#GAP-Analyse

[kateis-cakeis]

Thinking about the structure of the Old Religion.

From what we know there's the Nine which refers to the High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess - powerful sorcerers who obtained immortality (unless killed by some form of magic), and performed important rituals of the Old Religion.

It is unknown if there was a High Priest equivalent, but Gaius in S1Ep13 does tell Merlin that "the High Priests have the power to mirror life and death". This suggests that perhaps there were High Priests of the Triple Goddess, and that they also had a Nine.

There's the Bendrui, women who failed to become part of the Nine. Just like those who eventually became High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess, they were chosen at birth for the priesthood - taken from their families and raised as initiates of the Old Religion. Despite their failure, Bendrui are practiced in potent magic, and appear to have above average gifts.

There's the Bloodguard, warrior priests who swore to protect the High Priestesses. They, like the High Priestesses, were the only people to ever set eyes upon the staff carved from the Rowan tree that grows at the very heart of the Isle of the Blessed.

It could be suggested that like the Bendrui, the Bloodguard could have been failed High Priests, but there is no evidence (other than the existence of the Bendrui, and the mention of High Priests) to truly suggest this.

It is also unknown if the Bloodguard served the Triple Goddess. It is possible that the priests served various different gods of the Old Religion, but due to their relation to the Nine specifically, it is likely these warrior priests served the Triple Goddess.

There's the Catha, which contains priests. (Alator is referred to being "of the Catha, warrior and priest", he also says "I'm a Catha priest").

It is unknown if they served the Triple Goddess, or a different god of the Old Religion (and we know they are priests of the Old Religion because Morgana says, "He's a Catha...priest of the Old Religion.").

They have their own language, however, suggesting that they are a unique culture, and perhaps even an ethnic group. (This is further supported by Alator saying Catha are trained from birth to master all physical pain, it is also said that they guard their ancient knowledge - which leans towards them being a people rather than just initiates of the Old Religion)

There's the Disir, the highest court of the Old Religion, made up of three women chosen at birth to be trained as seers and soothsayers. They are the mouthpiece of the Triple Goddess, and interpret her word. As Gaius says, "When they sat in judgement, their word was final". They pass on the runemark, which is both judgement and fate - it contains a person's guilt, as well as the path the gods have chosen for them.

There's the Druids, a peaceful people who worship the Old Religion and often possess magic. It's a part of their beliefs to help people in need of care, and therefore, those who weren't born a Druid can find a home amongst them (Morgana is one such example).

Moreover, the Druids look for children with the gift of telepathy to serve as apprentices (perhaps to keep them safe? perhaps to encourage their magic in childhood?). The Druids also have a tattoo of a triskelion somewhere on their body, perhaps as a part of a ritual (to indicate someone has become a Druid?).

While the Druids have an intimate knowledge of prophecy and destiny, especially regarding Emrys and the Once and Future King, they do not appear to be priests or priestesses in any form. Just like the Catha, they have their own language (called the Druid tongue and Druidic Runes by Gaius), therefore, it is possible that they too are a unique culture and/or an ethnic group.

There's the Isle of the Blessed, a sacred location of the Old Religion, said to be the centre of it, and the focus of its power - it is also where the power of the ancients can still be felt after the Great Purge. Artifacts such as the Rowan staff, the Cup of Life, and the Horn of Cathbhadh were kept there under the care of the High Priestesses. Furthermore, Morgana's healing bracelet was forged on Isle - suggesting that its power allowed for the creation of powerful artifacts (this is further supported by the Rowan staff which was carved from the tree that grows there).

In a deleted scene for S4Ep1, Morgause says when she was first brought to the Isle, the hallways were teeming with women - High Priestesses. Although it is said often within the fandom, canon never establishes if the initiates were trained on the Isle. This deleted scene, however, heavily suggests it.

There's the Caerlanrigh, a sacred spring within the Grove of Brineved. There, the Disir reside within a cave, where the spring feeds into an ancient pool - in which the Disir divine from. The old ways are at their strongest there, and it's at the very centre of their powers (whether Gaius meant the old ways or the Disir here is unclear).

There's the Cauldron of Arianrhod, a sacred site of the Old Religion. The lake contains the power of the White Goddess, who can be summoned to heal those affected by the Teine Diaga ritual. However, if such a person is tricked into entering the cauldron, their soul would be lost forever.

There's the Crystal Cave, said to be the birthplace of magic. It is filled to the brim with scrying crystals that show the past, present, and future. Taliesin used the cave as the source of his prophecies for the kings of old. And as much as the crystals can be controlled, they can force visions upon powerful sorcerers too.

The cave can also hold spirits within it, seen with both Balinor and Taliesin.

While this may have been the case for Merlin alone, the cave can restore a person's magic.

There are celebrations important to the Old Religion too, such as:

Samhain, a time of year where the people feel closest to the spirits of their ancestors, in which they celebrate their passing.

During Samhain it was traditional for the High Priestesses to gather on the Isle of the Blessed and perform a blood sacrifice to release the Dorocha. This was done on the stroke of midnight, when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest.

Since the Dorocha do not roam free in the world throughout the series, it is suggested that a second blood sacrifice was done by the High Priestesses - perhaps before the night was through - to close the veil once more.

In Camelot, a feast is held as part of the celebrations. (This suggests that while the Old Religion and its practices were abandoned during and after the Purge, the heart of the religion and its holidays were never replaced).

Beltane, a time of year where the High Priestesses would gather at the Great Stones of Nemeton and summon the spirits of their ancestors with the Horn of Cathbhadh. It opens the door to the Spirit World and allows the person who blew the horn to see and speak with their ancestor of choice.

In Camelot a feast is held as part of the celebrations (which much like Samhain seems indicate that the Old Religion has been around for so long that it cannot be removed from society entirely - that the people clung onto some traditions, including the royal family).

There's the Gods of the Old Religion, the Triple Goddess, the White Goddess, and Nemaine. It could be implied that the White Goddess, and the Earth Mother Nemaine are part of the Triple Goddess, but it is just as likely for them to be separate gods.

If so, the Triple Goddess is heavily associated with the Nine, destiny and fate, and the immortality of certain sorcerers. Perhaps she is also associated with the balance of the world, due to the power over life and death being tied to the High Priestesses and supposed High Priests.

The White Goddess, however, appears to be associated with one's soul and healing. It was only her power that could heal and retain Gwen's soul after Teine Diaga ritual.

The Earth Mother Nemaine is related to Gean Canach, as it is said her tears forged the creature. The book Gaius reads from has more information, and from what can be deciphered, it says that Nemaine first wept at the slaughter of war, resulting in the Gean Canach crawling out of the Earth's belly (there is more written on the page, but it is impossible to tell what it says). This suggests that Nemaine lives within the Earth's core, and that she is indeed associated with nature and living beings as her name implies.

Furthermore, since she wept at the slaughter of war, she is perhaps the god of life itself, but not of the entire cycle. And due to the Gean Canach's abilities, to devour and drain a sorcerer of their magic, it is likely that this war's slaughter was brought about by magic.

It is possible that The Earth Mother Nemaine could be related to the Pool of Nemhain. Despite having different spellings in the show (the subtitles), they have extremely similar pronunciations (even if it is a bit different). Perhaps they are unrelated, but if they are one and the same, it could be suggested that the Earth Mother is connected to death as well as life, due to the pool being the last of the Five Gateways to the Spirit World. (This contradicts what is analysed in the above paragraph, but this post is meant to speculate multiple possibilities.)

Honourable mentions:

It could be suggested that the Quest Ritual was once part of the Old Religion. It includes the heir to the throne of Camelot transcending their body in order to receive a vision of a quest. This quest is meant to prove their worth to the people, and their worthiness of the throne. The heir prepares themself by cleansing their body and dressing in white robes. They spend an entire night kneeling on the floor, barefoot, with their eyes closed.

Due to how Arthur reacts in the morning when Uther pulls him out of it, and how sacred the entire process appears to be, it is as if the heir is actually gifted with a vision of a quest. This is supported by his reaction, as he looks dazed when relays what he has seen. Therefore, it seems as if the ritual includes some form of magic due to the preparation, and if so, then it's likely it was a practice of the Old Religion (specifically for the heirs of Camelot? Due to Camelot's association with the very heart of magic?)

It has been around for hundreds of years, so it is not outside the realm of possibility that the Quest Ritual is so old that the general consensus has forgotten its ties to the Old Religion, or much like Samhain and Beltane, it is perhaps so baked into society that it couldn't be abandoned.

--

In S1Ep13, Merlin says that the "Old Religion died out centuries ago". Even in Series 1 this is far from true, but later seasons make this remark seem entirely ignorant. If anything, this sentiment comes from a post-Purge society, where the structures of the Old Religion no longer exist. Perhaps it is even propaganda that Uther pushed forward as people became more fearful over the years, turning away from the old ways despite once practicing such beliefs (and for the people of Camelot, still practicing some of those beliefs).

It is possible this was a retcon but if so then it's directly retconned in S1Ep13 when it's revealed that Nimueh is a High Priestess.

Anyhow, in response to Merlin's ignorance, Kilgharrah says, "The Old Religion is the magic of the Earth itself. It is the essence which binds all things together. It will last long beyond the time of men".

This shows that the Old Religion doesn't just refer to the religion and the gods, but rather it is the very magic that makes up the fabric of the world, and as Balinor says in S2Ep13 it's either a part of you or it isn't. This suggests that it is indeed not just a religion, but the very world, the Earth, magic.

He also goes on to say that Merlin must "find those who still serve it", which shows that Uther very much didn't succeed in eradicating the structure of the Old Religion entirely, at least at that point in the show. And perhaps that anyone could serve it, even after the very structure collapsed.

All this is to say that the Old Religion is extremely pagan. The structure itself is vague perhaps because Old Religion is personal, it is vague. The differences between the High Priestesses, the Catha, and the Druids make this clear. Following the Old Religion's beliefs, traditions, and holidays is personal and spiritual because it varies, because there is no wrong way. Because there are no set rules or a real structure at all. The High Priestesses had power, yes, but this seems to come directly from the Triple Goddess herself, rather than a societal standing.

Nimueh was at court, and she was Uther's friend, but she was also very quickly thrown from the court after Ygraine died. And yes, the High Priestesses went to war with the Ancient Kings, but that appears to be a difference in factions, rather than let's say the Christian church and its power over the centuries.

Therefore, I propose that the Old Religion as a religion was loose in its structure, that it never died out like Merlin said (which does seem to be a post-Purge sentiment), but instead simply changed and evolved, and continued to exist even after the Purge, with its holidays in Camelot, and with the Druids and their practices/beliefs.

-----

Overall, the information we have on the structure of the Old Religion is vague and patchy. This was perhaps intentional so the writers could work around existing canon to introduce new concepts without being constricted by their past worldbuilding. But that's getting into the Intentional Fallacy, so I'll leave that there.

It appears that the High Priestesses had the most power in society, due to their past wars with the Ancient Kings, and their sheer power and knowledge. Not to mention their artifacts and control over creatures like the Fomorroh.

But there are different beliefs and structures to the Old Religion, like with the Catha and the Druids, suggesting that there are multiple ways to worship and follow the Old Religion.

The many sacred sites show that there are different powers and sources to the Old Religion that have different purposes. Like how the path to the Cauldron of Arianrhod was lined with banners for pilgrims, not to necessarily summon the White Goddess, but to visit the site. Or how the Isle of the Blessed is a powerful religious site, while the Crystal Cave is a fairly legendary and unknown place that few ever get to see.

In conclusion, the Old Religion is vast and has many facets to it. There is some structure, but it doesn't seem entirely necessary in order to follow the Old Religion. And in reality, it is inherent to the Earth, it is magic itself.

[rickybaby]

“👀”

[ozzieinspacetime]

Something I've found is that Divided Loyalties really doesn't tell us why the Deca actually fall out. We're given the big reason- Millennia and Rallon are functionally dead, Vansell is a CIA member, The Doctor has been expelled, Drax and Mortimus have dropped out, Koschei and Ushas have gone off on research projects, etc- but what about the space in-between? When are the conversations had? Are they had at all? Is it let fester, or is their ending horrific and explosive?

There's a largely unfilled gap between the end of the Doctors Trail and the Beginning of An Unearthly Child and because of that gap we don't really know when the Deca go from "people being effected by grief but who are ultimately sticking together" to "people who would destroy a third of the universe just to watch the others get hurt"

[husbandhannie]

i know it's been said before but man the whole "what kind of pretty are you" is a little fucked up

[jcmarchi]

Fostering Trust: How Interactive AI Builds Trust Between Doctors and AI Diagnostics

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/fostering-trust-how-interactive-ai-builds-trust-between-doctors-and-ai-diagnostics/

Fostering Trust: How Interactive AI Builds Trust Between Doctors and AI Diagnostics

Artificial Intelligence (AI) holds great promise for healthcare, offering improvements in diagnostic accuracy, reducing workloads, and enhancing patient outcomes. Despite these benefits, there is hesitancy in adopting AI in the medical field. This reluctance stems mainly from a lack of trust among healthcare professionals, who are concerned about job displacement due to AI’s superior performance in various tasks and the complex, opaque nature of AI systems. These “black box” technologies often lack transparency, making it difficult for doctors to fully trust them, especially when errors could have serious health implications. While efforts are being made to make AI more understandable, bridging the gap between its technical workings and the intuitive understanding needed by medical practitioners remains a challenge. This article explores a new approach to AI-based medical diagnostics, focusing on ways to make it more trustworthy and acceptable to healthcare professionals.

Why Do Doctors Mistrust AI Diagnostics?

Recent advancements in AI based medical diagnostics aim to automate the entire diagnostic process from start to finish, effectively taking over the role of a medical expert. In this end-to-end approach, the entire diagnostic process, from input to output, is handled within a single model. An example of this approach is an AI system trained to generate medical reports by analyzing images such as chest X-rays, CT scans, or MRIs. In this approach, AI algorithms perform a series of tasks, including detecting medical biomarkers and their severity, making decisions based on the detected information, and producing diagnostic reports that describe the health condition, all as a single task.

Although this approach can streamline diagnostic processes, reduce diagnosis time, and potentially increase accuracy by eliminating human biases and errors, it also comes with significant disadvantages that impact its acceptance and implementation in healthcare:

Fear of Being Replaced by AI: One of the primary concerns among healthcare professionals is the fear of job displacement. As AI systems become more capable of performing tasks traditionally handled by medical experts, there is fear that these technologies might replace human roles. This fear can lead to resistance against adopting AI solutions, as medical professionals worry about their job security and the potential devaluation of their expertise.

Mistrust Due to Lack of Transparency (the “Black Box” Issue): AI models, especially complex ones used in medical diagnostics, often operate as “black boxes.” This means that the decision-making processes of these models are not easily understandable or interpretable by humans. Medical professionals find it challenging to trust AI systems when they cannot see or understand how a diagnosis was made. This lack of transparency can result in skepticism and reluctance to rely on AI for critical health decisions, as any error could have serious implications for patient health.

Need for Significant Oversight to Manage Risks: The use of AI in medical diagnostics necessitates substantial oversight to mitigate the risks associated with incorrect diagnoses. AI systems are not infallible and can make errors due to issues like biased training data, technical malfunctions, or unforeseen scenarios. These errors can lead to incorrect diagnoses, which in turn can result in inappropriate treatments or missed critical conditions. Therefore, human oversight is essential to review AI-generated diagnoses and ensure accuracy, adding to the workload rather than reducing it.

How Interactive AI Can Build Doctors’ Trust in AI Diagnostics?

Before examining how interactive AI can foster trust in AI diagnostics, it is crucial to define the term within this context. Interactive AI refers to an AI system that allows doctors to engage with it by asking specific queries or performing tasks to support decision-making. Unlike end-to-end AI systems, which automate the entire diagnostic process and take over the role of a medical expert, interactive AI acts as an assistive tool. It helps doctors perform their tasks more efficiently without replacing their role entirely.

In radiology, for instance, interactive AI can aid radiologists by identifying areas that require closer inspection, such as abnormal tissues or unusual patterns. The AI can also evaluate the severity of detected biomarkers, providing detailed metrics and visualizations to help assess the condition’s seriousness. Additionally, radiologists can request the AI to compare current MRI scans with previous ones to track the progression of a condition, with the AI highlighting changes over time.

Thus, interactive AI systems enable healthcare professionals to utilize AI’s analytical capabilities while maintaining control over the diagnostic process. Doctors can query the AI for specific information, request analyses, or seek recommendations, allowing them to make informed decisions based on AI insights. This interaction fosters a collaborative environment where AI enhances the doctor’s expertise rather than replacing it.

Interactive AI has the potential to resolve the persistent issue of doctors’ mistrust in AI in the following ways.

Alleviating the Fear of Job Displacement: Interactive AI addresses the job displacement concern by positioning itself as a supportive tool rather than a replacement for medical professionals. It enhances the capabilities of doctors without taking over their roles, thereby alleviating fears of job displacement and emphasizing the value of human expertise in conjunction with AI.

Building Trust with Transparent Diagnostics: Interactive AI systems are more transparent and user-friendly compared to end-to-end AI diagnostics. These systems perform smaller, more manageable tasks that doctors can readily verify. For instance, a doctor could ask an interactive AI system to detect the presence of carcinoma—a type of cancer that appears on chest X-rays as a nodule or abnormal mass—and easily verify the AI’s response. Additionally, interactive AI can provide textual explanations for its reasoning and conclusions. By enabling doctors to ask specific questions and receive detailed explanations of the AI’s analysis and recommendations, these systems clarify the decision-making process. This increased transparency builds trust, as doctors can see and understand how the AI arrives at its conclusions.

Enhancing Human Oversight in Diagnostics: Interactive AI maintains the critical element of human oversight. Since the AI acts as an assistant rather than an autonomous decision-maker, doctors remain integral to the diagnostic process. This collaborative approach ensures that any AI-generated insights are carefully reviewed and validated by human experts, thus mitigating risks associated with incorrect diagnoses and maintaining high standards of patient care.

