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gracelaurie · 10 months ago

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Innocent | Ed Warren x Reader

pairing : Ed Warren (Conjuring) x Female Reader

summary : You have been frequently bothered by a bride ghosts since you were little. But as you grow older you feel increasingly disturbed and you ask for help from Ed and Lorraine Warren, a demonologist, to help you escape the curse.

Instead of focusing on the exorcism case this time, you are caught up in a hot affair with Ed Warren.

After all, who would refuse his cock?

warning : full of smut, cheating, masturbation, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink, rough sex.

for another patrick wilson ff ➡️ masterlist

You snuck into Massachusetts Western University, Wakefield. You’re obviously not a student there, you graduated from uni last year. You knew that Ed and Lorraine Warren would be lecture in there so you disguised yourself as a student.

You’re wearing a white shirt matching with a black short skirt that is above the knee. Your beautiful legs are covered with sheer stockings.

Because of your appearance, many men stare at you stunned, even women seem to steal glances at you. You’re really beautiful and different from others. Your outfit is certainly the opposite in the 70s, but it’s not because of your outfit that makes many people admire you, but because you have a beautiful face with hair that looks very soft.

You have responded politely several times when several people tried to get to know you, and they were surprised why they had never seen you here.

Even though you attract attention there, you remain focused on your purpose here. The thought that told you to focus appeared when you saw the bride's figure appear again at the end of the room while Ed and Lorraine Warren were teaching in front. The bride looks at you with red eyes, and blood comes out of her eyes.

The blood dripped on the floor and when Lorraine walked backwards and stepped on the blood, in an instant the figure disappeared.

Lorraine gasped. She froze in place, looking at the floor which now had no blood at all- then she saw you.

Ed grabbed his wife’s shoulder, and he asked, “what is it, hon?”

“Nothing,” said Lorraine briefly, her eyes still looking straight at you. Ed followed his wife’s gaze, and he’s looking at you now.

“We have to,” Lorraine stopped because she was still trying to digest everything, “we have to continue this.”

Ed nodded, he then turned the video back on, “A French-Canadian farmer with no more than a third-grade education yet after he was possessed, spoke some of the best Latin I’d ever heard.”

You looked at the screen seriously. Suddenly you felt goosebumps, but when you looked to the side of the screen, you saw Ed caught staring at you, then Ed immediately continued talking, “S-sometimes backwards.” said Ed, who surprisingly, he’s stammer.

“He’d been molested by his father, who had also tortured him repeatedly.” Ed said still unable to take his eyes off you.

You realize this. It seems like you stole Ed Warren’s attention since Lorraine stared at you intently- she knew and could feel that you were being followed by the ghost. But her husband gaze at you... seemed different.

To ensure that, you pulled up your short skirt and crossed your legs. Your thighs are clearly visible in the sheer stockings which makes Ed even more unable to focus.

“A dark spirit…” Ed’s hungry gaze at your thighs, made his wife, Lorraine, suspect her husband’s strange behavior. Ed nervously continued, “A dark spirit made its home in- in th- this man.”

“Now, if you look into his eyes, you can see him tearing blood.” said Lorraine. You watched carefully and felt increasingly goosebumps all over your body.

Again, Ed couldn’t stop looking at you. You know that just by looking, you know this is wrong. He’s a married man and maybe they already have children. But you can’t deny that you like being seen by Ed, you feel like you want to tease him again.

“And like that…” Lorraine said while glaring at her husband and you alternately, “an upside-down cross started to appear from within his body.”

“All right, Drew, you can hit the lights.”

Suddenly everyone raised their hands to ask questions. You are surprised by this, not because of the enthusiasm of the class so that everyone wants to ask questions except you, but you are surprised because you feel like you didn’t get anything from their explanation.

Because Ed keeps looking at you and you in your seat keep teasing him. It seems like no one noticed, but if anyone in the room noticed besides his wife, they couldn’t blame you. He’s hot.

You can feel Ed and Lorraine’s relationship immediately strain. After answering questions from various students, they immediately left the room at a fast pace. You immediately follow their steps towards their car.

“Hey,” you said walking over to them as they were about to get into their car, “hey, I need your help.”

Before Ed could reply to your words, you quickly said, “I’m not a student here. I’m not even from this city, I came all the way here because I got news that you were lecture here, and...”

“That ghost bride….” said Lorraine still looking straight at you, “she follows you all the time, wherever you are.”

“And the worst part is…” you lowered your head, “she was the one who made my best friend die. I was driving a car, and I saw her figure right in front of my car, and I was fooled, I...”

“I’m sorry about what happened…” Ed said looking at you guiltily, then he looked at his wife who seemed to be trying to digest something, “I’m sure we can help…”

Lorraine turned to her husband. Don’t know why he really wants to help you even though they were very busy handling other cases that they should have investigated right away. Of course Lorraine wants to help you, but she feels bad instincts between her husband and you.

She knows that you have seduced her husband and his husband can’t take his eyes off you, but she had seen everything through her vision, about a bride ghost who always haunts and disturbs you.

“Of course we can help you,” said Lorraine smiling at you, gesturing for you to get into their car.

When you got into the car, Lorraine’s smile faded as she looked at her husband. She knew that something like this would happen, they had been together for a very long time, she knew that one day her husband would give another woman his gaze as if he wanted to strip her naked. But she didn’t think she could bear this much pain, however she had to focus on her purpose this time to helping you.

“How long have you been bothered by that ghost?”Lorraine asked when you arrived at her house.

You thought that the house will contain terrible things, but it turns out that all of them have been stored in one room. Her house is the same as most houses, classic interior design, and various paintings... Lorraine said that her husband likes pictures.

“When I was little,” you said, then you looked at Ed for a moment. And you realize that you look at him too often, “I don't remember exactly, but I could see her when I was 6 years old.”

“I felt very scared. especially when I no longer live with my parents, I...” you give up. You can’t control yourself from looking at Ed. His proportional body makes you want to be fucked by him.

“I'm not from this country. I studied in America and I have graduated from university and now I live here.” You could feel Ed constantly looking at you.

You bit your bottom lip, “I was alone, in the past if I was disturbed every night I could ask my parents to look after me. I know it was the actions of a spoiled child, but now everything is different, I endure all this alone, and I’m afraid...”

“You are not alone, we are here to help you...” said Lorraine holding your hand gently, “can you explain to us what you experienced…apart from your friend’s accident?”

You think for a moment, then you say quietly, “she often comes into my dreams, I don’t know, she always says something but I never remember it. And the weird thing is, I feel like I dreamed of her only for a moment, maybe 2 minutes ago, and when I woke up, it was already morning.”

“Ed...” said Lorraine softly.

He nodded his head, “yes hon?”

“Can you be here accompany her? I will be right back.” said Lorraine as she stood up. And then she whispered something to her husband, making you feel strange. She turned to you and smiled faintly then left the place.

“Where did she go?” you asked as Ed now sat down next to you.

“She’s just… want to do her thing.”

“No, you always work together. I don’t believe that.” you said feeling suspicious.

“And you believe what?” said Ed, “After you showed me your thighs and bit your sexy lips while me and my wife were lecture in there.”

Ed’s soft fingers touched your pink lips, his thumb combing every corner of your lips while his other fingers held your chin.

You let go of Ed’s hand with a slow movement. “No, Ed, we can’t.” You said trying to avoid eye contact from him.

Ed grinned, “Why not?” he tucked your hair behind your ear, holding your chin, “look at me.”

You’re looking at each other now. You can’t help yourself when you see Ed in his formal suit and tie... his body is very proportional with his very handsome face. You only looked into his eyes for 5 seconds and you immediately kissed Ed’s lips hungrily.

Ed kissed you back, your fingers undoing Ed’s tie. He kissed your neck aggressively, then with quick movements he placed your entire body lying on the sofa. He took off his suit and shirt, as did you at the same time taking off your shirt.

When you were about to take off your skirt-- Ed, who was already topless, bit your neck and then said in a deep, hoarse voice in your ear, “leave the skirt in place. as are those filthy stockings...”

Ed ripped your sheer stocking right at your cunt. He moved your panties to look at your pussy. You could feel Ed’s fingers playing on your clit. His thumb rubs your clit with lazy movements while his other 2 fingers into your cunt.

You groaned in pain, Ed said, “damn, 2 fingers won't really go inside. You’re so tight, honey.”

“You're a virgin huh?” said Ed, who was still playing with your clitoris and with his fingers, you could only nod weakly.

“What a surprise.” You felt his fingers force their way into your vagina making you scream in pain.

You can hear Lorraine calling her husband because he heard your moan, “don't worry hon, this is part of the exorcism I’m doing. I can do it myself.” Ed lied so stupidly.

“Ed...please...” you let out a weak moan, you looked at the door of the house which was still wide open, “Ed... shouldn't we close the door first?”

His fingers slipped from your cunt. He started to unbutton his trousers. You can see his cock which is so big and hard in front of you.

You can feel his cock starting to enter the walls of your cunt which are already very wet. He kisses your thighs which are still covered in stockings then enters his entire penis into you. Makes you groan in pain and shed tears.

You felt sore because Ed’s big cock was inside you, but you really liked it.

“Ed, we have to close the door...”

Ed now put your legs over his shoulders and fucked you very aggressively, he answered, “That's not necessary. If someone else passes by this house, at least they can see what a slut you are.” He squeezed out the last word by thrusting his cock deeper into you.

You were drunk with the pleasure he was giving you. You accidentally said a sentence you didn’t want to say.

“Ed Warren.....a sexy demonologist that I just met. A married man that would exorcise all the demons in my body. Please have my baby, put it all in me…. I want you..” you moaned as he insert his cock into your wet cunt with fast movements.

Ed looked at you with pity, “I really wanted to see you have my baby the first time I saw you with those thighs that were so tempting... obey me and be a good slut.”

You nod and you feel increasingly excited and want to climax when Ed kisses both of your tits and licks your nipples while still inserting his large penis inside you.

“Ed... I want to cum.” you moaned when Ed bit your nipple.

He then kissed your collarbones then you could feel his rough breath on your neck now. He kissed your neck then you felt something flowing inside you.

He releases a lot of sperm inside you. With nothing left. His big cock was still inside you when Lorraine caught you both in the living room.

“So, can we start now?” She asked with a straight face, “of course you can do an exorcism faster than this, right, Ed?”

Ed chuckled, he still hadn't removed his cock from inside you, “yeah hon, give us some time to get dressed again.”

Lorraine left the room still with a straight face. But you know that she really jealous and hurt because she obviously heard all your moans and can imagine how great your sex was. But she can’t do anything for that because she wants her husband to be happy.

You kissed his lips as he pulled his cock out of your pussy, “that was amazing.” you said then he smiled happily.

Your still naked bodies stood up and Ed hugged you from behind, “ready for round two?”

***

#ed warren #ed warren smut #ed warren x you #ed warren x female reader #ed warren x fem!reader #ed warren x reader #the conjuring #fanfics #patrick wilson #aquaman and the lost kingdom #josh lambert #patrick wilson x reader #aquaman 2018 #ocean master #orm marius x reader #orm marius #king orm

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ghoststyles · 8 months ago

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Casanova

HIIIII 🤍 Here is a little piece I've been working on for a while! This is inspired by the song Casanova by Rayland Baxter. Harry is a manipulative little twat in this, so bare with me 🤍

7.5K words;

TW: SLIGHT mommy kink. He doesn't call her mommy but he calls her mama and Miss/Missy. P in V sex, oral sex, phone sex. FACETIME SEX <3 Slight mentions of suicide. EXTREME drug and alcohol abuse. Arrests, jail. the works.

ENJOY AND GIVE ME A BOOP IF YOU LIKE IT :D

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Money, all I ever want is money But I never wanna work for the money So I borrow the money from a woman

Harry Styles knew who he was from a young age. A charmer. A flirt. He uses his wits and his good looks to manipulate the people around him until they have no choice but to give in, conning them and infiltrating their lives for his own gain.

His days are simple; He sleeps until 11, combs his hair into a perfect swirl of chocolate curls, brushes his perfectly white and straight teeth, spritzes his neck with his ridiculously priced Tom Ford cologne, climbs into his Porsche Cayenne to hit the gym, and grab an $18 smoothie for the ride home. From there, he lets the day unfold how it pleases, until it’s time to go to the club with his friends. Here and there, he’ll meet up with his dealer and his bookie to spice it up.

