction. he merely licked his lips, leaning his head back on the wall of the booth as he processed your tale.

"so the baby... is charles'. i knew the bastard wasn't pure," he chuckled, dryly. your face fell, having expected him to say something else. you were oblivious to their rivalry, already caught up in your own misfortunes. max tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, "ah, my poor lady, you have gone through so much. what all did he teach you?"

"he used to read the-" you stopped when you saw max shake his head,

"no, no, not about the bible. what did he teach you in bed?" he pried your lips open with his thumb, letting your mouth envelop around his digit as you began to suck. "such a good little slut, fuck... i can see why he chose you. i have to give it to him."

"for christ's sake, pierre," charles snapped out of the formality he usually gave his friend, "pierre, snap out of it. the baby was abandoned, no more questions out of you." he was still stuck up in the cell of father gasly, rolling his eyes at the millionth question he had to answer.

"oh come on, charles," pierre scoffed, dropping his act of formality as well, "it's a cute baby. what awful creature would leave this baby to die?" he turned to face the infant, peppering his little face with kisses before pressing his cheek against his own, "can i keep the baby, charles? he's so cute."

"he's not a dog, pierre. he's my-" charles paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "he's an infant."

"an infant abandoned so close to christmas! and he has come to our church! is this a sign from the lord?" pierre asked, and charles' shoulders sagged. he ran his hands over his face,

"pierre, give the infant back to me. i assure you, it's..." charles paused, picking up max's voice from the distance, "is that father verstappen?"

"possibly, i've been told he likes walking around churches at night since the lord has a different ambience then... isn't that right, leo?" pierre cooed, nuzzling his nose against the baby's face. the infant merely giggled in response, trying to grab onto the chaplain's nose. charles bit his lower lip, the realization of having left you alone at the altar crossing his mind. he smacked his hand on his forehead, hurrying out of the cell.

"wait, the baby!" pierre called out, and charles shook his head,

"you can take care of leo for the night," and he hurried down the hallway, grabbing a candle. his fingers looped through the hole of its holder, and he stormed around the dark cathedral, spinning in circles to see where you could've gone. you weren't in front of the cross, you weren't in the aisles. he stopped for a moment, hearing the squelching of juices coming from the confession booth. he could see a small candle through the holes, the shadows of two bodies dancing together like the flames before him. charles' heart sank for a moment, praying that it wasn't you. it shouldn't be you. you were his, only his. he swung open the door to the confessional, and saw a sight that burned his eyes.

max had the top of your dress bunched down to your waist, his lips wrapped around your nipple, drinking your lavish milk while your greedy cunt sucked his fingers. your head thrown back as you let out soft moans, bucking into his hand as his palm rubbed against your clit. max released your tit with a pop, licking his lips as beads of your milk dribbled down his chin and he brought his mouth to kiss your jaw. he was grinning like a madman, eyes snapping to face charles' anguished expression and he picked up his pace, curling his fingers inside you, scissoring your poor cunt as you let out strangled moans, trying to be quiet. you squirted all over max's fingers, your juices coating the walls of the confessional, breathing heavy.

"the dove's quite the slut, father leclerc," max snorted, "so beautiful and perfect. she'd be my personal whore if i took her with me back to rome," he smiled, licking his fingers and sucking on them to relish your taste. "oh schat, you taste amazing."

"get the fuck out of here," charles hissed, jerking his thumb to the side. max slid you off his lap, standing up and straightening his robe. he pushed past charles, placing his cane at charles' neck,

"she told me everything. you're lucky you're loved so deeply by this church, or i would've convinced them to throw you out a long time ago," he threatened, letting the edge of the cane dig into charles' chest. the sharp pain made him grit his teeth, and when max left to return to his special quarters, charles' dark eyes slowly turned to you. you were shaking in the corner of the confessional, hooking the sleeves of your dress back up your shoulder as you got to your knees,

"charles please, i didn't mean it... it just happened so suddenly, i don't know how to-" a sharp sting bloomed on your cheek as your head snapped to the side. charles' shook his hand, the crack of his lap even hurting him. he looked at you with such disgust,

"i should've known... the devil hasn't left you, has she? she's stored in your heart, n'est-ce pas vrai putain?" he pressed his finger against the scar on your chest, forcing you back up against the wall. his hand shot out to grab your throat, dragging you out of the confessional and onto the aisle. your head hit against the wooden furniture, your temples throbbing in pain as you felt him bunch up the skirt to your dress. without much preparation, he thrusted himself in you in one-go, clamping your mouth shut to silence your screams. he did not care if he was defiling you right in front of the holy cross. this would be a mistake you'd never make ever again. he was your rightful owner, not max. his fingers dug into your hips, hips snapping against yours as he continued to drill his cock into your overstimulated cunt your previous orgasm had still left you in a daze because of max's skilled fingers, and now with charles' cock ravaging you, you were crying and begging for him to have mercy on you. your tits were leaking with milk, your body unable to control the sensations you were feeling. charles' hands groped your tits, squeezing your milk out for his tongue to catch and soon he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing his cock right back into your spent pussy. your gummy walls tightened around him, trying to push him out but it only motivated him to drive further into you. he grabbed your hair, yanking your head to face him as your back arched.