The Bottom Line

Interactive AI has the potential to transform healthcare by improving diagnostic accuracy, reducing workloads, and enhancing patient outcomes. However, for AI to be fully embraced in the medical field, it must address the concerns of healthcare professionals, particularly fears of job displacement and the opacity of “black box” systems. By positioning AI as a supportive tool, fostering transparency, and maintaining essential human oversight, interactive AI can build trust among doctors. This collaborative approach ensures that AI enhances rather than replaces medical expertise, ultimately leading to better patient care and greater acceptance of AI technologies in healthcare.

[joyus-whimsy]

I need to have an art rant

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Sweet vengeance. // Gwayne Hightower x Cole!Reader (sister of Criston Cole)

Summary: After the encounter with Criston Cole, they return to the keep after successfully defending the territory, almost as if the gods were calling out for him to seek revenge; he ends up bumping into you.

WARNINGS: smut, mdni, porn with plot (a little bit too much plot ig), unprotected p in v sex, slight breeding kink, cunnilingus, oral (f. receiving) interrupted orgasm at the end, cumming inside, Gwayne is an absolute asshole to Criston, purity culture, virginity loss, profanity, age gap (left it up interpretation, but the reader is in her 20s and Gwayne in his 40s), doesn't follow the show plot it's a literal fic which I altered heavily + not proofread.

WC: 2.7k

A/N: here comes the promised gwayne x cole!reader fic, I've teased it ever since that confrontation episode dropped and now finally I'm able to publish it 😭 // divider credits: @cafekitsune

Gwayne walked through the corridors furiously, stomping his feet inside the red keep, departing to his guest chambers in a hurried manner, trying to stay calm.

He just returned from the battle, successfully defeating the invasion of the blacks into King's Landing, securing the land for themselves as Aemond ruled as Prince regent. However, there was only one thing on his mind.

His sister's tainted honour.

Amidst everything, he had gotten Criston to confess and admit that he was sleeping with the Queen, he was disgusted by the revelation. Wasn't Criston a kingsguard? Vowing to not seek pleasures or taint his cloak?

He felt sick in the stomach, wanting to empty it out, regardless of the fact that there is nothing inside.

His feet tapped against the stone floor harshly, his armour clanking with every step forward, he took a harsh turn at the end of the path only for his body to hit something that came from the opposite direction, causing him to stumble two steps backward. He took a moment to collect himself and straighten his posture, wanting to see what it was that he bumped into.

He looked down, shocked to see you on the ground. You broke the impact of the fall with your hands, which proved to be a bad idea considering how the force made them give up immediately, crashing your butt onto the ground. “Ouch.” You clenched your eyes shut as a burning sensation spread through your buttox.

You glared at the reason for your fall, eyes widening on the realisation that it was Ser Gwayne Hightower. “Seven hells, I apologise my lady, are you alright?” Gwayne is quick to apologise, extending his out, waiting for you to grab it and get up.

You gently place your hand in his, his palm closing immediately as he grips onto you while you get off the ground. “Ser Gwayne, I apologise, it was me who was at fault.” You bow, dusting off your gown with one of your hands.

“If it is not rude, might I ask who you are? I have not ever seen you around before, yet you seem to know me.” He speaks politely, giving you a small smile and you nod. “I am Y/N Cole, I know you very well Ser, your knighthood isn't unheard of.” You praise him.

“Y/N Cole… ? Are you related to Ser Criston Cole perhaps?” He questions, furrowing his eyebrows as his grip tightens around your hand. “Yes Ser Gwayne, He is my elder brother.” You reply.

Gwayne was not aware that Criston had a sister.

He took in your form, eyes trailing down from your face to your neck, to your breasts and further downwards, analysing you quite intently, “Mhm, I did not know he had a sister.” Gwayne shrugs, still not letting go of your hand. “He is quite overprotective, so he doesn't mention my existence to his peers.” You admit embarrassedly, looking down and biting your lip. He stared at you for a moment too long, the like of dots being connected as his mind sketches out a plan of action. His expression almost betrayed him as his face bloomed into a wide smile.

Oh you sweet little thing.

He could not believe that Criston had a younger sister. It's almost as if the Gods are etching him on to trudge this path, but he was not going to complain. It felt like he won a war when he realised this fact.

He can use you against Criston.

Perhaps he will make Criston feel the same thing he felt.

He smiles widely at you, bringing your hand upwards and pressing his lips to your knuckles. You blush at this gesture and give him a soft smile in return. “If you may excuse me, I have to take my leave, my lady. I've returned from war and my state.. is well.” He looks at himself and you chuckle, “It is alright.” You reply and he smiles. “Let's go on a stroll next time, yeah?” He speaks in a questioning manner, your eyes widen at the offer but you nod immediately.

Those walks became more frequent as you both enjoyed each other's company quite a lot. Gwayne found you much more bearable than criston, he's aware of the fact that he is an elitist. Holding himself at great stature as he comes from the Hightower family. So any other house that is not in power or he hasn't heard of; he acts like an ass to them.

But he found himself being lenient on you, perhaps to butter you up for the feast he's planning to have. His thoughts have been a mess for the past few days. He at first began to plan on how to execute the plan and take your maidenhead and let the keep hear it. But the ratio of the execution and sexual part became heavily unequal as he wanted to indulge fully in you.

You were beautiful, your skin was pretty, the way your hair was styled, exposing your neck from behind. He wanted to bend you over the ledge and fuck you. You would be so confused he assumes.

Have you had your first orgasm? Did you ever touch yourself?

You were from Dorne so you must know of the deprived acts right? But he notes how young you are, likely spending your entire life here in Kings Landing with Cole.

It was one of those usual garden walks you went on with Gwayne, walking in silence as you both had nothing to talk about, this was no means foreign to you, there would always be silence sometimes during your walks; but this time it felt tense.

Like the feeling of a volcano before it erupts.

You both were standing over the parapet of the backside in the keep, noticing how the waters flowed gently. You felt him move, standing right behind you, pressing himself against you.

“My lady.” He whispers in your ear and you turn your head slightly, not reacting in any way, “H-hmm?” You reply in nervousness his hands moved up your sides in a sensual manner. You stood there frozen.

He grabs you by your shoulder and spins you around so that you're facing, placing his hands on both the sides of your frame; preventing any escape. “Are you promised to any man yet? Your beauty is otherworldly.” He asks, his eyes staring right into you, his voice was sweet yet held a hint of his perverse desire for you.

You shake your head no.

“Such a pity.” He mocks, one of his hands coming to grip your cheek. He pauses for a moment, staring at your lips before looking into your eyes waiting for you to say something; yet you remain quiet as your heart beats loudly in your chest.

He takes it as a cue to press his lips against yours closing his eyes; fully indulging himself onto you as he groans at how soft your lips feel, his own move against yours in a soft manner, a gentle pull of a wave.

It was your first kiss, never having done this with anyone before, it felt odd; but in a good way, his lips felt soft against yours, he waited for you to reciprocate— giving you all the time you needed to process this.

One of his hands rested on your hips, using it as leverage to pull you closer, pressing your bodies together while the other positioned itself against the back of your head pulling you deeper into the kiss.

You responded a while later, learning through the process, moving your lips in a rhythmic motion with his, he muttered something against your lips which you weren't able to process as your mind was hazy. Something about this kiss was shooting immense pleasure down your body; increasing the heat between your legs.

He pulls away from the kiss to take a breath while staring at your lips, noticing the string of saliva that was still connecting you both. He hums before capturing your lips once again but with even more fervour this time. He pushes back until your butt hits the ledge before he places you on it, not breaking the kiss at all.

He plants himself between your legs as his hands roam around all over your body in desperation, sometimes gripping your waist or your soft breasts, squeezing your flesh as he grips onto you tightly.

He breaks the kiss abruptly before he suddenly kneels, you look at him confused until you notice that he's hiking your skirts up, revealing your intimate area. “Ser, this might be inappropriate—” You try to protest but not knowing what to expect, but circles his arms around your thighs pulling you close as he disappears before your legs.

You watch curiously when you feel his warm breath on your cunt. You shriek in surprise when you feel his tongue run across your fdd before he fully takes in your cunt.

You squirm uncontrollably as he works his wonders on your cunt; causing you to grip his hair tightly and push yourself further into his face, you let out small moans, hoping that no one would pass by this area and catch you both in this compromised position.

You place your other hand on the ledge to support yourself from falling before closing your eyes and fully enjoying what he's doing to you. His tongue laps hungrily at your folds, licking them up and down before he suckles on your clit harshly, flicking the bud with his tongue before capturing it wholly again with his mouth.

He groans into your cunt, enthralled by the sensation of having your soft folds in his mouth, he enjoyed it way too much than he'd like to admit, wanting to be forever stuck in between your legs.

You feel a sudden heat building up in your abdomen as he continues his actions, “U-uhm Ser Gwayne— I think something is happening.” You tell him unsure which makes him speed up his movements.

Without warning, you're hit with a plethora of euphoria, your back automatically arching and your voice letting out a loud moan as the feeling hits you in waves. He suckles on your cunt for a minute to let you ride out your orgasm before coming out your skirt.

You feel your cheeks heat up when you see how his lips were coated with your wetness which makes you look away in shyness, he gets back up on his feet before grabbing your chin and tilting your head slightly to make you look at him.

He doesn't say anything but only stares at you as he slowly connects both your lips once again, making you take your own essence. He grinds against you, pressing his now hard bulge in between your thighs as he dry humps you.

He tears away from the kiss with a wet pop, not wasting any time in undoing his breeches, revealing his cock to you, your eyes widened at the sheer size and girth of it. “I-i don't think it will fit?” You stare at him which makes him smirk a little, “It will my lady, I shall see it does.” He replies before bunches up your skirt, making your cunt come into view.

He slowly lines himself against your entrance, his tip kissing the entryway gently as he slowly closes in, pushing it inch by inch. He places his hand on both your sides as you grip him for support, the stretch stinging a little bit.

It takes a while but he's fully inside now, and slowly he begins to move, he grabs a hold of your waist with one of his hands so you don't fall over the edge, he pushes your body against his, making it so as if you're hugging him.

You wrap your arms around his neck tightly as he rams into you, thrusting in and out; causing you to bounce along with him, he grunts into your ear, whispering sweet things.

“Seven hells, you feel so divine.” He whispers against your ear, causing you to clench involuntarily; which makes him gasp in shock, “Jeez—” He drops his head onto your shoulder, now fully gripping you by his arms around your waist as he rams further and further into you. “Fuck, I'm about to finish— should I do it inside you? Fill you up with my seed huh? Make you carry my babes?” He groans, the idea of you being pregnant with his children driving him insane, it would always be a good way to get back at Criston.

You feel him hitting your sweet spot inside you, prodding it with his tip every thrust. His pace falters as he reaches his end, with a final thrust— he finishes with a loud moan of your name as he pulls back and recaptures your lips, kissing you with even more hunger.

He keeps thrusting, wanting you go finish as well, you were about to; almost reaching the breaking point— “What in the seven fucking hells is going on here?!” The shout of a familiar voice makes you snap out of the trance, Gwayne halts and you both immediately look to the place of origin.

It was your brother, Criston.

His expression contained that of both anger and shock, Gwanye quickly pulls himself out of you and puts his breeches back on and you get off the ledge and pull your skirts down and pat the wrinkles down.

“B-brother I— I can explain, it was me—” You begin, “Be quiet, Y/N.” He grits his teeth, cutting you off from speaking as his eyes shoot daggers into Gwayne, whose face is now bearing a smug expression.

“You fucking bastard!” Criston yells before he reaches over and grabs Gwayne, throwing him to the ground before punching his face. Gwayne dodges it, holding his hands down. “It is not so nice when you discover that someone has been fucking your sister, is it?” Gwayne remarks which angers Criston further.

A group of guards rush over putting an end to this fight, pulling the two men apart as you stand there in shock, shaking as if you were scared of both the men.

The next thing you know, You, Gwayne, Criston were all standing before the dowager queen as she looked at you all three in questioning ways. “What has happened?” She directs her question to Gwayne who raises an eyebrow.

Gwayne doesn't answer, “This b- Lord Gwayne was—” Criston swallows as he looks at you, “He was caught in a compromising position with my sister.” He blurts out, “And what was the compromising position that made you raise your hand on my brother, Ser Cole? They could have just been together—” Alicent wanders off.

“He was fucking my sister.” Criston grits his teeth, spitting the words out like venom, causing Alicent to cut herself off. She goes silent as she looks over at her brother, “Is this true?” She asks and Gwayne nods, “Yes my Queen, how can a man hold himself back at the sight of such a maiden? Besides, she wasn't opposed to the idea.” Gwayne speaks out, his words angering Criston ever more.

“Y-yes your grace, I wasn't opposed to it.” You jump in defending Gwayne which makes me smile at you, making Criston look at you in disbelief.

“My Queen, he has tainted her, he has ruined her, who will marry her now?” Criston brings up a valid point which makes the Queen get lost in thought, you put your head down, ashamed of it.

“I shall, I will marry her.” Gwayne volunteers which makes everyone look at him in shock. He only offers a smile.

He wasn't doing it out of kindness or anything, he knew that by marrying you, Criston will experience the same torment and anguish Gwayne felt when he discovered the truth of Criston and Alicent, except it will be a hundred times worse because Criston has no way to avenge himself, for he cannot marry Alicent.

He'll have to suffer, watch his little sister marry Gwayne, become his wife and a mother of his children, every step will be a stab in a vital organ to Criston.

Was Gwayne going a bit too far? Perhaps, yet it didn't matter, for the situation only benefits him. Not only will Criston be tormented by this relationship but he will have you as his pretty wife whom he can fuck and ruin all he wants.

Gwayne is a selfish man.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[anauwhere]

Whenever I read rants about shows or movie they are always???? Whatever,? Who the fuck cares? When anyone has good points instead they're shushed bc omg just enjoy it! !!!!

[thevelvetvampyre]

Mental Foreplay- Tom Buckley x Student Reader

Summary: Harbouring a supernatural secret, your professors assistant reveals he’s psychic as the sound of your filthy thoughts towards him pollute his subconscious and distract him from teaching as normally as a clairvoyant can.

Warnings: overall smut + adult content, p in v, oral (f receive), he watches u, he cums fast, mindreading, age gap (reader college aged, he’s like 40), choking, he tries his best to resist, INVOLUNTARY ERECTIONS which frustrate him🙏, he tries to stand on business + movie quotes

Note: stuck in hospital in the 3rd week of meningitis if I had a doc like crane this would be fun but there’s none worthy of sex dreams so this is boring af

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩

Holding your head in your palm as you remained uninterested at your professor, Dr. Matheson, explaining some physics trick to hack the system of the psychic frauds she analysed, your eyes slipped to the assistant she had recently brought in to help with her lessons, Mr. Tom Buckley.

He’d usually catch your glance, seemingly to perfectly time when he looks at you in accordance to when you’d think of him or when you’d subconsciously moan, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the tension your imagination had pent up.

Practically on key, your eyes dropped from the boring speech to the man who sat just off center, catching his gaze as his lashes fluttered in embarrassment to being caught focusing on you.

Pulling his eyes away from yours, a grin grew on your face as he shifted uncomfortably, taking mental note of how attractive he looked when he was flustered.

At your thought, a deep blush creeped across his cheeks and his eyebrows cocked.

Unknown to you, Mr.Buckley had a psychic, mind reading secret that let him hear all the thoughts that ran through your head about him, ignoring them the best to his ability as his cock swelled at how filthy you secretly were.

From admiring the way his hair fell around the side of his face to imagining him fucking your dripping cunt over the other students papers on your professors desk, hearing your thoughts never failed to make him stiff and heave at the thought of giving you exactly what you wanted.

It was some kind of mental foreplay to him, rushing home after each lesson to furiously stroke himself while picturing what you’d look like gagging around the base of him, remembering your quiet moans that echoed through his head.

It had been a few weeks since he joined Dr.Matheson, strongly withholding his desire to fill your cunt as he remained distant of you.

A few weeks of teaching and torture, he’d curse himself each and every time his tip pulsed and leaked, angry and frustrated he felt so aroused by your arousal.

The feel of his hot blood filling his veins as he became thicker and harder with each passing thought made him tut and groan at how pathetic he was, cringing at how desperately he needed to, but couldn’t, touch you. He didn’t care for how you were half his age, but the morality of him being so needy for a students pussy made him feel guilty.

When he got the news that Dr.Matheson would take leave for whatever personal reason she needed to, his stomach knotted as he knew you would no longer be avoidable.

Taking the role of your teacher was threatening to him, now unable to hide his throbbing cock as he heard you salivate to the sight of him. As he was to stand in front of the whole room, he mentally prepared for his public display of arousal, tucking his already swollen tip under his belt to even slightly hide his growing erection.