Rinse. Reuse. Repeat.

As a child, Harry was dirt poor. He’d never let anyone know that, however. His perfectly curated image blossomed the minute he got to college, leaving any ounce of mediocrity behind. His friends were none the wiser, assuming Harry was there blowing his trust fund like the rest of them, when really, he was a charity case.

Every day, he’d walk to the corner store for cigarettes for his dad and cans of tuna fish, stealing a small item to try and feel something. The owner, Mr. Abbott, knew Harry stole from him, but never said a word. He’d return to their one bedroom apartment, flicking the light on, only to find the electric bill hadn’t been paid.

His parents are not addicts or criminals, by any means. If they were, he’d at least have a touching back story. Neither of them have the drive or the desire to succeed like he does. They lived their simple lives, worked paycheck to paycheck to support him and his siblings and never worked for more.

On the day he left for college, he vowed to himself to never let anyone see him as the poor, pathetic boy he was. He’ll put his own silver spoon in his mouth, if he must.

So, as he sits high and mighty on his throne after doing a few lines off a pretty girl’s tits in the VIP section of his favorite club, The Viper, surrounded by his fellow socialite friends, he thinks of one person.

You.

Harry isn’t unemployed, per se, but, he doesn’t exactly have a job, either. Two years ago, at the ripe age of 21, he graduated magna cum laude from university, with top marks in all of his classes. But, he knew he didn’t want to work a traditional job. He wanted to travel, he wanted to live lavishly, and he wanted to party.

That’s where you come in. The gorgeous, alluring and kind-hearted woman that feeds the beast that is his lifestyle. He wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

Swiping aimlessly one day on the dating apps, he stopped his scroll abruptly to study your profile. You’re perfectly curated - the collection of photos reflecting your outgoing personality and beauty.

38. Looking for some fun. Dog mom. CEO. Let me spoil you <3

Seeking a male ages 21-28.

His eyebrow quirks. A sugar mommy? Is that a thing?

He swipes right, hoping deep down you match. This could be it. This could be his way in. The funds from his financial aid are quickly dwindling, and he’d be sooner caught dead than with a part-time job.

He dawdles around his apartment for a few hours, pacing the room to see if you matched with him. The possibility of this arrangement is scratching an itch he’s been desperate to quell.

He readies himself to meet his friends at the club, placing cologne on his neck and wrists. For good measure, he adjusts himself in his trousers to get a little blood flowing down there.

As he plucks his keys from the door, he hears the familiar ping from the dating site ring out from his laptop. Stopping in his tracks, he pivots to stand at his desk. He swallows thickly before entering his passcode.

Congratulations, Casanova94, you matched with BabyHoneyxo

A dazed smile makes its way to his lips, his dimple popping significantly. This is going to be good.

Can you believe I never met her? Can you believe she never met me, too? But she calls me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

Now, almost two years later, you and Harry have still never met in person. But, that’s by your request. You want a companion. A call boy. Someone who will always answer the phone when you need it. And ever since you inherited your family’s wealth and company, you want someone to spoil.

It started off slow; texts asking about one another’s day, learning about hobbies and interests. Then, the wire deposits came in. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hearts in his eyes or dollar signs. You don’t tell him how to spend the money, but you definitely drop hints.

“Get yourself a new outfit, baby. Then send me a picture,” you smiled lazily on FaceTime one night. “Maybe you can find something to match the Porsche.”

Harry chuckles boyishly, “You’re too good to me. I just went shopping last week!”

He has you eating out of the palm of his hand.

“I know, I know. I just want my baby boy to be happy. Can you pull yourself out for me, baby? Wanna see you,” you purr, making yourself comfortable on your king sized bed in your quiet penthouse. You’re winding down for bed, even though your lover is just getting ready for the night.

“Mhm,” Harry responds, voice an octave higher and desperate sounding. He slides himself out, letting his cock harden slowly in his hands. “My friends will be here soon, Missy.”

“That’s okay, bubba. We’ll be quick. Mmm, look how big and gorgeous you are,” your sultry tone sends shivers up his spine. He adjusts the camera so you’re looking at his abdomen from below his thick cock.

“My perfect boy,” you moan out as you touch your clit for the first time this evening. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes, Missy. Wanna be good for you. Can I touch myself harder now?”

“Yeah, baby, go ahead. Squeeze that big cock. Tell me when you’re close.”

At this point, you’re furiously rubbing your clit, and gently teasing a finger inside. His breaths are becoming more labored as he pumps his cock at a faster pace. You pause just before your climax, sending your heart rate to a thunderous pace you can hear the ringing in your ears.

You look over at your phone propped up next to you to find your little love sweating and fisting himself hurriedly. The whimpers coming from the other end make the hairs on your arms stand up. After a beat, you continue the assault on your clit, starting off slow in order to reach that peak again.

“I-I’m close, Missy. Please let me cum. I f-feel so good,” at the tail end of his begging, he moans deeply.

“Uh-uh. Who always cums first, baby?”

“You, Mama. You cum first,” he pants, his eyes making panicked contact with yours.

“That’s right. Good boy. I’m so close baby,” you squeak out as you stick two fingers in your cunt. You cry out, at your release, gently tweaking your nipple with your other hand.

Harry isn’t far behind, taking one last swipe over his tip, using his other hand to cup his balls. He cums all over his fist, small specks of white littering his belly. He whimpers again, barely able to open his eyes.

“Let me see, baby,” you whisper, waiting for him to show you his load. He pans the camera silently, the haze already leaving his head. But he’d never tell you that.

“Thank you, Missy. I feel so good.”

“Mmm, bet you do, baby. Now go clean up and have fun with your friends. I’ll talk you tomorrow. Behave!”

“Okay, I will. Goodnight.”

The minute Harry presses ‘end’, an ounce of remorse bubbles in his chest. Just an ounce. He rises from his bed to jump in the shower, ridding him of his guilt and shame.

Sure, you’re gorgeous, and nice. But you’re not what’s getting him off. Or so he likes to tell himself. Throughout your sessions on FaceTime, Harry’s mind wanders to the girls he’s hooked up with the weekend before, and the countless drugs he’ll consume on a night out. That’s what gets his rocks off.

You’re the means to his ends. The gateway to his wildest dreams. He’s going to hold onto you for as long as he can, even if he has to get off over the phone a few nights, or pretend to care about the philanthropy you’re supporting that week.

Harry should be your only philanthropy, he thinks to himself. This is the easiest job he’s ever done. And it only makes it better that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences.

As he gets out of the shower, his prick still swinging in the air, he picks up his phone to see a Venmo payment from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $2,000.00 - 😘

Without even hesitating, Harry, heart rate rising a bit, opens up a text field - to his club promoter. He ignores the dozens of texts from family members over the last few weeks. He’ll make his yearly obligation call to his mother at some point.

Hey, Mike! Can we upgrade to V.I.P tonight? I can put $2K down now.

He’ll thank you later. Tonight, he’s the hero of his friend group. A slight nervousness prickles on his neck. Harry isn’t naive - he knows he should be smarter with his money - your money. But you haven’t given him any reason to believe the well will run dry any time soon.

So far, despite your generosity, Harry still lives paycheck to paycheck. He blows his money on extravagant trips, nights out at the club, and plenty of booze and coke. It’s times he hopes to look back on one day and smile. He swears to you he’s saving the money and working towards investing and buying a house.

Scout’s honor.

I got a real bad feeling, I'ma let her down Got a hole in my pocket and I'm running around Spending all of her money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin' Back to the hole that I came from

Every night that he steps out of his apartment, he shakes the nagging feeling in his gut, the embodiment of the life he left behind. He calls his Uber Black to take him to the Viper, his little white baggy in the breast pocket of his Burberry overcoat.

He nods to the driver when he opens his door and proceeds to pour a small line of the substance onto the screen of his phone, but not without seeing another text from you.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Enjoy the night, sweet boy! Be safe xo

Harry smiles to himself at your contact in his phone. You all but had a fit when you found out he’d never seen The Graduate. Once he saw it, his world changed.

Swiping away your message, he plugs up his nostril, inhaling sharply as he moves his face over the surface of the screen. He grunts lightly, throwing his head back and shaking it out. That should hold him over until they’re in their secluded area of the club.

The car pulls up to the club around 11:45, the house music already bumping. The line looks brutal. He scans it to see if he spots any 10s waiting that can keep him company later. Miles, Marquise and Jade are already inside at their table.

The bouncers greet Harry, bumping his fist and patting him on the back. He can feel the eyes of the nobodies in line glaring at him enviously. When you spend the average person’s salary in one night at the club, you eagerly reap the benefits.

As he’s escorted through the crowd by the five-foot-nothing hostess, his senses are on high alert. He can hear his heart beating over the music and can feel the bass shaking the floors. He smiles tightly at the girl as she leads him to his table and scurries back into the crowd.

Marquise and Miles, his best friends from undergrad stand to greet him, as Jade greets him from the lap of her catch of the day, a burly, bearded dude already glowing from sweat and the 8-ball they’re about to dig into.

Taking his first swig of the Don Julio his regular bottle service girl, Tasia, pours into his mouth, he cracks a wicked smile, convincing himself there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

“So,” you start quietly on your daily FaceTime coffee date. You’re perched in your home library’s windowsill. “I was thinking of flying you in for my 40th. It’s going to be pretty chill. I’ll probably hire a chef and have a dinner at my place. Maybe 15-20 people.”

Harry is cocooned in a blanket on his bed, his iced coffee you had DoorDashed to his apartment slowly melting on his bedside table. His eyes had slowly drifted shut as he listened to you talk about everything and nothing. That’s how these things went — you talk and he listens. You’re after his companionship, after all.

At your words, his eyes shoot open, causing him to try and sit up gently so he can hear you better, not believing what you’re saying. Inhaling, he hesitates before he starts to reply.

“Uh, um,” he bites his lip and looks at himself in the corner of the screen, trying to gauge if he looks as shocked as he sounds. “W-when are you thinking? I have a couple trips coming up and plans with my friends.”

He decides to play it cool. You have to know this is a huge development in this arrangement, right?

“Well, my birthday is the 27th, obviously.”

He scoffs, “I knew that part, Miss. When is the party?”

“Watch the ‘tude, baby. I was hoping for that Saturday, maybe. But I’d be willing to work around what you have coming up.”

He’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have major travel plans until the summer, when his friend group will jet off to Greece. He’s been saving up your pennies to charter a private plane.

“Don’t agree to it now, but please think about it. I love spending time with you and I’d love to finally meet you. We can tell my family that you’re part of one of my philanthropy groups. I’m your largest donor, after all,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Okay, let me get myself together for the day, and I can see what’s going on,” Harry grits out, trying not to let you down.

“Okay, baby. Have a good day. Let me know if you get up to anything fun,” you say with a mild hurt in your tone. The least he can do is make an effort to finally meet you.

“Will do. Bye, Miss,” He says quietly, swiftly hanging up the call and chucking the phone towards his pillows.

“Fuck!”

Hm, Casanova You know that I'm a casanova Throw my pennies in the well Waking up in jail 'Cause I never paid attention Do you remember all the good times? Do you remember all the bad times too? She reminds me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

You didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Every day that passes as your birthday party looms, you mention flights, or activities you can do once he arrives. Harry laughs them off, distracting you by touching himself or telling a story from his gatherings with friends.

It’s not until you’re barking orders at him over the phone, 1 week before your party, denying his orgasm that he finally relents.

“Miss, please, I-I need to cum,” he whimpers as he has a ghostly touch over his angry, red cock. “P-please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm? I want my pretty baby at my birthday party. Wanna show you off and whisper filthy things in your ear and feel that pretty cock under the table. Agree to fly out to me and I’ll let you cum, baby.”

“Miss,” he croaks out, his stomach in shambles trying to stop himself from coming for the third time. “Okay, okay, Mama, I’ll go. I-I’ll come for your birthday! Please let me cum.”

You all but squeal in delight, instructing him to finally let go. Talking him through it, he keens from your praises for following the rules. A nervous heat travels up his neck, realizing what he agreed to in his post-nut clarity.

“Good boy. Take a picture before you clean up, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning and I’ll have my assistant send over your travel information.”

He nods, unable to make eye contact. You’re oblivious and overjoyed, thinking he’s just too fucked out to look at you.

“G’night, Missy,” he chokes out.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you hum before hanging up.

