#sex offender lawyer

[wksexcrimes]

Everything You Need To Know About Pornography Laws in California 

Learn about the laws in California that deal with pornography. Knowing the legal consequences of distributing or viewing pornographic material in the state is important to avoid legal trouble and understand what is allowed and what is not.

[coochiequeens]

A man who asexually abused his daughter began to identify as a woman behind bars and now he will be released after serving less than half his sentence. And he will be released not just with a woman’s name but of the name of a woman well known for defending women’s rights.

A woman who endured years of sexual abuse at the hands of her father has had her pleas to stop his early release from a UK prison denied. Ceri-Lee Galvin, 24, was sexually abused for nine years beginning from the age of eight by Clive Bundy. In 2016, Bundy was sentenced to 15 years in prison for his crimes, which included recording the assaults and sharing them online with other pedophiles.

Disturbingly, it was recently revealed that Bundy had begun identifying as transgender and had adopted the name Claire Fox while in prison. Bundy has now been approved for parole after serving seven years in prison – less than half of his original sentence, and a shorter time than the nine years of abuse Galvin suffered. Bundy will be released as a “woman.”

In March, Member of Parliament for Telford Lucy Allenmentioned Bundy’s case in the House of Commons while calling for convicted sex offenders to be barred from changing their names to evade the law. Allen used the details of Galvin’s ordeal while anonymizing her name as as “Joanna.” But the next month, Galvin revealed herself and issued a statement to the press condemning the decision to evaluate her father for parole under a new identity.

On May 4, Galvin submitted a statement to the parole board responsible for the decision in an attempt to appeal for reconsideration on the grounds that Bundy had not been rehabilitated and as such, the decision was “irrational and unreasonable.” 

She decided to contest her father’s release from prison despite herself having been denied legal counsel, which would have been beneficial in lodging her formal objection. 

Speaking with Reduxx, Galvin said: “I was told that one of the reasons I could contest his release was if the parole hearing was unlawful. But I don’t know if it was unlawful, because I wasn’t given any representation.”

On May 3, in a desperate effort to keep the public informed on what was happening, Galvin released a statement to social media imploring the parole board re-evaluate their decision to release her father.

“I am contesting the parole board decision to release this serious sexual offender because I am incredibly concerned that the true risk factors of releasing this offender have not been considered,” she wrote. Galvin pointed out that Bundy had declared his new “identity” in early 2022, following an altercation with another inmate in 2021. 

“The altercation was considered sufficiently serious, which immediately stopped the consideration of a release into an open prison. Shortly after this altercation, the offender decided to change his identity, including his full name, completely disguising his former identity. The parole board has not connected these two events,” Galvin asserted.

“Further, the parole board has not considered the risk the new identity creates… This new identity would enable the offender to disguise his criminal record from society, making it easier to reoffend,” she added.

She also emphasized that her father had not been sufficiently rehabilitated and therefore elevates the risk that he may reoffend upon release. Bundy, Galvin says, wasn’t required to attend any accredited sexual offender programs, nor has he.

“How could a man who admits to finding children sexually attractive, and who has absolutely no regard for what the consequences are of abusing children, not be eligible for offender behavior programs, and then be considered for release?” she said.

Galvin further explained that as a result of this, his predatory behavior had become normalized in his mind and he seemed to be without remorse or understanding of the impact his abuse had on his family.

In the parole board’s decision, it was said that the circumstances of Bundy’s offending had been taken into consideration, and the suggestion was made that because he had targeted a family member, he would not pose a threat to other children.

Galvin objected to this assessment: “The board appears to have formed the view that an offender with a long record of targeting his own child for his own sexual gratification will not target children outside of his own family. Upon sentencing, the defense lawyer told the judge that ‘he kept it within his family and therefore was not a risk to the community.’ This was a flippant, ill-considered statement and was dismissed as such by the trial judge.”

But, despite her effort, on May 5, Galvin announced that her father’s release had been granted. Galvin said that she had been warned by her Victim Liaison Officer (VLO) that her objection to her abuser’s release would not be considered.

“I submitted at quarter-past four in the afternoon. I received the response just after ten in the morning the next day. In my eyes, that’s not even two working hours that they had considered my statement. That took me so much courage and so much thought to write, and it felt like, ‘Well, we don’t have to look at it, so we’re not going to,'” she told Reduxx.

In a chilling twist, the new identity Bundy has chosen for himself – Claire Fox – is the name of a female politician known for calling attention to safeguarding risks posed by gender identity ideology. Galvin, who describes her father as “manipulative,” does not believe this is a coincidence. 

At the beginning of May, after The Daily Mail initially reported on Galvin’s situation and her father’s feminine name was published for the first time, Claire Regina Fox, Baroness Fox of Buckley wrote of how she was astounded to learn that “a convicted pedophile ripped off my name.”

Fox, who is a writer and lecturer, sits in the House of Lords for the Independent Party where she has used her position to oppose gender identity ideology. In an interview with Compact, Fox said she was “outraged” upon hearing that Bundy had taken her name.

“One commentator suggests that sex offenders, specifically pedophiles, select the names of well-known people so that an internet search will only turn up the famous person, and not them. Ceri-Lee suspects that it is no coincidence that he opted for a parliamentarian like me, who has argued that transgender activism endangers free speech and women’s rights. In other words, this is some sort of trolling,” Fox said.

However, Fox emphasized that Galvin was “the real victim” in the situation, and that identity theft can act as a cover for abuse. Due to legal restrictions surrounding names changes conducted on the basis of a gender identity, Galvin was only informed of her father’s new name because he had granted authorities permission to do so. Had he decided to withhold this, she may never have known that he had changed his identification.

Moreover, in an effort to protect her abuser, she was not permitted to know which prison he had been held in during his sentence, despite being a student paramedic who might potentially receive a call to a correctional facility.

Galvin told Reduxx that she is incredulous at the way her rights have been continuously neglected during the ordeal. 

“It’s rubbish, because he has served less years than I was abused for, and I am still suffering now. The abuse didn’t stop just because he was arrested. I’m constantly reliving the memories of what he put me through, and trying to build relationships on completely broken trust. It doesn’t end. I’m nearly 25 and still having nightmares.”

She believes that since she has announced his new name to the media, he may choose to alter his identity again – but this time, without informing her. To make matters worse, Bundy will now be granted access to female-only spaces where young girls may be present under vulnerable circumstances due to his gender change.

“I have accepted my fate. The only trouble with me is, I will not be quiet. I will shout. I will do everything that I can to fight for something that I believe in. This doesn’t have to be somebody else’s fate. I want this law changed that allows serious criminals and sex offenders are able to hide behind ‘gender identity.’ I want victims to have equal rights.”

According to recent figures from a Freedom of Information Request submitted by the BBC, over 700 sex offenders have gone “missing” since changing their names through the process of deed poll, which takes approximately 15 minutes to complete, in the period between 2019 – 2021. 

One lawmaker responsible for streamlining the system to ensure that trans-identifying individuals are not “outed” to the public is a man who himself identifies as a woman. Judge Victoria McCloud is Britain’s most senior public figure to have claimed a transgender identity and has been celebrated as a pioneer by LGBT campaigners.

By Genevieve Gluck

Genevieve is the Co-Founder of Reduxx, and the outlet's Chief Investigative Journalist with a focused interest in pornography, sexual predators, and fetish subcultures. She is the creator of the podcast Women's Voices, which features news commentary and interviews regarding women's rights.

[lawyerstevenkbloom]

Sexual Assault - Orange County's #1 Rated Criminal Lawyer

Our experienced sex crimes defense lawyer in Orange County offers expert legal representation for individuals facing serious allegations. With a deep understanding of the complexities of sex crime laws, we provide personalized strategies to protect your rights and reputation. Our commitment to thorough investigation and aggressive defense ensures that every case is handled with the utmost care and professionalism. Trust us to navigate the legal system on your behalf and work diligently towards the best possible outcome.

[jexnkookie]

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 10]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 2.6k

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @dream-cvtcher @jimincrystal @jksusawife @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @mukeovernetflix @rispwn @shellyyy177 @smoljimjim @taetaecatbo @user-190811 @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

It’s interesting, you thought, how there are weeks that feel as though they just bleed into one another. No clear distinction between each day that passes; just melting into  the motion of monotony. You visited Jimin three days a week, bringing food, sitting at the same table, and having relatively the same conversations. He stared at your naked ring finger, and you pretended not to notice. Neither of you wanted to address it, and neither of you particularly felt that you needed to. You both knew what was going on, but it pained Jimin to know he carried the burden of responsibility. When you left that evening, giving him a half-hearted kiss, he couldn’t stop his tears once he knew you were gone. 

“So,” Dr. Moore began their session the next morning. “I want to talk a bit about your fiancé.” 

“Ok.” Jimin nodded. Despite several sessions with Dr. Moore, and growing a bit more comfortable, there were still nerves present. 

“Can you start by telling me a little bit about her?” 

“Y/N…” Jimin paused, thinking of the right words to say. “Y/N is my everything. She’s undoubtedly the love of my life.” 

“What does your father think of Y/N?” 

“He likes her.” Jimin responded. “He thinks she’s a good person, and he likes her family. He thinks that I’m lucky to have a woman like her.” 

“A woman like her?” 

“Well, she’s very beautiful.” Jimin smiled, thinking of you. “Well educated and well traveled, as well. She’s very intelligent. She studied international business, French and English, and he was quite impressed with that.” 

“I see.” Dr. Moore nodded, scribbling a few notes onto her note pad. “She sounds lovely.” 

“She is.” Jimin agreed. “She’s the only one for me.” 

“Why?” 

“I…” Jimin paused, his brows furrowing in confusion. “I just told you about her, and you agreed that she sounds lovely.” 

“Yes, but what makes her the only one for you?” 

“I’m not sure I’m following.” Jimin said with a slight, confused laugh. 

“There are lots of lovely, well educated, beautiful women in the world. Why is this one, Y/N, the only one for you?” 

“Because.” Jimin said, beginning to feel a bit offended by her line of questioning. “I love her.” 

“What about her do you love?” 

“I don’t like these questions.” Jimin said, crossing his arms defensively. “I love everything about Y/N.” 

“Jimin, if I may ask one more question,” Dr. Moore said, taking off her glasses. “Are you holding on to your fiancé because you love her? Or do you love the idea of adding someone to your life that your father will approve of, and will keep you from being alone?” 

“I…” Jimin looked at her, with wide eyes. “What makes you ask that?” 

“When you described her, it felt as though you were reading a resumé of a new employee at your company.” Dr. Moore said, looking back to her notes as she slid her glasses back on. “Well educated, studied international business, speaks three languages… Are these qualifiers to fall in love, or are they qualifiers to fill a position?” 

“Do you think that I’m not in love with her?” 

“I think you may be afraid.” Dr. Moore said gently. “But only you can tell me that with any certainty.” 

With that, the timer beeps, indicating that their daily session was over. Jimin left the room, feeling more unsettled, vulnerable and with a heaviness in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. He was sure he loved you, never questioning what the feelings he had for you were. It was uncharted waters, to analyze his own emotional landscape critically, and he continued to muse over her words throughout the night. 

—————————————————————————————————

Wine always tasted sweeter after living through a few hard weeks. You sat on the living room floor with Jung Kook that night, and watched as he casually threw back drinks with a boyish grin. There was a playlist casually put on in the background, and Jung Kook made it a point to not bring up anything too heavy. Jimin, your seemingly fragile engagement, the court case. None of that existed within the walls of his apartment. In this room, you were just you, and he was just himself, and you were safe. So, unbelievably safe, that watching him pour another glass of wine didn’t make you nervous. You knew that here, nothing was out to get you. 

As your bare feet walked across the floor of the kitchen to put up the last freshly cleaned glass, the song changed on the shuffled playlist, and Jung Kook whipped his head quickly to the tv screen to see. 

“Y/N!” He called from the living room, getting up to his feet. “I love this song. C’mon, you gotta dance with me.” 

“Jung Kook, I’m a terrible dancer.” You laughed at his playful demeanor. 

“Me too, but come on.” He whined, extending his hand. “Don’t leave me hanging here.” 

“Fine.” You conceded with a giggle, making your way to him, before slipping your hand in his. 