Sitting behind the desk as he sighed, swinging his head back and rolling his eyes at how painfully hard he’s already gotten, he waited for the students to fill the room and felt his groin twitch in anticipation.

~~~~~~~

“The setting is important… keep it dark. Always.”

Mr.Buckley was pacing around the front of the room, lecturing how frauds scammed their customers into believing the supernatural.

His eyes scanned and passed you and as they did, a high pitched ringing filled his left ear, wincing at the pain and squeezing his eyes shut.

You held the tip of your pen in between your lips, nibbling at it slightly as you pictured him tearing you into two over your desk right then and there for the whole class to see.

Bringing his finger up and pressing it against his ear, he received the mental download of your thought and felt the warm blood flood his crotch.

Slowly opening his eyes again and taking a deep breath, the students looked at one another confused at his strange behaviour.

“The spirits demand it. You need to concentrate.”

His voice remained loud and sarcastic, he avoided looking at you once more, throbbing unbearably as he found it close to impossible to stand up.

Leaning against his desk to relieve the tightness of his tented pants, his skin prickled with arousal as he heard another one of your subconscious thoughts.

Wet, hot and leaking.

The ringing hit him at a higher pitch this time, physically cringing him as he rolled his chest slightly forward and groaning at the pain. Squeezing his eyes shut once more and feeling the air leave his lungs, the image of your salivating pussy to his voice ambushed his mind and sent him into a frenzy of desire.

After wincing for a couple of seconds, the class went silent and questioned what was wrong with him.

“Out! I need everyone out… now!” His voice was heated and he spoke louder than he ever has before, the sense of urgency causing the students to flock their seats quickly.

“Except you… I need you to stay.” He finally opened his eyes and pointed directly at you, some of the students looking at you with concern as they remained confused by his behaviour.

Feeling a heat prickle along your skin, your heart pounded in your chest as this was the first time he’d ever spoken directly to you, a wave of panic flooding over you as your mind raced with the reasoning he chose to keep you back.

As the students emptied the room, he stayed still on the edge of his desk and you slowly walked over, unsure of why he’d asked you to remain if he’s never acknowledged you before.

Staying silent, he pinched the top of his nose bridge and shut his eyes, sighing as he grew more annoyed at the mental images that flashed across his third eye, your reaction to being alone with him being nothing but sexually charged.

“Do you know how frustrating it is?”

His eyes remained shut and you furrowed your brows, confused and lost on what he was referring to.

“I’m sorry?”

Adjusting your bag, your palms began sweating in the midst of your nerves.

“Every. Single. Day. You sit there, doing nothing.”

His voice was low and stern, a blush creeping on your face as it was true, your lesson time was taken up with fantasies of the man instead of actual learning. Your notebook hasn’t even been touched since he’s stepped foot into the classroom. But how could he have known? He’s never spoken to you before.

“Not once have we spoken. Yet I know you so well.”

His voice remained agitated, your blush now vibrating your cheeks as you grew increasingly nervous. He opened his eyes and met yours, gazing over your face as his erection pulled on his crotch.

“I know what you think of me. Fuck…. I know your every thought.”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you clenched your jaw, embarrassment flooding your panties as you stood there dumbfounded at his confession.

“And I think you’re disgusting.”

Your eyes widened as you became humiliated, your mind raced with the possibilities of how he could’ve found out.

How did he know?

“Because I’m psychic.” The words purred off his lips and your stomach dropped.

Responding to your thought, you swayed anxiously as a million questions ran through your mind.

“How… how did you-“

Your voice was quiet, feeling vulnerable as he sat in front of you, horrifying you with his awareness of your thoughts about him.

“I told you how.”

Your head tilted, if anything you were fascinated with his words and questioned the trueness of them.

“But then… why do you teach-“

“To find more people like me.” He sighed out in defeat, staring into your eyes up close for the first time since he started teaching.

Only now did you realise just how gorgeous the man was, his cheekbones sharp and his eyes icy as they poured into yours.

Biting your bottom lip as you felt your walls clench at the sight of him, he rolled his head back and squeezed his eyes.

“S-stop.” He whimpered out, rubbing his head as his cock leaked into his pants.

Your eyes dropped and you noticed his dick print in his pants, widening them as the size of him made your mouth dry. He was thick and big, your heart fluttered as you couldn’t imagine fitting him into your tight walls.

Your cunt was dripping into the soft fabric you wore, sighing as you wanted nothing more than to have him fill any of your holes and use it to his desire.

Fuck… his cocks huge.

Snapping his head up and rapidly batting his eyelashes at you, hearing the way you complimented his throbbing erection, he stood up from the desk and latched both his hands into your hips.

Moving quickly and impatiently, he grunted as his fingers dug into your hips and pushed you quickly against his desk, your ass sat lightly on the wood as his forehead pressed into yours and he flared his nostrils, keeping his eyes shut as he held your sides in his hands.

Holding you close for a few moments, you felt his heavy breath on your chest and his cock press against your stomach. Exasperated and desperate to finally have you, his lust possessed him into needing you right then and there.

“Touch yourself. I-I need you to touch yourself.”

His voice was a whisper and it shook with his demand, leaving you smirking as you’d never seen him so malleable before.

Humming as you lifted up your skirt, you sat further onto the desk and placed your feet up, Mr.Buckley remained still as his eyes stuck onto your exposed panties. He groaned at the wet patch that pooled onto the fabric, relishing in how pretty you looked spread on the desk for him.

Spreading your knees and leaning back onto one hand as the other snaked down your torso onto your covered cunt, you smiled at the way his mouth fell slightly open and his eyes squinted at the sight of you.

Leaning over and placing his hands on either side of your legs, he gulped as he watched your small fingers draw delicate circles on your clit. His chest began heaving as your face scrunched in pleasure, quiet moans escaping your mouth as he admired the way you were so gentle with yourself.

“Let me see.” He growled, growing impatient and desperate to see your soaking pussy on display for him.

You pulled your panties to the side and exposed yourself and he whined at the sight, wincing as the cold air hit your wet slit.

Continuing to lean over your softly trembling body, he dropped a ball of spit from his mouth onto your mound and watched as it slowly dripped down you.

Using his saliva as lubricant, you began to rub faster circles on your needy nub as you felt your walls clench around nothing, the fast impending orgasm bringing you on the brink of seeing stars.

“Touch me.” You moaned out, your hips bucking at your fingers.

“I don’t… I can’t.” The guilt of watching a student, his student, like this was overwhelming. Yet he couldn’t help but feel his cock twitch in pain as he mentally begged to fuck you stupid over the desk.

“You don’t wanna feel my pussy?” You snapped your head up and looked at him through your hazed eyes, your pleasure leaving you drunk and needy for more.

He gulped as he slowly shook his head. Your eyes dropped to his erection and you sighed out through your grin.

“Then why are you so hard Mr.Buckley?” You moaned out his name and he shuddered, his lust slowly taking control of his mind.

“Why are you watching your student touch herself in front of your face?” His skin prickled with desperation and he could no longer withhold his desire, rolling his eyes as he took a deep breath before dropping to his knees.

Grunting animalistically, his arms latched around your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table, close to his face so he could breath you in.

Immediately latching his lips onto your soaked slit, his tongue began to lap up and down your mound.

Throwing your head back in pleasure, his hot breath fanned over your aching hole as he pulled back to look up at you shaking as his touch.

“Stop fucking teasing me.” He growled. Sticking his tongue against you and sucking at you hungrily.

Your moans were growing louder as his tongue slipped into your hole, shoving his face deep into you and filling the room with squelching noises.

“Oh fuck!” Your back began to arch and your fingers intertwined with his hair, circling your hips as he ate at you skilfully and desperately.

You were on the edge of your orgasm, feeling him hum against you as you pulsed on his tongue.

His hot breath was short as his nose was stuck on your groin, ignoring the sense of urgency to take a breath as his determination to have you coat his mouth with your juices was his only priority.

Feeling yourself fall over the edge, the hot knot in your stomach unraveled as you felt liquid pour out of you and into his mouth, nose and chin. His tongue drew number eight’s on your clit as you shook beneath him, attacking the now swollen nub through your orgasm.

He held your thighs firmly in place, not letting you move away from what he was inflicting no matter how violently you shook as you came.

“That’s it… cum for your teacher.” His words were low and velvet smooth, intensifying how hard you came around him.

“Such a pretty girl.” He whispered, occasionally praising the way you squirted on him through your orgasm.

Feeling yourself calm back down as you winced on his tongue from sensitivity, his sloppy kisses turned into pecks on your slit as he pulled your pussy lips slightly apart. Staring at the shine from your cum, he furrowed his brows and whined at how perfect you looked.

Standing up and wobbling on his knees, his gaze panned to your face and you stared back at him in accomplishment. Mentally thanking him for the way his tongue had fucked you, he pulled a slight curl in the corner of his lips as his fingers fumbled to get his belt off.

Finally whipping it out of his waistband, his fingers impatiently zipped down and instantly gave his cock a release from his constraint.

Pressing down onto his erection and sighing at the pressure on your pussy, he pulled your cunt closer to the edge of the desk once more and pressed himself harder against your wet, tired mound.

“Fucking perfect.” His fingers fidgeted to your shirt, pulling it over your head and praising your tits.

He was grateful you didn’t wear a bra, instantly snatching your flesh into his hand and kneaded you desperately.

Rolling your head back and twitching your hips to create a small amount of movement on his clothed cock, he watched the way your mouth fell open as you mentally begged him for more.

I want you to fuck me so bad Mr.Buckley. Fill my tight cunt.

He groaned as he heard your thought, hooking his fingers under his waistband and pooled his underwear to his feet. His thick, veiny cock sprung out and hit your clit as it did, wincing as you remained sensitive from your orgasm.

Taking his leaking red tip and pulling it over your dripping slit, he groaned at how warm you were.

“Coating my cock so well…” He whined out in praise at how aroused you were. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

His fingers pulled up and wrapped along your neck, pressing into your sides harshly and causing you to choke on your air.

“So bad.” You could only moan, needing him desperately to fill you up and leave you dripping with his cum.

Continuing to lather himself in your liquid, he grunted and tightened his grasp on your neck, feeling unsatisfied with your plea.

“So bad! Please Mr.Buckley… I need your cock!” Your voice was trembling and a tear formed in your eye, practically heaving in need for him.

“Good girl.” He lined his tip up perfectly with your entrance and once again tightened his grasp on your neck, he snapped his hips forward and shoved all of him inside your tight hole at once.

Rolling his chest over your body beneath him as he growled at how well your tight walls took him in, you screamed at the intrusion as your hole had been breached and his tip slammed up against the back of your pussy.

“Oh fuck…” His mouth was near your ear, growling pathetically at how good you felt. “S-so- hm- tight.” His voice had raised and he wobbled to regain his balance.

Dragging his hips out teasingly slow and keeping his tip in, he would repeat this and slam into you repeatedly so you could warm you up to his size.

Your neck would surely be bruised tomorrow with the strength of his grip, seeing stars with each rough stroke and lack of oxygen you received. After the painfully slow thrusts he fucked to give you time to adjust, his head remained buried in the crook of your neck and a frustrated throaty groan left him. He began fucking you animalistically and violently, a string of incomprehensible curse words and praise leaving his lips as your walls suffocated his cock.

“Taking my cock so well honey.” He said breathlessly, using you hard and fast to chase his own high.

Fucking you deep as he was rough, you bounced off each thrust as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your moans echoed off the walls, feeling his balls slap against your clit as you were pushed around harshly on his desk.

Shifting on the wood, your hole began to ache at how fast he was going, the slapping noises of your skin beginning to sting as he was treating you selfishly.

“Don’t move.” He growled at you, dropping his hand from your neck onto your hip, holding you still as you felt his cock flex inside of you.

Holding you pinned in position, he took advantage of how weak you were on his cock and started to whimper loudly as his thrusts sped up.

“Oh my god- I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” His voice was high pitched as his knees bucked, his thrusts growing inconsistent as you pulsated around him to drain him of all he has.

You felt a hot, white string of liquid squirt and coat the inside of your walls, moaning at the sensation of him emptying his balls into you.

Attempting to continue to fuck you through his orgasm, the sensation was overwhelming as his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open, the look making you think he was about to cry or was in pain as he trembled.

He panted and whined through each stroke, the sound of him so weak was enough to send you over the edge again.

Slowing down the rate and harshness of each thrust, he heaved out whines as his orgasm blurred his mind and emptied out his lungs of air.

Slowly pulling out his softening cock as it fell slightly limp out of you, he continued to breath heavily as he let go of your hip and placed his hands on either side of you again.

Looking up into your face, you admired how gorgeous he looked. Admiring how his hair had messed, his lips had swelled and an arrogant red had spread on his cheeks. Your walls rhythmically pulsated at how flushed he looked and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Stop… you’ll get me hard again.”

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.  

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing. 

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.  

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.” 

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.  

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source. 

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.  

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.  

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs. 

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”  

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel��s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.” 

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration. 

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.  

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips.  “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.  

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”   

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.  

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.  

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.  

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”  

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.” 

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”   

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

[dstryvampres]

drabble or short fic, where the reader is a ballerina and cillian (or any of his other characters) is her teacher and they start an affair??? please arhgggh i love your fics!

Doll Parts

Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!Reader

Warnings: age gap(reader is 20, cillian is late 30s early 40s), power imbalance, smoking mention, fingering

Word count: 2k

A/N: thank you so so so much for the request ! this honestly was a prompt i’d never thought of but really just ended up loving :)

You had essentially been raised by your ballet studio. Years and years spent in the small confines of the studio, moving from the soft and simple preschool classes to the advanced stages. As you moved up your class sizes became smaller and smaller, and your teacher’s became stricter. Finally, as you prepare to audition for the role of Copelia in your company’s spring ballet production. You have been given the honour of training one on one with one of the studio’s ballet instructors. Unfortunately for you, they had paired you up with Mr. Murphy, a teacher you had during your late teens that you found distracted you far more than he actually helped you. You were infatuated with him ever since you first walked into that class with him at 16, and it stayed that way now as he watched you stretch before practice, four years later. His blue eyes were haunting at points, analysing every inch of you at almost every second you were in this practice space together. At almost every moment he tore you apart with his eyes, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

Every night you left the studio to go back home you continually thought of just him. The small touches on the waist as he adjusted your posture, his smooth voice as he whispered praises in your ear, and how you longed for him to press his lips against yours. God, how you longed for him to do anything to soothe the fire that he lit in your body.

Mr. Murphy clapped his hands together, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Okay. Do you think you’re ready to run through the routine from the top, one last time?” Mr Murphy asks, walking over to stand in front of the mirrors

You nod, picking yourself off from the floor and to the centre of the room. Taking a deep breath in before going into the starting position.

“One, two, three, four,” Mr Murphy counts in, clapping his hands in a steady beat as you move through the routine.

Your legs still ache from practice before your break as you start up the routine, but as any dancer at your level would, you work through it. Focusing elsewhere on your breathing and the steps. Gentle leaps, spins, and footwork move you around the fake stage you’re on to the beat of Mr Murphy’s clapping. You’re doing well enough that he hasn’t stopped you yet, able to make it through 3/4th of the routine before you hear anything.

“Stop!” Mr Murphy shouts, and you freeze with your hands above your head and a foot off the ground.

He walks over, shoes making soft thumps as he approaches you. The sound stops as you feel a hand settle on your waist, you close your eyes as his other hand moves to the thigh of your raised leg.

“I understand that you’re tired,” Mr Murphy sighs out, directly in your ear, “but you can’t start to get sloppy when it’s almost over. Your work needs to be consistent all the way through sweetheart.”

You want to melt at the pet name, but stay still as he pushes your raised leg upwards a little bit more. His breath fans over your ear and cheek, grabbing ahold of your chin lightly and turning your head to face the mirror with the hand that was once on your waist. His touch is soft, light, and warm, something that will keep you up tonight. Now the two of you are cheek to cheek, it’s so intimate that for a second you falter, but are able to gain your composure quickly. He smiles at your falter and clicks his tongue.

“Look at how I’ve positioned you,” Mr Murphy whispers, the movement of his lips tickling your cheek.

He slowly removes himself from you, but his touch still feels like it’s burned under your skin, like it always does after practice.

“Continue,” he demands when he is situated in front of the mirror once again.

You start from where he left you, pushing through the last minute of your routine with as much energy as you could manage. Finishing up in a wilted position on the ground, breathing heavily as you wait for any sort of feedback from your instructor. A couple seconds pass before you hear a slow clapping from him. Slowly you look up to be met with a warm smile from Mr Murphy, a foreign sense of joy peaking through his normally harsh and critical exterior.

“Well, that was quite wonderful. Dare I say one of the best practices we’ve gotten through so far. If you continue improving like this for the next three weeks you could land a sizeable role,” Mr Murphy says, walking over to you. He sticks out a hand to help you up, and you take it gently.

“Thank you. All my progress is thanks to you,” you reply meekly, not able to look into your instructor's face now. He’s far too close than what is professional, but it’s not like you mind.

“Would you want to go out and get a drink? Just a small celebration, on me,” Mr Murphy asks, whispering it into your ear. A secret you know that if you take in, you won’t be able to back out.

“Yes,” you whisper back, face getting warm with excitement.

He pats you on the shoulder, tracing his hand down your arm and to your hand before squeezing it. Your chest feels tingly and heavy at the action.

“I’ll meet you outside the studio then,” his hand is slowly pulled away from your own before he leaves the room.