"why can't you see it?" charles hissed, slapping your ass firmly, "why can you never understand? you belong to me! only me! you're mine!" and with each thrust of his hips, his hold on you was loosening. you were sobbing onto the carpeted floors of the cathedral, burying your face in your arms as his cock stretched your unwilling walls into oblivion. "how many times do i have to prove myself to you?"

charles' dropped his head down to the back of your neck, his weight pushed onto you as he continued to snap his hips relentlessly. you could feel tears on your back. charles' tears. "why can't you understand?" he whimpered, wrapping your throat with his hand as he brought you closer to him, "will nothing i do satisfy you? what more should i do?"

his words didn't make sense to you, and you couldn't follow along with what he was getting at. not when he was destroying your poor cunt like this. he pulled out of you just shortly after you silently screamed, cumming around his cock and instead flipped you onto your back so that you could face him. his cock was still achingly hard, the tip all red and angry, waiting to cum. a needy moan escaped his lips, his hands fighting the urge to finish himself off, to let his cum coat your skin. but he was denying himself. instead, he glanced down at you as began to sob,

"you know how much i love you?" he whispered, and your eyes widened, realizing that he had finally said the words you knew he would never feel, "my love for you... i love you... i love you so much. why can't you...." he took in a shaky breath, standing up and confining his cock inside his robes, "i love you so much. i just want to be with you, to be loved by you. i love you so much, why can you never see it?"

since charles' confessions, he distanced himself away from you as much as he could. he'd give sermons and return to his cell. the door to your room was permanently unlocked, giving you access to roam around the cathedral as much as you pleased. it was a stark difference from the man you once knew, and you didn't know if he finally cleared his soul, or if this was a storm brewing. father gasly took care of leo so often that you felt free from the confines of being a mother. charles' would escort you to pierre's cell, insisting that a proper woman could only take care of a child even though the both of you knew it was just so that your son still remembered who his mother was. you'd walk the hallways of the cathedral at night, admiring the various statues and glass panels up close, taking note of its details. charles would stand in a corner, never once meeting your eyes. the thought of even touching you made his skin crawl. his chest always felt heavy, a newfound burden taking a toll on his body with each step that he took around the cathedral. the light on the holy cross no longer dimmed when he stood before it, instead it shined brighter. a chance for redemption, but he did not know how to gain your forgiveness. everything that he had done to you finally freed his clouded thoughts; he was a monster. he was the very devil he had claimed to have seen in you. his lust brought his own ruins, he felt ill every time he gave a sermon about avoiding all sins. he'd whimper in his sleep, feeling like a kicked puppy as he replayed the nights where he'd keep you awake to satisfy his carnal urges. he'd wake up more frequently at night, crying to himself at how unfit he was to be a chapter priest. he should be publicly stoned to death for what he had done. he always felt more than he should, father bozzi always told him that. it surely didn't help his emotions when he saw bishop verstappen talking with you more frequently in the darkness of the night. you were opening up to him more often, actually smiling and enjoying his presence, in a way that you never did with charles. he deserved it, rightfully so. he'd shuffle back to his cell, taking leo into his arms from father gasly and would hum some small lullabies to usher the infant back to sleep. he could not stare at the statue of virgin mary anymore, could not stand to see the imagery of the weeping virgin. he brought this upon you. it was all his fault. he had to make it up to you, but he just didn't know how exactly.

bishop verstappen had slipped a piece of paper to charles to watch out for something important later in the day, a special early christmas present for the chapter priest. it was the morning of christmas eve, most of the people were getting ready to settle with their family for the night. the church had been fully decorated, the bell ringers coming with big wide smiles on their faces as they ran to and fro, getting small gifts from the archdeacon for their work throughout the year. charles had let the church discover leo's existence the night before, letting each of the divisions of priests fawn over his "adopted" son as they put it. 

"commendable charity work," father sainz smiled, "you really know how to represent what christmas is really about." and charles smiled, thinly. 

you had followed bishop verstappen into the streets of your village. the bright light so foreign to you after so long. you brought your cloak over your face, watching the small children run around. some of the faces you recognized as your neighbors' children, the very ones you'd laugh and play with after you finished your work at your stall. you smiled warmly at the memories, laughing as they nearly bumped into you in excitement for some magic show happening around the corner. the sounds of families giggling and embracing each other on the streets made you miss your own parents. you had to know what happened to them. what would they think if they saw their daughter well and alive. and your friends! frederick, oscar, all of them! you knew they must've missed you. you turned to max, grinning at him as you held onto his hand,

"i want to see my parents. they have to be here." but you failed to see the way his arm recoiled at your touch, the way he stared at you as if he had something far sinister in his mind. he merely pulled off the hood of your clock and with an accusatory finger, shouted at your face,

"the witch! she's a witch! she's back from the dead!"

charles had been on the second floor of the cathedral, pressing the keys to the organ to entertain his son who looked at the instrument in awe. he nearly missed the yelling downstairs if he hadn't stopped toying with the organ. he glanced down to the main altar to find bishop verstappen waiting downstairs with his hands behind his back, a grin on his face. charles could feel that something was wrong, but nevertheless, he approached his enemy.

"what's going on outside? a commotion?" charles' inquired, patting leo's back as he bounced the infant in his arms a couple of times. he took note of the crowd outside the gates to the cathedral and he furrowed his brows, moving to investigate before max grasped onto his shoulder.

"you're free from the devil, father leclerc." max smiled and charles scowled,

"what do you mean?"

"you have such an esteemed reputation at this church," max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of charles, "we wouldn't want to ruin it. no one knows about this child, you can't keep the truth hidden forever. so you get rid of the truth."

"i... i'm not following along, what?"

"for fuck's sake," max groaned, shaking his head, "i accused her of being a witch, of coming back from the dead. she'll be burned at the stake later today, and you can thank me for it. all your guilt, all your lustful thoughts, all of it will be gone if she's gone. perfect, is it not? i would've kept her as my personal slut like i said earlier, but there's bound to be a million other women like her."