Harry snaps a photo of his messy left fist and cum-covered stomach before cleaning himself up and returning to bed. He eagerly picks up his phone to check his dating apps for his matches. He’d been talking to a new girl, Madelyn, for the past week, so excitement bubbles in his stomach.

She’s meeting him and his regular group at the Viper tonight, so he’s excited to show off to her. Maybe she’ll even be down for a romp in the back seat of his Porsche.

His phone pings, signaling another deposit from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $5,000 - Can’t wait to see you 😘

He smiles, his right thumb picking at the skin of his ring finger. The guilt he feels from abusing your kindness starts to eat at him. But he didn’t get this far by being nice to people. You can’t possibly have feelings for him, right? You haven’t even met, for god’s sake. He shivers, shaking the feeling so he can focus on the night ahead.

Pushing you far, far in the back of his mind.

It’s now the night before your 40th birthday party, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Your penthouse is decorated in pink and floral frill - almost like your Great Aunt Gertrude exploded - but it’s chic and will be a hit amongst your New York City socialite friends. Your party planner floats around the room, puttering with the florals, candles and gem stones scattered around.

You anxiously check the time, counting down the hours until Harry boards his flight from LA. He’s jumping on a red eye, so you’ll greet him with coffee and donuts when he lands. A pang of nervousness hits you as you remember how distant he was this week, saying he was busy with friends or doing god knows what an unemployed 23 year old does in Los Angeles.

Monday, 3:31 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry, missy. I’ve been at Miles’ art showing all day.

Wednesday, 11:27 AM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry! At the gym with Do Not Disturb on. Hey, can you send me some cash? Last min car maintenance 😢

Friday, 5:58 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Hi missy. My friends want to go to the opening of the new Carbone out here. Think your friends can get us a table? It’ll be 9 of us.

Hope your dad’s chemo appointment went okay.

You can’t be mad at the little monster you’ve let him become. You are always an after thought as his only priority is making sure the cash cow is alive and well. He extends effort just enough to make the butterflies in your stomach reappear when he does give you the attention you crave.

Inhaling deeply, you ascend up the grand staircase in your Upper East Side brownstone and begin your pampering routine, sending photos to Harry of the hydrating eye patches on and curlers in your hair, blowing kisses and sticking out your tongue.

Typically, Harry answers relatively quickly to your silly messages, but, tonight, he’s gone radio silent. Maybe he’s trying to conserve his phone battery for the flight?

You open your medicine cabinet to examine your fast-acting anti-anxiety pills, hoping you can will away this uneasy feeling. Padding over to your bed, you pop your pills before tucking into your silk sheets. Before putting your phone on the charger, you send Harry one last message.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Safe flight, baby ♥️ I’ll be tracking you, but tell me which terminal when you land. Can’t wait to see you 😚

Flicking out the light, you close your eyes with the hopes of finally meeting your lover in just twelve hours.

I got a real bad feeling I'ma lose my cool Everywhere that I go, everything that I do Stop me using the money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin'

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

Ping!

Harry, Delta airlines can’t wait to welcome you aboard Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35

Ping!

You may now board Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35. Welcome aboard, Harry.

Harry’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably as he watches the busy bodies move around him. Despite his social butterfly nature, his social anxiety rears its ugly head every once in a while. Or, it could be tonight’s concoction of pills.

He places his phone on Do Not Disturb, just as he gets a text from you. Closing his eyes in defeat, he comes face to face with the awful, shameful and downright despicable choice he’s made.

He’s not going to New York.

Instead, he’s standing booth side at a club next to John Summit, his favorite DJ, as he passes around a bottle of 1942. The pills he’s on are plastering a wide smile on his face as the throng of bodies around him jump around, despite the absolute panic and guilt he feels in his veins.

He’s wondering when you’ll realize he’s not coming. The lack of texts? The empty escalator to the pick-up area well after the flight has landed? He can picture your cherub cheeks reddening with embarrassment, fighting back hot tears.

To distract himself, he leans down to capture the blonde girl to his left in a kiss, despite not even making eye contact with her prior. When she peers up at him, her pupils are just as dilated as his as they sway back and forth.

He kisses her once more, just as Marquise offers him another baggie.

The panic sets in about 30 minutes after his flight landed. Surely that’s enough time to grab his bag and meet you here, right?

Your eyes urgently scan over every person that walks by probably sending them into fight or flight as a deranged woman looks them over in search for her boy.

You look down at your phone, the background a photo of your dog, completely clear of any notifications. With vigor, you throw out the box of donuts and his iced black Americano. Swallowing your pride, you skulk back to the parking lot to cry in the safety of your car.

You feel like a loser. A pathetic middle-aged woman who got fooled by a man half her age. The mental gymnastics that takes place as you drive home with white knuckles on the steering wheel should have you committed.

Your dating life wasn’t easy. It started in high school, where you were invisible to the boys, always deemed not good enough to date. Extending through college, you were still nearly invisible, working over time to find just one guy to have any interest in you and take your virginity. Just to get it over with.

As the dating scene expanded in your 20s, you still struck out with men your age. It wasn’t until your late 30s when your hopes and dreams of a family came crashing down on you that you’d made that godforsaken dating profile.

You still remember how your heart skipped a beat when you saw Harry’s photo for the first time. His boyish charm was palpable, followed by his incredibly witty prompt answers. He was your solution. If you couldn’t earn someone’s love, you could at least buy it.

The lump in your throat is preventing you from calling him and leaving the fiery voicemail you so want to do. You assume he’ll ignore any calls from you anyway.

Pulling into your private garage, you let out your frustrations by wailing and smacking the steering wheel of your Bentley. To prying eyes, the cops should be called. You allow yourself to flip for 5 minutes before putting on a brave face and going inside to begin getting ready for your birthday party, ringing in another year of heartbreak and disappointment.

3 glasses of a 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s how much alcohol it took to have you crying in front of your friends and family.

You couldn’t tell them what was really wrong, of course. They have no idea about your and Harry’s arrangement. They’d call you an idiot if they knew how much money you’ve sent him.

Everyone is shooting you sympathetic looks as you cry on your best friend’s shoulder. For all they know, you’re stressed with work and your dad’s cancer diagnosis. It’s a lot of pressure on a single woman.

Rubbing your back, Candice whispers all the affirmations she’s been telling you since college. It’s incredibly annoying to get advice from someone whose life is perfect.

You quietly thank her, clearing your throat of the lump that’s formed. Looking around the room, you make a break for it, grabbing your phone as you lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Tears blurring your vision, you dial his number for the first time all day. It rings and rings, finally sending you to voicemail, as you’d suspected.

You’re silent for a beat after the beep.

“I-I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now. I was so fucking excited to see you…feel you….kiss you. And instead I’m locked in a bathroom at my own birthday party, calling you like a fucking loser,” you start, snot threatening to drip down your face.

“I give, and I give and I give, and yet you still let me look like a fucking idiot in front of my friends and family. You couldn’t do one fucking thing for me? You…You didn’t even have to put any effort. I paid for a car service, paid for a first-class seat, bought you a wardrobe…”

“I just hope whatever the fuck you’re doing right now is worth it. I don’t ask questions about what you do with my money, since I’m the one who started this. B-but I thought you were a decent person. I feel so fucking stupid right now,” you are talking to yourself at this point. You shakily inhale and stare at the ceiling.

“We’re done. I’m done with your bullshit. I’m not gonna let some ungrateful brat take advantage of me anymore. Have a nice life, Harry. Hope you have to move back to bumblefuck and lose all the friends you’ve been lying to this whole time,” you end off the message with pure venom leaking through your words.

You press end, feeling slightly better that you’d used his deepest darkest secret as ammunition. The mirror in front of you shows a shocking picture; running mascara, watery, red eyes, and disheveled hair.

Patting some toilet paper under your eyes, you clean up the best you can before returning back to the party. If you were strong, you’d block his number. But you can’t help but wonder what his response could be.

He deserves it. It’s 4:40 AM and he just mustered the courage to listen to your message. His under eyes feel heavy as he listens to your words, hitting him where it hurts. His hands are shaking as he lowers the phone to his lap, drowning out the sound of your sad, heartbreaking voice.

5 years ago, he was a decent person. Now, he looks in the mirror and sees his slightly gaunt face and tired eyes staring back at him. He even notices a few gray hairs every once in a while.

His lifestyle takes a toll on him — He’s well aware of that. But for now, he has no reason to stop. Harry lightly smacks his head back on the seat of the Uber back to his apartment. Cracking the window, he lets the sounds of the early morning deter him from vomiting.

The car arrives at his apartment — a guest house in Hidden Hills, the only place he can afford with the zip code he desires so badly. He never brings anyone to his place, too paranoid of his secrets getting out. Vision doubling, he struggles to stick his key in the lock. He knees the door has he twists the knob, sending him tumbling flat on his face.

Smacking his head on the tile floor, he recoils, lifting his hand to feel droplets of blood on his nose and bottom lip. The metallic taste is leaking into his mouth, sending him into a spiral. His front door is still wide open, allowing him to see the sun peaking over the hills in the distance.

He crawls over to the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot. He lays back down on the cool floor, exhausted from his efforts. His breathing evened out, lulling him into a comatose state before succumbing to the darkness.

But before he passes out, all he can picture is your gorgeous, disappointed face.

I'm back in the hole I got nowhere to go La la la la, la, la Spinning around In the cold dark hole deep down in the ground Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from

The thing about rock bottom is that you don’t realize you’ve hit it until you’re clawing your way back to the top.

In the days following your fallout, Harry’s experienced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. It started off with his credit card declining on a $6 breakfast sandwich, only to come back hungry and sad to his car being repossessed in front of all the Hidden Hills housewives out and about.

The panic rises in his chest, and it’s taking everything in him not to call you and beg for forgiveness. He’s come to realize how fucked up his actions towards you became. He misses the butterflies and longing he felt when you first started your arrangement.

He stomps back inside, miserable and feeling like a loser. If it wasn’t for Marquise’s birthday party later, he’d be sure to go dive in the ocean in hopes of never resurfacing.

His closet is taunting him — full of the clothes you’ve bought him. He can remember every single piece he tried on for you, and the praise you were so quick to give him. He never reciprocated when you’d show him new pieces and showing off your incredible body. But, you hadn’t called him out on it, so he continued on.

The all black outfit he chose reflects his mental state. Filled with dread and remorse, he pulls out his kitchen drawer to peruse the substances he has left. His stash is dwindling as fast as his bank account, so he has to be strategic until he figures out his next move.

Grabbing the baggies, he situates them in the breast pocket of his jacket to conceal everything. They’re going to a new club tonight, so there’s no being saved by the bouncers if shit goes south.

The party goes off without a hitch. Bottles pouring, dancers hanging from the ceiling, and an influx of out of town girls willing to do anyone and anything. Harry has nearly pushed you completely out of his mind, but he does something completely out of character.

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: I’m sorry.

You’re at a wine bar with your girlfriends in the Village, and the message you receive shakes you to your core. You haven’t heard from him in days. Not even after you repossessed the car and canceled his credit card tied to your account. You thought for sure that would smoke him out of his foxhole. But, he’s Harry. He’s selfish and too full of pride to ever come forward and apologize.

Your friends notice the faltered look on your face, but opt to ignore it as they bitch about their husbands and kids. Despite your fleeting dreams of having a family, most of the time you’re thankful you can’t relate to them.

Turning off your phone, you throw it in your new Kelly bag — a little treat to get over the heartbreak — and return to the conversation.

He doesn’t even remember how it went down.

The last clear memory he has is being escorted out of the club to go back to Marquise’s. The combination of coke and alcohol, plus this week’s tumultuous events had him on edge, so when the unfamiliar bouncer at this mediocre club grabbed him wrong, it sent Harry into a frenzy.

To match his bloody nose and busted lip, his knuckles are now decorated with crusty amber smatterings of blood — his own, and the bouncer’s. His jaw and wrist were aching, still mouthing off like a rabid animal as the cop read him his Miranda rights.

So now, he sits in a cold cell in the county jail awaiting his arraignment — a seemingly straight forward assault and battery charge, now amplified by the 40 grams of cocaine and Adderall in his coat pocket. The bastard cop smiled to himself when he patted him down. Harry will give him this one, the rinkydink small town cop who is used to giving out traffic violations.

Tired, in dire need to piss, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, Harry’s head snaps up when the officer notifies him of his bail — a measly $75,000 — and lets him know he has one phone call. Balling his fists, he looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The cop assists him in standing up. His wrists are chained together behind his back, after all. Releasing him from the confines, Harry rubs his wrists where the cheap metal chafed him.