You know why Mr Murphy wants to take you out of the studio tonight. It’s the same reason he looks at you with his icy blue eyes in that way, it’s the same reason why his touch lingers on you for far longer than necessary, and why it’s only you he ever praises and compliments. Still, you wonder if you’re right about your hunch as you meet your instructor outside your studio tonight. He stands leaned up under a light post in the snow, a cigarette between his lips. As soon as he sees you he takes one last puff before squashing it on the ground.

“Hello,” He greets, offering a sly smile to you. His cheeks and ear tips are red from the cold, you almost feel guilty about making him wait for you out here.

“Hi.” You don’t voice your guilt to him, too worried about embarrassing yourself.

“You’re one of my best students,” Mr Murphy states, stepping closer as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think you’re one of the best dancers at the studio.”

Now he’s so close that the condensation of your breath is mixing together with his. Forming a big cloud above your heads each time either of you take a breath. You stare into his eyes for a couple seconds, searching for what he means by any of this. He smells of cigarette smoke and vanilla. A hand cups your cheek.

“Are you cold?” He offers as a horrible excuse for his close proximity and the hand on your cheek. You both know this, so he leans in slowly, and your eyes flutter shut.

His lips are pressed against your own, softly, gently, like if he pushes any harder against you you’ll shatter. Slowly he pulls away, eyes scanning your face for any discomfort. This time it’s you that pulls him into a kiss, hungrier and harder than the last one. You both pull away.

“I am a pretty good bartender myself,” is all Mr Murphy has to say to get you to follow him back to his apartment.

You walk with haste beside him, arms brushing against one another, almost, the whole way there. Once you get into the elevator he’s already unzipping your jacket and kissing you again, hot and passionate. You know years of longing for him are being released on your end tonight.

Soon enough you’re sitting criss cross on your dance instructors couch, taking in the fairly nice space. Mr Murphy comes to sit beside you after he’a put away your coat. His hand comes to rest on your upper thigh, rubbing it softly and slowly. You bat your eyelashes at him and he leans in to kiss you again, this time you get enough courage to slip your tongue into his mouth. His hands settle on your waist and direct you into his lap to sit. Pulling back from the kiss just so he can stare at you for a brief second, perched upon his lap, before bringing you back into the kiss.

His kisses alternate between your lips and your neck, filling you with hot desire as you trace up and down his torso with your hands. In return Mr Murphy slides his hands under your skirt, toying at your panties underneath.

“Do you want me to finger you baby?” He prys, biting at your ear to punctuate the sentence.

“Yes,” you breath out, grinding down against his lap.

His lips are back on yours once again, pushing you off his lap and into the cushions of his couch. You shudder as he starts to trace your slit through your panties, only able to release now just how wet you are. Spreading your legs open to try to tell him to start fingering you already. The message seems to come across, as he flips the front of your skirt up and pulls your panties down your legs.

Mr Murphy breaks from the kiss to stare at your pussy, spreading it open with his fingers and toying around your wet hole. You whine, bucking your hips up demanding more. He clicks his tongue as he looks back up at you, but still goes back to kissing you. Sliding a digit up and down your pussy, gathering your wetness before sliding a finger in.

You gasp into his mouth at the finger, feeling him smile at your reaction. He pumps it lazily in and out of your wet hot cunt. Not going deep enough, it makes you want so much more. He slides in a second finger, earning him a moan from you. Now with two fingers inside of you, he finger fucks you properly.

He sets a steady pace, hitting different spots inside you each time until he finally hits the spot that has you moaning into his mouth with every push of his fingers. His fingers are long and thick, something you’ve craved for so long to be inside of you. Nights of dreaming about gagging on his fingers, and about him making you cum on them has now come true.

“Do you like this sweetheart? You like how I finger your dirty wet hole?” Mr Murphy asks, speeding up his pace.

You let out a moan in response, nodding your head as your eyes roll back. Your hands look for purchase somewhere, one lands on the couch and the other on his bicep. Mr Murphy’s fingers feel so nice inside you, the way he fingers you brings you to as close to heaven as you’ll get. You squirm around as he speeds up, feeling the heat in your lower stomach increase with every pump on his fingers into your cunt. His heavy breathing just pushes you further to your release.

Mr Murphy’s thumb reaches up to your clit, rubbing small fast circles into the bundle of nerves. As soon as his thumb came to brush your clit, you knew you had seconds to go before you were tumbling over the edge.

“Cum for me sweetheart,” Mr Murphy says, looking at your face contorted in pleasure.

His words finally push you over the edge as you cum all over your dance instructor's fingers. Gasping and moaning loudly, as your hips buck upwards a couple times. You lay on his couch for a couple seconds, breathing heavily as you try to compose yourself. Mr Murphy removes his fingers slowly from you, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table to wipe his hands off. The embarrassment of the situation comes back to you as you try to cover your pussy with your hands.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed by now,” Mr Murphy lets out a dry chuckle.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

The princess´ favour (Criston Cole x Targtower!Reader)

synopsis: Your love may never be accepted by the people around you, that doesn´t hold you back from expressing it in the privacy of your chambers.

warnings: age gap, kinda forbidden relationship, smut, oral sex (m receiving), afab reader

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

As a girl you never understood what was so great about tourneys. Sitting beside your mother, flinching away from the raw violence of it all, while your brothers watched with a fascination you had rarely seen them have for anything. However, now as a woman grown, you began to see the appeal. Not for the fighting, but for something entirely else. Or rather someone entirely else. Sitting all the way in the front row of the stands with your brother Aemond, who was just under the age of being allowed to participate himself, watching on as knight after knight gets knocked off their horse. Analysing and talking on and on about what they could have done better, while your eyes solely rested on one knight, sitting on his horse waiting for his turn to most assuredly destroy his opponent. Your knight, as you called him in the secrecy of hidden places in the gardens, empty hallways around the keep and your chambers in the dead of night.

When it is Criston Cole's turn to compete against some knight from the Reach, whose name went in one ear and out the other almost immediately, he rides up to the stands. As his horse comes to a stand, his helmet finds its way under his arm and those dark eyes search for your own.

With a poorly concealed wide smile you lean over the railing. "Ser Criston."

His eyes light up with the way his name sounds falling from your lips and his own lips split into a smile, nodding to you in greeting.

“Your highness. I am sure to win this tourney. Would you do me the honour of doing so with your favour?” His voice carries over the background of excited chatter and knights barking commands at their squires.

Without hesitation you skip over to the small table to grab the ring braided from acacia blossoms to let it down the lance that is safely propped up against his side.

“Good luck, Ser.” You chirp, waiting for him to bow his head ever so lightly and then ride away to take his position. Only then you sit back down by Aemond´s side. The side eye he gives you easily goes ignored, as in the moment he opens his mouth, the horses start to race towards each other.

Of course, Criston ends up successfully knocking his opponent off his horse, having you jump up to applaud him enthusiastically. Along many other Ladies. Yet one look of his beautiful, dark eyes is enough to quell your doubts about his loyalty. It would be your chambers he would be sneaking into later.

“Have I told you how much I hate seeing you get hurt like this?” Your thumbs run over his cheeks to assess the extent of his wounds.

“You have, princess.” Criston smiles up at you, brown eyes watering as you run one of the digits over his busted lip, despite his victory he naturally had taken a few hits himself.

The heavy plates of his armour discarded and the clothes underneath unbuttoned to reveal his muscular chest.

“My apologies.” You mumble upon hearing him suck in a sharp breath.

Criston shifts ever so slightly before he lets you put the washcloth to his skin again, wandering down steadily. When you reach his chest, the backs of your noses brush against each other ever so slightly. Your breath catches in your throat and almost reflexively Criston's fingers twitch against your thigh.

"How are you feeling?" You mumble, still fully concentrated on cleaning his wounds.

"I feel quite alright, now that I have you all to myself." Criston looks at you, the glimpse of something sparkling in his eyes.

"My attention will always be on you only, my sweet knight. My affections will only ever belong to you." You put down the cloth you had used to clean him up and run your hands through his hair, before kissing his forehead.

After that you barely separate until your foreheads rest against each other, noses rubbing against each other playfully, before Criston´s lips find their way onto yours. They lap at each other in tender, languid motions while eager hands run over clothed bodies they had explored a multitude of times before. Still, even if you knew each other’s bodies like the back of your own hand, you would never grow tired of it. In all this time the butterflies never calmed.

In the blink of an eye Criston joins you on the bed, straddling your hips and pushing you onto your back. The world spins around the two of you from the abruptness of the motion, as the rough pad of a thumb traces your jaw line first, before running over your lower lip.

Instinctively your legs wrap around Criston´s hips. Before your lips can seal in another kiss though, you roll the two of you around, to comfortably kneel above the knight with a triumphant teasing smile.

“You have done enough already. Let me reward you for your win.” You whisper against his neck.

The tip of your tongue traces a line down the middle of his chest and abs to the hem of his pants.

On the bed Criston propped himself up on his elbows to look at you better, his breath hitching as you teased just under the material.

“As you wish, princess.” He breathed, hiding a half smile, by biting his lower lip.

You follow this up by pulling his pants and breeches down to his ankles to set the tan hardness free from its confines. The same action makes your mouth water at the thought of what was to follow alone already.

In a matter of moments, you gently take the base of his cock into one hand to lick up the length of the vein on its underside. When the wet muscle reaches the tip, your lips wrap around it eagerly, teasing the weeping slit. Underneath the hand resting on his strong thigh, the tired muscles begin to shake from the teasing actions.

“Princess…” Criston's shuddering voice sounds through the room.

His dark eyes, though half closed, are trained as you give his cock an experimental suck. Taking it in just a bit deeper. As an immediate reaction you can see from the corner of your eyes how the knight’s hands grip the sheets a bit tighter. With a happy sigh at the reaction, you set a comfortable pace. His hips meet your mouth, thrusting up with trembling legs.

After a while his thrusts become harsher, hitting the back of your throat now to elicit the most enticing moans mixed with quiet gagging sounds he had heard from you.

Amid trying to concentrate on breathing through your nose and the view of him vanishing under a veil of tears, the hand on his thigh wanders upwards. Immediately his body trembling turned into a full-on shaking. Your hand barely cups his stones, yet the touch pulls a groan from him, that has the juices from between your legs dripping down your own thighs. The sound is more rousing than anything you had ever heard before. You gently roll them in your palm and the knees on either side of your shoulders tighten abruptly and Criston´s hips push off the bed and into your mouth on their own volition.

“So good… I don´t think I am able to hold back much longer.” The cries of pleasure from his lips grow louder, uncaring of who outside the door might hear them.

The tip of the knight’s length slips past the back of your mouth and into your throat to make you gag. The wet sound fills the room for a moment followed by sputtering and panting, as you desperately gasp for air. At the same time, you never stopped pumping his hard cock.

The quick motions and have his body shaking uncontrollably, even more so when you put your lips to his big sack, placing gentle, wet kisses onto it and sucking it into your mouth. The two of you moan in unison. The vibrations again send shocks through Criston’s body, his eyes rolling back into his head and arms underneath going limp, unable to hold him up any longer.

“Please, princess.” The begging whimpers get repeated like a prayer.

You barely manage to separate long enough from laving affection onto his lower body to answer. “Please what, my sweet knight?”

“I'm so close." Is the desperate, needy whine you get to hear in turn. “Please, I want to finish.”

It's truly adorable how he still asks for permission to let his climax overcome him. Hips trying to hold back from trusting into your hand until you answered his pleads, swollen lips hanging open and a sheen of sweat coating his face.

“Go on then. Paint my face with your seed.” You encourage him, before going back to pay attention to his stones. Your tongue flicks out to play with them, while your hand tugs on the knight’s hardness just a bit faster. The other hand, which rubs circles into his inner thigh again, wanders up just far enough to let one finger put the lightest amount of pressure on the point right behind the sack. The reaction it earns in return is all the bigger.

Criston´s hands fist into the sheets and the groan that breaks free from tightly pressed together lips has you praying that no one would storm into the chambers while Criston does as you have told him. Painting your face with his seed, making you look like one of the women serving in the pillow houses in flea bottom. The ones Aegon would talk about, whenever he wished to upset either you or one of your siblings.

And in the moment, there exists no more beautiful sight in the entire world to your secret lover. You continue pumping his cock until he has nothing more to give and the whimpers from above have turned even more raw and high pitched. For a moment after that you sit back on your haunches to just revel in the glow that shines from Criston after his climax. One finger collects the seed on your face to get it into your mouth.

After that moment of respite, the washcloth is picked right back up and wet again. This time to wipe your face first and the knight's privates afterwards.

But the second you crawl onto the mattress the both of you know that there is not much time left to cuddle. Outside the sun started to set, colouring the sky in all kinds of beautiful shades of red and orange. Alerting you that you would be expected at a dinner in your mother's chambers and Criston needed to go back on post. Perhaps you had taken a bit too long to take care of his wounds, but when your knight’s lips graze yours, his chest still heaving underneath your hand, you can't find it in you to care about any of that. Not as long as he would be lying there with you.

“I do not know what I have done to deserve you, princess. You are too good to me.” He rasps against your lips, noses brushing against each other to make the moment more intimate, as your hands wander over the other´s sides and arms.

“You deserve only the best. I hope you know that.” You answer in a raw voice.

[featherandferns]

Halloween and horror movies were nothing new, but JJ seemed bored by the concept... (MDNI)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Outside on the porch sits Kiara's butchered children. At least, that's how she saw them. Her pumpkin babies that she'd planted and watered and kissed and nourished and grown from the ground up sat picked, gutted and carved. Inside were two tealights, creating an eerie glow through their hollow eyes. Yours was classic: two triangles above a brimming, fanged grin. JJ's? Your boyfriend had decided to create an homage to the stoner community: a joint sat between a doped smile, with half-set eyes somehow perfectly capturing that absent, blissed-out stare. Age appropriate? Absolutely not. But not a lot of children would come trick-or-treating out this way. With that in mind, yourself and the rest of the Pogues had opted for a movie night.

Nothing with the Pogues was ever simple. Sarah wanted to watch Beetlejuice but Cleo was adamant about a modern day horror. Pope swore against jump scares because it was cheap thrills and the science of a good psychological thriller is just too much of a mindbender to pass up on, right? Well, Kiara said that she thought psychological thrillers were trivial and dragged on. John B? He didn't want anything paranormal. That limited things quite a lot. What did you all agree on? The most harmless Halloween flick of all time: Hocus Pocus.

You're cuddled against your boyfriend on the farthest end of the old couch. A scratchy tweed blanket sits across both of your laps. Beneath it, JJ's hand rests comfortably on your thigh. In his other hand he hoards the bowl of Halloween candy. The lot of you were working your way through the gummy worms and chocolate eyeballs. Lights down, volume up, curtains closed: it was the picture of cosy, fall fun.

"This movie blows," JJ mumbles into your ear.

You roll your eyes and whisper back with a smile, "It's a classic."

"C.H.U.D. is way scarier."

"This isn't meant to be scary."

"But it's a Halloween movie. Isn't that the whole gimmick?"

"It's meant to be enchanting."

"La-de-da."

"Shush!" Kiara hisses from her spot on the floor. Her head turns so fast it reminds you of the exorcist, and that just makes you want to watch that movie again. Sighing, you sink against the warmth of your boyfriend. You had to agree: this was a lot better of a movie when you were a kid.

It's as if he can hear your boredom calling out to him. The moment Kie's attention is back on the crackly television screen, JJ's hand starts to shift. It's innocent at first, no different to the usual way he absentmindedly caresses at your skin. The first time his finger slips against your inner thigh, you think it's an accident. But then it's again, and it teases at the hem of your pyjama shorts, and you shoot him a look. The smirk on his face and the glint in your eyes tell you everything you need to know.

You lean up and hope it looks casual to your friends as you whisper into his ear, "we're literally watching a children's movie about witches with our friends right now. You cannot be horny."

"I'm bored," comes his excuse. "'Sides, they're all watching the movie. They're not even gonna notice."

You pull back to let your eyes flit across your friends. Pope and Cleo are in an armchair that you had thrifted, cuddled up, with Cleo half-asleep against his chest. Pope's eyes are so focused on the movie that you wonder if he's analysing each frame. John B lounges on the spot on the sofa near JJ, though there's a safe little gap between the two. He seems pretty hooked on the movie too. Kie and Sarah are on the floor sharing a bowl of popcorn.

JJ's hand continues to massage your thigh. His finger is ghostly in its teasing against your thigh, the touch just enough to wake up every neuron and every cell, but not enough to please them.

Your silent mark of consent to your ADHD ridden boyfriend is the slight opening of your legs, giving his hand more space to explore. You can see his grin in your peripheral. Talk about obvious.

But it becomes increasingly harder to care about the others in the room when JJ rubs your clit through your panties. Sighing slowly, relieved, your head leans against JJ's warm chest. It shakes with silent laughter and you debate cussing him out in front of everyone. The circles he draws are methodological; he knew your body like he'd read the handbook. Every touch and every kiss had reason and rhyme, and it had been months since JJ had struggled to flip on every switch that had your body singing.

Your cunt clenches around nothing as he picks up the pace and pressure. As the sounds of the movie fade away, you become keenly aware of your unsteady rise and fall of breath. The cool metal of his rings somehow bleeds through the thin veil of fabric as he fingers press against your slit. Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you fight away the moans and sighs of pleasure. The hot, damp feel of JJ's breath against your ear is cruel.

"So fuckin' dirty. Letting me feel you up right next to our friends, huh?"

You shoot him a glare but you know it falls flat when you're literally biting back the moans he's reasonable for. The weight of your look weakens as you chase your climax. So close, so close, so close...You rock forward gently when you come, before sinking back on your boyfriend. He eases up slowly, reeling it in. JJ plants kisses against your neck and behind your ear.

The moment your mind returns to your body, you're keenly aware of what just happened. You scan the other people in the room in mild panic to check nobody is shooting you disgusted daggers. But, no, everyone is still watching the three witches fly around on their mops and brooms and vacuum cleaners.

JJ's eyes find yours and you try your best to look unimpressed, but it's hard when your pussy is still convulsing. His voice is hushed and low when he teases with a grin:

"Guess you're not the virgin who lit the candle, huh?"

[jcmarchi]

How Global Dealmakers are Leveraging AI

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/how-global-dealmakers-are-leveraging-ai/

How Global Dealmakers are Leveraging AI