"are you insane?" charles yelled, startling leo who began to cry, "who asked of this from you? she... she trusted you!" he gulped, thinking about how you must've felt at this moment. putting your trust into a man after he had ruined everything for you, only for this cunt to betray you so openly in front of everyone. charles' anger knew no bounds and he shoved max to the side, storming out of the church to see the sight of you on a stick, hoisted into the air. your head hung low, bruises all over your body after being being stoned and flogged accordingly to your crime. charles' gasped out loud, pushing past the crowd to see them bring you over to the pile of hay in the center of the town square, ready to set fate. he watched the other priests, ones that he knew so well, cheer on for this heretic's damnation. leo cried louder, the screams hurting his ears and charles shielded his son into his chest, and with anxious eyes faced you. with what little strength you had left in you, you glanced up to the sky with tears cascading down your cheeks, blood spilling out of the inside of your mouth and there he saw it.

no longer was the weeping virgin just a flicker of his imagination or a sight meant to fool him, she was there right before him. he could see your tears as the holy water he used in his sermons, the glow around your head ready to accept your fate. no, he couldn't do this. after everything that he had put you through, he had to redeem himself. charles would never forgive himself if he stood to the side and let everyone take advantage of you, not to the virgin mary that he worshipped every day and night.

"enough with this foolishness!" charles' bellowed, stepping onto the pile of hay as he glanced down at the crowd surrounding you. "all of you stop this nonsense!"

he took in a deep breath, waiting for each idiot to silence themselves to let him speak. "enough... what are you all doing?"

"she's a heretic!" one man cried out.

"she's come back from the dead!" another hollered.

"a witch, a witch!" the crowd chanted in unison, and charles stomped his foot and screamed,

"silence!" he took in a deep breath, glancing down to see leo staring at him with wide eyes. he always had your eyes. he gulped, tilting his head back up to face the crowd once more, "today is christmas eve. tomorrow is christmas morning. you want to mark this holy tradition with the killing of a woman? is this what our holy father has taught us?"

he watched the crowd shift awkwardly and he continued, "she has progressed much in her religious journey. she is not back from the dead. she was actually... learning the glories of our savior. listen to me, all of you, put aside your fears. she will not... she won't hurt any of us."

"then what do you expect us to do with her? she's not welcome in this village," charles' stared at the man who said this; it was your own father. he sucked his teeth in, shaking his head and sighing loudly,

"we send her to exile. she stays alive, but she shall never step foot in this village ever again." charles' declared, and despite the crowd coming to agreeance, he glanced to see you staring at him with a look of horror in your eyes. he gulped, turning his back to you as he held onto leo, hoping that the holy father would commend him for saving your life.

the wagon sat outside the back of the cathedral. it was snowing outside, too cold for leo but he had his son bundled up in the finest fabric to ensure his little toes wouldn't get frostbite. he stared at the cross from behind him. something felt... empty inside his heart. he had saved your life, but the thought of sending you to exile. it was all his fault, all of it was his fault. and no matter how long he stayed at this church, no amount of penance could save his damned soul for what he had done to you. he watched you seat yourself on the wagon, face all bruised as you weakly smiled at him.

"thank you, charles... for what you did back there." you whispered, groaning in pain as you shifted in your seat. you saw the pained expression in his eyes, and you cupped his cheek, letting him feel the warmth of you skin. "what you did charles, that was real love."

he fell to his knees at your words, tears pricking at his eyes, "no... no, don't say that. i've done awful things to you. i've been a horrible person. my lust clouded my thoughts, i... i really love you. i can't bear the thought... of... no, i can't let you leave me." he grabbed hold of your hand, bringing it to his forehead as he sobbed. his cheeks flushed into a rosy shade of red as he glanced up at you, "t-take me with you. i can't... i can't live here. not after what i've done. i'll come up with you. we can live together in a small hut, we can just be by ourselves and i'll make it up to you, i swear i will, just give me one more chance mon ange-"

"no, charles," you snapped, "no... i deserve to be free. i deserve to have the life i wanted. and as for leo..." you stretched your arms out, ready to take your infant but charles shook his head,

"i refuse. i refuse to let you go, i refuse to let you take away my son. i love both of you. just say you forgive me, say you'll take me with you."

you sighed out loud, groaning under your breath as you felt a sharp pang of pain course through your veins. you bit your lip, "i think we can come to a compromise then."

your wagon departed with your belongings. you never once looked back at charles as you left. you had said what he wanted to hear: "i forgive you. a life for a life. your debt is paid." but it wasn't enough for him. you left leo to his care, knowing that despite how he had treated you, he would never commit horrors to his child. charles could learn to properly love. you knew he had it in him. his heart was always large, always taken by emotions.

he felt too strongly. it was his curse.

he took leo back into the church, and set him down on the table right before the holy cross. he glanced up to see the holy spirit shine before him, wiping away his tears. there was still a long road for him back to salvation, but he promised that he would attain it. he would make up for all the sins that he had committed. he would spend the rest of his life craving for the love that he felt for you. if only you had stayed. the longer that he served for the church, he realized that he was wrong all along. the holy father could not save his soul no matter how hard he tried. all the countless sermons, the masses, the christmas and easter holidays, the verses from the bibles, the holy crosses, the tears from the weeping virgin, all of it was in vain.

because you were his religion.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe. 

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps. 

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is. 

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss. 

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual. 

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath. 

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat. 

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing. 

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs. 

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.” 

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed. 

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust. 

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow. 

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week. 

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side. 

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile. 

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you. 

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass. 

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water. 

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off. 

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time. 

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well. 

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you. 

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house. 

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change. 

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face. 

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full. 

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob. 

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb. 

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?” 

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop. 

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek. 

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew. 

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress. 

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances. 

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house. 

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in. 

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them. 

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered. 

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear. 

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek. 

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart. 

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep. 

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more. 