“You have 5 minutes to make a call. Do you know the phone number or do you need me to access your cell phone?”

Harry scoffs. Who the fuck still memorizes phone numbers?

“Phone,” he replies, a clear edge in his voice.

“Whose contact am I looking for? Mom, Dad?”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I need the number of,” Harry pauses suddenly as he remembers your name in his phone.

“Mrs. Robinson,” he finishes quietly.

The cop raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and reads the number aloud to him. It rings, and rings, diminishing any hope that you’ll answer. It’s in this moment Harry is at his rockbottom.

“Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Department of Corrections for the City of Los Angeles. An individual is trying to contact you. Do you wish to answer?”

You gasp as the automated voice informs you of your worst nightmare.

“Hello?” you say quietly. It’s 8:15 AM, and you’re at the cafe on the corner for a latte and reading, trying not to disturb those around you.

“M-missy?” His voice sounds broken. It sends a stabbing pain straight through your chest.

“Harry, what happened? What did you do?”

“I-I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. N-not just with you. I know I fucked everything u-up,” he’s starting to sob, unable to catch his breath between words.

“B-but I got into a pretty bad fight last night, and I had some,” Harry pauses to look over his shoulder to make sure the officer isn’t listening. He wipes the tears in his eyes with his thumb. “I had some stuff on me, so now I’m in a lot more trouble. A-and I know I fucked everything up and I don’t deserve anything from you, but I don’t have enough money for bail.”

You sigh, not really even sure where to begin. Tears are threatening to spill over as you hear his clearly broken sobs.

“How much do you need?”

At this point, Harry hung his head at your silence. He snaps his head back up when you agree to help him.

“It’s $75,000.”

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t even know, I barely have any memory of—”

“Five minutes, inmate!” the officer interrupts him.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues.

“I’m not sure what happens next. B-but thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve this in the slightest.”

You shiver at his use of your first name. Closing your eyes, “I know you don’t. Just tell me who I need to call.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you hear your incessant doorbell ring. It’s 6 in the morning, just a few days after you paid Harry’s bail. You’ve been laying low, unsure if you’ll even hear from him again.

Your doorman, Paul, informs you of a visitor. A visitor? At this time? Unable to even comprehend what’s going on, you press the button to confirm opening the door, and wait.

Your bunny slippered feet tap your coffee table anxiously. Is it your mom? Here to inform you of someone’s death? Or is it your best friend from college who couldn’t come to your party? Or is it —

You’re broken from your racing thoughts as a timid knock on the door echoes through the house. You shuffle hesitantly over to the door, unable to even bring yourself to look through the peephole.

Closing your eyes while pulling open the door, the absolute wind is knocked out of you as you eye up your waiting guest.

He’s tall, tanned and gorgeous as his photos. It’s unfair to look like this after stepping off what she assumes was a red eye flight. He looks exhausted. His lip and nose are busted, and he has a yellowing bruise on his left eye.

“W-what?” you flounder in disbelief.

His hands fold together at your reaction, unsure if he should hug you or keep a respectable distance. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself. He’ll play by your rules.

“What the fuck is going on?”

You look adorable. The sleep barely wiped from your eyes. Slight bed head and disheveled silk pajamas. Harry is in disbelief that this is the woman he’s come to realize his feelings for.

“I know this is so fucked up,” he trails off. “Coming here. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, but I needed to come here and tell you how fucking sorry I am. How deep into the superficial bullshit I got. I took advantage of you and your kindness and I lost myself in the process.”

You must look flabbergasted, because he inches closer, placing his hands gently on your arms. His touch is searing, but the first reminder that he’s actually standing in front of you and not an extremely lifelike apparition.

“I-I,” you stumble.

“We don’t even have to talk right now. You can send me away, if you need. But I’m here, I’m here in New York and I want to change. I want to be better for you. These last few days— when I had absolutely nothing — made me realize something.”

His eyes are now earnest and starting to tear up. Your reflection is so clear in his tide pool green irises.

“I had nothing, and it made me realizing you’re my everything.”

His profession had you clutching your metaphorical pearls. Your heart is racing, sending your central nervous system into a tizzy. You know he’s not lying, because he’s looking dead in your eyes waiting for your reply.

“H-Harry, I don’t even know what to say,” you stall. Your body knows what it wants to say.

“I know and like I said, if you need time, I underst—”

“If you’re here and you’re not bullshitting me; you really want to change. Then, you’ll fuck me like it.”

If Harry’s jaw could drop to the basement, it would. Instead of word vomiting, he lunges forward, guiding both of your bodies back to the hallway and placing a panty-dropping kiss on your lips. He doesn’t even have time to admire your beautiful home.

You break the kiss, grabbing his wrist to lead him to your room. The sheets are mussed, your clothes are all over, but you can’t even begin to fucking care. You all but dive back onto your bed, pulling your nightgown up to reveal your bare, perfect pussy.

Harry drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs. The photos and the FaceTimes don’t do any justice to the sight in front of him. You’re complete and utter perfection.

He waits for your approval before leaning forward to lick from back to front. Your back arches slightly, throwing your ankles over his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your skin deliciously, so you grab onto your blankets for dear life.

“Give it to me, Missy. I’ve been waiting two years for this perfect cunt. What the fuck was I waiting for?”

You laugh, not expecting his sense of humor at this moment. For the last few months, it’s been like talking to a robot. It was an exchange of goods and services. But here, in front of you, is a man. A man who’s willing to change his ways for you. The man you’ve waited all your life for.

“Always here for you. It’s yours,” you purr, placing your hands on top of his.

He growls, vigorously licking into you. He removes his right hand to insert his two middle fingers into your center. This has you howling, unable to even remember the last time a man did this for you.

“Baby, baby. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, finally,” you whine, focusing on the immeasurable pleasure stemming from your legs.

“Mhm, I can feel you, Mama. Let go for me,” he begs, making direct eye contact with you.

It’s the moment you lock eyes that you’re letting go. All the stars are aligning and symphonies are playing in your head.

“Ah, ah! There, Harry!”

Harry keens at hearing his name roll off your tongue. He slides up your body to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You grab at his under shirt, insinuating that you want it off.

He peels it off and cheekily pulls your tit out of your nightie. He winks before connecting his lips to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking gently.

“Please, want you inside me. Gimme my big cock, baby.”

“It’s yours, Mama. All of me.”

Harry slides his briefs down his legs, revealing the main event. His dick swings slightly before hitting him in the stomach. You moan, unable to wait even another minute for him.

“Please,” you cry out, scratching down his chest.

He lines himself up, moaning in ecstasy as he pushes in. Your mouth falls open, a silent whine escaping.

“So big, baby. I should’ve flown out to you the minute you sent me a dick pic. Like a fucking middle schooler.”

Now Harry is laughing. He’s in disbelief that he would ever treat you the way he did. The clarity from the last few days is damning.

His pumps are getting faster and longer, bottoming out every other thrust. He looks down to where you’re connected, your pussy lips wrapped around him deliciously, a slight white substance leaking out of you. He leans down to kiss you, wanting this connection he’s subconsciously wanted since he met you.

“Want you to cum with me, Missy. Cum with me. Want to show you I mean it. I mean everything I said.”

You gently put your hand on his cheek, to which he immediately nuzzles in at the touch.

“I know you mean it, baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you again, his thrusts slowing but still ramming you to the hilt.

“You close?”

“Yes, baby boy. Cum with me, I’m cumming now.”

Harry’s cock twitches as he bumps your walls before releasing long and deep into you. You push your noses together, lips ghosting over one another’s.

Harry is finally home.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this, little brat.”

He flashes a shit eating grin, kissing you again.

“I expect nothing less.”

And I don't ever Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

#harry styles #harrystyles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x yn #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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morganbritton132 · 2 years ago

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Eddie goes on Jimmy Fallon and they do that True Confessions game. The surprise guest that they bring out is Nancy. They pick which card that she has to read and She reads, “I stole drugs from a cop once…Sorry, Mom.”

Eddie, who has already opened one of his cards because he doesn’t follow the rules , holds the card up like, “Ha, mine says that I once sold drugs to a cop.”

At the same time they both say, “Hopper?” And then laughed about it like they didn’t ruin the whole segment.

Eddie’s just like: Alright, Wheels, make something up or don’t. We’ll try again. Give the people an interesting Nancy Wheeler factoid. That alright with you, Jimbo?

Nancy, after some thought: My first kiss was with a girl

Eddie: I don’t believe that! It took months for you to realize Robin was into you. Robin!

Nancy: It’s true! A first kiss is different than figuring out your sexuality, anyways. It was during spin the bottle. In seventh grade.

Eddie:

Nancy: I was dared to follow through

Eddie: Who’d you kiss?

Nancy: Barbara

Eddie: Well, that’s true. You’re not going to mention her and then lie. Sold yourself out, Wheeler.

Nancy: You go then

Eddie: …My first kiss was with a student athlete. *seeing Nancy get a look* Not Steve! We didn’t both lose our v-cards to King Steve.

Nancy: One day he’s going to divorce you for reminding people of that nickname

Eddie: Steve told me once that I never say anything he doesn’t already know in these interviews. He’s not watching them anymore.

Nancy: Was it Billy? Was it Tommy?

Eddie: it was before - when do you think I had my first kiss? Believe it not, I didn’t graduate high school a virgin

Nancy: No, i unfortunately know that. You guys were very loud. Give me a hint on who it was.

Eddie: It was a test to see if we were gay. Turns out I was. I don’t know about them though-

Nancy: Was it Jeff? He was on the wrestling for a bit, right?

Eddie: Heather Holloway

Nancy: What?!

Eddie: She was on the swim team and ran track. She used to run by where I’d smoke and we shared a few cigs, talked. Actually pretty cool for a conformist. You thought that I was questioning if I liked boys and immediately went for dick, Nance? That’s bold even for me.

#Jimmy is ignored this whole time because he talks too much #I spent forever trying to think of a minor character we knew that didn’t have too big of an age gap from Eddie #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 month ago

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This day in history

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

#20yrago Printer cartridges aren’t copyrighted works https://web.archive.org/web/20041102085343/http://lawgeek.typepad.com/lawgeek/2004/10/static_control_.html

#15yrsago Italian politician sues 4000+ YouTube commenters https://web.archive.org/web/20091030044651/http://www.antoniodipietro.com/en/2009/10/we_will_defend_you_all_from_cu.html

#15yrago Terrified London cops spending millions gathering useless intelligence on peaceful protestors https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/libertycentral/2009/oct/26/police-protest-data-protection

#10yrsago Edward Snowden interviewed by Lawrence Lessig https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_Sr96TFQQE

#10yrsago CHP officer who stole and shared nude photos of traffic-stop victim claims “it’s a game” https://www.cbsnews.com/sanfrancisco/news/east-bay-chp-officer-accused-of-stealing-nude-photos-says-its-game-for-police-california-highway-patrol-sean-harrington/

#5yrsago “Affordances”: a new science fiction story that climbs the terrible technology adoption curve https://slate.com/technology/2019/10/affordances-cory-doctorow-sf-story-algorithmic-bias-facial-recognition.html

#5yrsago Nearly all Americans’ taxes will go down under Medicare for All https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/oct/25/medicare-for-all-taxes-saez-zucman

#5yrsago Researchers’ budget blown when a migrating eagle’s tracker chip connects to an Iranian cellular tower and sends expensive SMSes https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-50180781

#5yrsago New Hampshire state Rep John Potucek kills Right to Repair bill: “cellphones are throwaways…just get a new one” https://www.vice.com/en/article/lawmaker-kills-repair-bill-because-cellphones-are-throwaways/

#1yrago Amazon Alexa is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

#pluralistic

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hoardlikegoldenirises · 1 year ago

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Like a man possessed, I felt like drawing what the gang's various graduation outfits looked/will look like... lol

Notes about each one (and the close-ups again) below the cut:

Midtown High!!! 2005! I made it light blue to match the design I came up with for Flash's varsity jacket, with little white and red bits of course. I made Midtown's colors blue, white and red a long time ago on purpose cause I thought it would be funny. I think the baby blue is cute.

(here's a pic of the letter jacket btw)

Flash doesn't have any honors, except ALLLLL of his sports shit, but they don't really have like... cords for that? so i gave him some medals. but he did like... three or four sports in high school and had a bunch of state wins so i figured he should have something.