Artificial Intelligence (AI), including generative AI (GenAI), is rapidly revolutionizing business processes and challenging traditional operational models across industries. The mergers and acquisitions (M&A) industry is no exception.

Large language models (LLM) and GenAI are particularly well-suited to support industries reliant on processing and analyzing vast amounts of data. Financial services, especially the management of capital transactions like M&A, stand to benefit significantly due to the complex and time-sensitive nature of the work. For example, when it comes to buying or selling a business, one of the most challenging parts of the M&A process is organizing and preparing the files needed for review by potential investors or purchasers. AI can help streamline this process significantly. An AI algorithm that understands M&A, can sift through a deal’s data and suggest categories, as well as appropriate folder locations, for the files, transforming an activity that used to take weeks to one that is complete in just minutes.

Dealmakers have already seen the benefits of AI’s ability to improve processes and efficiencies, particularly in due diligence, where AI-powered document analysis can substantially expedite information processing. In fact, a Datasite survey of 500 global dealmakers in the US, UK, Germany and France found that most dealmakers see productivity as the biggest benefit of using AI in their business.

AI is also making other parts of the dealmaking process more efficient. For instance, AI can assist in identifying potential M&A targets by analyzing vast datasets and market trends, particularly beneficial for those pursuing programmatic M&A strategies. By using anonymized private equity and other transaction activity from within a closed and secure platform, some AI-powered applications are already helping dealmakers get better and faster deal targets.

AI can also aid in the valuation process by providing objective analyses based on historical data and market factors. However, while AI can enhance accuracy and efficiency in valuations, human judgment remains essential, especially in evaluating qualitative factors and forecasting.

Additionally, by automating repetitive and time-consuming tasks, AI enables dealmakers to focus on strategic-level decisions and creative thinking. Achieving a balance between AI and human involvement is, in fact, key to maximizing productivity and outcomes.

Yet, despite this awareness of AI’s potential benefits, there is still a gap between familiarity and adoption in the M&A industry. While many dealmakers said they have personally reaped the benefits of the technology, 60% said adoption of AI at their own organizations was low, or that they were still using it only experimentally. Furthermore, over 70% of global dealmakers want the technology regulated before it is incorporated into any of their existing processes, citing concerns around data privacy and security, job displacement, quality control, intellectual property, and bias.

For this, the government is stepping in. The EU has introduced the AI Act and the US has published a blueprint for an AI bill of rights and an executive order that requires companies to perform safety tests and reporting on AI systems. As regulatory measures catch up with technological advancements, financial services institutions are sure to play a crucial role in shaping the responsible and effective use of AI in dealmaking.

Looking ahead, AI is only set to further evolve how deals are managed, driving further efficiencies and innovations in M&A dealmaking processes. While striking a balance between human involvement and AI is key, there is no doubt that we will continue to see AI implementation in the M&A field.

[neowinestainedress]

between us — johnny suh

title: between us

pairing: professor!johnny x lawyer!oc x fem!reader | husband!johnny x wife!oc x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself tangled in the life of the Suhs after Mr. Suh starts working as an English professor at your father’s university. You don’t understand why they float around you so much, but soon enough, you can’t get enough of that secret, dirty game anymore.

genre: smut, fluff, plot, mxfxf, married couple, established relationship, age gap, bisexual characters, aged up johnny (to his early 30)

warnings: age gap, daddy/mommy issues, smut, sexual tension, 3some, mxfxf, dom/sub dynamics, mdom, fdom(oc), fsub(reader), mentions of s*x toys, unprotected s*x, pet names (honey, babe, doll...), or*l s*x (reader receiving and fem giving), fing*ring (reader receiving and fem giving), n!pple play, dirty talk, praise, minor degradation, size k!nk, 1 face slap, 1 *ss slap, 1 cl!t slap, hair pulling, talks of face f*cking, dp and face sitting, sub space, overstimulation, reader goes non-verbal at the end, aftercare | inclusivity notes: reader’s hair can be grabbed bc i’m degenerated and needed to write hair pulling during or*l, there are no descriptions of the texture and type tho, reader wears hair in different hairstyles (not specified), reader feels small because she’s shorter than them and in general feels ‘intimidated’ (body type is not specified), no use of y/n

visuals

wc: 16.590k

a/n: i’m sure this isn’t what people were expecting when i talked about writing mxfxf, but what can i say, this idea came to me and i had to write it. at first, it was supposed to be less complicated, just hot steamy sex with two hot almost-dilf-and-milf but you know me by now, if it’s not deep and complicated we don’t write it here. disclaimer: they are all bi and this is not just a straight couple using a bisexual person to spice up their s*xual life, i can’t say more because i don’t want to spoil anything but i just wanted to make this clear. i hope you’ll enjoy, if you do please leave feedback with asks or reblog (so the story reaches more people) also this is the first time i write smut between two women so please let me know if it’s good!! love u ♡

The Suhs are by now a known presence in your life. Since Mr. Suh started teaching at your father’s university, it became almost impossible to not see him for more than two days straight.

You don’t feel like blaming your father. Actually, you get it. Mr. Suh is a charming, brilliant man in his early thirties. After years of studying and being an assistant, he started teaching English literature at another prestigious university, the one your father is president of. And in his free time —and you wonder how he did that— he even wrote a few books, the first ones being analyses of writers’ works, and then a successful mystery novel.

You like him, even if he intimidates you a bit. He’s a person you can have interesting conversations with, maybe too interesting. You can’t understand what hides behind his elegant attire; either suits and ties or brown pants and polos or vests, his brown hair is always pulled back, only occasionally some loose strands fall on his forehead and make him appear less put together. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him dressed casually, or crack a joke, but then again, it’s not really your place to know.

But Mr. Suh, also known as Johnny, is never alone when he comes to your parents’ house, or tags along at dinners, parties, and more, anything that your father likes to organize with his academic clique.

His wife, Aaliyah Taylor Suh, is always with him. She’s not less interesting or intimidating than him. Mrs. Suh is a drop-dead gorgeous woman in her early thirties like her husband. She’s an amazing lawyer, working at one of the top firms in the city, and probably that’s also why she comes off as piercing to you, it’s like she always knows what to say and do, and you struggle to keep up. And just like her husband, it’s also in the way she presents herself; she’s always perfect with her long goddess braids that reach her waist which is always perfectly hugged by the beautiful, expensive suits or dresses she wears.

This should pretty much sum up why you don’t talk much with them, even if they’re nice —at least it seems from the few conversations you had— you don’t feel at their level. Not only do they look like gods in your eyes, but they also fit the perfect stereotype of the rich, powerful couple that makes heads turn around every time they walk into a room —yours included— and the small, yet significant, age gap only makes it worse.

It would be easier to talk with them if your father wouldn’t constantly remind you that. He always had a passion to turn you and your dreams down, but since they are part of your life, it only worsened. Your father never misses the occasion to point your flaws out; how clumsy you are, walking around and stumbling on your own feet, dropping things every now and then, and messing up your words during speeches. Instead, he’s amazed by their brains and how quickly they became successful, they spent years on books and still never lost each other and found time to get married, they accomplished everything you haven’t, and it seems impossible for him to not slam it in your face.

And you agree, partially. You envy them. They seem to always be at the right place, at the right time, never saying a word wrong, and always looking straight out of Vogue. You’re also jealous of their love, you don’t know what a stable relationship looks like —not that you care to know, nobody your age seems to be doing it for you— unlike their stable, lasting marriage that is the deal closing off a just as long period of dating. They were high-school sweethearts, and you envy the way they still look at each other. Nobody ever looked at you like that, as if you meant the world to them. And you don’t understand how they survived all these years, you almost went insane during college, the two relationships you tried to have failed like a ship sinking in a storm. And now that you’re free, you’re still suffering the aftermath of all the stress you’ve been through. 

So you struggle to understand why they circle around you like moths to a flame.

It all started months ago. At first, it was only longing gazes, you could always feel them on you, and you always thought that there was something wrong with you; your make-up smudged, your hair out of place, your clothes dirty or crumpled up, but, even if you weren’t like them, there was nothing wrong with you.

Then, one night, things started to make more sense.

It was late, around 10 pm. As much as you couldn’t stand your father, you tried to tag along as much as possible to find some connections career-wise. You could’ve asked him a favour —doubting he would do it— but you had no intention of making him take credit for your future. You preferred talking with his academic friends or critics on your own, it hadn’t been successful yet, but you won’t give up.

You were standing in the kitchen, a glass in hand as you tried to drown in the alcohol and forget every word you had heard from your father when Mr. Suh approached you first.

“Tiring, isn’t it?” Mr. Suh’s voice brought you back to reality. His build, tall form leaning against the fridge as he stared at you with a small smirk on his face, his hair was falling a bit more freely since the gel had given up after the whole night —day, you’d dare to say, you’re not so sure he had time to go back home and get ready for this dinner again.

You tried not to get lost in his beauty and swiftly hummed, nodding. “Yeah, but at least the wine is good.”

Mr. Suh snickered, starting to walk over to you, a hand in his hair as he shook it back. “Pinot?”

Your eyes moved up in his, he was standing so close you could feel his breath hit your face, and you struggled to find the words. Throat dry and hands so sweaty you were sure you would’ve dropped the glass on the ground. “Yeah, Pinot, or at least, I think so,” you mumbled, giggling awkwardly as you looked down and took a step back, trying to put some distance between you two.

“Can I have a taste?” He asked, tilting his head to the side, his piercing gaze staring right into your soul.

You should’ve told him that surely there were some glasses left outside, or maybe opted to take a look in the wine rack behind him, but you didn’t, and your hand moved to his almost right away.

You watched him smile in a ‘thank you,’ before his lips met the glass, alcohol pouring down his throat, a bit too messily for his usual put-together act, a drop dripping on his chin against his tan skin.

Mr. Suh smiled, humming happily as he handed the —almost empty— glass back to you. “As imagined, my favourite,” he winked.

“Oh, good — good. I — I like it too,” you slurred, panicking and feeling so small. And guilty because something about all of this felt so wrong and dirty and you immediately thought of Mrs. Taylor. Was Johnny flirting or were you too horny to think straight? They were a perfect couple, they couldn’t be cheating, right?

So, you scrolled your head, and said goodbye to him, quickly walking out of the room with the excuse ‘you were sure your father was looking for you’ but in reality, you just needed a breath of fresh air.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. You would find yourself alone with Mr. Suh more than you wished to, and he was always so subtle with everything that you started to think you were going insane. He couldn’t have possibly brushed his hand against yours as he walked by your side to go to his wife, right? And he couldn’t have willingly rested a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you, trying to make way to get to your father? And why would he call you ‘honey’ with that sweet, intoxicating, slightly condescending tone, and only when you two were alone? His voice was always sensual, but you could swear it would drop even lower when he had you alone in the kitchen or in the library you spent some much time in, lecturing you about some poem or book, watching as you hung from his lips.

Anyway, you thought you could deal with it, you would only see him when your dad invited them, and even if it was a lot, you could stick with your mother —a slightly more likeable presence to you that wasn’t best friend with the Suhs.

Things worsened when Mrs. Suh started talking to you. The first, serious, conversation was about a pretty boring thing, some case she was working on. But there was something in the way she talked to you, laughing as she dismissed the conversation and simply stared into your eyes before asking to talk about yourself. Unlike her husband, she was curious, almost as if she wanted to get deep into you and discover things you probably didn’t even know about yourself.

And you froze. You had nothing to say. Everything that came to your mind was either too boring or too wild to be known to her.

“So? Too many secrets to hide?” She joked, showing you her pearly white teeth before winking.

“No, uhm,” you mumbled, trying to find the words, but losing them again when your eyes fell on her hands, golden jewellery shining on her fingers as they wrapped around the flute so delicately and yet sensually before she brought the glass to her full lips tinted with dark purple. Your head snapped up, trying to control your breath and not show the erratic movements of your chest, and squeezing your thighs together for some reason. “I’m working. Yes, busy working and trying to survive my dad.” Busy. You wrote for a small magazine online that paid you dust; reason why you were back living with your parents and kept writing your book, hoping to finish it and publish it one day and get the chance to be as far as possible from that house.

She smirked, and you could see it wasn’t because she was happy with your answer but almost as if she was having the time of her life at the way you were acting. “So, work and dad make you, you?”

“No,” you replied right away, slightly offended too. “I thought we were talking about… about things… happening now.”

A low chuckle rolled out of her lips, “I’d love to get to know you better, you know? Your family is so outgoing, they can’t keep anything in, but you…” she paused, eyes looking at you up and down, “you’re so secretive, reserved, like a candy to unwrap.”

You gulped, fearing she had the wrong idea about you and her husband and was planning a way to kill you. Aaliyah wasn’t stupid, of course she had seen the way Johnny talked to you and, worse, the way you reacted. She was also a lawyer, a brilliant one, you doubt some of her clients were even innocent and yet they got away with everything, she could stand up for herself in court, and Johnny would find a poetic way to get rid of your body and turn this into the plot of his next success.

“I… I…”

“You should spend some time with us,” she said, smiling, crossing her legs and moving her braids behind, showing her cleavage, “you know, at our place, alone. No family getting in the way, no father painting you bad. Just adults having fun.”

“Oh,” you gasped, gulping as you felt the air in your lungs disappear. “Sure, I’d love to.” But the truth is, you wouldn’t survive being alone with them.

“Beautiful dress, by the way,” she complimented, getting up and walking past you, “shows all the right curves.”

That was the start of everything. Unfortunately, she had no intention of killing you. Instead, she seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you better, saving you from your father by engaging in conversations with you when you were all at the same table, asking what you liked, and mostly, complimenting you. At first, it could’ve been mistaken for a ‘girls support girls’ kind of moment, but quickly you started to perceive something else. Her looks, her touches and her words weren’t any different than Mr. Suh’s ones, so lingering, so secretive, and teasing, feeling like a breeze that taunts your skin with a sense of relief that’s never meant to come.

Two months have passed since that moment, and your plans of keeping the distance crumble apart when you find yourself alone with them.

It’s not the first time, but you feel today might be more difficult to deal with. Your father is stuck with an idea of you from when you were five years old and in constant need of supervision, or else you can’t explain why he almost treats them as your babysitters.

‘We’ll be out today, look after her,’ these are the words your father exclaims before walking out of the Villa he owned on this lake abandoned by God, your mother already at the car parked in the driveway.

You’re not a child but you surely act like one, rolling your eyes and letting out a loud grunt before puffing out air.

Mr. Suh laughs, humming lowly before turning to you. “You’re still a child in his eyes, aren’t you? His sweet, innocent, little baby.”

That comment shouldn’t have had any effect on you, yet, it does. It feels like he is implying something else, it’s clear in his tone and especially his eyes. But you shake it off, laughing before replying ‘yes,’ and then running up the stairs with a faint goodbye. You hear Mrs. Taylor say something, probably asking you to stay, but you pretend you don’t hear and disappear into your room.

You can avoid them only for so long before you don’t know what to do anymore and decide to go downstairs —terrible decision.

You think they left, so you walk outside to read a book under the porch and enjoy a cold lemonade, but when you step into the garden you see them by the pool.

Aaliyah is laughing tenderly at Johnny who’s dancing on the trampoline, winking at her before jumping in the pool, splashing water around, making her turn around and cover her face more with the large floppy hat she’s wearing.

You feel like dying, this is not how you want to see them, and you have to force your eyes up, not making them fall on her ass. You’re still in time to go back, just one step behind and you can go upstairs as if nothing happened, but you’re not quick enough.

“Hey,” Mr. Suh greets you. “We were hoping you would join us,” he smiles at you, walking out of the pool by the stairs, scrolling the water out of his hair before pushing it behind.

You gulp, which is the only thing you can do to try to water your throat —and more embarrassingly, don’t moan at the sight of his sculpted body. And then you smile, a tight forced smile as you still stand like a statue. “Oh, I won’t join you, I just wanted to read.”

Mrs. Suh snickers and you watch her turn around to stand out of the pool, strong arms lifting her body up —and only now you realize that she’s pretty ripped too, the soft curves complimented by the signed abs, toned arms, and thighs.

“You go to the gym together?” Dumbly slips out of your mouth and by the time you cover it with your hands it’s already too late, but the comment makes them smile.

“You pay attention to details, don’t you?” She asks, clicking her tongue and smirking. She then takes the hat off, letting the braids fall on her back before she sits on the round table, pulling a chair out to gesture you to take a seat. “And I don’t train as much as he does, prefer pilates actually.”

“Oh,” you reply, momentarily bringing your attention to Johnny who’s now sitting on the other chair, leaving you the seat in the middle. “Heard is good for the body, nice choice.”

“Are you going to sit, or do we have to drag you here?” Mr. Suh jokes, head pointing at the empty space between them.

You shake your head, looking down as you take a deep breath and force your legs to work. You can do that, you just have to sit in the middle of the hottest couple you’ve ever laid eyes on and that for some reason loves to tease you, you’ll be fine.

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” she says when your ass touches the chair, book and lemonade resting in front of you on the round table.

“So, enjoying your break?” Johnny asks and then throws his hair back to scroll some more water out, but that makes you lose your focus and gulp nervously.

“Yeah, needed a vacation. Would be better if it wasn’t with my father,” you add, looking down.

She chuckles. “You two really don’t get along. Poor thing, he doesn’t get you, does he?”

You hesitate to reply, 1) you don’t get if she’s mocking you and 2) you wouldn’t care because the way she called you poor thing makes you feel things.

“He thinks I’m a child. I mean, he treats you like babysitters, I’m an adult,” you reply when your brain starts working again, and sadness fills your expression.

“Sure you are,” Johnny adds, chuckling, and you frown. “Sorry, it’s just funny that when you get mad at him, you act a bit childlike. Teenagers-like, if it makes you feel better.”

You sigh, frowning as you stare at him. “You think I’m stupid?”

“What?” He asks, brows raising.

“You think I’m as stupid as he thinks I am? Because the way he talks about me would make anybody think I’m this clueless, hopeless, dumb woman who has no idea what she’s doing with her life.”

Aaliyah chuckles tenderly, “Honey, you’re smart. Johnny can’t quite shut up about you after you two talk. He loves your takes on authors and the way you write, says he would love to have you work with him somehow.”