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs  and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck. 

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed. 

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine. 

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time. 

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth. 

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.  

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado. 

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress. 

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue. 

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire. 

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh. 

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit. 

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over. 

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed. 

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you. 

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock. 

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his. 

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.” 

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust. 

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat. 

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine. 

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words. 

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours. 

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in. 

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you. 

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire. 

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead. 

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs. 

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go. 

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes. 

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please. 

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures. 

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud. 

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means. 

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn. 

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind. 

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day. 

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head. 

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back. 

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

[ckhaine]

⛧ TEJANO BLUE.

“So, get in the waves like it was the first time, and bless your heart, make you part of my life forever.”

Pairings: Jungkook x fem!reader Genres: Smut, fluff

Content: Profanity, sexual themes, engaged relationship, soft dominant Jungkook, submissive and bratty reader, Jungkook’s a sexy businessman ouu, he’s also a sore loser, they’re on a night train to Paris, nicknames, banter, froggy infidelity allegations, dirty talk, f. oral, m. oral, Vanilla and rough sex, aftercare ... Word Count: 2.1K.

Jay’s note: Been back and forth on this piece for a whole four months, but if my babies want me to post something, then I’m gonna post. I’ve been struggling hella in my personal life but I got motivated because I missed being here ... I love and appreciate you for sticking around ... Enjoy reading my babies 🖤

You repose atop a rich, vast bed near one of many windows inside the private cabin — a twelve-hour night train your fiancé had rented. Jungkook lies beside you with a large hand clasped over your hip. Soothing quietness has occupied the dimmed space for a while, apart from the low dialogue from the series playing on his laptop, perched atop the steep window ledge. To him, your shoulders seem lighter — no longer enduring the labour they have grown accustomed to — and it strengthens his initial thought to bring you along on his business trip to Paris, France.

“Princess, how are you feeling?” Jungkook asks, his tone gentle with curiosity. Though you’re not face-to-face just yet, he could sense the grin in your response. “God, I’m fucking fantastic,” you rejoice. You shift to lie on your back, craning your neck to look at him. His eyes are lit, the robust twinkles radiating against his dark orbs. “Oh, I don’t deserve you; you’re so good to me.”

The heat of his palm seeps beneath the fabric of your singlet, calloused fingers tracing along your spine. “Don’t talk like that,” he grumbles, and his head tips down to place a wet kiss against your cheek. You scrunch your nose in faux disgust, and he giggles at the sight. “I love you, you know that?” he asks, teeth nipping at a certain spot on your neck.

You hum at his words, weaving your fingers through his strands to scratch his scalp. “We’re already in the ‘I love you’ stage?” you ask. Jungkook frowns, delivering a soft smack to your thigh. “Baby, you’re wearing a ring?” he mentions, pointing to the big diamond that sits atop your ring finger.

“… Does that mean we can kiss?” you question in feigned naïveté, eliciting a large, boyish grin from your infatuated fiancé. Jungkook doesn’t verbally reply, a grin paired with hollowed dimples being enough of an answer. He holds the back of your head to kiss you, lips merging like they’ve been purposely sculpted for fitting. “You’re ridiculous,” he laughs after reluctantly drawing away, brushing a fallen strand behind your ear.

“You’re so cute,” you croon, to which he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m a grown man, baby,” he says in between kisses that trail from your jaw to your collarbone. Jungkook’s teeth gently nip at the chain around your neck, mesmerized by the polished ‘JK’ pendant attached to it.

“Uh, no? If I say you’re cute, then you’re cute,” you firmly state. At your persistence, Jungkook cracks a smile. “Yeah? You think that I’m cute?” he asks, watching you rashly nod. “I love you,” he hums, leaning in for a messy kiss.

“I love you too, cutie—” you start, yet Jungkook folds before you even finish, puerile butterflies flapping in his stomach. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—” he chants, multiple kisses placed against your mouth.

Despite the breeze travelling through the open window, you’re engulfed by Jungkook’s warmth, casting into the crying valley between your squished thighs. You’re swept into a daze, and all you can focus on is the sensation rising inside your stomach. The touch was aimed to pacify, yet his knowing regard has caught yours.

“Jungkook,” you mutter, acknowledging the moment’s disturbance, “I need more.”

Jungkook lowly chuckles, a smirk growing on his lips. “Tell me where you need me, baby.”

You don’t tell him, but show him. Grabbing his wrist, you guide it from your stomach to between your legs. In response, a breathy chuckle brushes your cheek. His large palm cups your cunt through the fabric of your sweats, and the separated contact emits a faint hiccup from you, one of pleasure and desperation.

Purposefully, he takes his time; his thumb nudging your clit through the material, eyes flickering to study your contorting features. Your lips part, ready to tell him to hurry up, but he’s already hooking his fingers along the waistband, tugging them down — almost.

“You’re not wearing underwear?” The question is subtle, yet you’re taken aback like you’ve done something wrong. Bashfully, you slowly nod and let out an unsteady hum. Jungkook’s able to catch on to the sentiment lingering between you two, one that wasn’t meant to form. Instead, he raises a brow with concern.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, and you let go of an eased ‘okay’ and settle into the sheets. He taps the side of your thigh with a nod for you to lift your hips, discarding your pants somewhere behind him.

“My beautiful girl,” he says, alighted eyes tracing the details of your skin. You watch as he sinks between your legs, lying on his stomach to anchor your legs atop his broad shoulders.

His breath fans against your dewy folds before dipping his tongue flat in between, a long strip from your hole to pulsing clit. Your chest deflates with a heavy sigh, fingers weaving into his hair, and he lets out a muffled moan at the touch. As if he’s been starved, he repetitively licks at the slick dripping from your pussy, and his tongue hastily flicks at your clit right after.