Was the room spinning from the alcohol, the dizziness of how Jung Kook twirled you around, or the lightness you felt in your chest? You had no idea, and in that moment, you weren’t sure it mattered, because all of those things were true. They were real, happening in real time, playing off one another as you danced around the living room and into the kitchen, the drinks making you spill into different spaces. 

Jung Kook, with a large smile, picked you up with one final spin and placed you on the counter of the kitchen island. Your hair was tousled, you were wearing pajamas, and your cheeks were rosy from the laughter, movement and drinks. Jung Kook swore to himself that in that moment, captured like an image to be stored in his memory, you had never looked more beautiful. This, the happiness he felt just by being with you, and the happiness written on your face, was all he’s ever wanted. Before he could stop to think what he was doing, caught up in the moment he was in, he leaned in close you… then froze, with his lips not quite to yours. 

The spinning had stopped. The room seemed quiet and still, with everything disappearing to the background as you looked at him in surprise. The curve of his nose, the pink of his lips, the deep brown of his eyes. Cute. 

Maybe it was the red wine buzz, or the emotionally taxing weeks, or the way Jung Kook looked at your lips like there was nothing in this life that he had ever wanted more. But you smiled and felt like giving in. So you leaned in to meet him halfway for the first time, and connected your lips to his. 

Jung Kook closed his eyes and melted into your lips, finding a rhythm instantly, like it was natural. It was better than he had imagined, and he instinctively raised his hands to delicately hold your face as he deepened the kiss. He had, in that single instant, everything. He was so desperately crazy about you, and he hoped you could feel that from the way he hopelessly chased and tasted your lips. You rested your hands on his chest, not to create distance, but simply to touch him. 

Finally, when Jung Kook pulled away, you were both breathless. He never removed his hands from your jawline, but pressed his forehead to yours in an effort to be closer, and with a smile and a quiet voice, he admitted, “I’ve wanted to do that for so, so long.” 

“Then… I think maybe, you should do it again.” You responded with a shy smile, and felt Jung Kook come back to your lips, excited to kiss you again, but continuing to take his time and move his lips slowly. 

———————————————————————

The next morning, Jung Kook woke up on the couch, with your head on his chest and his arms around you. He was surprised and grateful that you hadn’t woken up yet, so he could hold you a little longer. He brushed hair away from your sleeping face, and watched the way your eyes fluttered just enough for him to notice. Jung Kook couldn’t erase the sleepy smile from his lips, even has he lowered his head to plant a kiss to the top of yours. He watched your chest rise and fall as you slept, and absentmindedly caressed your back. He wasn’t sure if he was awake, since every moment from last night forward felt like a dream. 

“Y/N?” He whispered, raising his thumb to softly touch your jawline. “Y/N, I have to go to work…” 

The sentence lingered. He wanted to end by calling you something else; baby? Honey? Sweetie? None seemed to work, because he wasn’t sure what was allowed. Everything seemed fragile, like it could disappear at every moment. So as you woke up, he savored holding you in his arms as long as he could. 

“Ok…” You mumbled as you slowly woke up. You raised your head to meet his gaze, and greeted him with a soft, “Hi.” 

“Hi.” He responded, his voice low. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Good.” You responded. “I guess we fell asleep on the couch together.” 

“We did.” Jung Kook smiled. “I…Um… Yeah.” 

“Yeah.” You smiled back. You knew what he meant, even with so little said. “Thank you, for everything. The food, the place to stay, the…yeah.” You trailed off. 

“…Yeah.” Jung Kook’s cheeks began to pink as he blushed. “I’d do everything, all of it, again. Any time.” 

“Me too.” You admitted, laying your head back down on his chest, and listening to his heart beat. 

Eventually, you both had to leave the couch, and Jung Kook shyly kissed the top of your head before he left for work, making you blush. He couldn’t help himself; now that he had a sample of what your love felt like, he needed more, and he wanted to shower you in attention. As he walked to work, he remembered all the years that he daydreamed what your lips tasted like, and what it would feel like to hold you as you fell asleep on his chest. He never dared to imagine that one day, he’d actually know. As people walked past him, he knew he probably looked crazy, smiling like a lovestruck idiot, but he couldn’t care less. Because he knew, in his apartment right now, you were there. The girl he had spent so many years adoring in secret. There were still so many unknowns, and he tried hard not to get too excited, but your taste lingered on his lips, making him forget all things logical. 

Jung Kook sat at his office desk, and tried to focus on his schedule for the day. It would only be a few hours before his new possible client that Namjoon had sent his way, would be over to meet with him. So Jung Kook did a quick review of the case, and jotted down some notes, losing himself in his work. 

“Um, Mr. Jeon?” A man asked, knocking on his door. “I hope I’m in the right place.” 

“Yes, hello!” Jung Kook got up to shake the man’s hand. “You must be Mr. Kim, who I spoke with on the phone the other day. It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“You too. You can call me Taehyung, if you’d like.” The man smiled a boxy smile. His chocolate eyes were hidden behind locks of hair. “I’m glad Namjoon was able to recommend your council for me.” 

“Please, have a seat.” Jung Kook said politely, motioning towards the seat at his office. “I was just looking over your case, and I’d like to talk a bit more about it.” 

The men sat and talked for a while, as Taehyung discussed the incident with Jung Kook, and Jung Kook in return wrote a few notes down. As they conversed, neither payed attention to anyone outside of Jung Kook’s private office, until another knock came to the door. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Namjoon greeted with Jimin by his side, before pausing when he saw Taehyung sitting there. “My apologies, I didn’t know you were with a client. I wanted to ask if you still had those case notes from our first meeting with Mr. Park.” 

“I believe they’re still in one of my binders, let me check.” 

Jimin, however, didn’t hear a word of what was said between the two lawyers as he stared at a man he never thought he’d see again. Kim Taehyung. A man he told your father he didn’t spend time with anymore, sitting in the chair looking back at him like a ghost from his past. Memories of wild nights, mistakes, bad decisions and regrets seemed to loom over him like a shadow. 

“Jimin!” Taehyung said, practically leaping from his seat with a grin. “Oh my God, how long has it been? Holy shit, how are you?” 

Jimin didn’t know what to say. How am I? He thought to himself. I’m in rehab and about to lose my fiancé. 

“I’ve been good.” Jimin answered. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” He admitted. “You remember Mr. Min, who always let us party together on his yacht? Some girl I was with one night here in the city trashed it, and now he’s trying to make me pay.” 

“Oh.” Jimin nodded, still too stunned to form a real conversation. 

“You two know each other?” Namjoon asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh yeah, Jimin and I used to have a lot of fun.” Taehyung explained with a grin. “We used to party every night, until I moved to Seoul and Jimin started dating that one girl. What’s her name again?” 

“Y/N.” Jimin responded, sounding sad at the mention of you. “Her name is Y/N.” 

Jung Kook slowed at Jimin’s answer, hearing your name come from his voice. He noted how upset Jimin sounded, and he couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he knew that just last night, the man in front of him kissed his fiancé and held her in his arms while she slept? 

“Yeah, Y/N.” Taehyung nodded. “I saw the pictures, she’s cute. Are you two still together?” 

The air suddenly felt heavy. Jimin never thought there would be a day when he wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “Yes” didn’t feel true, but neither did “no.” He was still yours, but were you still his? He didn’t know. Your ring has remained off your finger, but you let him kiss you when you see him, even if the enthusiasm you once had for his attention is clearly dwindling. Jimin’s lips were parted, and he was painfully aware that no words were coming out. 

“Mr. Kim, here are the notes.” Jung Kook said, breaking the tense silence in the room. Jimin looked over at Jung Kook, and the lawyer tried not to make too much eye contact, as though meeting his eyes would reveal everything from the night before. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon.” Namjoon said professionally, nodding a goodbye to Taehyung. “Please, continue your meeting. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” 

“Hey, Jimin,” Taehyung called out, right as Jimin was turning away. “My number is still the same. Since you’re in the city too, let’s go out sometime, yeah? Like we used to.” 

Jimin only nodded, and then continued to walk back to Namjoon’s office. As soon as Jimin was out of the room, Jung Kook felt like he could breathe again. 

[notaplaceofhonour]

One of the experiences that really highlighted to me how willing the left can be to turn a blind eye to and gaslight Jews about antisemitism was trying to talk about Michael Jackson’s antisemitism, such as in the song “They Don’t Care About Us”, which was released with the lyrics:

“Jew me, sue me, everybody do me / Kick me, kike me, don't you black or white me.”

I feel like that is shockingly straightforward with how antisemitic it is, both in its specific language (the K-slur & Jew-as-a-verb) and its conspiratorial bent in the context of the whole song. But when it came out and Jews were obviously appalled and spoke out about it, MJ made the standard “but have you considered that accusing me of bigotry offends me?” and “I was taken out of context!” statements that bigots make when they get called out on their bigotry.

As for MJ’s claim that he was taken out of context, here is some context: In 1993, MJ’s relationship with the press deteriorated when they began covering allegations of his child sex abuse. In the midst of this, tabloids ran a lot of scummy, sensationalized headlines—ruthlessly mocking his appearance and eccentricities and even running entirely false stories. This marked a drastic shift in MJ’s lyrics, which began to focus heavily on his victimhood (both real and perceived, often conflating both and tying them to broader social issues), with many of the songs on the next album HIStory (1995) being about this. “They Don’t Care About Us” is on this album. In 2003, there were revelations that Michael Jackson had grown close with members of Nation of Islam (a fringe and antisemitic hate group), and in 2005, Good Morning America aired a phone recording of Michael Jackson calling Jews “leeches”, claiming Jews had targeted him for his wealth, and saying “It’s a conspiracy. Jews do it on purpose”.

This is the context of Michael Jackson singing about being a stand-in for the victims of all kinds of real world oppression like racism and police brutality, and then saying he was being “Jewed” and “kiked”. It came out that he was molesting little kids, and rather than face the music, he tried to dodge responsibility by conflating those allegations with racism and the gross, sensationalist bullshit that tabloids were running on him; he wove all these things together in a narrative that he could use to wrap himself up in victimhood & conspiracy to position himself as not just a martyr, but the very archetype of martyrdom so that the world could, as he sang on the same album in his cover of John Lennon’s song, “Come together, over me.”

The lyrics were later changed to replace “Jew” & “kike” with abstract noise that drowned out the words or repetitions of “sue” & “strike”. But even so, this is still a song, not truly about inequality and injustice, but using inequality and injustice to shield a child molester from responsibility. And the fact that “Jew” can so easily be replaced with “sue”, not simply in sound but in meaning, without disrupting the narrative and tone of the song, belies the fact that Michael Jackson believed himself to be a victim of some sort of conspiracy between “(((The Media)))” and greedy Jewish lawyers.

And yet, trying to talk about this to this day, even with the benefit of hindsight, when it’s pretty well-accepted that MJ was in fact a child molester and knowing what he said about Jews after this song came out, it is next to impossible to get people to see the antisemitism in him tying together all oppression in the world as him being “Jewed” and “kiked” by (((The System)))—even when he literally says “Jew”, even when he says the K-slur, even when he refers to Jews as blood-suckers, even when he literally says Jews are conspiring against him. When people started using the song as part of the George Floyd protests, and I was like “hey, maybe that’s not a great idea” and gently tried to explain this context, I was ignored, told it didn’t matter because the song was about inequality, told Black people have every right to distrust Jews “because Jews are White” and stabbed Black people in the back by embracing Whiteness, etc. etc.

I think that is one of the times that really started to make it clear to me, “oh, yeah no, leftists can be staring straight at a K-slur in the mouth of a known sex offender and still say it’s fine”—something leftists generally would not do for any other vulnerable minority. It still astounds me.

[ukrfeminism]

2 minute read

JK Rowling is founding and personally funding a new service for women survivors of sexual violence. Launched days before Nicola Sturgeon’s controversial Gender Recognition Reform Bill is expected to pass through the Scottish parliament, the Edinburgh-based centre, Beira’s Place, will be female-only.

The author, who has written about the sexual and domestic abuse she suffered in her twenties, believes there is an “unmet need” for Scottish women who want “women-centred and women-delivered care at such a vulnerable time”. She hopes Beira’s Place, which will employ professional staff to provide free one-to-one and group counselling, “will enable more women to process and recover from their trauma”.