You almost stop breathing. He talks about you to his wife? He remembers what you say during your conversation or when you talk about what you write? Damn, you doubt people even listen to you.

“Oh, thanks,” yet, this is the only thing you mumble, and it’s fine like this. Anything else coming from your mouth could dangerously be a squeal.

“Anyway,” she says, leaning closer, making you move back and hold your breath, only to damn yourself when her fingers brush on your skin to wipe away something that dropped on you with the wind, “your dad’s not here now, why don’t you join us by the pool and stop stressing about him?”

You smile but shake your head. “No, it’s fine, I’ll stay here.”

“Are you sure? The water is perfect,” Johnny adds, standing up and towering over you. “Couldn’t convince my sweet wife to jump in but maybe you’re braver than her,” he winks, and you don’t have the courage to turn around and see if she saw.

“Oh…” you whisper and then look at the pool. If only he knew the problem wasn’t the water, you wouldn’t think twice about jumping in.

“Oh, come on,” Mrs. Suh pleads, and before you can realize it, her hands are wrapped around your wrist. This is the first time she touches you, not a caress, not a tease, but a firm hold on you, and it shouldn’t send shivers down your spine, but it does. Her fingers are slim and soft, and you find yourself wishing you could feel them more, preferably somewhere else on your body.

“Wait,” you try to retort, but you have no choice. She’s dragging you to the edge of the pool and Johnny is walking right behind you, you’d be trapped either way.

“Here,” she says, coming to a stop when you reach the border of the pool. “Much better than sipping lemonade while reading a book all alone, right?”

“I don’t have a bikini,” you say, only now realizing you didn’t go downstairs for that.

“Are you wearing lace?” Johnny asks, walking so close that you can feel the heat of his body.

“Wh-why do you care?”

“Dummy,” he chuckles, “if you’re not, you can jump in anyway, it won’t ruin the lingerie.”

“Oh, of course, yeah, of course,” you mumble, looking away to don’t show how embarrassed you are. But their laughs —even if lighthearted— don’t help you at all, and you still feel trapped between them. “No, by the way, I have no reason to wear lace,” you add, trying to fill the silence.

“Really?” Aaliyah asks, tilting her head to the side. You turn around, facing the pool so you can look at them both —and fool yourself you have a way out now that your back is free.

“Well, yes… I’m… I’m not really people’s type,” you mutter, torturing the inside of your cheeks and your fingers.

Johnny snickers, “Weird, you look exactly like —” he doesn’t finish though, and you barely see the glance his wife gives him to stop him. “I’m sure you are someone’s type.”

You nod, but your brain is slowly melting, from the weather, from their closeness, and now because you can’t understand why she stopped him and what he truly wanted to say.

“Undress,” she says resolutely, and you’re brought back to earth, staring at her with wide eyes. “To swim… remember?” she finishes, head tilted to the side and a mocking smirk on her face. You know she’s having the time of her life watching you panic, you’re giving it all way, from the way your breath falters to the way your chest heavies.

“Sure, to swim,” you repeat but it’s more to ground yourself. You hope the water is freezing cold, so maybe your body can cool down, and so can your thoughts. You quickly lift your dress over your shoulders and by the time you can see again, you see them in the water, standing right in front of you, leaning against the other side of the pool.

“Are you coming?” Johnny asks, voice raspy but clear.

You hum, kneeling down, feeling the water with your hand. It’s not cold enough to calm you down and to make you take time, you have to jump in. So, you do. It’s not too deep and you can walk to them.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Aaliyah voices out, deeply breathing in the air and moving her fingers in abstract figures on the surface.

“Yeah. I…” you look down, watching your bra and how little it covers, the damp fabric highlighting your hard nipples even more.

“Shy?” It rolls from her tongue like venom, so sweet yet poisonous as her eyes lock in yours.

“No, no,” you laugh awkwardly. “Why would I?”

“We wouldn’t blame you, we can come off as quite intimidating at times,” Johnny says, the corner of his lips twitching in a smirk before it relaxes.

“You don’t intimidate me,” you lie, chuckling and crossing your arms on your chest.

She laughs. “My nipples are hard too, babe. It’s the cold,” she reassures you with a smile, but you don’t feel better. You’re not so sure it’s only the cold, you think they became this hard a few minutes ago when you were practically sandwiched between them.

“Why did you come here?” You ask out of nowhere, and their expressions change. “I’m sorry, it’s not like I don’t want you here,” you explain, “but you could do vacations on your own and don’t have to suffer through my father, so I don’t understand.”

“Thought we said not to talk about him?” She says, raising a brow.

“Well, I want to talk about you. You two have it all, you’re rich, powerful, smart, in love, and yet, you…” you float around me, always, constantly, “...you spend so little time together.”

Mr. Suh laughs, his head rolling back for a second. “We’re always together. I come home to her, not your father,” he jokes and she laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Also, this might not be the only vacation we will do this year. We always go to Santorini in September before Uni starts,” she adds.

You hum, biting the inside of your cheek.

“But let’s talk about you,” she says. “Why are you here? Your brothers didn’t come.”

“My brothers can do whatever they want, I can’t.”

“Why?” This time Johnny is the one asking.

“I’d let him down,” you add, lowering your gaze because you don’t like the look of pity behind their eyes. “But I don’t want to think about him. You’re good at diving,” you change the subject, addressing Johnny, hoping it will be enough to move the focus from you. 

“Thanks,” he replies, a proud smirk on his face.

“Don’t stroke his ego, he’s going to jump again and splash around,” she jokes, rolling her eyes.

“You’re already wet, so why would it be a problem?” He smirks, and then turns to you and winks, making you choke on your own saliva, but you try to cover it up with a fit of cough, something that makes the couple giggle under their breath more.

Aaliyah swims to you, pushing you back so Johnny can have space and maybe don’t drown you with his jump. Your skin is on fire as her hands place on your back as she guides you and you’re thankful your feet can touch because you can barely walk, so imagine swimming.

“He was in the swimming team in high school,” Aaliyah explains, covering her eyes from the sun with a hand and squeezing them so she can watch Johnny. You mimic her, humming at her words. “He was so good, I think I fell in love on the bleachers watching him swim.”

You chuckle tenderly and try to imagine a younger version of them, and you can almost see them. You wonder if their personalities were the same more than ten years ago, you wonder how they looked, you wonder if they would’ve ever imagined to still be here after so many years. But in any version you come up with, you still don’t fit. Actually, it makes you look like a stain even more.

“Your love is… strong,” you whisper when Johnny finally dives in and she cheers before bringing her attention to you.

“It is,” she agrees, a sweet smile showing her straight, white teeth, “even though weird things happen sometimes.”

You giggle, frowning. “Weird things?” Your voice is shaking, and you don’t want to connect the two dots that are so vivid in your head.

“What are you talking about? Praising me?” Mr. Suh asks, grinning, running a hand in his wet hair before hugging his wife from the back and kissing her cheek.

“Not about you, nothing impressive about that jump,” she jokes. “About us.”

“Us?”

She hums. “I was telling her how I fell in love with you, and she said our love is strong.”

You want to ask about the weird things, you want to ask so much more, but you don’t. And you simply stand there, watching Mr. Suh’s hands wrap around her body, feeling jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

The whole thing gets more intense as time passes by. You’re curious about them, as individuals and as a couple, and you can’t deny the tension anymore. Not tonight.

The three of you haven’t really spoken, mostly because you slipped away as soon as you crossed ways, and after a few tries, they stopped trying to approach you. But the buzzing chemistry is strong across the room.

You try not to look at them, you even try to engage in conversation with your father —when he’s not attached to Mr. Suh’s ass— and some of his other friends, but it’s useless. Your head always turns in their direction, it’s almost like a voice is luring you in.

You guess you look dumb from the outside, and you’re sure that if you looked at yourself in the mirror you would tell yourself to work on the way you stare at —almost strangers— with eyes filled with lust. You don’t want to, you don’t want to look at them, even less with that wide-eyed gaze and agape mouth, but you can’t help it.

“Honey,” your mother’s voice scoffs, “what are you doing?”

You perceive her scolding —disgusted— gaze on you and you cough, looking at her to be met with her judging eyes. Typical of your mother, usually you only get her looks with no need for words to be added.

“Sorry, I was zoned out,” you justify, chuckling awkwardly, but it only makes her frown more and sigh. “I’m a bit tired,” you lie, trying to fool her.

“Just don’t look weird,” she dismisses you with a wave of hand. “Not more than the usual,” she adds, leaving you alone.

You roll your eyes, scoffing loudly once you’re sure she’s out of sight and then start walking to the table with the drinks. You’re not sure adding alcohol to the picture will make it better but who knows, maybe ending up passed out next to a toilet is better than lusting over a married couple that is probably just messing with you.

It doesn’t work.

You blame it on the hard drinks your friends make you drink when you go out, your alcohol tolerance must be out of the roof by now, but it doesn’t matter because your biggest problem still stands.

Your problem is standing on the other side of the room now that you’re sitting on some couches with the fourth drink in hand. You shouldn’t feel like this, stomach upside down and a frown hardening your beautiful features while you look at them. But you can’t help it. Mr. Suh’s hand sitting at the side of Aaliyah’s waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles over the maroon dress she’s wearing. You can’t hear her laugh as her head rolls back before falling on his shoulder at something the person they are talking to is saying, but your brain replays the sound anyway, and you smile.

The beam on your face drops quickly when her eyes lock into yours, Johnny is not looking, busy paying attention to the person in front of them, but her gaze is on you. It’s piercing even with the distance between you and it takes your breath away. You should make this look normal, raise a hand and wave with a small smile before turning away, but you don’t. You’re stuck, like you always are around them, and the only thing that moves is your heart, pounding fast and violently in your chest as you watch her every move, one hand bringing a glass to her lips and the other meeting Johnny’s on her waist. You’d love to roll your eyes and huff ‘he’s yours, we get it,’ but you only feel a stinging pain in your heart, and a less painful one, well… somewhere else.

The spell breaks when she turns around, eyes on her husband and laughing again as if nothing happened, almost as if you’re not even in the room anymore.

Your shoulders drop, your breath gets normal again, and your head lowers. It’s not normal to feel like this, especially when it all feels like a mockery at times. You know there’s no space for you. You can’t be her and run your fingers in his hair without getting scowled at for ruining it. You can’t be her and kiss him on the lips and chuckle when he rubs your nose against yours. You can’t be her and see him in the comfort of when he wakes up or goes to bed.

But you play and play, and fool yourself you can, getting lost in those fantasies. You need a breath of fresh air.

Just like the alcohol, the minutes spent outside to cool your body and mind don’t work. When you go back to sit at your spot, you realize they’re sitting opposite to you. You’d leave again but you have no excuse, and it would become even more awkward now that your father sits next to you. But it’s fine, they’re talking again with someone else and you can focus on what your father is saying. Or maybe not, his conversation with another one of his intellectual friends is boring, nothing interesting comes from his mouth, just old, recurrent, wrong takes. You’d get in the conversation, just to feel something else that night and end up in a discussion with your dad because you need to prove him wrong, but your brain is somewhere else.

Once again, in front of you. Mrs. Suh is sitting on Johnny’s lap, somehow her back manages to stay straight even if she’s not resting against anything, her long legs are elegantly crossed by the ankle and one of her arms is wrapped around his shoulder. You recognize the person in front of them, Mr. Kim Doyoung, a math professor, and you question how they know each other but it gets swiped from your mind quickly.

You hate how close they are. Their touches so subtle and yet so loud making it feel like they’re rubbing it in your face. You hate how people look at them, with so much awe and affection, you feel like only you can look at them like that. And you feel stupid, it is stupid.

But then it happens again, this time it’s Mr. Suh the one looking at you. All the anger and jealousy fly away. Thousands of eyes on them, and he’s still looking at you. His wife is in his arms, and he’s still looking at you. Your father is at your side, and he’s still looking at you.

You gulp, shifting on the spot to try to get comfortable and stop the painful throbbing between your legs, but it’s impossible.

Mr. Suh’s lips flicker in a small smirk, and then his brow rises, there’s also a small raise of the cup he’s holding, and you immediately turn around, just to make sure your father is not looking. You can’t believe he’s so bold, flirting —or whatever he is doing— not only in a full room but with your dad by your side.

You should hate it, you should leave, maybe even confront him, but you don’t. You’re actually quite ashamed the whole thing turns you on. It’s hot, and taboo, and taboo but hot. And come on, you’ve been subtly flirting with a married couple, this shouldn’t be the worst thing, but it feels like it. Because your father worships them, everybody in that room praises them, wants to be like them, and thinks they only have eyes for each other, but they don’t, even if it’s only a naughty game, their eyes are on you.

It’s you.

Their eyes skim around the room playing hide and seek with yours. Their hands tickle your skin in secret. Their bodies speak to you.

The whole room fades in the background, all the tension, all the problems, gone.

It’s only you and them.

Eventually, you start spending more and more time at their place. You tell yourself it’s because they’re easygoing and you can easily escape from your house —to be more precise, from your father. But the truth is, you’re starting to enjoy them more and more.

You still feel out of place sometimes, but it quickly fades away when they notice their conversation push you out by quickly pulling you back in, making light jokes you can understand, or asking about your day. You realize Mrs. Taylor tends to pick up on you quicker than Mr. Suh, while he prefers to ease you with tender touches, and you wonder if he knows the effect they have on you.

You still don’t open up to them much, fearing that if they discovered more, they’d quickly stop giving you attention.

Attention.

That’s another thing you enjoy about being with them. You feel seen. Even if their chemistry is over the roof, they never leave you out, you’re not a tapestry with them. They listen to you, even if you don’t say much, even if you stumble on your words and only give them a small peek. They look at you with sweet smiles on their faces and hum interested, holding conversation with ease.

And shamefully, the thing you love the most, they pamper you. It’s not like you’re poor —even if you have decided to don’t ask for money from your father, some privileges from your wealthy family come anyway— but they still spoil you. Expensive dinners in places you honestly never even wanted to set foot inside. Expensive clothes you doubt you even have the occasion to wear. They even gifted you a Cartier necklace that you keep stored away as your most treasured possession.

But their attentions aren’t only economical, they spoil you with homemade dinners at their place, movie night on their couch, and something more…

You lost count by now of how many times they get you alone and flirt with you, teasing you, watching you get flustered, chuckling at the way your breath falters when their fingers brush your skin or hair. It’s like a dirty game, you are their dirty game. But you don’t hate it. You know they both know what they’re doing, but you love this secrecy, the way you’re their trophy in plain sight and yet a dirty secret they have to hide from each other. It makes you feel wanted, desperately wanted.

And soon enough, you find yourself playing that game, too.

You wear your best outfits when you pass by the University, skin-tight skirts or pants, and just as skimpy blouses or tops with the excuse to borrow books from the library and say hi. Your lips are tinted red for Mr. Suh when he asks you if you want to pass in his office to help him with some lectures, and brown for Mrs. Suh when you casually pass by her firm for lunch or after work. Your hair is always in different hairstyles until you start to stick with the ones you see they like the most. And slowly, you gain some confidence to flirt back.

Your remarks are subtle, and your gaze shies away when they hold eye contact and only giggle or smirk teasingly. But it’s something.

Or so you think.

One second, you’re confident, and the other you feel like you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. You start wondering if you’re pathetic in their eyes and are nothing more but a plaything for them to toy with and discharge when they’ll get tired of you. But nobody ever complimented you this much, calling you beautiful, caressing your face, loving the outfits you put together, and, most importantly, didn’t make you feel dumb. So it feels impossible to pull away from them. Even when your father starts getting mad at you about it.

He’s not dumb, and he has seen the way you and Mr. Suh sit in a corner and talk, he has seen that he greets you before anybody else —even before him— and he doesn’t like it.

“Johnny and Aaliyah have a beautiful relationship,” he starts, scolding you, “don’t try to screw it up, you’re not half of her worth.”

And that’s the first time you cry at night about it. You don’t want to listen to him, but you can’t help but question why they would choose you. Even if it’s just a game, even if it means nothing, you can’t find a reason why. You don’t know who started this first, but it’s not like it would be any different, they’re both hot, smart, talented and successful, and your father is right, you’re not half of her, or his, worth.

Yet, you can’t let it go.

If you know their townhouse by heart, you can’t say the same for their holiday house. It’s your first time being there after they invited you to their getaway weekend. You didn’t hesitate to say yes, pack your best things and leave.

You didn’t want to wander around but they left you all alone and didn’t show much of the house, so you took this opportunity to see a bit more.

The place is big; in the spacious hall, you’re met with the stairs once you enter, the big living room and on the right there’s the kitchen with a grand island in the middle and the table in front of the wide window. Farther down the corridor there’s a small bathroom and a room you couldn’t open.  You’d like to go outside in the garden and chill next to the pool or under the porch, but it’s like upstairs is calling you.

On the first floor, there are the bedrooms and a studio. Your room —well, the guest room— is at the end of the corridor with a big bathroom next to it, while their room is at the end of the stairs, or so you guess.

You don’t want to pry, but curiosity’s got the best of you, especially after trying to open that room downstairs that won’t open. But you know you don’t want to find the keys to that room when you enter their bedroom —yes, you do, but that’s not the main thing.

Your lips part when you enter. It’s bigger than yours, with white walls and wide windows that let the light shine in making it seem even bigger. The big bed is against the wall that faces the door, and right next to the windows, there’s a small sitting room with a two-seat couch and two armchairs.

You should stop and don’t step further but you don’t listen to your brain.

On the wall in front of the bed, there’s a fireplace and on top of it there’s a television that takes half of the wall. At the sides, there are recessed shelves in the wall with books and elegant boxes, a lamp in front of it, and a lounge chair.

There are other lamps, all seem to be design pieces. Two long bedside tables that seem to be vanity desks of marble black. Some beautiful paintings are on the walls and you frown when you can’t recognize the artist, but they picture women and nature and you find them mesmerizing.

Then your eyes are caught by a rectangular red box placed against the wall at the side of the bed, it’s bigger than the bench at the end of the bed, and something about it screams at you to open it.

You shouldn’t, you feel like you’re invading their privacy —and well, you are— but you don’t stop.

You kneel in front of it, and a part of you hopes it’s locked somehow so that you can walk out of there and pretend nothing happened. But there’s no lock or key, you just have to lift the lid to see what’s inside.

Your lips part and a gasp comes out of your mouth when your eyes see what’s inside. You freeze. Close it and leave. Your brain screams, but you’re stuck, eyes blinking as you try to make sure you’re not making it all up.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hand falling from the lid to shakily touch what’s inside. There are other boxes but, for now, you don’t care to open them and only grab what you can see. Handcuffs, blindfolds, what seem to be whips but they all have different shapes and you don’t get the differences, ropes and other items you can’t name. The closed boxes have labels on them, lingerie, anal, vibrators, and dildos.