I decided Liz should be the Valedictorian so she has the national honor society cords and a little valedictorian stole... the kind you get custom printed of course, not from the school.

Peter somehow managed to graduate high school magna cum laude despite his uncle dying and also getting his ass beat a bunch of times, but he and his aunt can barely afford to live when he's in high school so he definitely can't afford $15 for a stupid rope. (😂) (really his aunt probably would have found a way if she had been made aware...) (i'm sure there are other ways to get the cords but it feels fair to say, personality-wise... this is fitting...)

also... i think i accidentally drew him without his broken nose but i moved shit around so he gets his nose busted way before graduation lol

Still 2005, Standard High! Harry and Gwen! I used green and white as the colors based off like a comic panel from the Gwen Stacy solo comic. and saw some stuff about high schools that have white for girls and blue for boys (i actually think one of my high schools did that? but i graduated from the other school, where the colors were black and orange, so the gowns were... black lol) so I color-coded it based on gender as well, in contrast to Midtown's exclusively sky blue gowns.

Gwen is also Valedictorian, OBVIOUSLY, and I used a V-neck stole for that, plus all the honor cords, and a bunch of medals for shit like the science olympiad, honors, etc. AND a key club stole. cause. that all seemed fitting for her.

Harry gets a medal cause Gwen made him do SciOly with her. and the cord is DECA. REALLY I'm sure there are other societies and clubs from which he could have accessories since he's a little rich boy but I got tired of trying to google stuff and gave up 😂

All the high school gowns, even from Gwen's school, are shiny...

2009—originally I was gonna have Harry graduate too but then I decided he should drop out, so Gwen and Hobie ended up being the only ones in their friend group to graduate on time (or in some cases, at all) lol —

I thought even with his life being a little stressful, Hobie deserved to graduate with honors especially since he's like. a genius. so i guess, much like peter, despite adversity, he managed to get a very high GPA (I chose to, for various reasons, make ESU an expensive possibly private university (loosely based on NYU w/ some deviations) w/ high standards for performance so in this case, magna cum laude is like 3.8+ GPA lol) He's in the same track as Peter and got his Bachelor of Science in Mechanical(?) Engineering. a very smart young man but better at coding. (i actually wonder if he's less mechanical engineering and more a different engineering degree... hmm... definitely engineering either way but maybe more technologically focused than Peter's)

except for Liz, whose business degree I may or may not have forgotten about while drawing this, the others (except Peter) either don't graduate (Harry and Flash) or don't go to college in the first place (Betty, Glory, MJ)

Gwen gets to be the consistent overachiever in this group as I think becomes very apparent... so she's summa cum laude but not, I think, valedictorian. this despite her father dying between sophomore and junior year?? lol? (spoilers i guess 😂) and I decided that at ESU, for summa cum laude, instead of three pairs of cords, it's two pairs plus a satin/silk stole. and also they use their own institutional colors for honors cords (this is where I deviate strongly from NYU, which does not hand out cords or stoles or anything for honors) Oh also she got a BSN (nursing degree)

I put ESU in Stuyvesant Square Park btw.

like. Actually in it. (and several blocks surrounding it) the park is the college green lol

meanwhile Midtown High is just where Forest Hills High School is.

anyway

oh yeah, since I designed Flash's ESU jacket to be cream/off-white with burgundy leather arms and various maroon and crimson accents I decided to run with that and make ESU's school colors maroon and ivory, so the robes are maroon.

Eventually Flash is gonna give this jacket to Peter btw. since Peter actually went to ESU for more than two semesters and also is always on that damn motorcycle.

anywho

2010!! Peter finally graduates just in time for—Gwen to graduate AGAIN LOL — this makes it seem like Gwen finished an entire Master of Science in the time it takes Peter to finish his BS in Mechanical Engineering but technically Peter will graduate in January, he just can't walk until May, and Gwen graduates in May officially. So Gwen only finished HALF her master's degree in the time it takes him to graduate (because her toxicology MS is a two semester program lol)

so like i said this is just Peter's undergrad; he has to take a full extra semester to make up for being withdrawn in "Creep" but luckily an official withdrawal doesn't count against your GPA. which. for a second i was like "OH FUCK" cause I was worried i'd accidentally put him in a situation where he'd be forced to drop out etc. but no his GPA is fine lol. But. No more honors for Peter. Because at a fancy school like ESU 3.62 is just "good" LMAO

So Gwen will be getting a Master of Science in Toxicology at this point, which is afaict generally Medicine so she got a master's hood with dark green for medicine. but Science is like, sage green or something, so I included that in her tights lol

By this point Flash and Peter will be steady so Peter gets to sit in Flash's lap for this lol... Also there should be like 4 more people here but man... my hand hurts 😂 I ran out of steam, but like, Glory, Betty... Felicia... and I think Aunt Anna (Felicia's very flattered to be invited instead of having to sneak along the rafters of the stadium LMAO)

In my head Gwen and Peter carefully coordinate their guest tickets (5 each) so that they can invite their entire friend group and some family so amusingly, despite dating and living together, Peter does not invite Flash, Gwen does 😂 but they agree on this beforehand. Peter invites Aunt May and... i am realizing this retroactively... all the people I didn't draw LOL

This is also 3 months after Normie is born which I realized while drawing Harry and then was like, omg i need to google what a baby carrier looks like Immediately

also mj has short hair for a few years cause i thought it would be cute

moving on

you. might have noticed something.

(2013: Peter's Master of Science in Teaching)

He's wearing red and blue...

Unlike Midtown this was NOT on purpose LMAO I realized only when I was looking up degree colors for the velvet on the hood and discovered that education was light blue... so I decided to lean into it, and then the FF stole just added to it 😂 so he gets spider-man colors for his master's degree lol

That being said, I'm still debating this honestly. this one has already changed a lot as I tried to figure some things out and figure out what timeline isn't wildly unbelievable for him to have a job as a teacher by 2013 lol, cause it's kind of intertwined with some plot stuff that once again involves him graduating a semester late, for a program that normally would be two semesters + one semester of student teaching (his is three semesters + one because I added in an extension for special ed because I want him to get an extended certificate, so he's taking an extra semester of special ed classes) but it ends up taking him two and a half years instead of just one or two and... also as you can see his GPA is not very good because this time instead of a W, he gets an N for the classes he was doing when he uhhh is kidnapped so that brings his entire GPA down, which is Bad News For Scholarships and why I have him with the FF sash.

He already HAS the FF grant (it's one of those kinds that fills in gaps in financial aid) for all of his Master's (no they don't know they've given Spider-Man a scholarship LMAO) so that he can go to grad school like, at all, but I decided that the Fantastic Four also has an emergency fund for Students In Crisis so he gets that his final semester after losing all of his other scholarships (missed the deadlines to apply because he boldly assumed he was One Month From Graduating 😅 and obviously didn't feel the need to reapply for scholarships he wouldn't need anymore) because he... uh... is a student who has had a major crisis lol

also realizing suddenly I should have named this the Fantastic Four Collegiate Fund lmao i'll update my notes.

At this point the Future Foundation is just the Fantastic Four's charity uh... branch? front? idk they do charity and scholarships for marginalized students with it. later it will be more than that.

Here's this again cause I think it's cute.

Peter's final semester is actually half-time student teaching, but I've been considering having him not graduate at all since he already has 40+ days of student teaching, but I'm torn, cause like I said, I want him to have a special ed extension on his teacher certification, but that requires like 70 days of student teaching lol so even though he could still get an initial certification without the MA, I don't think he'd be qualified for what I want him to get a job doing... IDK WE'LL SEE. i'm thinking about possibilities.

IF he graduates, I wasn't even sure if he would walk at commencement anyway, but I also figured that his dear old aunt would really really really really want him to because he put all that hard work in and had such a hard year and doesn't he want to celebrate being alive etc?? even if Peter would rather eat glass. He's so tired. He needs a thousand year nap. But at least by this point he might be willing to be convinced to go be surrounded by 5000 people in a theater... perhaps... maybe.

If he does walk I think he is going to have 4 tickets for guests so it would be obviously May and Flash cause that's his mom and his long-term romantic partner, and... at first I was like, what two other people?! he can't pick and choose favorite friends?! but then i realized it could only be Robbie and JJJ in this specific context that I CANNOT keep going into, just trust me, it's the only correct choice. and also it makes me 🥺

They care him...

jesus. god. anyway.

Gwen's PhD:

I said she was the overachiever. Literally like A MONTH before The Curse of the Man-Spider, Gwen graduates from her doctoral program with a PhD in Toxicology lmao so I wanted to draw THAT up too, so here we get much of the same in the form of maroon robes and a hood with a red and ivory lining, but since it's a PhD she gets the fancy doctorate robes and since ESU likes to be unique apparently it has ivory velvet for the panels and arm chevron stripe things, instead of black, lol. I almost went the ivory robes + maroon velvet route but that looked a little too much like MIT 😂 so I swapped it. I like this.

Also leaning into the Spider-Man red and blue.

Actually I was gonna do a maroon tam but I decided matching it to the PhD blue for the hood edge looked better and I was like. Listen if I'm gonna lean into the red and blue, I might as well lean all the way in. lmao. And yes. 8 sided. like a spider.

This is EXTRA FUNNY because she KNOWS now too (since the year before) so she's probably looking in the mirror like, God Fucking Dammit Peter. But she won't let something as silly as spider-man colors get her down!! tbf i could have had her just get her PhD at a different school, but, you know, it's whatever lol

So, in the end, Gwen has a PhD in Toxicology, Peter has a Master's in Teaching probably (somehow), Hobie has at least a BS in engineering, Liz has at least a Business degree, and... everyone else dropped out or didn't go to college. lol.

also here are some more closeups of that MAT drawing cause I like it

look how tired he is. he's so tired. but there's a little smile. see, peter, it's not all bad.

🥺in love🥺 actually Flash has also been very stressed lol but I think by the time Peter would be walking at graduation, Flash will be much less stressed... especially now that peter isn't having quite so many Extremely Disruptive Nightmares so Flash can get some sleep 💀

She's proud of her boy. I realized partway through drawing this that an oxygen tank would probably make sense cause she was uhhhh *checks notes* stabbed in the chest lol

she's like... 77 or 78 years old now?? and was mostly spry-ish (not counting rheumatoid arthritis) but after this she's definitely much more weak.

anyway that's my long ass post that's honestly probably missing some context but oh my god

#nadiart #fanadiart #rough art #peter parker #coffee bean gang #came in through the window last night

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eruhatesu · 1 year ago

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look idc if people wanna hc gojo as a whore or whatever but im a big truther of gojo and utahime losing their v cards together, and mostly in a "no strings attached" sense but later they form a very close bond beyond friendship ^^

wwwwwww it was a one drunken night :3 Utahime will always deny it happened when theyre around friends but Shoko and Mei-san knew... oh fr they knew bc she was drunk texting them that night before something happened

[slight nsfw beyond the cut]

Hc: Gojo has graduated from Jujutsu tech and has gone back to the Gojo clan as he should. A year later, Utahime just beginning her life of teaching...saw a tall figure visiting the Kyoto campus. She was just about about to leave and couldnt recognize at first but when that bunch of white hair peeked under his umbrella she knew exactly. Like a muscle memory, she went to greet him. His eyes looked angry, eyebrows almost knitting but she could see how his face lit up into a teasing smile when he heard her voice calling his name "Gojo".

She knew he was so done with whatever business he has with his clan and the school so without thinking she basically stole him from his entourage for a dinner and beer on a cheap yakiniku downtown. Her treat she says ! She got her first salary. It's not much but she mumbles "I enjoy it".

Few more pints and theyre walking back to her apartment. Struggling with every step with her orientation skewed reaching her door, they both couldn't leave each other's lips. They've done this countless times but there was this warmth below asking her for something more. With the hint in her turn and bend of her hips, his fingers went on to her clothed core to provide anything she would ask him to.. it took a while but now she has unlocked the door. A smile on his face while kissing her sent more warmth down below...she knew she fucked up but that's a problem for tomorrow.