You’re slowly unfolding on his tongue, thighs trembling. “Oh, fuck,” you moan, mouth agape as your eyes flutter shut. The noise he lets out, in between a groan and a whine, gnaws at the forming knot in your stomach.

Nose deep and engrossed, Jungkook’s heavy-lidded eyes flicker up to your distorting face as he begins to fuck his tongue into you. His lips twitch with a grin at the way your fingers curl around the edge of the pillow. But, soon enough, he’s parting ways, and you’re drawn to irritation.

���Jungkook,” you huff, a pout forming on your lips. Met with a mere snicker and his messy countenance, he lifts your legs off his shoulders. “Baby, you’re losing it, but I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he chuckles before pushing your legs apart to see the product of his sole mouth.

“I made a mess out of you,” he muses, the pad of his thumb nudging your clit. Rolling your eyes, you watch as he rids himself of his sweats. An evident hard-on strains against his boxers, a bead of precum seeping past. “You’re so hard,” you giggle, fingers reaching to trace along the outline of his cock. “It’s because I love you,” he softly says, beady eyes piercing yours. You swat his chest and fall into a fit of laughter.

“I love your cock,” you beam, sitting on your knees. “What about me?” he frowns, though it’s knocked clean off his face the second you free his cock. You wrap a hand around it, leisurely delivering pumps, and he swears he’s going insane. You let out an uninterested ‘eh,’ at his question before taking kitten licks at his tip. His brows knit as he lets out a breath, sweeping your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

You peek up at him, the corner of your lips lifting in satisfaction, before gradually taking a few inches in your mouth. Your palm wraps around the length that you can’t fit, delicate beads of tears latching to your waterline. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” he grunts, a tattooed hand clasping against the side of your jaw.

Jungkook allows you to take your sweet time to adjust, until he’s tangling fingers in your hair and lifting his hips to fuck your throat.

You reach to grasp his thigh, nails curling into his skin to form red-tinted, crescent moons. You let out a dirty, pornographic moan around his length that crams down your throat. Jungkook’s teeth bite into his lower lip, and he slips out of your mouth. You pant, before giving him a nod to keep going, and he doesn’t hesitate. Jungkook tugs your head down, nose brushing against trimmed hair.

“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he hoarsely whispers, blown eyes searching yours. You follow his guidance, and you hollow your cheeks and bob your head. There are strings of saliva that dribble down your chin, linking to his honey skin. A strained groan leaves him before he stumbles into cold waters, ropes of hot cum spilling down your throat.

Once he pulls out, his length weakly twitching, you swallow and stick your tongue out to show him. “Tastes so yummy!” you rejoice, flashing him an innocent grin. Jungkook nearly lets out the loudest fucking moan known to mankind, and the way he looks at you implies just that. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I think you’re just crazy,” you shrug. Jungkook scoffs, cupping your cheeks and squishing them together. “Crazy for you, and crazy in love with you,” he states, and you softly whisper “cliché,” with a smile.

Repositioning, you lie on your back. Your legs wrap around his waist and draw him closer, earning a giggle from him.

“You act like you’re so unaffected by me — is there a frog that you’re kissing when I’m asleep?” he asks, lips scarlet and pouty. The laugh that rips out of your chest deepens his poor, doubtful frown.

“No, baby. You’re the only froggy I like kissing,” you say, eyes soft around the edges. Your fingers weave through his hair once more, lowering his head into the crook of your neck.

“Let me fuck you stupid, then?”

“Go ahead, baby. It’s all yours.”

“That’s right. It’s mine,” he affirms, sitting on his knees between your separated legs. Jungkook’s tattooed hand wraps around his length for a few pumps, a lopsided smirk on his pierced lips. The red, mushroomed tip slaps against your swollen clit, dragging down to divide your chubby folds. “It’s all mine.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he pushes each inch in, and you watch his expression change into a scowl as you clench around him. “Stop, I’m not going to last long,” he complains whilst bottoming out, gaze locked on the way your pussy engulfs his entire cock. The laugh you attempt to let out changes into a deep, soulful moan as his tip kisses your cervix in a mere, little movement. God, he’s fucking big.

“Right there, Jungkook—fuck, keep going,” you whine as your eyes roll back. Your hands snake behind his back, nails marking his skin like an abstract piece. Before your brain could recover from short-circuiting, or the way he’s rearranging your guts, Jungkook’s lowering his entire weight onto you. Enclosed with his large arm around your waist and a hand pressing your stomach, he buries his face into your neck.

“Yeah? Right here?” he breathlessly queries, before his tip is repetitively slamming against your G-spot. You’re able to thoroughly feel each movement, given the pressure on your stomach, and because every other sense is completely blurred. You moan loudly, the sound nearly bouncing off the walls. “Oh, fuck!”

Jungkook groans at your pussy spasming, hefty balls bouncing against your skin. Soon enough, your back is arching clean off the mattress. “Yes, yes, yes!” You claw at his scalp, vision going black as you cream around his cock. He’s prompted to let out a choked, desperate grunt and a faint, uttered curse. His long fingers curl around your waist as his orgasm follows suit, body crashing under full effect.

After a second, he pulls out, leaving your pussy open ajar, weakly contracting around nothing. He watches through hazed vision as a load of cum gradually seeps out, sliding down your skin and onto the sheets.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as concern embeds into his features, glossed with a sheer coat of sweat. You let out a breathless chuckle, a hand raising to cup his cheek. “I’m good, my love. You?”

“I’m okay, princess.” Smiling, he kisses your hips, which begins a trail of tender, chaste kisses ascending to your lips. “Are you tired? I’ll get the chef to make something,” Jungkook states, teeth biting at your lower lip before his mouth plants right atop yours, the kiss laced with such ardency and care. “Have to clean you up first.”