Rowling’s board of directors are all vocal opponents of the Gender Recognition Reform Bill, which will permit anyone to change the legal sex on their birth certificate by making a simple statutory declaration, a process known as self-identification. Feminists, including Reem Alsalem, UN special rapporteur on violence against women and girls, have raised grave concerns it will open up women’s services and private spaces to abuse by male predators.

Beira’s board comprises Rhona Hotchkiss, a former prison governor, who has opposed the Scottish government’s policy of moving trans-identified male sex offenders to women’s jails; Johann Lamont, a former leader of the Scottish Labour Party and a lawyer; Dr Margaret McCartney, an academic, broadcaster and Glasgow GP; and Susan Smith, director of For Women Scotland, a grassroots feminist group founded to fight the gender reform bill. Beira’s chief executive is Isabelle Kerr, a former manager of Glasgow Rape Crisis who received an MBE in 2020 for her work supporting British citizens who had been raped overseas.

The provision of single-sex services has been a key battleground of the gender reform bill. Already in Scotland, most domestic violence refuges and rape support services are “trans inclusive” and accept referrals from both sexes. In recent years councils have removed grants from women-only refuges in favour of generic organisations. Monklands Women’s Aid in North Lanarkshire, which was set up more than 40 years ago, had its council funding withdrawn in favour of a social justice charity which also helps men.

Most controversial is Edinburgh Rape Crisis Centre whose chief executive, Mridul Wadhwa, a trans woman, told the Guilty Feminist podcast that women sexual assault victims who request female-only care will be “challenged on your prejudices” and told to “reframe your trauma”.

Yet in her recent book Defending Women’s Spaces, veteran campaigner Karen Ingala Smith, the chief executive of Nia, a domestic abuse charity in London, describes how women traumatised by male violence fare better and feel safer in female therapeutic spaces.

Beira’s Place is legally permitted to exclude males under the exemptions of the 2010 Equality Act, which allows single-sex services if they are “a proportionate means to achieve a legitimate end”.

It is named after Beira, the Scottish goddess of winter. JK Rowling said: “Beira rules over the dark part of the year, handing over to her sister, Bride, when summer comes again. Beira represents female wisdom, power, and regeneration. Hers is a strength that endures during the difficult times, but her myth contains the promise that they will not last for ever.”

The service is not a charity, but privately funded by Rowling, a noted philanthropist. The amount she will donate to set up and run Beira’s Place has not been disclosed.

[wandussyfantasy]

Free Use (WandaNat)

Summary: After the events of Feeling Twenty-Two, Wanda invites you to stay with her and Natasha as long as you please. With the condition that they can have you whenever they want.

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

bottom fem reader, g!p Wanda, g!p Nat, oral, threesome, legal age gap, praising, degrading, creampie, and freeuse

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“I just don't understand why you won't tell us where you're moving to?” Kate gripes as she moves a box of your things into the moving truck. Wanda was happy to pay for it and even offered to hire movers but you didn't want to explain something you couldn't afford to your friends. After your trip to your home town, you returned to start a new semester at school. But you couldn't stop thinking about the women who made your twenty second birthday the most memorable birthday ever. They even took care of you the next morning and you never wanted to leave but you told them you had a flight a couple days from then that you couldn't miss. They understood and Wanda made you an offer that she allowed you to think about. She didn't want an immediate answer. She wanted you to think about it.

Which you did, every moment of every day. It was an unusual offer. But it was also a very beneficial one. It took her until the end of her summer break to feel confident in an answer. She had gone on several bad dates within that time and no one caught her eye enough to have a one night stand with. But she had plenty of nights by herself, masterbating to the memories of that night. 

“Kate, will you please drop it? I’ll come visit when I can. Besides, we have a few classes together. It's not the end of the world,” you say to comfort your friend. When you finally called Wanda and agreed, she invited you to her office. She is a lawyer, so she had a few legal documents of the arrangement drawn up. There is a discretion clause, meaning that you couldn't just parade around that you agreed to be a sex object for the couple. She said that you are allowed to have outside relationships and even have friends over at the house. But until you could figure out a way to explain your situation without explaining it, you didn't want your friends and family to know anything.

“Alright, I guess I can't say anything to make you stay,” Kate throws her hands up in defeat. “Just know, it's your fault if I end up in prison.”

You laugh at the thought of her blaming you for her actions. “How would that be my fault?”

Kate shrugs, “You keep me from doing stupid stuff. Now I can do all of the stupid stuff I want.”

You shake your head, “I’m sure your new girlfriend will supervise you.”

“Yelena will be in the cell with me, excuse you,” she pretends to be offended. 

The two of you share a laugh. You look around to see that everything you own is inside of the moving truck. “I’ll see you in class next week,” you pull your now former roommate into a tight hug. 

“I’m not going to see you for a whole week!” she is upset by the idea, but you couldn't promise any sooner. Not when it's your first week on the job. 

Live-in Nanny, is your official title. They don't have kids or even pets for that matter. But it looks good on paper for when you have to get a job after graduation and employers won't ask too many questions. “You’ll be fine without me for a week,” you say as you shut and lock the truck. 

You pull Kate into a quick hug before getting into the cab of the vehicle. You are anxious to get to Wanda and Natasha’s. Wanda had messaged you that they have a special welcome home celebration planned. You wanted to be there several hours ago. 

Arriving at the mansion again, your pussy gets wet at the first memories made here. The night of fucking and the morning of aftercare. Oh how excited you are to be back here. Once you park the vehicle, a moving team is ready to unpack the truck. You climb out and look at Wanda and Natasha with confusion written all over your face. “As excited as we are for you to move in, we aren’t going to waste time with that,” Natasha explains. 

“It’s not a waste of time,” Wanda corrects her wife. “We would have been happy to help you move in,” Wanda guides you into the house with an arm around you. “We just thought it was to preserve our energy for… other things.” You shift as you think about what the energy will be spent. 

“The little whore wants to ride our dicks while the movers work,” Natasha says to her wife in a low tone. Wanda shakes her head.

“Well, she will have to wait. I made a special dinner.” Wanda surprises you with a kiss on your neck. “But don't worry, babe, we'll have fun as soon as your stuff is moved in and the audience is gone,” she promises. 

“Of course, uh, what are we having?” Walking into the dining room, your question is answered without either having to say a word. Displayed among an extravagant dining table is a full spread of delicious looking food. “You really didn't have to,” you say to Wanda. 

“We know,” Natasha says as she pulls a chair out for herself. “But that's what makes Wanda so amazing,” she blows a kiss to her wife. She blushes and you love the way the couple interacts with each other. Wanda informed you that they've been together for close to eleven years but only married for four years. You asked her why they wanted to include you if they were happy with each other. Wanda told you that they have always wanted to have a more polyamorous relationship. But never could find someone that worked for both of them. Sure, there were people that were okay with being with a married person. But there weren't many that were okay with being with both Wanda and Natasha. You are the first. 

The meal is fun and easy. You were worried that although there is a great sexual chemistry, there might not be any other connection. But, those fears fade as the three of you engage in conversation for hours without an awkward silence. The food was amazing and you made sure to compliment Wanda. She flushed and asked you to stop raving, “You can thank me later,” she continued suggestively.

“I most definitely will,” you say as you imagine what you're going to do with her once you can. 

The three of you move to the living area to watch a movie. They insist that you sit in the middle and snuggle up to you shortly after the film starts. Halfway through the movie, the manager of the moving crew informs you all that they are finished. Wanda gets up to pay the man and his team. She leads him away and once the front door shuts, Natasha nudges you onto her lap. You comply out of curiosity and feel her erection at your entrance. She tries to pull down your yoga pants but finds it difficult to do so. Annoyed, Natasha rips the pants open so that your ass and pussy are exposed. She roughly massages your ass as you continue to watch the movie while getting increasingly aroused. 

Then, Natasha unzips her jeans and pulls herself out. She rubs her cock along your entrance, getting it covered in your juices. “Of course, you're ready for me,” she slips inside and you let out a low moan. Natasha bounces you on her cock. “Oh I hate this part of the movie,” she says. 

“Yeah, it's, it's, it's not my favorite,” you respond. When Wanda returns, she has a bowl of popcorn and she sits comfortably next to you and Natasha. You get turned on even more as they go about things as normal while Natasha is fucking you. When you had signed the contract and agreed to the FreeUse clause, you had no idea just how much you were going to enjoy it. 

Natasha cums inside of you and plops you back onto the sofa. She tucks her softening cock away and they pick the next movie. Wanda takes your hand and places it over her bulge. You hungrily release her penis from the tightening pants and put it in your mouth. You love the taste of her cock, especially her cum which you are working hard to earn. Already on your first day, you have cum dripping from your pussy and cum in your mouth. You are going to love it here.

A few weeks later, you are laying on your bed as you study for an exam when Wanda enters the room. Her cock is standing out of her pants and she climbs onto the bed, hovering over your body from behind. She enters you without warning and you gasp. “Hey Wanda,” you greet as she slowly humps into you. 

“Hey darling,” she kisses your neck. “What are you working on?” 

“I have an exam at the end of the week, just getting some studying out of the way,” you say. Wanda reaches around your body to play with your clitoris, causing you to clench around her thick cock. 

“That’s great, I love how studious you are.” Wanda praises. “You’re going to make a great business woman one day.”

“Thank you, baby. That means a lot coming from you. Oooh,” Wanda picks up her pace a little bit and you start to lose focus on your notes. She rubs your clit harder and harder until your body is spasming around her cock, milking her cum out of her. 

Wanda doesn't leave before eating out the mess from your pussy, giving you another organism. She kisses you and wishes you luck with your studying. You thank her and she is gone. 

A couple days later, you are making breakfast when Natasha walks in with her morning wood. “Wanda already left for work,” she says as she roughly enters you. She doesn't have a lot of time so she pounds into you until she is ready to cum. She pulls out and shoots her sperm on your back. “That looks good, have a plate ready for me when I come back down, please.” 

“Of course,” you say as you finish making the meal. 

One day, you arrive home after class to find Wanda and Natasha fucking on the kitchen table. You drop your things to join them. Gravitating to Wanda’s cock to suck on her as Natasha rams her cock into the woman's pussy. “Welcome home,” Wanda says through gasps. “How was your day?”

You pop her cock out of your mouth to answer. “It was good, I'm happy to be home though.” You take her cock back into your mouth and Wanda's head falls back at the over stimulation of her cock and pussy at the same time. When she is cumming, Natasha swiftly pulls out of her and pulls you off of Wanda by your hair and shoves her cock into your mouth. Wanda's cum continues to shoot out, making a mess on her stomach and table. Natasha fucks your face ruthlessly until she is releasing her orgasm in your mouth. 

“We’re so happy to have you back,” Natasha says through her grunts. She pulls out of your mouth breathlessly and looks at her dirty wife. “Clean her up,” she orders you as she walks away. 

Dutifully, you nod and start to lick up all of Wanda’s cum. “Thank you, baby,” she says as she lazily strokes your hair. You kiss her belly once it's only glistening with your saliva. She looks so beautiful and delicious splayed out naked on the table. You can't help kissing the rest of the way down to have your tongue in her sensitive pussy. “Ohhh,” Wanda says as you lick her just the way she likes. “I’m so happy you agreed to love us,” she says. 

“Not as happy as I am,” you reply sweetly. “Besides, it's easy loving the two of you.” 

Your words make Wanda emotional and she sits up on the table, requesting that you stand up. She pulls you into a deep kiss as she wraps her legs around your middle and her arms around your shoulders. “Please don't leave us.” 

“Never,” you promise, because you have no plans on ever doing so. 

“Nat and I have been wondering,” she starts a little nervously. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “Would you start sleeping in our bedroom, with us?”

You grin, feeling giddy as the relationship progresses, “Of course!” 

Wanda mirrors your expression. “I’m glad because,” she pulls your ear close to her lips, “I want to wake up with your tongue inside of me,” you get wet at the idea of how much more access the three of you will have to each other now. You never thought when you agreed to go home with her almost a year ago that this would be your life. But you are so grateful that it is.