#eru writes #ask eru #anon!#gojohime #gouta #gojo x utahime

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justtluffythings · 8 months ago

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HOME: Book 6 - CHAPTER NINE

MASTERLIST

“Cheers, team! Here’s to a great game today and to the great season to come!” The Ravenclaw team minus Mavis clinked their glasses and cheered. “Now I don’t want to see any of you again until Tuesday!” The team chuckled as Veronica turned to Reggie. “Come on, let’s go to the upper level. It’ll be quieter up there.” Once on the upper level of the pub, the two found a table in the corner and sat across from each other. “Thanks again for coming today, Reg. I’m sure you must be so busy at work.”

“Actually, we had the day off today anyway, so it worked out well.”

“Nice! I still can’t believe you get to play Quidditch for a living. The Pride of Portree team is so lucky to have you.”

“It’s definitely a dream come true. I was so lucky that one of their Beaters was retiring this year.”

“So how is it going? Is it anything like Quidditch at Hogwarts?”

Reggie chuckled. “Sort of, but it’s much more intense, as you can imagine. The coach is definitely a hard ass, but what else can you expect from the Scottish?”

Veronica raised her hands in the air and laughed. “You said it, not me.”

Reggie shoved her shoulder playfully. “Yeah, yeah. You know V, I heard through the grapevine that the Holyhead Harpies are losing a Beater in a couple years. You should try out. I know you’d get the job.”

“I think you have too much faith in me.” Veronica smiled as she shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t want to give up on my dream of teaching just yet. Flitwick made some comments to me that sounded like something was coming my way. I don’t know what it possibly could be, but I’m holding on to hope, so we’ll see.”

“Wait, what? What did he say?”

“He just said not to worry too much about figuring out a plan B because my plan A, which was teaching, ‘might come to pass.’ He was so cryptic, so I don’t know what that meant, but–”

“What if someone on the staff is leaving and Dumbledore is thinking of having you replace them?”

“I thought about that, but who could possibly be leaving? And besides, I can’t imagine that a new graduate would be the best candidate to teach at Hogwarts.”

“What? Veronica… you’re not just a regular student. You’re brilliant beyond your years, you would be more than capable of teaching any subject.”

“Thanks Reg. We’ll see, but it’s very possible that that’s not what he meant, so I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Alright, alright, fine. But you’ve got to tell me what happens with that.”

“You know I will.”

***

“Thanks for walking me back to the castle, Reg.”

“Of course! It’s late; I would never let you walk back alone.”

“Such a gentleman.” Veronica smiled and pulled him into a hug. “I had a great time catching up today. Thanks for coming to watch the game, it really meant a lot to me.”

“I had a great time too, V. And it’s my pleasure, I’m so glad you told me it was happening today. I miss Hogwarts so much, so it’s so nice to be back. And I’d love any chance to come back while I still have friends here.” Reggie chuckled softly. “But Charlie might just kill me if I come back too often, I stole you away from him all day.”

Veronica rolled her eyes as she laughed. “He’ll get over it.”

Reggie hugged her one more time before pulling away. “Good, because I’m planning on coming back as often as I can. But for now, you should get going. Dinner will be over soon, and you need to eat something before bed.”

“Ugh, I don’t want the night to be over! I really miss you, Reg.”

“I miss you too, but I’ll be back soon, V. I promise.”

The two hugged again and said their goodbyes before Veronica turned and made her way into the castle. Arriving at the Great Hall just in time, she joined Charlie at the Gryffindor table where he had already prepared her a plate of all her favorite things, and Veronica’s eyes sparkled as she saw all the sweet treats he had piled high for her. Squealing in delight, she jumped up and down in her seat and clapped her hands giddily, thanking him. She could not wait to dig in.

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izzy-b-hands · 2 years ago

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Day Four: Alternate Universe or Free Choice

A v simple Alternate Universe: modern, and everyone is poly in one direction or the other with each other. This means lots of big group dates, sleepovers and schedules for who stays with who when, and-

sharing clothes. Sharing hoodies. Stealing hoodies. There's an ungodly large supply of hoodies, but no one has their original items of clothing in their house unless it's on whoever they're staying with at the time lkfajdsalf.

Main focus is on steddyhands, left stizzy, with a drizzle of rizzy, mentions of Olu/Jim/Spanish Jackie as a thing. They have a shared online calendar to keep things straight (genuinely what I would do myself lol.) Slightly NSFW for the stizzy at the end. FTM Izzy.

---

"Well, I had to steal yours," Ed scoffs and pulls Stede's old college hoodie over his head. "Izzy has mine!"

"Ask him for it back," Stede says, kicking off his shoes at the front door mat. "Where is he; I'll ask him if you want."

"Just let me wear yours for tonight," Ed whines. "You can wear the one of Roach's that Izzy stole from him, that I stole from Iz."

"How do you even remember anymore?" Stede says as he kisses his cheek. "What belongs to who, if it isn't mine, I swear I lose track."

"I know you do," Ed motions to the decoration on his hoodie. "Because this isn't yours. This is actually Jackie's."

"No fucking," Stede pauses and leans in to peer at it. "The year is wrong for graduation. Oh my fucking god, for how long...does she know?"

"Yeah, because she's been sharing yours with Jim and Olu."

Stede pinches the bridge of his nose. "Polyamory is a mistake for clothing. Do we have any of our original wardrobes anymore?"

"Yes, because your robe that we've been sharing, just the three of us, hasn't left this house," Ed smiles. "And I won't let it either. Anyway, once you see Iz in it, you'll get it. He's still doing the rest of his laundry, you should know."

"I should know," Stede chuckles. "Should I know if dinner's been started?"

"If you mean Roach sent out his meal of the week today, yes, it is. AKA we just need to warm it up."

"Oh thank fuck. No actual cooking."

"No actual cooking, not tonight."

Ed doesn't follow him upstairs to their rooms, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. He'll start heating up what Roach sent, and by the time they're back downstairs with him, things will be ready.

"Izzy, I know we share a lot," Stede opens the door to Izzy's room. "But..."

Izzy is in nothing but Ed's hoodie, ironically enough an old piece of merch Jackie had made up for her bar years ago. It shows its age, but in a comfortable way: loose and slightly more shapeless than it started, thinning but not enough to be too thin to wear, and ridiculously soft.

He's flopped back on the bed, legs open just enough to catch Stede's eye first thing, flipping aimlessly through a book.

"I just don't think I'm ever getting through some of these you've recommended," he sighs. "I won't debate the worthiness of Jude the Obscure overall as literature, but I won't say I enjoyed this either. But then, no one in this book enjoyed...anything. Ever. At all."

"But you finished it," Stede says. "And you'd just started it too!"

"Why waste time hanging around in that depressing fucking story if I could get through it quickly instead?" Izzy pats the bed. "Ed said he's got dinner for us."

"Roach sent over his-"

"I know, why do you think I'm laying out like this?" Izzy grins. "Ed was kind; he agreed to unpack everything-"

"How much did he send?"

"Enough to last the next three days for leftovers," Izzy says, dropping Jude the Obscure to the floor beside the bed. "He's concerned we order food in too often."

"He won an extra gift card from the chain down the road," Stede scoffs and strides over to drop onto the bed. "For ordering from them so often."

"Yeah, but he doesn't always feel like cooking for himself in between shifts."

"Fair enough. But still, pot, kettle, all that."

Izzy nods. "Anyway. Ed took care of that while Roach and I caught up. I know I'll be back with him in a few days for a week, but-"

"I know how Roach gets after a cooking spree," Stede interrupts. "He's probably dead asleep now."

"He is," Izzy gestures to his phone on the nightstand. "He video called me once he got home, and fell asleep during it. I've got a bet with Jim now as to if he'll wake up before I have to end the call."

Stede leans over and peers at it, and sure enough, there's Roach sleeping hard with his face nearly smashed into his phone.

"You couldn't find any pants or trousers of ours to steal?" he asks as he leans back and rests his head on Izzy's shoulder.

"Thought about it," Izzy shrugs. "Then I remembered you'd be home soon, and thought, why bother?"

"You used my soap in the shower."

"I did. Do you like it?"

Stede kisses Izzy's cheek, then down to his neck.

"Is that a yes?"

He nods into the fabric of the hoodie as he kisses his way further down.

"Food will be ready soon enough, and don't you dare make the jo-"

"But I'm hungry now," Stede barely gets it out before giggling into Izzy's stomach.

"Terrible. Horrible. Cannot believe I love you with jokes like that."

"Yes you can."

"Yeah," Izzy smiles down fondly at him. "I can, and I do. That said, are you going to make yourself wait any longer then?"

He's only just shoved his face between Izzy's legs when Ed calls for them.

"Stede, we can wait. I know you're actually hungry."

"No, no, I can speed run this and still have it be good!"

Izzy shakes his head. "I believe you, but you don't need to do that. Toss me the sweatpants on the floor, and we can get back to this later."

"Which ones?" Stede presses a quick kiss to Izzy's cock before moving to look for them.

"The grey ones."

"They're all grey, all four pairs."

"The ones with what looks like blood on them."

"That narrows it down to two."

Izzy sighs. "The one's that don't look too long for me. Jim's."

"Is any of the clothing in this room actually yours?" Stede snags the correct pair and hands them over.

"Your button up is mine, those trousers are Ed's and the shoes are Roach's, right?"

He can only blush. "Maybe. You can check when you take them off of me later."

"If the two of you are fucking," Ed shouts up. "Then you have to tell me! So I can put this in the oven to keep warm, and come up there!"

"I can wait a little longer," Stede reaches over and plucks the sweatpants from Izzy's hands. "Come on up!"

"Figured as much, be up in a moment!"

"Like I said," Stede gently flops back into place between Izzy's legs. "I'm hungry."

#text post #steddyhands #steddyhandslongweekend #long post #I know i just late posted day three but this one I love so much #this is so stupid silly but it made me so happy to write bc like. feels like home #feels like being close and comfy w/the ppl you love in all different ways and everyone is cared for and supported #and u show it by stealing the fuck outta each other's stuff so that you have reminders of each other around all the time

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petitjury · 1 year ago

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(CANADA) does everyone know about canlii? court transcripts are public information and they’re stored in a big, accessible database that any old joe can explore and read for free.

Link: https://www.canlii.org/en/

Most court cases aren’t reported by the media, especially those related to gang crimes. (because, simply, there’s not enough people and we (being the reporters) need to judge a court docket based on what people will care most about.) So if you’re interested in/curious about what’s going on in the courthouse in your province, or just a crime buff, it’s a great and morally good resource to check out. There's also links to codes, rules and more.

It’s a bit tough to use if you’re new to how courts in Canada work, though. Here’s a cheat sheet, explained in the simplest possible terms (by a college graduate journalist who’s done court reporting before):

COURTS IN CANADA FOR DUMMIES:

Courts in Canada are a system. they’re ranked in order of importance, with the federal supreme court being on top and the provincial court being on the bottom. (in the simplest of terms.) filing for divorce? Provincial court. On trial for first degree murder? Court of King’s Bench.

So—when it comes to actually looking these things up on Canlii, you’ll be immediately faced with the fact that it’s all there. It’s a mouthful at first, but once you know which words mean what, it’s easy enough.

PROVINCIAL COURT:

This is very basic stuff, and the starting ground for anything you'll see in the courts above it. Here, the accused faces the court and everything is laid out on the table to determine if they must stand trial. If the accused pleads guilty, this is where they determine the sentence.

This is also where basically anything happens that wouldn't be remarkably newsworthy. On the docket in the courthouse, you're able to see what kind of hearing it is. Browsing Canlii, you won't be able to specifically see what's going on before you click, but it's usually presented to you right away on the transcript.

it differs depending on province, but this is where we would see cases related to drugs and substances, aggravated assault, aggravated assault with a weapon, robberies, theft, traffic, wrongful deaths, suing, small claims (carpenter stole something from my house, etc.) community court sentencings, police misconduct, suings, wills, divorces, custody, etc.

COURT OF KING’S BENCH (or Supreme/Superior Court of the province):

Court of King’s Bench handles the, for lack of a better term, more extreme cases such as 1st, 2nd, 3rd degree murder, attempted murder, sexual assault, etc. If it’s not a situation where the accused person has been arrested and is going up against the cold first of the law, applicants must have their cases reviewed by the Crown. (For example, “I think my sister killed my brother but I don’t know. Here’s the evidence I’ve collected. Review.”)

These are the cases that are most commonly reported on by the media. They typically involve an extreme, intriguing situation or a person of interest. These are also the only hearings that require a jury, but not all do. Reporters who sit in on these trials must not show any shred of a sign that the accused person is guilty or not.