You bask in his affection, accepting his words and allowing your eyes to fall shut. Jungkook takes a moment to fetch a towel, the terrycloth fabric dampened with warm water. Then, once he returns, it’s gingerly dragged over your skin, brushing it clean from the mess.

“Thank you, my love,” you whisper, and he nods in response, his slender fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Get some rest, yeah? I will wake you up when the food is ready,” he says. You intertwine your fingers with his, a delicate and genuine smile resting on your lips.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

“I love you more, princess.”

© CKHAINE, XOXO.

[covid-safer-hotties]

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What if when Joe Biden came into office in 2021, the Covid-19 safety net he was handed had become a new floor?

What if that was his baseline—and the newly elected Democratic president, sold by his most ardent supporters as FDR 2.0, had used our Covid-19 response as the bare minimum of a new social contract with Americans?

What if the caring nature of the best aspects of the US Covid response became the map for international relations—leading not just to international cooperation on infectious disease, but on matters of war, climate and genocide?

What if, instead of dismantling the vaccine-delivery infrastructure—which, at its height, delivered some four million shots in a single day—the Biden administration built upon and made some version of it permanent, so that everyone could easily get annual Covid boosters, annual flu vaccines, or get specialty vaccinations during outbreaks of unusual viruses (such as for mpox during the 2022 summer outbreak among queer men) whenever they needed it?

What if the viral surveillance and communication mechanisms utilized for learning about SARS-CoV-2, treating it and telling the public about it were being used to address H5N1—a virus which has been moving from birds to farm mammals to humans with so little notice that dead cows were killed by the “avian flu” and left on the side of a road in California’s Central Valley, as “Thick swarms of black flies hummed and knocked against the windows of an idling car, while crows and vultures waited nearby—eyeballing the taut and bloated carcasses roasting in the October heat”?What if the leaders of the Democratic party had used Covid as a blueprint to make a national platform based on care?

What if all the ways Covid had made clear how farmers, industrial butchers, kitchen staff and other food workers are the most at risk people amongst us to viral infection led to meaningful, permanent protections, such that they were much less likely to contract not just SARS-CoV-2 but H1N1, H5N1, influenza, or any other existing or novel pathogens?

What if all the all the ways Covid exposed how unsafe industrial food production is (for the workers who make it and the people who eat it alike) had triggered safety reforms, instead of having these warnings ignored and leading towards record numbers of safety recalls for e-coli, Salmonella, and Listeria?

What if an airborne pandemic had led to indoor air being as filtered, treated and regulated as drinking water?

What if everyone with a child was still getting a $300 check from the US treasury, so that having a child was not a gambling-style risk, but a responsibility shared with all of society?

What if the paused-for-years student debts were forgiven, so that young people could actually begin their lives?

What if Biden built on Americans’ experience of just showing up somewhere to get the medical care they needed to create a universal healthcare system?

(What if Kamala Harris built upon Americans’ taste of not getting charged at the point of such service—and campaigned on Medicare for All?)

What if once the link between Covid and homelessness was established, the Democrats had pushed infectious disease as just one reason for an end to evictions and a robust, public-health-backed campaign to end homelessness and stop the United States from having more people living on the streets than any other country?

What if after the link between Covid and incarceration was established, the Democrats had pursued decarceration as a public health measure and—instead of throwing weed and cryptocurrency at us—had made reducing incarceration a centerpiece of the Harris campaign to earn the votes of Black men?

(What if after 100,000 Californians died of Covid and the links between Covid, homelessness and incarceration were clear, residents of the Golden State chose to allow rent control and to abolish legal slavery in prisons—instead of voting to ban rent control and to continue prison slavery?)

What if the leaders of the Democratic party had used Covid as a blueprint to make a national platform based on care?

Would we be in the lethal position we are now—with a genocide raging abroad, Covid deaths in the hundreds every week at home, a poisoned food supply, $17 trillion in household debt, oligarch goons ready to dismantle government regulations, and a sociopath heading back into the White House—if Covid had been the floor?

[carminejade]

I Want to Hold Your Hand

When you moved into your new Hab, you hadn't expected things to be anything but normal. You minded your own business, you were polite to the florets and their towering plant based owners, and you maintained a robust lifestyle to avoid the risk of Wellness Checks. Life was good!

“Nyaaah! Moooore more please more!”

Maybe not when your neighbors were screaming like that. You had nothing against the affini and her floret, but she also encouraged her floret to be super loud whenever they got like this. You weren't sure what they got up to, it wasn't your business, but to your knowledge you were the only one bugged by it. Normally, you'd just tune it out with loud music or go for a walk, but it wasn't exactly the best day for it. It was a delightful rainy day, perfect for compiling a coffee and a good book, and reading by the window. You didn't want loud music, and certainly didn't want to walk in the rain. 

“Aaahn! Y- Yessssshhhh! Fuuuuuuck!”

Taking a breath, you decided enough was enough. You would be polite but firm! Setting your new book aside, you made your way to the door in your slippers and cozy clothes. The hallway connecting all of the hab units looked like something out of the kind of hotels that cost several million to stay at for a single night. The carpet was so soft and whispery under your slippers as you went to the hab right beside yours. The door was the right size for an affini, so you tapped the doorbell and waited politely. The pleasured wailing of the floret immediately stopped, and you couldn't help but feel just a little worried about why it was so quiet. The door slid open abruptly, startling you out of your thoughts.