[the-iceni-bitch]

She’s Many Places

Relationship: amazon!lawyer Natasha Romanov x petite!curvy fem reader (Big Red and Peach, NLLYL AU)

Word Count: ~1.4k

Summary: You love when Nat comes home.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (titty worship, petting, teasing, f/f sex, mentions of f receiving oral sex), good natured teasing about sugar mommy/baby relationship even though that’s not what they have, so much fluff, age gap relationship, an offended kitten, SMUT! 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Some sapphic fluff for pride (yes I know it’s not still Pride, but that’s a technicality) and oh my god I love these two. They’re so sweet together and playful and they give me the heart eyes 😍

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on my fics, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

Natasha hummed to herself as she shook the rain off her umbrella, grabbing the mail out of the box and taking one last look at the gray sky before walking into the brownstone.

“Baby?” She took off her coat and kicked off her pumps, unpinning her hair as she moved down the hall while Gus wound between her legs. “Peach, are you here?”

“I’m in the living room!” You beamed at her over the top of your book. “Is it still raining?”

“Yeah, it’s gloomy.” She scooped up the kitten and sank next to you on the couch, kissing your cheek before resting her head on your lap. “And work was long. How do you feel about ordering in?”

“I feel fantastic about it.” You ran your fingers through her hair while she pulled out her phone to order something. “I want pasta.”

“Pasta?” She kissed your fingers after you poked her nose affectionately. “We can do pasta. With garlic bread. Split a tiramisu?”

“Mmhm.”

These soft domestic moments were everything with Nat. It was like every moment the two of you spent together just being close made you fall in love with each other even more. Saturdays at the farmers market always left you smiling when she would buy you flowers and you would share fresh blueberry scones. Sunday mornings in bed together where you made her pancakes and the two of you ate in bed and did the crossword while the kitten napped in a sunbeam would set her heart fluttering. And every time it got rainy and gloomy outside when the two of you would just cuddle were perfect.

“Hey peach?” Nat beamed up at you when you peeked down at her, turning and wrapping her arms around you so she could nuzzle into your stomach. “I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, Nat.” You giggled when she kissed your tummy, trying not to squirm when she pinched your side and tickled you a little. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, wait a minute.” She scoffed when she pulled the blanket aside and saw what you were wearing, sitting up and pulling you into her lap while you squealed. “This is my sweatshirt!”

“It’s so comfy!” You laughed when she growled playfully and bit your neck, wiggling in her arms and gasping when she gave you a hickey. “Natasha!”

“What? It’s not like you have to go to the office.” She kissed the mark before pulling the collar of her sweatshirt aside to make another on your collarbone. “Bucky and his beefcake say hi, by the way.”

“My boys! I do miss them.” You tried to stay focused when she started kneading your ass but it wasn’t working. “I am enjoying my life as a sugar baby though.”

“Of course you are.” Nat purred when she edged her fingers under the edge of her sweatshirt and found you were only wearing panties. “Don’t even have to wear your own clothes, get to cuddle the kitten all day, and your pretty little pussy gets all the attention it deserves.”

“Wait, let me mark my page!” You screamed and laughed when she flung you down on the couch and climbed on top of you, your face heating up while the kitten ran off after screaming at the two of you for disturbing him. “Sorry Gus!”

“Gus will be fine.” Natasha grinned as she straddled your hips, her pencil skirt rising up her thighs until you could see the tops of her stockings while she tapped her finger against her plump bottom lip. God, she was hot, you still couldn’t believe she was in love with you sometimes. “Now, the food isn’t going to be here for twenty minutes, should I suck on your tits the whole time or just until your little pussy is all hot and wet then eat you out until you scream for me?”

“Well, I’m already wet.” You bit your lip and arched your back so the sweatshirt started to ride up your tummy, gasping when she reached between the two of you to rub your pussy through your panties. “Feel?”

“Yeah, I feel.” She started petting you while she leaned down to kiss your neck, tutting when you started to take off her sweatshirt. “That stays on. You wear my clothes, you get fucked in my clothes, new rule.”

“Okay.” You whined when she continued rubbing your cunt as she kissed her way down your chest. “You realize that’s not going to discourage me though?”

“It’s not supposed to, hush.” Nat winked at you before pushing her head under the sweatshirt and kissing the undersides of your breasts. “So soft.”

Natasha had never thought of herself as a tits man, but something about yours drove her fucking crazy. Maybe it was the way your pretty nipples would pebble as soon as her breath fanned over them, or when you shivered while she ran her nose along their soft curves. But she was pretty sure it was just because they were yours, and that you were so damn responsive when she paid any attention to them at all. So she started covering your chest with kisses, humming against your skin when you squirmed and whined for her.

Your eyes fluttered closed when she pulled as much of your breast into her mouth as she could and sucked softly, moaning as her tongue swirled around your nipple. She kneaded your other breast with her hand, smiling around your soft flesh when you arched your back to get even closer to her. When she felt you start to vibrate she bared her teeth, biting your nipple gently until you squealed.

“Natasha…” You laughed when she just grunted before kissing her way to your other breast. “One track mind.”

“Yep.” You could practically hear her smirking, but then she sucked on your nipple and pressed her fingers against your swollen clit through your panties and all you could do was whimper.

The rain kept pattering against the window as she worked you over like only she could, adding to the pleasant haze you were in while you gasped and sighed underneath her. She was so warm, so gentle with you. Her fingers kept stroking your pussy while she nibbled on your breast, rubbing your sensitive button until she heard your breath catch. All it took was a little pinch and you came with a squeak, your panties getting even more sticky as you gushed your release.

“Such a messy baby.” Nat ran her nose down your soft stomach slowly, her head slipping out from under her sweatshirt so she could grin at you. “You’re lucky I like it when all my furniture smells like you.”

“Oh my god, perv.” You giggled when she nipped at your hip before rubbing her nose over the gusset of your panties. “You’re such a dirty old lady.”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll spank you instead of licking your pussy.” She buried her face in your cunt and moaned even as she pinched your thigh in warning.

“Oh nooooooooo…” You yelped when she pulled back and swatted your pussy over your panties. “How terrible for me.”

“Oh… shut up.” Nat rolled her eyes before going back to work, taking the crotch of your panties between her teeth and growling mischievously when she started to drag them down your legs.

“Nat!” She didn’t stop when the doorbell rang, just grumbling as she kept dragging your underwear off like she was a riled up frat boy. “That’s the food!”

“But I’ve already got a warm, delicious meal right here.” Nat huffed when you poured at her, sitting up with your panties still in her mouth and giving you a show of sucking your juices out of them before she tossed them aside. “But I know you want your pasta.”

“Thank you.” You tugged the sweatshirt down to cover your hips and covered yourself with the blanket, clapping excitedly when you smelled the bolognese. “You’re the best sugar mommy ever.”

“You’re such a tease.” She pulled you into her lap after handing you your container, kissing your temple when you bit into your garlic bread. “I do love spoiling you, though, sweet little peach. So eat your pasta, and I’ll let you eat all the tiramisu while I have you for dessert.”

[wksexcrimes]

Common Myths And Misconceptions About California’s Sex Offender Registry

California's Sex Offender Registry is subject to several myths and misconceptions. These misconceptions include beliefs that all registered individuals are dangerous predators, that the registry provides comprehensive protection, and that it accurately reflects the risk posed by each individual. In reality, the registry encompasses a wide range of offenses, not all of which indicate a high risk of reoffending. Additionally, the registry does not guarantee complete safety, as it may not include all offenders and does not assess individual risk levels. Understanding these myths is crucial for promoting accurate information and informed discussions about the registry.

[the-cimmerians]

Well, here it comes, a filing at the Republican-controlled Sixth US Circuit Court of Appeals that could lead to the overturn of the rights to same-sex marriage, birth control, even the right to have same-sexy-sextimes in the privacy of one’s own home, courtesy of Apostolic Christian Kentucky court clerk Kim Davis and her designated-hate-group law firm, Liberty Counsel.

Yes, it’s THAT lady again, the one the hair who’s been pitching one long legal fit since 2015, starting when she refused to sign marriage certificates for gay couples after Obergefell v. Hodges made same-sex marriage the law of the land, moaning that it would violate her right to religious expression to have her Godly Christian signature on such sinful paperwork.

The couples sued her for being a flagrant asshole who denied them their rights, and a jury agreed with them. Davis appealed to the Supreme Court, back in the saner days of old (2020 and before), they didn’t want to hear it.

Nevertheless, Justice Clarence “RV” Thomas took the opportunity to write a whole unsolicited statement about how the victim here wasn’t nice couples in love trying to get married like they were legally allowed to do, but poor Kim Davis, because now everybody thinks she’s a bigot instead of decent, good, and honorable, and that makes her sad. How dare Obergefell have not considered the right of Christian moral scolds to butt into everybody’s private life and make scenes, the way God intended?

[ ]

So now Davis and Liberty Counsel have an in, using Thomas’s statement to take their legal spanking to the 6th Circuit as being UGH SO UNFAIR to Davis as an oppressed bigot-American. Also while the 6th Circuit is at it, Davis thinks they should “reconsider all of th[e] Court’s substantive due process precedents, including Griswold [v. Connecticut], Lawrence [v. Texas], and Obergefell”, maybe the 6th Circuit could have a talk with the manager?

[ ]

But guffaw, Liberty Counsel is never happy! Not for nothing the Southern Poverty Law Center designates them as a hate group! Their lawyers Mat (one ‘T’) Staver and Matt Barber have opined many times that gay sex is so ew yuck icky that we should all have an entire civil war about it. In 2019 Liberty Counsel was publicly mad that gay people were included in the federal Justice for Victims of Lynching Act, lest you think they aren’t deadly serious about wanting to kill people.

That’s a goal that also tops on Project 2025’s wish list, that plus labeling content with LGBTQ people in it as pornography, making “pornographers” register as sex offenders, and that sex offenders should get the death penalty. And like Davis, Project 2025 would also like to throw out the Comstock Act and have the FBI spend their time searching people’s mail for suspected “abortifacients.”

[peramess]

TW: Smut, Blood Sex, Swearing, Gore, Murder, Crazed Reader, DARK WRITING, Bit of Angst, Etc

Paring: Michael Myers X Female Reader.

A/N: Holy fuckkkk???? I posted???? Ohhhh my goddddd???? Anyway, i hope this it good for ya! :P

A harsh sound of sawing sounded throughout the small, dim room, the four concrete walls housed many cracks and patches of old, muddy colored blood, the ceiling was crumbling within itself, the old wood molding and in one of the corners, a wet substance dripped from a broken pipe sticking out of the ceiling, the ground was covered in new and old blood, and bits and pieces of human skin and bones. You hummed softly over the sound of your sawing, the music helping you concentrate on your task at hand.

Quite literally, you snickered to yourself as you waved the sawed off hand into blank, cloudiness eyes of the corpses face that laid bare before you on a metal table, before tossing the hand into a steel bin full of other decapitated limbs and blood.

As you threw the hand, your hand caught your gaze almost immediately.

Taking a moment to stare down at your hands, wet blood staining your skin all the way up to your shoulders to which was dryer and crackling over your skin but that didn't deter your fascination. It was art in your eyes, and you reveled in it. The smell, the dark color, the warmth of being submerged in it, even the taste. Everything about blood pulled you in, warmed your insides alit, creating this air of pleasure and destruction and power around you. Just looking at it, breathing in the coppery tang filled you with pleasure and joy.

Closing your eyes, you let out a silent, breathy groan as you placed the bloody hand saw onto the metal table, the toothed blade bathed in red substance as it glinted under the rustic, metal pendent lamp. You would've admired it, taken a photo of its beauty, had you kept your eyes open, but you didn't, you couldn't help but sink into the desire of being bathed in the wet blood on your hands. Bringing them up to your face, you began to rub one hand over your neck and the other over your features.

Oh, how badly you wanted to surrounded by it. To be immersed fully, to drown in it. It's... It was absolute Heaven.

"Fuck." You whispered breathlessly as a heat pooled down into your groin, you could feel your face pull into one of pleasure as you covered yourself with the blood from your hands, and a delightful hum thrummed your entire body.

Wetness bloomed within your panties, the fabric becoming coated with your desire, as your breasts tingled and your nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your messy top. You knew your fixation with blood was abnormal, strange, disgusting, disturbing to others, but you couldn't give a fuck of what others thought and saw you. Most of your victims claimed you a monster, and you decided that yes, you were and you loved it. Besides, they deserved it, to be gutted like the fools and pigsty they were. To be given such treasure, such beauty, within themselves and only for them to waste it and not fall under the depths of its magnificence befuddled you, offended you so deeply that you had to do something about it. They do not deserve this. They do not deserve to hold that pureness within their selfish body's.