Your hands grab one, opening it, inspecting what’s inside with surprise and curiosity, and then another, and another. To be honest, you don’t know why you are so shocked, you own some toys —a vibrator and a small dildo— but you’ve seen much more than that, and it shouldn’t be surprising that a couple like the Suhs have freaky, kinky sex. Yet, it’s overwhelming you.

You are so caught up looking into the box that you don’t hear the door open and Aaliyah stand behind you with just a rope wrapped around her body.

“Looking for something?”

One of the boxes falls from your hand when Mr. Suh’s voice resonates in the room and you jump around in fear.

You mumble no sense, starting to panic while your eyes dart around the room for an escape. There would be many, the room is all windows and you could easily jump off the balcony to put an end to how embarrassed you feel right now, but you can’t.

Their gazes are piercing you and pinning you down against the floor and a feeble “I’m sorry,” is all you can say before your throat goes completely dry.

They snicker, starting to walk over you and you take a step back, but almost fall into the box. You don’t, not because your brain started to work again, but because Mrs. Suh has her arms wrapped around you to keep you from being bent in half into that.

“Careful, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” she says, a veil of genuine concern and something else, a lot of something else, that you can’t decipher.

“I told you she was curious,” Johnny says, talking to her once she lets you go after she makes sure you can stand on your feet.

“I — I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking down and torturing your hands, but the toys abandoned on the floor only make you look outside. “I thought you were out.”

“I was,” Johnny says, “went buy something sweet for you. But it looks like you’ll get something sweeter tonight.”

Your brain panics, trying to assimilate everything they said to you. “You — you were home the entire time?”

She smirks. “Didn’t hear the water running?”

You sigh defeated, pressing your lips together and shaking your head.

Johnny chuckles before kneeling and talking to you again, “You’re lucky we didn’t want to use these on you tonight, I’m not really in the mood to clean them all up,” he says as he puts the dildos back in the box and set it aside, outside of the container so he remembers to clean them.

“On — on me?” You mumble still struggling to breathe.

Aaliyah hums. “All this teasing has to go somewhere, right?”

“I — I…” You — You… you wished this so much that now that is happening you don’t know how to feel anymore.

“You don’t want us?” Johnny asks with genuine care and your eyes widen, terrified they will get the wrong idea.

“No, I do, I do, but I don’t want to — I… I promise I’m not weird, I don’t even know why I came here, or why I opened that, it’s just so eye-catching, it’s red and nothing in this room is red, and…”

Your rant gets interrupted by two lips on yours. You don’t know who it is at first, eyes closed and brain and heart going off like sirens, running around with their non-existent hands in the air. But then an arm wraps around you and pulls you close, and you realize it’s her. It’s her soft yet firm touch, it’s her body against yours.

And then you’re trapped again, Johnny is behind you, and you feel small and powerless.

“We’re not mad at you, honey,” he says, fingers running against your neck as he moves your hair back, “we’re kinda glad you snooped around, we weren’t really sure how to initiate this.”

“Oh,” you gasp. “But I’m not weird, I’m not a stalker, I promise.”

“We know,” she stops you again, chuckling, “maybe you wanted to get caught. Johnny called your name when he was downstairs, you didn’t hear him?”

Your lips spread partially as you try to remember but you’re sure you didn’t hear his voice or the shower. “No, I… I think I was too caught in… into… well…”

They snicker.

“Naughty girl,” she mocks, gently cupping your chin. “Found something interesting?”

“Uhm, no…”

“No?” Johnny asks and you feel something against your bare thighs —wearing shorts was a bad idea. It has fringes and it tickles. “Not even this?”

You look down and see the black flogger in his hands and you gulp. “I never tried any of these before… I’m not even sure how some of these things can bring pleasure.”

Aaliyah chuckles, shaking her head. “Oh, babydoll, you’d be surprised.”

“You want to tie me?” You ask innocently and they laugh.

“Nah, seems a bit cruel for our first time, don’t you think?” Johnny says, hands wrapping around your stomach.

First time? There will be another one? You think but you don’t ask. You probably already look depraved enough to their eyes, you don’t want to make it worse.

“So, want to have fun with us?”

“Yeah…”

“Hesitating?” She questions, caressing your cheek to soothe you but her touch only makes your body buzz in excitation.

“No, I still don’t get why you would want me,” you whisper, diverting your gaze.

“Have you taken a look in the mirror?” He says, big hands caressing your waist and lips brushing against your neck.

You shake your head. “I still think I don’t fit between you…”

She grabs your chin, lifting your head. “Then why don’t you stop thinking tonight, mhh? We’ll give you a reason to believe why you do fit, instead?” Her hands grab yours and she places them on the tie of her robe, if your fingers move and you let it fall to the ground the whole night will bloom. The consequences could be tragic, tomorrow could be the worst day of your life, but tonight might be the best one.

You don’t hesitate anymore; you’re curious, you’re needy, and you badly want to be pressed between them and feel their skin against yours, so your fingers dance on the tie and pull the robe open.

Your lips part to let out a gasp when her naked body unreveals to your eyes, and you get lost in it. Your eyes move up and down, taking in her perky, round boobs, her darker nipples hardening at the cool air of the room, and then they go down, to her toned stomach you have already seen before until they reach her soft hips, you bite your lips when your eyes fall between her legs, perfectly trimmed black hair covering her most intimate part, and lastly on her soft thighs and long legs.

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe out, feeling you could collapse just from the view, and you start wondering if you can take Johnny too.

Her lips lift in a smile and her hands wander on your body where her husband’s hands are leaving your body untouched. You press your lips together to don’t moan already, it would be so humiliating to do so, but it’s almost as if they know.

“Don’t hold back,” Johnny whispers against your ear, shivers running down your spine. “We take pride in what we do, and want to hear you.”

You hum, nodding fast before you feel dizzy when he pushes your shorts down, his body lowering to accompany them on the floor, his hot breath hitting your exposed skin before his lips leave kisses on your thighs and ass.

Aaliyah is busy taking care of your top, lifting your arms to reveal your bare chest. Your first instinct is to cover yourself, but she stops you with a stern look and a “Don’t.” Her voice is sultry, sweet like honey and intoxicating, and you can only obey. “It’s not fair when I’m so bare at your eyes, don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe out, and then turn your head to stare at Johnny, the only one who’s completely covered. You don’t say anything, but your eyes speak louder than any word. You’re basically imploring him to show himself to you, your eagerness is burning out of you, yet he mocks you with a smirk and then a scoff.

“Later, honey,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t be greedy. Too much on your plate, then you can’t chew.”

His wife snickers, pushing him back from you. “Follow me,” she says, giving you a reassuring smile before turning around and walking toward the bed.

You hesitate, looking back at Johnny, asking his permission, and when he nods, you still feel stuck there. You need a light push from him to start moving your feet and follow her on the Wyoming king bed.

“I didn’t think you would be so shy, doll,” she points out, watching you hesitantly climb on the bed and crawl to her.

“She’s not,” Johnny replies for you, “she’s just playing with us.”

You stop in your tracks, looking back at him, mumbling to come up with a reply. But you stop thinking when her chest presses against your back and she turns your head to kiss you. Her hand reaches out to call Johnny to join you, but you don’t think about him until you feel the bed bend with his weight and then his hands on your thighs.

“Or maybe she just needs to ease into us,” she suggests. You catch she’s telling him something, it’s a quick conversation with eyes and mouthed words; you don’t get it, but you don’t care to get it.

You trust them. And you like the thrill of being at their mercy with no idea of what they truly want to do with you.

So, you let them. You let them move you, shifting around you as their hands gently push you flat against the bed and their lips start tracing your shivering skin. You hate that Johnny is still dressed but that thought quickly leaves your mind —or better, doesn’t annoy you that much anymore— when his fingers hook on the band of your panties and pull them off.

You squirm, hiding your face against Aaliyah’s arms but they’re quick at reassuring you.

“Stop hiding away,” Johnny says, “you’re beautiful, honey.”

But your confidence it’s not the problem. You’ve never been the centre of attention, you never had two pairs of eyes, lips, and hands on you. You don’t know how to cope with all of this.

You gasp when her lips wrap around your hard nipple and she starts sucking. And you can’t control your hips when his hands brush against the apex of your thighs before lingering over your sensitive pussy.

“Can I taste you?” Johnny asks, softly caressing your skin.

“Yes, you can.” You’re already short on air as you watch him lower his head, his eyes intensely staring straight into yours, making you feel so small and yet so safe.

Your legs go weak as soon as his plump lips touch your sensitive clit, he’s only leaving delicate kisses on you and small kitten licks but that’s not the only stimulation you’re receiving, Aaliyah’s mouth and fingers lick and pinch on your sensitive nipples are not helping you calm down.

“Oh my god,” you curse, rolling your head back when he starts eating you out for real. Tongue working with precision from your leaking slit to your throbbing clit, not leaving a patch untouched. His hold on you is firm, big hands keeping you spread, massaging your skin to help you relax even more, but with no room for movement. 

“Look at you,” she teases, pulling away from your boob to pay attention to your face, “so wrecked and we barely even started. You love the way my husband is eating you out?”

Your eyes open to meet hers, and you regret it right away, the intensity of her gaze making you feel something you’ve never felt before. Sure, she carried around an intimidating vibe, but that kind of aura disappeared as the months passed and you grew closer, but this, this is different. She is dominant and firm, yet somehow you can always find that veil of care that characterized her.

You try to answer, afraid not receiving a verbal response will disappoint her, but your throat lets out an embarrassing whimper followed by a broken moan.

She snickers, shaking her head, and caressing your cheeks so gently it feels like she’s mocking you. “I know, doll, I know, he’s good with his mouth.”

You cry out in embarrassment but your head rolls back when Johnny sucks harshly on your clit and his hands move down to keep your pussy spread.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles pressed against your skin, the vibrations driving you insane. “So wet for us, you wanted this so bad, didn’t you? Our desperate toy, we made you wait for so long.”

You’d love to scream that yes, this took too long, but nothing comes out of your mouth. You somehow find the strength to look up, much with the help of Aaliyah who places an arm under your head for support, and you feel your stomach tighten up at the view.

Johnny looks like a starving man, messily lapping at your aching pussy, devouring you with his face buried between your legs, nose pressed against your mound. He’s so caught up he probably doesn’t even realize he tugs you closer when his arms wrap around your thighs.

Your eyes shut down and for a moment the image of the usual him crosses your mind. There’s nothing of the composed, elegant, and polite man you know, that man that your father loves so much, the same man that if he saw him right now, would have a heart attack. But you quickly push him out of your mind. You have no other choice when Aaliyah’s fingers add to the mess between your legs, and you bite your lips so hard you almost bleed.

“Too much,” you cry out, looking for mercy in her eyes when she draws them from her husband and your cunt to your face.

“Too much?” She coos with a condescending tone. “You’re bucking your hips against his face and want me to believe it’s too much?”

You groan loudly, giving up as your head falls against the mattress again. Her arm is not there anymore as she’s using it to support her body to tease you, and your neck has no more strength to watch him have the time of his life between your thighs.

But you’re not the only one groaning; Johnny’s moaning too, getting drunk in your juices and falling into madness as he tries to ease the painful boner in his tight jeans, grinding against the mattress for comfort.

“You’re so hot you’re making him hump the mattress, babydoll,” she points out. “That’s the effect you have on him. Still doubt you’re not enough?”

You don’t, not right now, you don’t want to think about it. Still, you shake your head, earning a soft, pleased smile and a “Good girl.”

It makes your stomach tighten, your toes curl, and your hands clench around the sheets. “Johnny,” you whisper, keeping your mouth parted as you try to let more air in, it’s a beg for release but you can’t find the words to let it all out.

The way you moan his name, so shyly, so weakly, a bit for the pleasure, a bit because you feel like it doesn’t belong to you —God if he finds it endearing the way you still call them Mr. and Mrs. Suh sometimes— makes his heart pound and his dick ache. You’re so fragile in their hands, right now, in his. He had wished to have you like this for so long; since his wife first brought you up and he started to look at you in a different light. Every time you spoke your mind during dinners, coming up with something that was too smart for your father to comprehend until he proposed the same point of view, only changing a few things. You deserved to be lifted on the table and eaten out like this. And the more you two talked, or your hands brushed timidly, the more he felt addicted. He couldn’t stop thinking of you.

And that was crazy, because the only woman he ever had was his wife, and never he would’ve imagined he could feel so attracted to someone that wasn’t her. And yet, the three of you are here, in the same bed, in the same mess.

When you call out his name again, he snaps out of his thoughts and looks up at you, the eye contact makes your head spin and you hold onto Aaliyah’s wrists. You feel like the orgasm will make you fly away, but before that, Johnny will kill you with just one look.

“Please,” you cry out, begging to be spared, or maybe not, maybe begging to be ended, begging for the release, begging to reach the best orgasm of your life.

“Let go, honey, come in my mouth,” his deep, sultry voice is the final strike that sends you over the edge. Body convulsing in his hold as he keeps you down and keeps sucking and licking you, eagerly swallowing your sweet cum, and moaning vulgarly against your burning hot skin.

You feel dizzy and high, and your body slumps against the soft mattress when your first orgasm ends.

“Want to see you,” you cry out, trying to lift your body and reach for him, but your limbs quickly give up.

Aaliyah chuckles, and you turn to face her. “We need to work on your stamina.”

You pout as you justify yourself, “It was too good, and I haven’t come like this in — well, never.”

Johnny chuckles, smirking proudly before he stands up at the edge of the bed. “Want to see me, honey?”

You nod with enthusiasm, biting your lips as your heart thuds in excitement. Your eyes lock with his fingers that are moving way too slow on their way to unbutton the shirt. But after what feels like an eternity, the blouse meets the floor, leaving uncovered his toned chest, arms and beautiful tattoos adorning the skin of his shoulder. But it’s not like you haven’t seen that before.

“What?” You scream annoyed when she covers your view, standing on her knees between you and her husband, giggling at your disappointment.

“He needs a hand, baby,” she chuckles and you huff again. Of course, they would fuck with you some more.

Every sound drives you more insane; you bite the inside of your cheek when you hear the belt open, and your heels tap against the mattress when the zip comes down, lastly, you groan in disbelief when you hear his pants and belt hit the floor.

“Please,” you whine, closed fists slapping against the bed.

“Fine, greedy little thing,” Johnny chuckles, and so does she as they finally give you what you want.

Your eyes and lips widen, and you gulp. “Oh… wow…”

They laugh, it’s a soft sound that creates a beautiful harmony, and even if they’re making fun of you, it warms your heart. The next thing they do is crawl to you to kiss you.

It starts with a soft peck on your lips, their mouths on yours meeting almost shyly, and then it gets heated, teeth and tongue clashing together as all of you try to have a taste of each other.

“Don’t worry, you can take it,” she reassures, kissing your lips, hands travelling down your stomach until it reaches your throbbing clit and starts moving in circles, making you gasp against their lips.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumble, glossy eyes looking into his first and then moving to hers. “Maybe you should.”

“Oh, I do, trust me,” she replies, smirking before kissing your neck.

“Tonight is about you,” Johnny reminds you, doing the same as she’s doing but on the other side. “It will fit.”

“Mhh,” you mumble, feeling weak and overwhelmed. 

“Let me make sure it will fit,” she sings happily, now taking the spot between your legs.

You moan against Johnny’s mouth when her finger pushes inside you, humming in delight as she feels how wet you are. You can’t see her, eyes closed as you get lost in the kiss, but just her presence is enough to make you tremble.

“Look at you, it’s so easy to turn you into a puddle,” she teases, watching as you can barely kiss Johnny back. Something about the kiss you and her husband are sharing makes her head spin. There’s something about you, something new, something they’ve never had before. You’re so delicate, like a flower, and your petals fall perfectly between them. Just like right now, she’s sure there’s nothing in your brain, and yet your lips follow Johnny’s, messily meeting him in that slow, yet passionate kiss.

Your body reacts so nicely to their hands running on your skin, cupping and groping at your soft boobs to stimulate you everywhere as she works the second finger inside of you. They are experts at what they’re doing, sending shivers all over your body and pushing you further down into that haze.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, you’re so eager to feel Johnny inside, aren’t you?”

You mumble a reply as you finally pull away from Johnny, a thread of spit still connecting your lips, but you don’t notice until he breaks it off. “Want to feel him.”

They snicker, and then their lips are on you; Johnny’s busy leaving pecks on your neck before he pays attention to your nipples, and Aaliyah is focused on kissing your inner thigh and tummy as her fingers still curl inside of you.

“I don’t think you’re ready, yet, pretty girl,” she hums, curling the tips up and hitting your sensitive spot. That action makes your hips buck from the mattress and causes a louder moan to slip through your tortured plump lips. “So wet, dripping all over my fingers. I bet you taste so good, maybe I’ll get a taste one day, uhm?”

You squeeze your eyes, uselessly trying to calm your breath, it’s pathetic how fast your chest is moving in erratic movements, and how your hips squirm to search for more, even if one of their hands is on your stomach to keep you in place. You don’t reply but you internally scream that yes, you want her. You want to feel her soft, full lips on you, you wonder if she’s eager like Johnny or more meticolous, if she moans loudly or keeps quiet. You don’t know, but the mere idea makes a growl roll from your lips.

“She’s good with her fingers, isn’t she?” Johnny’s deep voice hits your ear, and you feel your body melt. Your head moves quickly to agree as you turn to the side to face him. He’s staring at you with a sly smirk on his face and before you can stop him, you feel his long fingers on your clit. You bite back a moan and try to plead with your eyes but it’s useless. Neither of them wants to stop.

“What, princess? We have to make sure you’re ready to take my dick,” he whispers, shushing your senseless sounds with a kiss.

You bite his lips by mistake when she pushes a third finger inside, eyes wide both in surprise and in a silent apology to Johnny.

“Too much,” you cry out.

But she tsks, shaking her head. “You have to be all stretched out for him, doll. You don’t want to break, do you?”

You shake your head before it rolls back, and your face contorts more. You don’t want to break but you feel like you might explode from this alone. She’s incredibly skilled in what she’s doing, it’s like her fingers are pumping and curling following the rhythm of a melody only she can hear, they hit you deep and fast, not giving you time to recover from each profound push.

“Just a few pumps and then he’ll fuck you exactly like you want,” she encourages you, her dark brown eyes looking softly at you, curling up in a sweet smile.

It takes you less than a few pumps to come undone, you don’t even see the orgasm coming when it washes over you, knocking air out of your lungs. It’s her two fingers pumping into you, curling and scissoring, after she pulled the third out to move faster, it’s Johnny’s thumb on your clit, flicking it swiftly, and his lips on your nipple, sucking harshly. But mostly, it’s them, the warmth of their bodies wrapping around you, intoxicating you like a drug that takes its sweet time to kick in.