The floret, a girlish little thing swayed with a dopey smile. Faer body was covered in different colored dusts and liquids. The floret’s eyes briefly focused on you. “Oh heeeyyyyyaaaah~” A trio of vines were working behind faer, rubbing patterns into faer back with serpentlike motions. “H- Heeeeiiii Hiiiii ne- neighborrr~” Fae was drooling, both from faer mouth and the tiny pink cage poking out of faer bikini. 

You greet the self-identified toy, and start to mention the noise levels. “Oh yeah! Hehe yeeeah~ Mistress just loves making me make all sorts of funny sounds~” You can’t help but let out a sigh of exhaustion as the floret starts to moan again from the vines. 

“We’re so sorry about disturbing you, petal.” The affini is in the door now, towering behind her floret as her vines do… something to faer from behind. “I simply adore playing with my toy, and letting everyone hear fae as I play faer like an instrument is one of my greatest joys. Dear little thing? Please apologize to them for not thinking of their noise preferences.” 

You try to dissuade her, telling her you just wanted to lower the noise level a bit to enjoy your rainy day. Her floret has none of it as fae grabs onto your hand. “I… I’m uh… I’m shuper shorie neighbor… w- wun… wunt happ again…” You freeze, the sensation being… new.

The skin was smooth, contouring against your palm like gel. Faer thumb gently traced the arching profile of yours, adjusting the grip ever so gently. There was an almost kneading sensation as fae flexed faer palm ever so imperceptibly. The handshake dissolved rapidly as fae gave you another dreamy smile, gently running faer fingers onto your palm without separating your hands. Electric currents ran through your palm, every nerve ending lighting up at the delicate feathery touch across your hand. Time felt… stiff as fae maintained contact while slowly maneuvered so your hands were now pressed palm to palm. You couldn’t look away from those half-lidded eyes as fae slid faer hand down. 

A wave of sensation ran down your arm as fae undoubtedly smeared whatever fae were covered in along your hand. And yet… you couldn’t care. Fae ran those velvety fingertips down your palm, shivers permeating and stopping almost sinfully early halfway down your palm. Those fingers slid and you felt faer drag perfectly manicured nails up your palm at an agonizingly slow pace. The ball of faer hand brushed yours ever so gently, the barest bump of an impact against yours. Your fingertips dragged down faer smooth, flawless fingers. Those delicate, soft porcelain digits slowly curved downwards as they passed above your fingertips. The delicate pads pressed down on your nails to pin your hand in place.

“You’re… sorta cute…” Fae giggled at you, faer hand sliding down to lock fingers with you. Their skin was so smooth and gentle on yours, tingling waves of pleasure firing through your synapses as fae traced little spirals between your knuckles. That delicate thumb rubbed small circles on the bridge between your thumb and index while keeping your gaze on faer. A small tug on your wrist, and vines were gently tipping your chin upwards. Smaller vines slowly ensnared your wrist and rubbed more electric tingles into your arms. Flowers traced the barely there veins on your arm as the affini gently led you in.

“Come on in, petal. You can see if we’re being quiet enough for you, alright?” You nod gently as the door closes behind you, the floret never easing faer grip on your hand. That beautiful, perfectly sculpted hand.

[sinfiction]

Hey There, Roomie

Mark Grayson/Reader | Interactive Fic

Warnings: None, NSFW

Mark Grayson was the best roommate a broke college student living off-campus could ask for. He seemed… sweet, if a little guarded—the kind of guy you could trust to share a living space with. You never would have expected that he was a literal superhero... if he hadn't accidentally flown in through your window one night while your were stark naked in the middle of a little... self love. You definitely never expected him to stay.

When you decided to rent an off-campus apartment for college, you really weren’t trying to have a guy roommate, but when Mark Grayson answered your ad, you decided to give it a go.

He seemed… sweet, if a little guarded—the kind of guy you could trust to share a living space with.

And it turned out to be a pretty good decision on your part. Mark’s not the perfect roommate—he’s been known to leave a mess here and there, and you find yourself doing the dishes he leaves around more often than not, but in the grand scheme of things you could definitely do a lot worse in the roommate department.

Over the months that you’ve been renting together, you and Mark have become pretty good friends. When neither of you are buried in homework—and sometimes, even when you are—you have a blast kicking his ass at Mortal Kombat, or lying on the living room floor with him, watching some shitty B list horror movies over pizza and ice cream…

Because you’re both broke college students and you’ve yet to buy a couch.

But there’s still a lot you don’t know about Mark.

For example, where he disappears to after that weird pager sounds off… It’s not really your business—like, at all—but if you didn’t know any better you’d assume he has some weird government black ops job.

Hell, he’s come home beat to hell more than once. A lot more than once, to the point where you’ve started keeping a pretty robust first aid kit in the bathroom to patch him up when he drags himself through the door looking like he’s halfway to death’s doorstep. 

You’ve asked him a grand total of once, but… he made it very clear that it’s not something he can tell you about. Anything about. The look in his eyes was impossible to argue with, so you finished up his stitches and minded your own business.

Besides, it’s not like Mark stays hurt for long. You swear he must have some kind of mutant gene with how quick he bounces back.

Maybe he’s a superhero…

Ha. No. There’s no way you’d have a superhero for a roommate… they have like, headquarters, you’re pretty sure.

All in all, he’s a pretty great roomie, and you’d never do anything to jeopardize that.

Which is why, under no circumstances, do you… give yourself a little self care while he’s home. You’re not exactly known for cumming quietly, and you’re pretty sure you’d die if he heard you.

Partly because… you have an insane crush on him. A real crush, worse than when you were in high school awkwardly fumbling around romance for the first time.

Which you feel absolutely horrible about. 

The entire reason you wanted to avoid having a male roommate is because you were afraid of them catching feelings and making things weird, but here you are, pining over Mark Grayson like some teenager doodling hearts in her notebook.