At the age of sixteen, you were finally free of the constant, looming pressure of your peers and their ignorance when you made your first kill. You were free from your shackles and lived amongst the gods as you rubbed your face and neck in absolute beauty. But of course, it was short lived, after your second attempt to reach that holy place once again, you were interrupted by the bigots who swore to protect those lower to them, thus being hauled off to Smith's Grove Surgical Hospital. The wretch that was taken from you was your last unsuccessful kill, of course, you killed the cop who found you first, and the lawyer that was put on your case, and a few nurses at the hospital.

A smile crept onto your lips as you reminisce the screams of utter terror they gifted you so freely, they're fearful gaze watching on as you tear them open just to paint yourself with their hidden beauty.

"As I bathe in the blood of the unworthy, I step closer to divinity, and my place amongst the Gods is assured."

Those words, those words were spoken by you each time you bathed yourself in their essence, and even now you speak those holy words, the smile on your lips growing as your chest rumbled from laughter.

If only they knew this pure ascendance, to know where their true beauty lay just under layers of skin and fat. But, of course, they don't. The absolute idiots. Why? Why do they not see?

"Why was I placed in a world of vermin?" Your smile fades as you are pulled from your high, your words just a mumble, "They're so fucking blind, so fucking stupid to not see." Your features twist with disgust, your palms fisting with anger as you stared at the wall before you, "To live amongst these... these hypocrites who cry and fear they're own beauty within themselves yet pledge themselves to wars, to the destruction playing on their radios and TVs, wasting themselves away for the horror they read on newsletter's I would gladly bestow onto them for free. and yet I am the monster." You huff, your body bending forward and you place your hands onto the blooded table.

I will be that in they're eyes, and I will proudly wear that badge with a smile, as long as I can make them see, to witness their magnificence being fully appreciated and cherished instead of it being wasted by their stupidity.

Breathing in and out slowly, your agitated nerves dwindling into embers then ash as you watch a trail of blood drip down of the table and onto the floor with fascination.

"Tell me, Michael," You spoke softly, your gaze stuck the the magnificence before you, "Are you like the pests that roam with blind eyes? Or are you like me? A... monster? A monster that sees their own potential, their own worthiness and holiness?" Reluctant, you broke your gaze away and rose up to turn behind you, to look upon the man standing in the opening of your doorway. You knew Michael from your unwelcomed stay at the hospital. But you only met him when you were there after a year. You were seventeen then, and he, sixteen. It was obvious from the moment you two met, you two would be inseparable.

And, of course, someone knew that before either of you did. Dr. Loomis, your shared psychiatrist. But one thing he didn't see was just how you two would become fast friends.

Ms. Ursula - or, in your words - Mrs. Cuntface. She was a widowed nurse who pushed her rage and frustrations onto patients as long as the higher ups wasn't looking, an absolute bitch. She was assigned to sit in the room you and Michael were placed in, to watch how you interacted and to chart it down for Dr. Loomis as he was busy with another rowdy patient of his. You and Michael didn't say much at all, well, only you spoke - just a little - he spoke not a word towards you nor to the nurse. He only stared, his bright blue eyes hollow of emotion staring you down from behind his black mask. You could tell it was self made, from the cracks and wrinkles, you guessed it was made from paper mache, (you don't really know though since you never made anything out of the stuff), his hair is a dirty blond and unkempt as it hangs over his shoulders, and a throng of strands hid the mask some. But one thing you noticed out of everything else, was his wrists chained to the table, just like yours.

Was he like me? Does he fall witness to the desire of ascension just as I do?

"I like your mask." You spoke with a small tilt to your head and you noticed his head slowly following your movements. "Can you tell me your name?" The only sound that was made after your question was from the nurse huffing in annoyance. You ignored her and tilted your head in the opposite direction to see what he would do, and as you predicted, he mocked your movements at a gradual pace. You smiled at that and then introduced yourself, all the while moving your head side from side with him following along.

"Will you shut up!" The nursed would yell in pure annoyance as she sent you a firm glare. You only smiled in return, "Make me, worm." You had giggled as you gazed into her eyes, her features pulling into one of rage, and the redness flowing up into her face entranced you. But it was short lived as she stomped onto her feet and rushed to your side with a raised hand, slapping you across your face. But, you only laughed as your cheek began to burn.

Laughed as she then yanked your frizzy hair back, snapping your head up to hers. Her face was so red with pumping blood that it made your heart stutter, the rage in her eyes absolute and her sneering mouth forcing crinkles around her old, ugly face.

No. That will not do. You thought, your chest seizing from disgust that rolled over your excitement, it needs to go. That beauty shouldn't be hiding behind her disgusting, wrinkled skin. No. No. No. No. I will not have it.

Her voice was muted to you even though her lips moved in a rapid pace, her yells and cusses towards you all silent against your beating heart bombing into your ears as your stomach churned with determination to rib by her offensive wrinkles and spotted skin.

And even though her hold on your hair was tight, the rage and need didn't quiet, quite the apposite, in fact. It burned you, gutted you so deeply that her skin was still there. IT. NEEDS. TO. GO.

With a powerful surge, you rose, your lips parting quickly as your teeth sunk into the meat of her nose and upper lip. Her screams was lost to you as blood filled your mouth. Yes. Yesss. You could almost cry from sheer happiness as your tongue tasted the sweet, sweet blood gushing into your mouth. And you moaned in pleasure.

She tried to pull back but it wasn't easy, your teeth had deepened into her skin so much that even she knew if she continues, her skin would be ripped from her. But she wasn't thinking clearly, panic and fear forcing her frantic hands to push you away, and with a snap, her skin was torn from her as she fell against the table, her trembling hands holding her face as she screamed and sobbed.

Your sour mood was no more as the blood pooled from the large gash behind her hands, painting her body with the art you've allowed to be set free. You laughed, the joyous sound forcing your lips apart and the skin fell from your mouth and onto your lap.

So beautiful. So, so beautiful.

She was gasping for air, drowning in her own blood. You continued to laugh, chanting those sacred words over and over as you rocked back and forth in glee, the cuffs bounding your wrists clinking against the table from your movements.

You watch as she staggered to her feet, her wet hands pulling at the tables sides to help her pull herself up as she gasps and sobs for help, her upper half falling over the table as she heaves. And you watch as Michael, now standing, his hands still bound just as yours are, reach for her head. He struggled slightly as he pulls her to him by her hair as she thrashes and turns in his hold and you rushed to your feet and pushed your knees onto the table. Now with better access, you bent down and sank your teeth into her screaming face once again, tearing into her cheek and pulling back before diving back again and again until there was nothing left. All the while, Michael, had held her in place as she thrashed and pulled away from you both but he never let go, not until she ceased all movement.

You couldn't stop laughing, the art under you too pure and too joyous for you that just the thought of holding in your happiness was far too cruel.

"You did amazing!" You told him after your fit of laughter, but the smile was just as big and bloody as before, you stared at him, your chest heaving with excitement, "You helped me set her free!" You exclaimed with a laugh. "And-! And look! We both are wearing masks now!" You laugh and laugh as he only stared, and even though he stood there emotionless, his eyes told you a different story, he was proud, happy to find someone like him. "You're like me." You gasp with a laugh, "We're partners now! You and me!"

Is he? You think now as you stare at him, the dim lighting in the room showing very little of him as the upper half of his body was coveted in shadows. He helps, yes, but he doesn't express your joy, your fondness for the art you shed, you see that now. He... He doesn't see.

Your heart quaked heavily at that, your stomach rolling in fear. If- if he doesn't see... I can't... - I can't be with him. I won't be with him. He's... Just like them.

"Tell me you see, Michael!" You yelled, your body slumping against the table behind you, your hands bracing the side of the cool, metallic table. Your chest now panting with terror as your eyes weld in angered, pain-filled tears.

He stood, unmoving, his hands limp by his sides, his legs locked to that one spot and it angered you more by his lack of response. You knew he couldn't speak - or atleast, won't - you knew he was a statue until he wanted to move, but it just angered you. He knew how important this was to you, knew how highly you thought of your artwork, of you masterpieces, and yet, he just stands there!

"You don't see..." You gritted out with hatred. How dare he! How dare he steal your heart! Your love! Your help! Just to fucking throw it out once you realize who he actually was. "You don't see. You don't see!" You yelled now, spinning around to bang your hands against the table, reaching for anything in your rage-filled state to throw and smash onto the floor and walls, "You don't see! YOU DON'T SEE! YOU DON'T SEE!" Shaking the table until you push it over in your rage, the body and handsaw crashing onto the floor with a loud thud, you screamed the words over and over.

You paused, your body wracking with shudders of determination and hatred as you looked for your handsaw, and quickly found it by the barrel of blood and organs. Racing towards it, you snatched the tool from the floor and turned to face him, but he was already there, in front of you, just an inch or two away. You sneered up at his masked face with betrayal, "You worm! Do I mean nothing to you!?" You screamed, raising your hand that held the blade to aim at his chest and jumped on him, usually, his tall, secured build wouldn't move for anyone, but for you, he allowed himself to fall back onto the floor with you on top of him, and he watched with admiration and greedy lust at your rage, your furry. He enjoyed this side of you: all passionate rage, of blinding hatred that tinted over your face, and watching you bathe yourself in the blood of your enemies and those who get in the way, he enjoyed the death you brought forwards, the destruction painting you. But, no, he doesn't see your fondness for the blood you call godsend, he doesn't see why you seek it, need it, breath it. He doesn't care for it. Never did. He only killed those who get in the way, he doesn't relish in they're demise because he truly doesn't care.

But one thing he never understood was why he cared for you. Why he would bathe himself in the red substance just to see your eyes light up with that dark excitement, to tear into his clothes and force his mask up to bruise your lips against his. Just thinking about it made his cock harden and rise, and as you screamed, your body moving against him, you directing your powerful rage at him, burned him with lust. He doesn't care why your angry, but he does know that if he doesn't try to calm you, there will be consequences.

So, he pushed his mask up halfway up his face with one slowed hand, the other gripping around the front of your throat, choking you slightly as he forced your mouth down onto his, ceasing you of words. Before you could react, he already began to move to ripping your clothes off from your back, first your thin top, then second, your leggings, then third, your soaked panties.

Fuck. You thought, your anger subsiding slightly as the cool temperature of the room nipped at your bare skin now, your body shuddering as his strong, callused hands palm your ass as he tongued your mouth. His tongue was hot and wet against yours, and you groaned as you could taste a coppery tang along with him, his taste, his spit.

Your breasts rubbed against the fabric of his jumpsuit once you threw your shredded clothes away, your nipples becoming sensitive and your pussy blossoming with heat, your core empty, needing to be filled by his cock which you felt under your inner thigh.

With your rage sated for now, you pulled back and growled at his jumpsuit, and with quick, shaky fingers you found the zipper to his suit and pulled it down, reveling his hairy chest and navel and then his cock which sprung free.

"Fuck, baby." You groaned as you looked down at him, even without blood he was a masterpiece, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't look much better without it. His chest and cock was tainted red with heat and you palmed up his chest before scraping your nails down to his navel, his body rumbling with a silent, affirming growl as he, in turn, grope at your ass and thighs, pulling you to grind your wet, hot pussy against his hot, hard cock.

Moaning, you allowed him to move your hips for you, your clit gaining glorious friction on his cock as your juices coax the skin between you. Pressing your hands again his stomach, you grinded hard against him, moving your hips with his, his hands was tight with their hold on your skin, but you loved it, loved to be marked by him, to be bruised by his desire for you.

"Fuckkk." You gasp breathlessly, your head falling back and eyes closing in bliss. The pleasure was great, but it wasn't enough, you know this, as well as he does, but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy the thick, hard member rubbing against your pussy. It just wasn't enough to make you come, is all - well not without blood, of course. But that doesn't deter your lust for him, for his cock. So, without hesitation, you reached in between you both and gripped his hot cock in your hand and aimed his head at your entrance, and before you could even push your hips down, he did it for you.

His hands now grip your hips, pulling you down as he thrust upwards into your tight pussy. Gasping at the intrusion, your walls and core aching by the girth of him, your body burning with fire as your moans were pulled out of you as he forced you down and down again and again, his own hips moving up. Your nails scratched his stomach, his body quivering and shuddering as pleasure raked his body from head to toe, your pussy hot, and wet, and tight just for him. He watches your breasts bounce, you hair along with it as he uses your body for his needs, but he knew you love it, too, loved to be taken however he wanted you.