These trials last a long time and occur long after the accused person was charged. (A serial murder suspect arrested in 2022 may not see a judge and jury before 2026. It all depends.)

For hearings that are person v. person, person v. company, etc. you’ll see it listed that way in the list. Cases involving an accused person facing the law will be labelled R V. (NAME)

COURT OF APPEAL:

These hearings are not generally something you’d sit in on, but there’s potential. On a provincial level, the court of appeal is the senior court, usually with an array of multiple judges, separated into panels and led by the chief justice, overseeing the court. They hear appeals on judgements from the provincial court and king’s bench, and sometimes third parties if mandated. They’re there to make sure that, if there’s a chance that something has happened unfairly, they put an end to it right away. If the original judgement and sentence is justifiable without reasonable doubt, the appeal is dismissed. (The FEDERAL court of appeal is similar, but its basic purpose is to make sure that the federal law is being upheld constantly and consistently. Think about copyright.)

The most eye-catching opening these dockets could have, in my opinion, is “Crown sentence appeal,” which brings an entire case back to light. The applicant, often the accused in these cases, find that they were sentenced unfairly and demand better justice.

And once again—a case involving an accused person, see “R V. JANE DOE”

There are more niche sections of court, but this is all you need to know on a casual basis.

More, if it’s useful:

-Sentencing hearings are labelled SENT. These hand feed you information, quick and easy.

-In Canada, we cannot reveal the identity of accused minors. You won’t find that here. Even more, you cannot find information on trials involving young people, including any way to identify them or their families.

-A Gladue Factor comes into play when the accused is Indigenous and carries generational trauma from the country’s past and current treatment of Indigenous Peoples. Sentences are modified.

-You obviously can’t find audio or pictures.

-CanLii has a blog you can check out for what’s making noise on the site: https://blog.canlii.org/

Basic court and ethics rules apply i’m not your dad

My ask box is always open. Have fun

#resources #canlii #lots of true crime stuff is really exploitative so any alternatives are awesome #there are issues in the court system as well. obviously. but look closely and they sometimes become jarringly obvious

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justapillowpetpanda · 1 year ago

Link

#bisexual #natashalyonne #comedy #documentary #Horror #lesbian #lgbtq #lgbtqia #movie #pansexual #pride #pride2023 #pridemonth #pridemonth2023 #queer #queercinema #rockyhorrorpictureshow #trailer #trans

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holy-puckslibrary · 11 months ago

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━ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — silverfox!DBF!sidney crosby x reader 𝐰𝐜 — 4.4k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — it may not be the right plant, but it's close enough to justify upholding the festive tradition.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i have no explanation for this, but i don't think it needs one. i think it's pretty obvious i... indulged before sitting down to write

18+ MDNI | content warnings under the cut.

𝐜𝐰 — unspecified age gap (everyone's legal, dw), smokin' grass (oiud, a joint, mary jane, whichever term you want to use), 18+ content — innocence/corruption kink, adult language/dirty talk, sexual activity under the influence between two consenting adults, fingering (r), oral (r), slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected p in v + creampie (a very merry chrysler to you)

THE BATHROOM DOOR swings open before you can snub it out against the windowsill.

Your heart lurches against your sternum.

You could’ve tossed the joint out into your mother’s rose bushes, and it still wouldn’t have mattered. If the hazy cloud didn’t make it obvious, the potent smell certainly did. And, unfortunately for you, the window above the toilet is barely wide enough to accommodate your arm, let alone act as an escape route.

Hesitantly—and crossing your fingers it isn’t either of your parents or uptight Aunt Karen—you pivot on the balls of your feet.

Standing in the doorway is Sidney Crosby. A wealthy bachelor and the recent purchaser of 239 Cherry Lane, the picturesque two-story with a white-picket fence two doors down from your childhood home.

And your father’s newly minted best friend.

You hadn’t spent any time with him yet, having been hunkered down wrapping up your final semester of graduate school, but from the stories you heard, you felt as though you had.

Mainly from your mother, who complained incessantly about the poker nights, fishing trips, and the Penguins tickets that stole him away during your weekly mother-daughter phone calls.

You thought it was nice that this stranger cared. A very handsome stranger—but you already knew that.

The way you saw it, there's no harm done in introducing a few of his Facebook and LinkedIn photos into the visual rotation during your nocturnal... endeavors.

What he—and your parents—didn't know wouldn't kill them.

By now, you’ve come undone to the licks of silver at his temples and the thick bulge of his experienced body, namely his corded forearms, more times than you’d ever admit. You fantasized often about the web of veins and how it might feel pressed against your stomach as he pet you from the inside out. Or how erotic the moonlight would look, crawling through the valleys of his firm muscles as he cages you beneath him, entirely at his mercy.

The intimate acts of your overactive imagination were to blame for a false sense of familiarity, no matter how or if you pretended otherwise.

“It’s medicinal?” you offer meekly.

His expression is hard, unconvinced.

With a sigh, you concede. The milky fog was starting to waft into the hallway anyway. If you don’t act quickly, someone else might follow the trail and discover your illicit habit.

So, you try your hand at honesty. “Not technically prescribed by a medical professional per se, but I use it that way. I have terrible migraines. And anxiety.” When Sidney still doesn’t respond, your mouth keeps running. “With the holidays and finals and everything else... I just needed to take the edge off. Just—just please shut the door.”

He does.

Behind himself.

“Please,” you murmur, voice falling soft. You have an inkling as to why he’s trapped you in here with him, and you desperately hope you’re right. You sweeten your voice, “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

In the midst of your appeal, the hem of your skirt jumped into the pocket fashioned out of your upper thighs and lower abdomen. If your mother could see you now, she’d scold you for creating such an indecent, unladylike display. She’d call you rude for "burdening a gentleman with your sensuality."

Mr. Crosby doesn't seem to mind.

You can tell he’s enjoying the view; his gaze is steady as he shamelessly assesses your body. Crouching on top of the toilet seat begins to feel like kneeling centerstage. When his exploration ceases—for the time being—his eyes are impossibly dark, inky with lust.

Even from your perch, you can tell he's big. Far larger than anyone you've been with previously. He is going to wreck you forever; you need to be ruined for anyone else. His heavy, unwavering stare has placed you on the cusp of a freefall; there's no going back now. Once he touches you, it's over for anyone else.

You're giddy, laser-focused on the outline of his erection, impossible to ignore as it twitches beneath his immaculately pressed slacks.

“I won’t,” he promises and takes a step closer. “So long as you share.”

“You get high?”

It comes out more crassly than you intend. Embarrassment creeps over the bridge of your nose, burning the skin from the inside out.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Sidney chuckles, mercifully un-offended.

You drink in the rich sound with the intention of drowning in it.

Sidney lowers himself onto the ground beside your feet, his back against the wall. He starts talking again, looking up at you through his eyelashes, “I was getting stoned before you were even born, kid.”

Your thighs rub at the pet name. Your body clenches around nothing. No one had ever called you that before, at least not in this way, let alone someone as attractive as your father's best friend.

You never could have anticipated how viscerally your body would react to such an overtly corrupt term of endearment—it's incredible.

He catches the subtle shift in your demeanor and smirks.

Desperate to distract him, you hold out the joint. “Here.”

He takes it.

“Cute,” Sidney muses at the novelty hemp paper.

Your face warms, suddenly feeling much younger than you are. Head empty and body heavy, you're stuck between floating and falling.

The polka-dots, which felt like a fun idea at the time of purchase, now make you want to bury your head into the decorative hand towels by the sink.

You don't want to be cute. Not now, maybe not ever. And definitely not in the eyes of Sidney Crosby.

Men like him don’t fuck “cute."

“Could use some work, but you’ll learn. Over time,” he says, tone carefully neutral, as he puffs out the residual smoke and moves the joint between his fingers.

He’s not trying to be cruel or to embarrass you further. Just making an observation; it wasn’t balanced, too thick at one end. You’ve done better, and you’ve done worse.

Sidney holds it out to you. You slide down onto the floor to retrieve it, but as you move to take it back, Sidney clicks his tongue.

Only when he lifts it a bit higher do you understand what he wants from you.

Slowly, you lean over his massive thigh and wrap your lips around the joint. Your body trembles, and you try to focus on the comforting taste of the rolling paper to soothe yourself.

He brings your palm to his quad to steady you, but it only makes the nerves worse.

“Inhale,” he whispers into your hair.

Compelled by his voice or reflex, your body obeys.

His free thumb coasts along your jaw, keeping you in place while you get your fill. Hunched over his lap, his intimidating bulge is directly below your chest. If you bent down any lower, you’d be resting right on it.

You (more than) like the idea but still aren't unsure if he wants to act on the mutual—and palpable—desire. Maybe he's feeling particularly responsible tonight.

But maybe he's feeling irresponsible instead.

You lean away once you’ve inhaled enough, pursed lips falling away from the damp paper. Before you can open your mouth to release the cloud, Sidney lifts your chin.

“Hold it for me. That's it, kid—just like that."

Your exhalation is mortifying. Choked and rough, it’s worse than the first time you tried your hand at Ron Slaters’ bong in his parents’ basement. You felt like a novice who couldn’t match their bite up with their bark.

For someone with a habit, you weren’t behaving like it.

Sidney’s smile is one of gentle amusement as he gently rubs your lower back.

Though not at your expense. It's the sound of fondness, the affectionate kind of touch—the kind that encourages you to do something you might regret.

“Please,” you beg, nose brushing against his.

You begged him earlier, but for something mostly innocent: to keep a secret. Now, you’re begging him to be one.

“Please, what, kid?” Sidney whispers.

His breath is humid on your skin. He closes some of the distance, but not all. He wants this—wants you, but he's careful about how he conveys it. Decades your senior, he’s more patient and calculated than you are, or are even capable of being.

“Tell me what you want. I need to hear you say it plainly before I touch you. I won’t if you have any doubts. Can’t have any wires getting crossed.”

“Please—kiss me.”

“That’s it?” he teases. “You could’ve gotten a kiss earlier when we were under the mistletoe at your front door.”

He knows damn well why you hadn’t kissed him then. Your father appeared with a beer before you could even exchange pleasantries. But you’re too needy to fight with him over minor details. At least, not right now.

“I need you to touch me, please. Anywhere—everywhere. Want you so badly. I’ll take anything you give me. I promise I’ll be so good for you, Mr. Crosby.”

Your pleas stun you both.

He growls at the moniker, eyes darkening. “Such a filthy mouth for such a sweet little girl. I wonder how well it handles cock."

Immediately, your hands jump to his belt. Sidney catches your wrists and shakes his head. You whimper, pouting like a petulant child.

Sensory input is amplified tenfold now, and just the firm grip of his large, strong hand sets off a million tiny fireworks beneath your skin. Your emotions are intensified, too. His intervention is discouraging, and it leaves you feeling juvenile, small and dejected.

“I want to find out what you taste like, princess. I want to see if you taste as good as you look,” Sidney explains. “Will you let me?”

A nod is all he needs.

You’re pliant in his hold as he pulls you up to stand. Still holding your wrists in his palm, he turns the sink on and tosses the shrunken joint into the puddle that forms.

Then, Sidney walks you backward until you’re pinned between the cold wall and his warm chest. He leans into you further, lips finally drawing yours into a surprisingly chaste kiss.

He tastes like eggnog and weed—your new favorite flavor.

You whine as he pulls away but go quiet when he sinks down onto his knees.

Sidney grabs your left ankle, gently placing your foot onto the porcelain lid that was formerly your throne.

A cool rush of air mingles with the mind-altering buzz from your strain of choice, making you feel as if you’ve been on vibrate for hours.

The intensity of your arousal prevents you from realizing how quickly the situation has devolved into depravity.

“No panties?” Sidney tsks as his thumbs stroke your inner thighs. “Maybe you aren’t as sweet and innocent as you want people to believe you are.”

“I don’t like how suffocating they feel,” you mumble in response.

Bashful, like you’ve done something naughty. And maybe you had…

“Oh, I believe you; pussies this ripe need to breathe,” he says with a bout of quiet laughter.

After his palms push your thighs further apart, his dry chuckle morphs into an awestruck sigh.

“My God, you have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen, kid. Even through your tights, I can tell. Could probably tell with my eyes closed—you smell that sweet. Your little hole is already weeping for me, ’s so wet and ready. Can I get a better look, princess? Are you gonna let me rip these open and lick you real good?”

Chest heaving, you nod.