But, Mark isn’t here right now, and you know he’s usually gone a while when he gets a message on that pager, so you finally have plenty of time to yourself to relieve the tension that’s been burning you up lately.

What you’re not aware of, however, is that while you’re going around your room lighting your scented candles and putting on some music to set the mood, a certain superhero is flying home, exhausted after stopping a whole ass plane crash.

So exhausted in fact, that when he finally makes it back to his apartment, he climbs in through the wrong window.

That’s how you find out that your roommate, Mark comic book nerd Grayson, is Invincible.

And that’s how he finds out what you look like naked, fingers between your legs in an intimate moment that was supposed to be private.

“Oh my god…” falls from his lips, and even though you can’t see his eyes through the lenses of his mask, you can feel them on you… 

Until he suddenly startles, entire body going rigid. “Oh my god. Shit, Shit. I’m in the wrong room. I am so fucking sorry. Shit.”

There’s no mistaking that voice. Even if you hadn’t been sure before he opened his mouth, there’s not a doubt in your mind that your roommate… actual superhero Mark Grayson… is standing in your candlelit room, trying—and failing—to not stare at your naked body while your best fuck me music is playing.

What are you going to do about it?

💛 💙 Continue the Story on Glimmer 💙 💛

[pinkslipxox]

could i please request billie x single mom reader to a baby and maybe they meet at a coffee shop when r can’t afford her coffee and billie pays

you got it, mami 💓

——————————————————————————

As you enter the cafe, the robust, rich aroma of dark roasted coffee beans fills the air, inviting you to come and indulge. Today you’ve decided to venture out of the four corners of your apartment, to feel a sense of normalcy since having your baby girl. It has been your favorite coffee shop even before having your daughter, and your mouth waters at the thought of enjoying a hot beverage and a buttery, flaky croissant.

You take your place in line, peering at the menu, gently moving the stroller forward and back as your baby continues to sleep. Behind the counter, the baristas are crafting drink after drink as they chat animatedly among themselves. Before you know it, it is your turn.

“Next!” the order taker, a stout red-haired woman calls, her tone dull and even. You smile at her, yet the woman barely returns it, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly but flattering immediately after.

“Hello,” you greet her warmly. “I‘ll have a hot vanilla cappuccino with oatmilk, please. And a croissant.”

The woman taps on the screen and then asks, without looking up, “For here or to go?”

“For here,” you reply.

“That’ll be eleven dollars.”

You reach into your purse and take out your wallet. As you take out a crumpled ten dollar bill, you slowly realize that it is all the money you have. You’re aware of the other patrons in line waiting as you try to find any more loose change in your purse, then your pockets, but to no avail. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry. I am a dollar short,” you admit, half-hoping that the woman will be kind enough to forgive the remaining cost.

The woman sighs, unconcerned. “If you can’t pay, you can’t get your food.” Then, without another word, she calls for the next customer in line, and you quickly get the message and move away.

Finding a small, secluded table by the window, you gently unbuckle your daughter from the stroller and hold her closely to your chest. Her soft breaths and tiny fists clenching your blouse gives you comfort, the reality of being a single mother settling on your shoulders more than it has during these past weeks. After a moment, you hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching.

And a warm voice that fills your ears.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You turn, and your breath catches in your throat. Standing there with an effortless, ethereal quality is a dark haired young woman, her ocean blue eyes shimmering with genuine concern. She wears an oversized hoodie and trousers, and looking every bit the embodiment of cool yet kind. Unable to find your voice, you nod, feeling a mix of confusion and awe.

“Do you need help? It looked like you were... you know, in line?” Her voice is soothing, and you find yourself smiling shyly.

“I just… realized I don’t have enough money,” you admit, casting a glance at the counter. You hadn’t expected to meet someone like her, let alone feel so at ease.

She tilts her head, a kind smile spreading across her face. “I got you. Coffee and a croissant? It’s on me.” Before you can object, Billie strides to the counter and places an order for you, her aura radiating warmth and generosity.

A few moments later, she returns with a steaming cup and a freshly baked croissant impeccably balanced on a napkin. “Here you go,” she says, setting them down in front of you. “No one should have to worry about coffee.”

You blink in disbelief, your heart swelling in gratitude. “Oh! M-ma’am, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The dark haired woman takes a seat across from you. “My name is Billie, by the way.”

“Im Y/N,” you say softly.

Just then, your baby girl lets out a soft gurgle, and you instinctively begin to soothe her. Billie’s expression softens. She leans in curiously to get a better look, a smile forming on her rosy pink lips.

“Is this your little one?” Billie asks, her tone softer like a gentle breeze.

You nod proudly. “This is my daughter, Laney.”

“Hi, Laney,” she coos, and you can’t help but laugh at how genuine she is. Billie reaches out tentatively, brushing her fingers lightly over your baby’s hand, and you feel a warmth radiating between you—not just from the kindness she’s shown, but something deeper.

The two of you dive into conversation easily, as if you’ve known each other for years. You chat about everything—her music, your little girl, and the unpredictability of life. Before long, you’re both exchanging numbers, the little moment of kindness blossoming into something warmer, deeper. Billie promises to check in and even suggests meeting again—perhaps for lunch, with little Laney. You can’t help but feel an unexpected thrill at the prospect.

As the afternoon sun bathes the café in a golden glow, Billie leans a little closer, her arm brushing against yours.

“You really are amazing, Y/N,” she says softly, and you feel a flutter in your chest, a sensation you haven’t felt in a long time. “I can’t wait to see you again soon.”

“You too, Billie,’ you whisper, feeling a new spark of hope ignite within you, buoyed by her warmth and affection. Little do you know, this encounter is only the beginning of a beautiful unfolding story between you, Billie, and your little girl.