All of a sudden, he sat up, one of his hands moving to the back of your head to grip tightly at your hair, yanking your head back as he bites and mouths at your neck before pulling your gasping mouth against his in a heated kiss. Both of you ragged of breath, both chests heaving as he fucked you down onto his cock, your breasts rubbing just right against the jumpsuit, creating a strong shiver from within your body as you gasp into a rough, biting kiss that leaves you both panting and needing for more.

With a surprised gasp, you felt something wash over your body's as a loud bang sounded into the room. Opening your eyes, you saw Michael was now covered in blood and looked down to see your own body covered in the same substance. And just underneath your body's, an enormous amount of blood pooled around the both of you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You gasp loudly as you realised that Michael pulled the large barrel of blood on top of you both, coating you both from neck down in blood as limbs and organs splayed around you.

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." You moan with a breathless smile, your orgasm now high on it's peak. Fucking your hips down with renewed vigor, you claw at his shoulders as you move to suck his blooded neck into your mouth, filling your taste buds with its metallic taste.

He does see... He sees me.

@vomitgoth-snuff I hope everything was to your liking!

[anonymouscheeseball]

But do I really need a Red White and Royal Blue sequel, though? Like, what is this second movie going to give me that I haven't already seen, masterfully written at that, in the first 70 pages of the most kudo-ed fanfics on AO3?

I've read about Alex and Henry married, divorced, soulmates, having kids, forced into an unwanted marriage, meeting as children or meeting again as older men.

I've read about them as cooks, as bakers, as cheese-fucking-mongers, as lawyers, as nurses, as models, as rockstars, as actors.

I've read about them as vampires, pirates, spies, Middle East royalty, fucking space pilots and actual aliens.

I've seen them kidnapped, drugged, drunk off their asses, in tears, crying over a proposal, injured.

And let's not even gloss over this, I've read about them having sex in the steamiest, most consensual, most intimate, most beautiful ways.

I have loved every single one of these stories so goddamn much and so many of them are still with me, some of them are fucking canon to me because the writer just GOT these guys so well. So I promise I'm not being flippant when I ask, what is this sequel going to bring that AO3 fanfiction writers haven't already, hmm?

I want to have faith but man, some of these stories... <3

I'll try and tag some of my favourite authors here but I don't even have all their usernames, and some writers aren't repeat offenders and have only written the one story : @everwitch-magiks @kiwiana-writes @sparklepocalypse @clottedcreamfudge @rmd-writes @indomitable-love @three-drink-amy @athousandrooms @dustratcentral @cha-melodius @omgcmere The list goes on...

[jexnkookie]

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 12]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 2.4k

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @dream-cvtcher @jimincrystal @jksusawife @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @mukeovernetflix @rispwn @shellyyy177 @smoljimjim @taetaecatbo @user-190811 @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

Series Masterlist

“I think I’ll let you start our conversation today. Whatever you’d like to talk about. I want you to take the reigns.” 

Dr. Moore’s voice was calm and quiet, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in Jimin’s head, and in his heart. He sat in her office chair, like a scolded child, completely embarrassed of his actions. This was a new low, and it was a wake up call when Taehyung held on to him as he stumbled back to the treatment center in the cold rain. Finding the bottom of the bottle didn’t erase his memory of the look on your face. You were so afraid, fear written on every feature of your face, illuminated by the bar’s neon lights, and he did nothing to even attempt to comfort you. Even he was a mess, tripping over himself and slurring his words, you chose to run to Jung Kook and make sure he was ok instead. Jimin knew, in that moment, that he had lost you. He had used up all of your patience, and what he found was his true rock bottom. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” Jimin admitted. “I wanted to be sober for Y/N. But, I know she’s not mine anymore. I… I can’t talk about last night. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Dr. Moore asked, and Jimin nodded his head. 

“I’m afraid.” He said. “I’m scared to tell my father.” 

“Is that your biggest fear right now?” 

Jimin thinks for a moment, and he nods his head. 

“He’s going to be so angry with me, knowing that I lost her. He was very happy about our engagement… Losing her was my biggest fear, but I know there’s nothing I can do about that now.” 

“Why was losing Y/N your biggest fear?” 

“Because,” Jimin started, a bit offended. “She’s the love of my life.” 

“But now that she’s gone… Your fear is placed back on your father.” 

Jimin furrowed his brows and crossed his arms defensively, not understanding her thought process. 

“Please correct me if you think that I’m off base, but have you thought that maybe, you weren’t afraid of Y/N leaving because of the love you have for her, but because if she left, it would mean disappointment from your father?” 

Jimin’s lips parted to protest, but the words were caught in his mouth. He knew that the heart of what Dr. Moore was trying to point out was true. He loved you, undoubtedly, more than he’s ever loved anyone else. But the root of that fear, much like every other fear in his life, is his father’s disappointment. Parks get what they want. But Jimin didn’t get what he wanted, not this time. His father wouldn’t accept that. 

“During our conversations together, Jimin,” Dr. Moore began, leaning in to focus on him. “Something you bring up time and time again, is your fear of your father. It’s an insecurity of displeasing him. It’s what made you angry with your mother’s death, what clings you to Y/N, what began your drinking. You look for ways to escape, or to never be left alone with him. That fear is what we should conquer. Everything else is secondary, and can’t be fixed on their own, without tackling that fear.” 

It clicked. For the first time in Jimin’s life, the puzzle pieces were put into place. He was more terrified, and more heart broken, than he had ever felt in his life, but with it came a new kind of freedom. 

Jimin spoke with her for a few more moments, attempting to articulate those emotions, and Dr. Moore just smiled supportively. As he worked his emotions out verbally, he could begin to untangle the web of connections. He left her office feeling just a bit lighter. The pain of losing you was still burning, fresh and hot in the center of his chest, and the threat of tears was ever present. But being able to lay out exactly what he needed to unravel inside himself, gave him a new pathway to happiness that could be more lasting. He wanted what was best for you, and he knew very clearly now that it wasn’t going to be him. He still had a long, long way to go. 

——————————————————————————————————- 

Jung Kook walked into his apartment after a long day of work, and noticed a sticky note on the kitchen counter. Your handwriting spelled out, “Wanted to go out for a bit. I’ll be back soon! :)” 

He smiled to himself at the little smiley face at the end as he walked towards his bedroom, and changed out of his suit and into something more comfortable. He took the time alone to video call his mother, who he hadn’t been able to speak in length to. 

“Hi, Eomma.” Jung Kook greeted her. 

“Oh, I missed you.” She said with a sad chuckle. “How do you like it there?” 

“I do.” He replied, looking out the window onto the city. “But I do miss home, of course. It’s hard not to.” 

“Home misses you, too.” She said. “But you must be so busy with work, aren't you?” 

“Very much.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Eomma, do you remember… Do you remember Y/N?” 

“The girl you talked so much about?” Jung Kook could practically hear her smile over the phone. “Yes, I remember hearing about her.” 

“You won’t believe what’s happened.” He said, laying back onto his bed. 

As he continued to explain to her everything that’s happened, he was oblivious to your presence in the living room, right outside of his bedroom. You had come home from a solo shopping day, and you placed your bags on the coffee table in front of the sofa. You were excited to show Jung Kook your gift for him, as a thank you for all that he’s done for you. But as you walked towards his bedroom door, and heard him on the phone, you couldn’t help but stop when you overheard what he was saying. 

“She’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted, Eomma.” Jung Kook said. “You know that.” 

“I do.” She smiled sweetly. “I still remember how you came home from Seoul after breaking off your engagement, and you told me you just couldn’t go through with it. You were so upset for hurting her, but you did the right thing by being honest.” 

“I didn’t even think I’d ever see Y/N again.” He admitted. “I just… I couldn’t get married, knowing I had feelings for Y/N. I know those feelings are never going away.” 

You snuck away to your bedroom, with your breath caught in your lungs. You had already known that Jung Kook had left his engagement because of how he felt for you, but hearing him say that those feelings are something that he thinks will never leave, set an indescribable feeling in your chest. Maybe it was just butterflies, or maybe it was a newfound sense of hope, that there was a lasting calm to be found after weathering the storm. You turned your attention to the bouquet of flowers he had given you, somehow still vividly colorful and in bloom by your beside. Red and pinks painted onto the soft petals, somehow still not wilted. It was a reminder that if you take care of something seemingly delicate, it can be strong. 

“Y/N?” Jung Kook asked from the living room, breaking your thoughts. “You home?” 

Home. That word wasn’t lost on you. 

His voice was the same, but it sounded sweeter somehow. It lingered, taking it’s time and resting comfortably in the room. Your feet took over, throwing themselves onto the apartment’s hardwood floor, and rushing over to find him. He stood in the living room, same stars sparkling in his dark eyes that you’ve become so familiar with. You walked over to him, and took him by surprise when you wrapped your arms around him, and rested your head on his chest. His eyes widened, thinking that maybe something else bad had happened, but no tears came. Instead, you just held him, and he rested into your touch, putting his arms around you too. 

“Hi.” He smiled, before placing a kiss to your hair. “Missed you today.” 

“I’m really happy you’re here.” You said, looking up at him without letting go. "Thank you.” 

Jung Kook’s gaze became incredibly soft and gentle. He knew in that instant, that he had become a safe place for you to run to. So, he kept his arms around you, and somehow managed to pull you in closer, before connecting his lips to yours. Every movement was a promise; the smile he felt your lips turn into as he kissed them, the way his hands traced your curves, how your fingers found his hair to pull him in. They were all promises of a better, but undefined future. Jung Kook knew you wouldn’t leave him lonely anymore, and he knew you understood that he was yours. You just had to let him in. 

—————————————————————————————————

A few days passed, and during that time, you worked up the nerve to meet Jimin again. You knew that what you would receive when you met him, was closure. It was the inevitability that you were somehow hoping to avoid. 

Love doesn’t die all at once. It’s an unhurried death, with shallow breaths and the slowing of hearts. And like everything else, no two loves die in exactly the same way, because no two loves are ever the same. You didn’t want to know how your love with Jimin would end, but you knew that in order to start again, this was a step you had to take. 

When you walked in to meet Jimin, as you had done so many times before, you were taken aback. He sat alone, with an aura of peace in his presence that hadn’t been there for as long as you could remember. He looked at you, and he offered a gentle, knowing half-smile. He could feel love’s slow death too, and much like you, he was in the final stage of mourning. Acceptance. 

You sat down in the meeting room, sharing his company on a soft, blue sofa. The air was fragile, and both of you were aware of its unpreventable breaking. Jimin’s knee touched yours, as you sat close together on the edge of the cushions. He wondered silently if that was the last time he would ever touch you. 

“Do you remember,” Jimin spoke up, breaking the silence. “How my mother would watch you whenever you jumped off the diving board into your pool, and then try to convince me to do the same?” 

“Yeah.” You smiled at the memory. “Mrs. Park would always comment to my mother that I was fearless.” 

Jimin laughed with a tinge of sadness, his eyes beginning to water. 

“And there I was, shaking as I climbed the latter.” He said. “She watched me, and when I stood up there, looking back down at her, I was so scared. But Eomma would give me a nod, and a smile, and a thumbs up. It was enough to get me to jump, and once I hit the water… I realized, every time, that I never drown, or sunk to the bottom. I always managed to swim back up.” 

You watched Jimin as he spoke, but his eyes never met yours as he told his story. He looked down at the floor, as though he could visualize the pool below him. Jimin transformed in his mind to that scared kid once again, looking down at his mother, who stood right by the water and knew he could make it. 

“I think what she was teaching me, is that I don’t have to be afraid to jump.” Jimin said. “I think she knew that no matter what, I would always find a way to… swim back up again.” 

“I think so, too.” You smiled, and took his hand in yours. His eyes met yours, and your tears matched his. 

“I want to apologize to you, honey.” Jimin said. “For everything. I’m so sorry for hurting you. You never deserved any of it. I know I haven’t acted like it, but when I told you that you’re the love of my life, I meant it. But I also know that I can’t sit here, after everything, and ask you to stay with me.” 