“Words, kid. I need words.”

“Yes, Mr. Crosby—rip my tights and let me feel your tongue,” you moan into the ceiling.

“There's my good girl.”

You aren’t sure if it's the praise or the possessive edge to his voice or the thundering tear that sends your hands carding through his salt and pepper hair, but you know it's his lips ghosting over your clit that warrants the harsh tug.

Sidney hisses, but the pain only encourages him to consume you fully.

Eventually, his thumb takes over on behalf of his mouth. He rests his cheek against your thigh, those wide, chocolatey eyes boring into yours. “I want to feel you squeeze my tongue while you’re cumming. Ride my face, bump that cute clit against my nose—use me to get yourself off. Show me how filthy my girl can be."

And you do, passionately bucking your hips with reckless abandon. You’re locked on the thrill; the danger crumbles away. The floor drops out from under your feet.

Sidney remains latched to your folds, tongue deep and wide, lapping up your orgasm like a starved man.

“You know, you’ve got some good tricks.” Your compliment is mostly air, expression placid. But the light jab that follows is all husk. “—for an old man.”

Sidney chuckles as he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip, now both glistening with the evidence of your undoing. He catches you staring and dips the finger into his mouth, savoring the last few drops as he corners you.

You gulp, shocked by his brazen display and intimidated by his closeness.

“Have you ever been with an old man, princess, or am I your first?”

The way his voice drops off into the question reminds you of summer camp. Like you’d chosen truth over dare and now had to admit to your entire cabin that you were still a virgin. Like Josh Meyers noticed your hands were shaking as you fumbled with his belt in the backseat of his Land Rover.

This time, you hesitate because the answer isn’t simple anymore. The admission gets caught in your throat, so you nod. Your gaze droops to the bathroom floor as you wait for the door to click shut.

You anticipate losing your appeal for him because he won’t get to claim anything special for the effort.

“Naughty girl,” Sidney chides from behind a toothy grin as his blunt fingers prod at your sensitive entrance. You gasp as he pushes a few in. “Who was he? Anyone I would know?”

You shake your head. His chin dips.

Sidney coaxes more details out of you with a flick of his wrist. His digits curl up, the pads of his fingers massaging that delicious, spongy spot.

“My Russian Literature professor last semester. After I handed in my final.”

Even though he's knuckle-deep, you feel the need to clarify the timeline. As if he was going to be disappointed in you if you seduced your professor sooner, unbothered by the risk your wonton behavior posed for the man.

If anything, Sidney looks enraptured by your vulgar candor.

Emboldened, you tack on salacious details. “Directly after I handed in my final. At the front of the empty lecture hall on his desk. Over it, actually. He told me he prefers fucking his students from behind so they can keep watch while he loses himself. Anyone could’ve walked in, but I didn’t care. I needed to feel him too badly, and I’d been forced to wait all semester.”

“That must’ve been so hard, huh?” he muses, tone violently patronizing.

Your hips buck in his hand. You like that he speaks to you like he knows more than you—knows better than you.

Like he should make your choices for you.

His smile twists, “Poor baby had to be patient to get what she wanted rather than just having it handed to her on a silver platter? I can’t imagine how badly this greedy little cunt,” Sidney swirls your clit for emphasis, and your stomach jolts, “...ached every day that you weren’t stuffed to the brim with an older man’s cum.

Don’t worry, princess, you won’t have to wait very long to feel the stretch of my big cock. Or the flood of my seed. Just a little bit longer, okay? You can wait for me, can’t you? You need to give me another before I can fuck you. Need you nice and relaxed—receptive.”

Dumbly, you bob your head.

He drags his unoccupied thumb over your closed lips. Languidly, from corner to corner. In the middle, he lingers on your cupid's bow as if committing the feel of it to memory. Then, his thumb fixes itself on the lax seam of your lips. It doesn’t take any effort to slot the tip inside. He rests atop your bottom teeth.

Tentatively, your tongue slips forward to greet him. When you make contact, Sidney groans. He shoves the digit forward, causing you to gag in surprise. With the rest of his fingers wrapped around your chin and jaw, his thumb starts gently massaging your tongue.

Sidney is fucking you at both ends.

“So easy—already broken in,” he hums.

It feels like an insult (because it probably is), but your nipples pebble all the same. He notices and grinds his bulge against your stocking-clad thigh.

“I didn’t even need to say anything. You already knew exactly what to do. And you’re doing such a good job sucking on it. Blowing my thumb while you hump my palm like the good little bitch you are. Make yourself gush, little girl. Get my hand nice and soaked so I can play with that pretty clit as I pound your hole.”

You want him to fuck you so badly you’ll do anything he tells you to.

And he knows it, too.

Your walls constrict around the three fingers you’ve eagerly welcomed between your thighs, and, as if on command, the tight knot in your stomach snaps. Your vision goes fuzzy around the edges as you flood his hand.

“My little girl likes my filthy words, doesn’t she?” Sidney coos. He wrenches his thumb from your mouth so he can hear you whimper a small affirmation. “I bet I could make you come apart with them alone, don’t you? This pussy knows its master—knows the sound of his voice.”

Sidney devours your wide eyes. His meaty tongue, the one that lapped at your folds minutes ago, pokes at his cheek. With his head cocked to the side with delight, he hits the last nail in your coffin.

One hand beside your head on the wall and the other still buried in the warmth between your legs, he asks, “What would your parents say if they knew their perfect princess seduces older men for sport? Men older than her own father?”

You’re writhing now, drowning in sweltering euphoria. The words coming from your mouth are barely there, and the sentences they attempt to form are incoherent.

Sidney revels in your blank stare and tacky cheeks. He’s barely started, and he's already fucked you dumb. Now, he’s going to reap his reward.

“A girl like you needs a man. A boy your age wouldn’t know what to do with you,” he moans, fishing out his cock.

Sidney strokes himself a few times as you watch. He teases your clit with the bulbous head, hissing as he does. Soon, Sidney lines himself up with your entrance but only pushes in an inch or so.

Too shallow, too empty.

Desperately, you claw at his sweater-clad shoulders, begging for more. Sidney takes pity on you and sheathes himself, hips flush to yours with one stroke.

You shriek into his chest at the dull pressure.

He burrows his head into the crook of your neck. His teeth graze your pulse point as he kisses his way up to your ear. Sidney's words are stifling.

“They’re too inexperienced, too young. They can’t give you what you want. What your body needs. A good girl like you deserves to be fucked the way she craves. Dirty and hard. I am the only one capable of that.”

You nod your agreement, body limp between him and the bathroom wall.

A ragdoll at best.

Sidney is caressing parts of yourself you hadn’t known existed, and each with little fanfare. He moves, and you fall apart at the seams. He breathes, and you crumble at his feet. He looks your way, and you kneel at his altar. You get lost in the moment and in your own head. In his dark brown eyes and upturned mouth.

After two orgasms and over half of a joint, you’re incredibly sensitive. On the brink. Your third peak arises far sooner than you’re accustomed to, inner walls fluttering around his length as the tip rubs them so tenderly.

Sidney grabs hold of your chin and forces you to show him; he wants to watch your ruin.

He looks like he’s about to say something—no doubt something that would make you feel as though you needed to repent tomorrow morning—but he’s interrupted before he can.

By your father.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re lighting up in there. I can smell it from out here. You know I don’t care, but your mother does. Even more, considering we have guests over.”

He sounds defeated. Your mother probably yanked him from the garage (see: the makeshift man cave) so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.

“Finish up and get back out here. The Finnegans have been waiting to talk to you about a lead on a job since they arrived half an hour ago. And you haven’t said hello to Ben yet.”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip so hard that it splits open. Sidney’s thumb pushes down harder on your clit; he laps up the beads of crimson.

“Go on, little girl. Your father’s talking to you,” he whispers against your skin.

His hips slow, but never stop. Relentless. He nips your earlobe, then your pulse point, before settling his incisors into what of your shoulder the hideous sweater allows. Sidney pacifies the angry indentations with the tip of his tongue before continuing to taunt you.

“It would be very, very rude not to acknowledge him. And you’re not rude, are you? Tell him you’re so close to finishing. Be a good girl for me and repeat exactly that. We wouldn’t want to keep Ben waiting, now would we?”

Jealousy is rolling off of his body in brutal waves.

As if you’d trade him out for a boyish loser you broke up with in high school. That might've been nearly a decade ago, and you doubted he’d matured any since then.

Besides, why would you bother with him when you already had the perfect man rutting into you like it's his last night on Earth?

“I-I hear you, I’m almost done,” you croak. Sidney takes issue with your diction and nips at your ear once more. A warning—the first and last. You rephrase, “I’m almost finished. T-hen, I need a m-minute to clean myself up. But I’ll be right out! Promise!”

Writing off the stuttering as a guilty tick, your father retreats.

Sidney waits to speak until you can no longer hear his footsteps padding down the hall.

“Atta girl,” he says sweetly against your brow. “Taking me so deep with your own father on the other side of the door. Me, his best friend. You’re fucking yourself with his best friend’s cock. You’re going to cream all over his cock, too, aren’t you? You dirty fucking slut. C’mon, use your words. Tell me how your slutty little pussy is going to cream all over my huge cock and then milk it dry.”

“Mr. Crosby—Sidney…” you whine. Just his name pouring from your mouth sends him to the edge. “’m going to cum all over your cock. I’m so fucking close to creaming all over your cock. My s-slutty little pussy is going to milk you dry—fuck—milk it until you’re empty.”

“If your pussy does a good job and swallows all of it, I might just keep you,” he rasps. “Hell, I might keep you regardless. This is the hottest, tightest pussy I’ve ever been inside. I couldn’t give that up, and I don't think I will. You don't mind if I keep you, do you, princess?”

You whimper with delight. After tasting forbidden fruit, you weren’t sure you could go without. It's a relief to know you won’t have to.

Sidney will take care of you.

“Of course, you wouldn’t. That was your intention all along, wasn’t it, naughty girl? You were practically eye-fucking me when you answered the door. But don't give yourself too much credit, kid. I’ve been waiting to get you alone—to have you to myself—all evening. How could I not follow you back here?

Now that I have you, I’m going to make you cum, and then, I’m going to make you taste yourself. I want you to know what your fucked-out cunt tastes like after taking a fat, creamy load from your dad’s best friend.”

What happens next feels like being thrust into the eye of a storm after spending days in the thick of the destruction. Brilliant clarity. A breath of fresh air you hadn’t known you required. But you aren’t the one in control, and neither is he. You’re both at the mercy of carnal desire. Like a puppet on a string, you succumb to its power, letting go of everything you were holding back. You give, and you give until there’s nothing left but wobbly knees and labored breathing.

When his forehead kisses yours, you welcome the newfound warmth spreading below your navel. You clench down. Yes, to milk him as you promised, but also to prevent him from leaving before you're ready. As if you'd ever be. He’d have to go eventually; someone would come looking for one or both of you, but not yet.

“Let’s have a taste, shall we?” he whispers after a few minutes of relative quiet.

That's not really what he’s asking. He wants to know if you’re okay with him sliding out. Reluctant but enticed by the idea, you nod.

True to his word, Sidney sinks onto the floor to slot himself between your knees. His warm palms graze your skin from ankle to knee, then back down again. He pushes your wrinkled skirt into your shaking hands before nudging your legs further apart with his own palms.

Sidney sighs with contentment as he takes in the mess you made together. He dives in without letting another moment pass.

“Delicious—I could drink from you all night,” he hums against your sopping-wet folds.

Sidney drags his tongue across your heat a few more times before standing.

“Open,” he demands.

You comply, and he hooks open your mouth with his pointer finger. Sidney’s face brushes yours as he spits the evidence of your tryst down your sore throat. Your knees weaken, your body relaxing in the afterglow of the ephemeral high.

“All clean,” he says, smug as ever.

He pecks your cheek and steps back.

With a wink, Sidney adds, “Mistletoe is my favorite holiday tradition.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what we were smoking,” you quip, breathless.

Mr. Crosby's lips curl at the ends. He fucked you good and hard, and, still, you have cheek to spare.

He's going to have fun with you.

“I’ll be at your father’s poker night on Wednesday," is all he says before stepping out into the dim hallway.

Sidney shuts the door, and, like the first time, he's standing on the wrong side of it.

As he retreats, his cum drips down your inner thighs.

Your body trembles with anticipation; he wants to see you again.

Soon.

──── PART TWO ────

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