His hand tightened its grip on yours, and tears that had been lining the waterlines of your eyes were now overflowing. Jimin had droplets of his own, and he smiled a sad smile. He knew you were exhausted, and he understood that to love you, in this moment, would be to let you go. 

“I’m going to miss you, angel.” Jimin said, his voice almost a whisper as he committed your features to memory. “I’m sorry. I hope you know that I’ll always love you, no matter what. And if you ever need anything… If you’re ever lonely… I’ll be there.” 

You nod, unable to speak. 

“I love you, too.” You said with a sad smile of your own. “No matter what.” 

Jimin leaned in, and stole one last kiss from your lips. He knew he’d never forget how your lips tasted, or how they felt on his. It was tattooed onto his memory, and had been since the first time he had ever kissed you that night on the beach. 

You never knew that a kiss could hurt until that moment. It felt like a burning in your chest, like your body was screamingatyou that this is what you need. But you knew it wasn’t. Your heart felt like it was being ripped away from you, leaving your body cold and empty. You were truly saying goodbye to your Jiminie, watching your future together crumble and disintegrate with a few words and a kiss. 

When he finally mustered up the power to let go, you reached into your bag, and took out the engagement ring he had given you in front of your families. Jimin watched as you placed it in his hand, and curled his fingers around it. The metal was cold, indicating just how long it had been since it was on your hand. 

Words failed the both of you. There was nothing else to say. So instead, you looked at his delicate features one last time, before slowly rising from the sofa, and exiting the room. Jimin, who wanted so badly to chase after you, couldn’t bring himself to move. So he sat alone, watching you walk away, as he held the ring meant for you in his hand. 

[mariacallous]

I’m afraid I shrieked when I read that Michael Cole – longterm publicist for the late former Harrods owner Mohamed Al Fayed – cannot come to the phone these days. If you covered a certain phase of British public life, you would know that Michael Cole could always come to the phone. Coming to the phone was what Michael Cole did, always to emit some hugely pompous shitblast in defence of his master, who is now the subject of multiple rape and sexual assault allegations. Alas, Michael is currently so shocked that no emission has been forthcoming. Instead, his wife was deployed to inform the press that Michael “is not giving any interviews or talking at the moment”. However, she did claim he found the women’s allegations “terribly distressing” and that “of course” he had been unaware of all of it.

From spokesman to sending out your spokeswife … I would say life comes at you fast, but of course it doesn’t. Fayed ran his entire race without his years of alleged sexual crimes catching up with him, and though he is not entombed in a pyramid on the roof of Harrods, as he wished, he certainly got away with it all. When he died, Cole rushed out to inform Radio 4’s Today programme that his former boss was “fascinating … larger than life … full of great humanity”. Yeah – not the third one.

According to the spokeswife, Cole is now in seclusion dealing with the incredible shock of the mounting allegations that Fayed was a prolific sex offender. Since the BBC documentary based on the testimony of 20 women aired, another 100 approaches have been made to the legal team who were already representing 37 women, and it is safe to assume there are many still too traumatised to make that call. I shall leave it to readers to decide whether Michael, a former journalist, has somehow forgotten about all the allegations of sexual impropriety made during Fayed’s lifetime that he personally batted away – or whether he is simply the worst publicist ever for having zero clue about any of his client’s alleged … what is the word? … “vulnerabilities”. Given that Tom Bower’s unauthorised biography, which detailed several allegations of sexual assault, came out while Cole was specifically charged with handling Fayed’s publicity, his lack of curiosity/memory seems sensationally remarkable.

But then, it isn’t remarkable – and it is unfair to single out Michael. The Times yesterday published a useful rundown of Fayed’s people, from the mouthpieces, lawyers and security henchmen to the doctors who performed “purity examinations” on young female PAs. When you see the vast scale of it all, “entourage” sounds too wan a word for this motley crew of enablers, enforcers and concealers, and for all the other motley crews that surrounded “larger than life” men, from Michael Jackson to Harvey Weinstein to Jimmy Savile. I prefer to think of such set-ups as the sex-case industrial complex.

Fayed’s isn’t even the only one in the current news cycle. Much has and will be written about the charges of sex trafficking, racketeering and transportation to engage in prostitution laid against the music mogul Diddy, real name Sean Combs. But for space constraints I want to focus on a 2016 surveillance video which surfaced back in May, in which a towel-clad Combs is shown throwing his former girlfriend Cassie Ventura to the floor in a hotel corridor, then repeatedly kicking her before dragging her motionless body back towards the room she has just escaped.

I wasn’t surprised that Cassie had long been telling the truth, despite Diddy’s serial denials. What took my breath away was what the location implied – the sheer number of people who must have been involved in justice not being served. What exactly is the process for covering up a filmed incident of serious assault by an international star in the corridor of a hotel owned by a major international chain? Let’s just say I imagine Diddy’s lot are quite familiar with it. But think of the hotel side. There are CCTV images – it is a whole department’s job to monitor CCTV. Were the management informed? Where were the police? Quite the mystery.

In Combs’s camp, you can only guess at how many of the sex-case industrial complex were called upon to do their special designated job to make it go away. Lawyers, NDA experts, crisis PRs – who knows the precise combination of moving parts, but they were presumably all working in perfect symphony to ensure that this ghastly footage never went anywhere until CNN published it in May, a staggering eight years after it occurred. Diddy’s powers were beginning to desert him – but even weeks before, a raid as he was about to board his private jet had resulted in the arrest of only one individual for possession of drugs. Not Diddy, you understand, but a former college basketball star player who was part of his entourage. “How did a college hooper become Diddy’s alleged drug mule?” ran a New York magazine headline.

The sex-case industrial complex is a place where everyone has their job, a whole interconnected corrupt society that regularly comes into contact with actual society – a boring place of rules and boundaries – but only in order to take what it wants and spin off back into the lawless ether again. Mohamed Al Fayed’s Harrods was also like this, according to multiple allegations. As far back as 1998, Henry Porter wrote in this newspaper of some investigative run-ins with Fayed’s people, stating that he had been “left with the eerie sense that we had been dealing with a foreign power: a fiefdom, which despite its real location in Knightsbridge, operated quite independently from the rest of Britain, with a security service of its own, an armed police force and a tyrant in command”. He was right, as all those shut down by the Diddy machine in recent years were too. We still live in a world of powerful men’s Neverlands.

[pedropascallme]

HIII ok i adored ur Jim fic i love him SOO BADDDD WAHHH !!!! i was wondering if i could request a Jim smut of some kind??? i’m a trans man so i would love an afab reader w gender neutral/masc pronouns but of course only whatever ur comfy w:) and if u don’t wanna do that anything else jim related pls i love him SOOOO BADDD!!!! okay sorry for the huge block of text ily and ur work is god tier bro.

The New Normal

Pairing: Jim x gn!afab!Reader

Summary: "You felt the sudden urge to kiss him, to grab him and pull him close to you, tell him to join you in the shower. "

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral (m & f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, praise kink, kinda almost soft!dom Jim? Reader is AFAB but no use of gendered pronouns, uhhh brief allusion to 9/11 blink and you'll miss it, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Max NEVER apologize for asking for Jim smut I am ALWAYS looking for a reason to write Jim smut. Also forgive the cross tagging but the only way I will ever reach other Cillian sluts is if I use the Thomas Shelby tag.

America was different than you’d expected it to be.

In the shows and movies, there wasn’t much diversity; either you were on a farm, or you were in the big city. The speech patterns were always overdramatized, too, and when you first reached the McGuire base in New Jersey, you were a bit disappointed when nobody shouted that “they were walkin’ he-ya!” Even more disappointed when you reached Brooklyn and were told that the accent was of a dying variety.

But in the grand scheme of things, it was so…normal. It was England before the outbreak, but with smaller busses and slower trains. You didn’t really know how to feel about it, about how the rest of the world carried on so unconcerned while the island you grew up in fell to pieces. In a way, relieved, but a small part of you felt almost offended that nobody was holding constant vigils.

What offended you more, though, was the realization that the process of being granted asylum was not something that happened quickly. While you were appreciative to Hannah’s distant cousins who had agreed to sponsor you while you awaited the business to be over—which could take years, you’d learned—you were nauseated that you still had to prove yourself in order to be allowed to stay. The lawyers, doctors, soldiers, and judges you’d met with explained that the process would go smoothly, that it was something that had to be done, not due to the nature of the thing you were escaping, but due to those who might abuse any leniency the country showed.

The world really hadn’t changed at all.

~~~

“Finished already?” You hummed at Jim when he walked through the door. Hannah’s family had taken you all shopping when you first arrived—a relief, really, to be able to change out of the fatigues the air force had given you—and Jim, despite his usual attire being casual, at best, looked so…handsome, now, with his skin not caked in blood, or dirt, or sweat. His hair was growing back in and he was wearing jeans that actually fit him. His shirt read “I<3NY” and even though you told him it looked ridiculous when he had first picked it up, you couldn’t deny that it hugged his arms in the right places.

“Not much to be done. You stitched me up so well.” He smiled at you, crossing the apartment to join you on the couch. “Doctor said he’d like to meet you.”

“I’ve met too many people this month.” You curled your legs up under you and stretched your arms over your head. “Never thought I’d say it, but I miss the apocalypse.” You leaned your head back.

Jim exhaled through his nose, amused, leaning himself back on the couch to face you. “No, you don’t.”

“I don’t,” You agreed, “It’s just…”

“Too much, too soon.”

“I guess.” You stared at each other for a while, not moving, not speaking. “I wish I could fast forward.” Jim tilted his head into the cushion he was leaning on, prompting you to continue. “I want to be used to it by now. Wanna be able to walk down the street and see a missing poster and still have hope.” You shuddered when you remembered the posters plastered on the train station walls, how familiar one disaster could feel when compared to another. “I want to feel normal. Everything here is so normal. Why am I not normal yet?” You didn’t have the energy to continue pouring over your emotions, perfectly fine with leaving it on that note.

“You’re not normal.” Jim leaned forward. “Neither am I. Neither is Hannah—s’got nothing to do with—” He waved around the two of you, implying the ordeal you’d lived through. You nodded in agreement. “And we’ll never be their kind of normal. Might just be ‘cause we’re English. Heard they had a war with us here, way back.” Jim deadpanned, and you smiled at him.

“I think I just need a shower.” You sighed, still looking at him. You felt the sudden urge to kiss him, to grab him and pull him close to you, tell him to join you in the shower. You felt your skin flush at the thought. You hadn’t been able to do much of anything but go to different meetings since you got here. One after another, it had made it difficult to find time for yourself, let alone time for you and Jim. Stolen kisses here and there, cuddles under the sheets of your bed, calling out “I love you” before the door closed behind you—there had been no time to enjoy each other.

Not to mention, you lived in a rented apartment with thin walls, and Hannah’s room was next to yours.

You hesitated to get up, and Jim sensed your delay. He brought a hand up to your hair, petting you.

“Hannah’s gone for the night. Sleepover.” You muttered, trying to be sly instead of asking for anything outright. Jim cocked a brow in jest.

“Just us, then?”

“Just us.” You confirmed. Tension formed between the two of you, and you swallowed.

“We can—can I join you in the shower?” His words were rushed, and he looked down when he spoke, only looking back up at you to gage your reaction once the question was complete. “You can say n—”

“Yes.” You felt breathless.

~~~

It was almost laughable, the two of you getting undressed together. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, a shared bedroom holds plenty of space for two people to dress and undress in front of each other, but the expectation made all the difference. Jim’s “I<3NY” shirt was now discarded on the floor, his jeans unbuttoned as he helped you out of your own outfit. Your mouth fell open slightly when he peeled your shirt off of you, the feeling of his hands leaving a warm trail over your sides and a wet feeling between your legs. You reached for the waistband of his jeans, looping your fingers over the denim and into the boxers he wore underneath and beginning to pull down. He laughed quietly as he watched you struggle to move them down his waist.

“Don’t have to do all the work.” He placed his hands over yours and helped you remove his clothes. In turn, he found the button of your jeans and quickly undid them, letting you pull down the tight material and exposing yourself to him. All that remained were your panties, and Jim let out a low whistle when he reached out to brush the lace with his knuckles. “Pretty baby.”

You pushed against his chest lightly. “Shower.” You reminded him, but at this point it didn’t really matter to you. You whined slightly when his hand fell lower over your sex, nearly cupping you.

“Got all night.” He pulled down the remaining fabric, leaving you completely naked for him. And that’s how you felt—naked. Almost scared, as if now that your underwear was off and you were stripped completely, he would reconsider and not want this anymore—not want you anymore. You realized how stupid that sounded when Jim stood up at eye-level, grinning at you. You looked at him sheepishly as you stepped out of the panties pooled at your feet and toward him. You reached out to trace what remained of the wound on his abdomen, letting your fingers kiss the spots you hoped to eventually place your mouth on.

Suddenly you were in his arms, swooped up bridal style as he walked you into the bathroom. You heard yourself laugh nervously, and you buried your face into his neck. Feeling bold, you licked a stripe up to his pulse point, and he shuddered.

“Don’t wanna drop you.” He protested your action, but he lifted his head slightly to allow you better access. You did it again, letting your tongue linger and drift to his earlobe, nipping at it, feeling more and more comfortable with each step Jim took. He sighed dreamily, then placed you down on your feet next to the tub. He turned the handle, pulling the curtain back and taking your hand to guide you under the water. You all but pulled him in after you, and though he stumbled at first, he found his footing right in front of you. You watched the way the water seemed the frame his face; droplets running down his cheekbones and off of his chin. You kissed him, letting the water fall over your face, tasting it when you opened your mouth to welcome his tongue. You sighed into his mouth, a perfect combination of his taste and that of the water settling on your taste buds, and it went straight to your core. He leaned away from you, wrapping an arm around your waist and examining how the water matched the curve of your breasts. He kissed your chest, sucking on the skin just enough to make faint spots appear. You combed your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes.

“Normally,” He licked over what would soon become a dark purple spot, “I use the shower to wash up—reflect, sometimes.” He kissed his way up your chest and neck before straightening himself out and kissing your nose. “This is a much better use of my time.” You rolled your eyes, putting gentle pressure on his neck to encourage him to lean down and kiss you. He pulled you tighter to him, and you could feel his erection against your thigh. He pushed against you, enjoying the bit of friction you provided him, and you heard him grunt quietly. His hands found purchase on your ass, squeezing the flesh gently and using the angle to draw you even closer.

“Y’know—oh!” You were cut off by an especially hard squeeze as Jim’s hands continued to roam over your ass, “I do need—I need to wash my hair…”

“Tomorrow.” Was all Jim said, reaching between your bodies to place his cock where your stomach met his crotch. You gasped at the heavy feeling of him against you, and your own hand made its way down to grab hold of him. Jim choked on his own breath, eyes fluttering shut when you began to move your wrist up and down his length. Out of curiosity, you looked down to watch your ministrations, wanting to fully enjoy the view that you had so desperately craved for so long. His cock was long, and you could see and feel the veins that ran up the extent of his shaft to the pink of his tip. You moaned quietly at the sight, hoping Jim didn’t think you pathetic for the pleasure you got out of stroking him. His mouth agape, he shut his eyes tight, trying not to think about how good your hand felt. You kneeled before him, and planted a kiss on his head, licking a stripe over him.

“O—h,” he was panting, “Fuck, baby.” You watched his chest rise and fall dramatically as you took his tip between your lips, swiping your tongue over and around it a few times before beginning to inch the rest of him inside of your mouth. You moved your head up and down, gagging slightly when you felt the pressure of holding him too deep for too long against the back of your throat. “Oh, fu—yeah, that’s it. Good, baby, so good.” You hummed in appreciation of his praise, the vibrations making him bite his lip and furrow his brow in concentration, desperately trying to ward off his high before he had gotten to explore you fully. You pulled your mouth off of his cock with a pop that softly echoed in the shower, and he watched as you planted more kisses along him.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. The vision in front of you made you feel dizzy; Jim breathing hard, cock bobbing against his stomach, wet from your spit and from the shower, hair falling over his ears, draped in a blanket of water. You rubbed your thighs together, now pruned hand resting on his knee for, what? Permission, maybe?

Jim helped you up from the floor, and you watched him turn the shower handle. In the brief moment before the water stopped completely, it turned freezing cold, and you felt goosebumps erupt over you. You brought yourself closer to Jim, both in an attempt to find warmth and in a silent plea that he continue what had begun in the shower.

Dripping wet—in more ways than one—you found yourself back in your bedroom. Lying on your back, Jim looked over you, then began kissing over the marks he had made on you in the shower. You whimpered, a hand finding his hair and lacing your fingers through his short locks. You pulled slightly when his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, and he groaned in pleasure at the sensation. His hand slowly traced down your stomach, fingers delicately finding their way to your clit before pressing on it lightly.

“Jim—!” Your exclamation motivated him to continue. He sat up a bit, kneading your bud with one hand and holding your cheek in another, holding eye contact as he slid one finger into your soaking wet center. You threw your head back, only then realizing that you hadn’t even had the time to pleasure yourself in God only knows how long. He curled his finger upwards, and your back arched into him. He smirked, clearly proud of what he was doing to you. He shuffled backwards on the bed, still pumping a finger in and out of you while he positioned himself between your legs. You felt the mattress shift under his weight when he straightened himself out onto his stomach, propped up with one elbow.

“So pretty.” You felt his breath fanning over your cunt, and you squirmed. Jim leaned into you, kissing your inner thighs while you wiggled your hips in an attempt to get his attention where you needed it the most. When he finally licked a lazy stripe over your clit, you let out an absentminded sigh, pushing yourself up to him in encouragement. He removed his finger from you, and you whined at the sudden empty feeling, though he immediately made up for the absence of his fingers with his tongue. He continued to lap at you, letting your slick coat his chin, nose brushing your clit. He sucked lightly on your bud, and your hands found his hair again, not sure if you wanted to push him in further, let him taste you until you screamed, or push him away, as your thighs began to tremble. He slid two fingers back into you and twisted them back and forth while his tongue darted over your clit. You squeezed his fingers, moans spilling from your mouth.

“C’mon baby, so good,” he removed his mouth from your core to coo at you, “wanna see you cum for me.” It was whispered into your skin, and you felt his words echo through your body. His lips found their place over your clit once more, and he sucked harder, fingers pumping in and out of you faster.

“Oh, ye—yes, like that, like that, please!” You couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop begging if you tried. Had falling over the edge always felt this good? You didn’t stop to ponder it, busy feeling your body fall victim to the pleasure Jim was gifting you. You moaned, trying to grab at the man who had buried himself between your legs, but he was fully content to stay where he was until he knew you’d ridden out your orgasm. You cried out his name, back arching, body granting him even more access to your pussy, and when you felt him moan at the taste of you, you came hard for him. He placed soft kisses over your cunt, and you couldn’t help the moan you let out when he began pulling his fingers out of you.

You were still panting when he kissed you. Your arms came to rest around his neck, breathing heavily through your nose as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. “Taste so good,” Jim was also clearly short of breath, “you taste that, baby?” His lips found yours again, and he let you suck gently on his tongue, let you taste yourself on him. You shivered; it felt so dirty, Jim still damp with your wet, encouraging you to enjoy the taste your cum had left on him, dipping his tongue deep into your eager mouth and speaking to you like you belonged to him.

You did belong to him, and the thought made your eyes roll back into your head.  

He pulled you into his arms, flipping over so that you were lying on top of him. You found the strength to push yourself up, hands planted on his chest, to straddle him. The feeling of his cock between your legs, still hard, and all for you, made you feel frantic, and you began to roll your hips over him, feeling him tense under you.

“That’s right,” he watched you with hooded eyes, “so eager.”

“Want you to fuck me.” You felt the tip of his cock push between your folds after one especially long roll of your hips, and you didn’t care if you looked pathetic anymore. You’d waited long enough; been so good, so ignorant of the forbidden fruit. One taste, and now you were helpless—completely at his mercy.

“God, say it again.”

“I want you to fuck me, Jim. Please.” You licked your lips before slipping the bottom one between your teeth. His eyes flitted over you, taking in the way you were begging, the way you sat bare, eagerly waiting for his cock. How had he let so much time pass before giving you what you both needed? He lifted you by the waist, encouraging you to stay kneeling above him slightly as he reached another hand down to line himself up with you. The split second before you lowered yourself down onto him felt like forever, but he watched, in awe of you, as you lowered yourself down onto him. You moaned for him when you felt his tip breach your hole, reaching for his chest and grasping at nothing while you continued to take him, inch by inch. You heard him groan out your name, breath going uneven when he finally bottomed out. You stayed like that for a moment, both of you in a trance-like state: You breathed in sync, gazing at each other, smiling like morons.

“I love you.” Jim whispered, placing a hand on your hip and squeezing. You leaned forward, steadying yourself on his shoulders.

“I love you.” You kissed him again, gentler, slower than the previous times. You did have all night—you had a lifetime of all nights with each other.

You began rocking back and forth slowly, allowing yourself time to adjust to the size of him, the feeling of being so full. You felt the tip of his cock brush against your g-spot almost immediately, making you gasp as you chased the feeling of his head nudging you closer to another high.

“God—fuck, you feel so good.” Jim praised, reaching the hand that wasn’t on your hip up to squeeze at your breasts. He licked his finger before bringing it back up, pinching your nipple and rolling over it with his thumb and forefinger. You moaned, back arching, and you started to bounce up and down on him. Your nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to care, too busy bucking up into your cunt, drunk off the feeling of your juices dripping down his length and over his balls.

He moved both his hands over your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your curves, guiding your movements while you rode him.

“Cum for me again, baby. So good for me, one more time.” He started fucking up into you harder, the sweet noises you made spurring him on. “You can do it, yeah? So good—fuck—so good for me.” Now he was practically begging, slamming you down onto his cock while he pushed you towards another orgasm.

“I—oh, fuck, me, yes! Like that, Jim—yes!” You fell forward, curling yourself up on his chest and bringing your knees up slightly higher next to his ribs to allow him more ease, lifting you up and down. You mumbled incoherently into his neck, licking and kissing and nipping at him while he continued with deep, hard thrusts. You sucked a mark on his neck, and he groaned out your name, one hand coming down over your clit to coax a second orgasm from you.

“Fucking—oh, cum for me, baby. Cum on me like this.” And maybe it was the way you felt his fingers pushing bruises into your skin, or the way he breathlessly demanded you commit such a filthy act, or the way he seemed to be getting just as much enjoyment out of your pleasure as you were; but when you felt his cock pushed forcefully against your g-spot in time with the way he played with you clit, you couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from your lungs, or the way you chanted his name through sobs of pleasure. You clenched around him, squirming and sensitive and so full of his cock. You saw stars, saw how every second of your life had led to this moment, and when the shockwave of pleasure coursed through your body, all you could do was thank the man who had made you feel so good.

“Fu—ck, oh my god,” Jim groaned through clenched teeth, trying to delay his own orgasm so he could enjoy the way you squeezed him for as long as he could. He practically threw you down onto his cock, forcing himself as deep as you’d let him go, and at that moment, the only word that mattered to him was your name. “Where—where can I cum? Tell me, baby, where?” He was gasping, so close to the edge.

“Inside. Please, Jim, want it inside.” You knew it was reckless, knew you’d have to buy a pill later, but the pros far outweighed the cons.

Your words were all it took to send Jim hurtling over the precipice. He pushed himself deep into your cunt, painting your walls with his spend, both of you shivering at the feeling. You moaned quietly into his skin, and Jim wheezed as he took gulping breaths in an attempt to regulate his breathing. You felt his hand come to rest on your back, stroking up and down, the other coming up to your hair, tempting you out of your hiding spot, nuzzled in his neck.

“Ok?” He breathed.

“Mm.” You hummed, rubbing your cheek against his, comforted by the way your faces squished together. “More than ok.”

“I should’ve—I didn’t want you to feel, I d’know—” He couldn’t think of the right words. “I love you. Just wanted you to feel how much I love you.”

You smiled, fucked out and sleepy and satisfied. “You did a good job,” you kissed him, “did I?”

“More than good.” He smiled, throwing your own words back at you in reassurance.

“Will you stay inside a little longer?” You whispered, still relishing in the way he filled you up.

“God, yes,” Jim almost laughed, “don’t have to ask.” You ran your thumb over his cheek, eyelids heavy.

“Is this the new normal?” You posed the question, remembering your earlier rant.

“Yeah. Think so.” Jim splayed his hand out over your back.

“Good.”