Your body shakes, trapped between the mattress and their big bodies, and you feel like the room is spinning around you.

“You come so easily,” she mocks, pulling her fingers out once she’s sure you’re done, and slapping your clit, making you hiss.

Easily. If that was nothing to her…

“Naughty girl,” Johnny scoffs, pulling away from you and you whine when their hot bodies are not on you anymore.

You sigh, thinking since when you’re so pathetic and needy? You truly can’t last more than ten seconds without having them all over you?

“If you were ours that wouldn’t have gone unpunished,” he says, settling between your legs and spreading them apart. You barely noticed them moving around, already too far gone to be aware of what is going on around you. His intense gaze makes you shiver and more cum oozes out of your already messy, wet cunt. Johnny takes a deep breath, getting lost in the sight of you, your face is wrecked, your lips parted, your eyes watery, your boobs are heaving, and your hips are moving around, pleading him to fuck you. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, honey.”

The compliment makes your heart swell and you weakly smile back at him.

“Come on, fuck her already,” Aaliyah encourages him, pushing his hips closer as she stands at his side, “she deserves it.”

You gasp under your breath when his hands wrap around the back of your knees and, with a strong tug, he pulls your body against his, the tip of his dick slapping against your core. He moves one hand down to grab the base and pushes his cock against your slit, it feels like forever as he rubs his leaking tip against your clit and every now and then pushes against your opening that’s fluttering, begging him to fill you up already.

“Johnny,” Aaliyah scolds sternly, looking at him up and down, and her dominance at the moment makes you shiver and moan, shamelessly. You try to close your legs to hide the effect it had on you but they both push them open, and somehow, the way they’re not paying attention to you, eyes locked into each others, and still have you under control, makes you whine even louder. “Stop teasing her,” she orders, cupping his chin and pulling him closer. “Don’t you see how badly she wants you? Dripping on the sheets like a kitten in heat?”

You frown at her comment even if well, she’s right. You’re sure you’ve never been this wet your entire life.

“As you wish, milady,” he jokes and in a second, he’s inside of you.

“Fuck,” you scream at the stretch, even if he didn’t bottom in, you still feel like you can barely breathe. “Oh, shit.”

“Damn, honey, I’m not even halfway in,” he comments, stopping and looking at you with a worried face. 

“No, I’m fine, I was — too caught up,” too caught up in you two and I barely remember my name.

Aaliyah snickers, shaking her head. “You’re so cute, doll,” she hums, caressing your thigh, “just relax and take him all, uhm? He’s going to fuck you so well,” she says before addressing her husband, “right, Johnny?”

Johnny nods, smirking playfully before sinking further until his entire length is in.

Your head rolls back while pleasure dissipates inside your body, he fills you perfectly, stretching you so nicely. You feared it was going to be more painful, but it feels so good, and the pairs of hands soothing your skin are helping you calm down.

Johnny pulls you closer, beginning to slowly move his hips, hissing under his breath while your walls flutter around him so nicely, your wet, warm hole welcoming him with ease now that you’re not tense anymore.

And then it happens, for the first time that night, they kiss. You bite your lips with force as your eyes bore holes in them. Their lips move on their own, doing what they have been doing for a life now, and their hands pull each other close. You’ve seen them in similar circumstances before, but this, this, is different. Johnny is kissing his wife while he’s buried deep inside of you, one hand on the small of her back, the other keeping you spread, her hand tangled in his long, brown locks and the other intertwined with yours at your side.

Everything is oddly romantic and erotic at the same time. Everything makes perfect sense and no sense at all. But it’s fine. Tonight, you don’t want to think, you don’t want to worry, you want to roll around in this mess of limbs and skin and feel. Feel alive and loved. Even if it might be an illusion.

“Fuck, baby,” they moan when they pull apart, giggling at the way they’re in sinch even if for different things. Their eyes are on you again and while Johnny praises how good you feel, she praises how well you’re taking him.

And your heart jumps around while a dumb, drunk-in-love smile plasters on your face. But it swiftly drops when she moves up again to whisper something in Johnny’s ear. You try to study his expression, something flickers in his eyes, and they darken even more, you even feel his dick twitch inside of you, but you can’t make out anything of what she says.

Then Johnny’s hips come to an alt, and your throat dries.

“We were thinking you got to come two times already,” he starts, licking his lips, “and while I’m having fun with you, you will agree we kinda neglected Aaliyah, right?”

You nod quickly, eyes moving between the couple in swift motions.

“So, what do you think about turning around and eating her out while I keep fucking you?”

It’s like your brain sparks up and shuts down at the same time at his words. You nod eagerly, mumbling ‘yes’ while a small, fucked out smile creeps on your face.

“You want me, baby?” She asks, voice slurring out of her lips like velvet.

“Yes, please, want you so bad,” you reply, body buzzing in excitement as you take her body in.

You don’t have time to complain when Johnny pulls out of you, he swiftly turns you around, strong arms moving you as if you’re nothing for him, and given all the weights he lifts at the gym, it is nothing. Your body moves on its own, ass perking up while your face lowers down, close to the soft, perfumed sheets but not enough that you can’t use your lips.

And there she is, resting against the headboard with her legs spread right in front of your face. Her pussy’s dripping, clit throbbing in anticipation, and you envy how good she has been to hold it back for so long.

And even if your eyes are curious and sparkle with lust, she can sense your hesitation. “Come on, don’t be shy,” she encourages you, one hand gently cupping the back of your head, massaging your scalp, “don’t tell me it’s your first time.”

Well… not exactly, but you weren’t a pro at this either.

“Oh, you’re always on the receiving end?” She snickers, looking down at you. Eyes piercing you, pinning you down in your place. She has this thing, it’s like magic, one look and you’re right where she wants you, how she wants you.

“Mostly…” you admit shyly, looking down again.

“Well, time to change that,” she says before pushing you against her pussy.

Your lips move shily at first, it’s almost as if you’re testing the ground. Kitten licks are all you give her, licking up her sweet cum while your nose rubs against her clit. You breathe deep, getting lost in her aroma.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” she praises, hand still caressing you but not pressing you down. If it was somebody else —even Johnny— she wouldn’t have hesitated to do so, but with you, she wants to take it slow and guide you through it.

You moan against her when Johnny pushes in again, this time he doesn’t wait before his hips start slamming against you, but he’s not going too fast. And the pleasure he’s fucking into you urges you to do better. You try to do what Johnny did to you before and every other person you’ve been with, and be better than the other times you’ve eaten pussy before.

“Yes, pretty girl, focus on the clit,” she instructs you, moving her hand down to caress your neck, and when you comply, a deep guttural moan rips from her throat. She hums in delight and your heart flips with pride. “Use your tongue.”

You hesitately stick your pink muscle out and poke it at her entrance but she stops you with a click of her tongue, “No, doll, up and down, come on, you can do it.” When your tongue starts doing that, licking her from the bottom of her entrance to the top, flicking your tip right under the hood of her clit, her legs shake and she pushes down a hiss. “So, so good, babydoll.”

“Shit, you’re so hot,” Johnny moans behind you, his hands holding tightly to your waist as he fucks you on his dick. He never imagined he’d be so turned on by this, but fuck, this is the dream. Seeing his wife’s face while you pleasure her, hearing her moan because of somebody else mouth, especially yours, makes him feel something he never felt before.

“You’re so good, doll. Such a fast learner, aren’t you? So eager to please us. So eager to be a good girl for us,” she moans, her fingers inevitably clenching around the roots of your hair when you suck hard on her clit. You seem to have found your scheme, keeping her pussy spread while your tongue runs on her labia and then your lips wrap around her clit, swift flicks of your tongue and shy hands testing what’s better.

You nod against her without pulling away, you could, but you don’t want to. You want to get drunk in her juices, you want to feel her thighs clench around your head —even if she’s trying hard not to do so— you want to hear her deep, intoxicating moans, you want her to pull your hair harder.

“Yes, you are,” she coos, meeting your half-lidded eyes, pushing down a guttural moan when a lonely tear rolls down your cheek, “you’re such a greedy little thing. One person it’s not enough for you, you need more. Is this enough or do you need even more, ugh? Bet you’d love it if we both fucked you at the same time.” Her condescending tone sends your brain into a spiral, you feel empty and yet overflowing, but you can’t reply. Johnny’s fucking you mercilessly now, big dick hitting you deep, striking all the right spots, and even if you’re giving something to her, you have zero control. You’re at their mercy, small and powerless, flushed between their bodies as you somehow do something like a robot.

“Loving eating her pussy while I fuck you hard?” This time is Johnny the one teasing you, his voice deeper but he gives no sign of slowing down, even if the pleasure is getting to him, you know it from his grunts and the way his hips falter every now and then. “Bet it feels so good to be muddy in our hands and have no worries in the world, right? You’re perfect here, nobody to impress,” he moans, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear while his body presses you closer against the bed, “no father to make happy. Just us. Honestly,” he groans, pulling back, squeezing your hips before driving all the way in with a decisive thrust, sending you forward, “he’d have a heart attack if he saw you like this.”

You whine, your laments muffled by Aaliyah’s body, and you feel like you could explode. Is this why you like being with them so much? Because the fact that they like you so much proves your father wrong? The very people that he worships are busy worshipping his daughter while he trashes her around. But you don’t want to think of him, one, it could ruin your orgasm, two, you have them, and that’s all that matters. And to be honest, you love being with them so much because they value you and appreciate you for who you truly are.

You pull away, letting your fingers take the place of your mouth, rubbing on her clit while you talk, “want you, want more, please.”

“More? What’s more than this?” Johnny asks, snickering.

“Sit on my face?” You ask shily while you look up at her, cum and spit dripping down your chin, eyes glossy with tears.

She loses herself in the sight of you. You’re perfect even if you look like a mess, even if your eyes roll back and your lips part open when Johnny hits your sweet spot another time. “Oh… let’s not pull your luck too much tonight, hum?”

“But I —”

“But you, nothing,” she shushes you up, two fingers on your mouth. “You’re being so good, giving me pleasure while you take him so well. Just keep going.” She’d love to sit on your face, only being able to watch your eyes slowly blank as her hips roll against you, while your pretty hands wrap around her thighs as it slowly gets harder to breathe, but you’re not ready for that, yet.

You give up, starting where you stopped. But soon enough you’re whining again, “No, please, please, Sir,” you cry out, looking back to meet Johnny’s gaze for a split second.

He seems a bit startled by the way you address him, but he quickly shakes the surprise off to tease you with a condescending tone. “What’s wrong, honey? I thought you wanted more?” The pout that accompanies his words makes your stomach twist in a knot. You did want more, but the more was being smashed underneath them, not having his skilled fingers rub quick circles on your over-sensitive clit.

“I — I don’t want to come again,” you cry out.

“Oh, you won’t,” she speaks instead. “Don’t get too greedy and take it,” she orders, cupping your chin before pushing you between her legs again. Her patience could only last this long before she would snap.

“Right, because you can take it, right?” Johnny asks, tilting his head to get a peak of your flustered face. You’re burning up, sweat pearling your skin, the shorter hair sticking to your forehead, eyes blinking out tears of pleasure, and body squirming while you try so hard to keep focus on the only thing you have to do.

You doubt you can, but you still nod, moans getting choked up in your throat and against her cunt as you try to use your tongue and mouth the best you can even if control is slipping out of you more and more.

Fighting the orgasm is probably worse than keeping focus. Your stomach is upside down, and you feel all your nerves tense up, every single touch makes you jolt up and you know your throat will be sore by the end of the night for all the moans you’re letting out.

And you slip, eyes closing and mouth getting lazy as your body limply gets slammed between them.

“Hey,” you’re startled when her palm meets your face in quick, light slaps to wake you up, “don’t you fucking dare,” it’s the only warning that slips from her mouth, so sternly it should make you obey on the spot, but it only makes it harder for you to hold back. “Put that mouth to good use, come on.”

You don’t have a choice —not that you would want to do anything else— when she forces your face down again, this time grinding her hips against you to help you out, or honestly, to fuck herself against you because you’re not doing so much anymore.

She scoffs, “You’re being so good for Johnny, bet your pussy is sucking him in so well, dripping down to his balls and clenching tight, you can’t do one thing for me?”

You gasp for air when she yanks you back by the end of your hair, letting you breathe again, watching the tears fall freely from your pretty eyes. Your lashes are clumped together, and some mascara stained your cheeks; so, so pretty, she could stare at you forever.

“I can. I — I promise, I’ll be your good girl, I’ll give you what you want, fuck,” you mumble, words tangling on your tongue.

You’re so fucked out that spit is dripping down your chin, mixing with her cum, and she can’t fight the urge to smear it on your face.

Aaliyah could come by that sight only. To think when she first saw you were shily standing in a corner, trying to have less attention possible on you, stuttering your words at the speech your father made you hold, and almost fell down the stage. And now, you’re a mess in their bed, far away from home after you followed them blindly.

“Good, then use your fingers, come on,” she orders, biting her lips as you struggle to push your body up to finger her. This is exciting, with Johnny it had always been a fight for dominance, but with you, everything works perfectly, you fit between them with ease.

Johnny’s hands help you stand up, but he can’t deny how hot he finds the way you can’t control your body. He wishes he could see your face, you must be so pretty all messed up, but he’ll use his imagination.

“Come on, honey, fuck her, she took such good care of you,” Johnny encourages you, and that’s all you need to push two fingers inside of her. Her warm walls welcome you with ease, cum coating them until it drips down on your wrist.

Aaliyah’s face twists in an expression of pleasure as soon as you start curling your fingers. You’re definitely better with them than you are with your mouth, but it’s fine, there will be time to practice if you ever want to stick around.

“Good girl,” she praises, caressing your cheek gently before pulling you in a kiss. Doing so, Johnny slips out of you, and you whine at the loss, but soon enough he’s fucking into you again.

“Won’t — won’t last long,” you whimper, crying more as you feel heavier.

Johnny hums, pushing you down again and you lazily go back to lapping on her pussy while your fingers keep moving.

“Come here,” you hear him say, but he’s not talking to you. You can’t see, but you know they’re kissing because you feel smaller and more trapped as their bodies get closer, and then the wet sounds of their lips hit your ears. Their moans mix in their mouth, and you can feel the desperation they’re sharing as their teeth clash together.

You want to kiss them too, but you have other things to worry about, like the orgasm you can’t hold in anymore.

“Want to come, please,” you beg, tears adding to the mess between her legs as you try to gasp for more air.

They pull away from the kiss, bringing their attention to you another time.

“You want to come?” You nod swiftly. She’s sure you’re not doing it on purpose but the way your big eyes are looking up at her and your lips tremble, make her heart warm up. You’re so precious. “Then don’t stop fucking me,” she orders, voice low that causes your stomach to twist again. “Don’t stop being a perfect, little, mindless fuckdoll for us.”

Johnny growls, rolling his head back, “Fuck, stop talking to her like that, she’s squeezing me.”

Aaliyah chuckles darkly, sweetly mockingly caressing your wet cheeks. “You want me to stop talking to her because you can’t handle a sweet pussy sucking you in?”

He rolls his eyes and throws his head back, scoffing at her comment.

“It’s not my fault she likes it when I talk down to her,” she coos, looking at him but her words hit you deep. It’s so humiliating the way they’re talking about you as if you’re not here, and yet, it only makes you wetter. “I could do so much more, but I doubt she can take it.”

I can. You scream, but it stays inside your brain, no words can come out of your mouth anymore.

They both giggle at your broken moan that comes out as a reply.

“No thoughts left in that little mind of yours, uhm?” Johnny teases, his fingers playing with your nipples making you cry out more.

Your head is abandoned on her thigh, drool dripping out of the corner of your lips while your fingers pump in and out in tired, messy movements. You’re so far gone that she has to help you fuck her by guiding your wrist.

“Except how good it feels to be surrounded by us. You love it when we trap you between us and make you feel small, don’t you? Bet you’d love it even more if I fucked your mouth with a toy while he fucked your pussy, or maybe the other way around.”

You yelp when someone smacks your ass, you don’t care to figure out if it’s him or her. It doesn’t matter, it only adds to the pleasure and dizziness.

“Or maybe we could each take a hole and stuff you til you break,” Johnny giggles lowly. “Your tight ass and pussy spread by us.”

“Please,” you cry out. Please make me come and please do it. Please fuck me at the same time, from both ends and until I’m nothing between you. But it stays inside, they get it anyway, like they get all of you.

“C’mere,” Johnny chuckles as he manoeuvres you, lifting your body and pushing you closer to his wife. You’re kneeling now, body slumped against hers while he presses you flat, your fingers still moving inside of her while you moan in the crook of her neck. It feels warm, almost romantic, and you feel so small. 

The hand that is not helping you fuck her, wraps around your waist and starts rubbing circles on your burning hot skin, meeting Johnny’s that doing the same.

“Look at you, doll, you’ve been so good. What do you say, John, should she come?” Aaliyah’s voice is particularly sweet, reaching your ear like a faint melody and you feel farther and farther from your body.

“I think she deserves it,” Johnny replies, kissing your neck to distract you from his hand slipping down to your clit.

Your teeth sink into her skin, making her hiss, not in pain but most in surprise, and your face wets even more while a loud sob rips from your throat.

“Come on, princess,” she whispers close to you, leaving pecks on top of your head, “be a good girl and come with us.”

You don’t let them tell you twice when their pace fastens and all the stimuli get to your head one last time. This orgasm is like an explosion that leaves you trembling between their bodies, whimpering and moaning as the violent waves shock you to the core.

“Fuck, so fucking tight,” Johnny murmurs under his breath, hips slamming messily against your ass as he chases his orgasm. He’s caught up in your face before his eyes fall on his wife’s pussy, you stopped fucking her and she’s trying to rub her fingers on her clit, if you weren’t so far gone, brain mush in your skull, she would’ve said something, but she knows is no use now.

You’re collapsed on her body when your eyes trail between her legs, watching in awe as Johnny’s fingers fuck her fast and his thumb rubs her clit as he keeps pouding into you. Their moans are louder as they approach their release and her head falls against the board of the bed while her hands clench around your waist to hold onto something.

And you come again. An unexpected fourth orgasm washes over you, ass arching up and nails sinking into her thigh as you feel as life is being sucked away from you, and that’s what pushes them over the edge, your soft, broken whimpers mixing with theirs and your low mumbles of their names, it’s not Mr. and Mrs. Suh, is Johnny and Aaliyah now, only for you.

More curses fill the air before everything comes to a stop, Johnny’s body falling on yours for a second before he forces himself to pull out and roll to the side.

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s alright. Come here,” she whispers, soothing you as she pulls your body closer, hugging you and caressing your back and hair. You’re still shaking and crying, and your hands wrap quickly around her. “You’re fine, we’re here. It’s over.”

Soon after you feel Johnny’s hands too, and then his soothing words. “You’ve been so good, princess. Was it fun?”

His question is left unanswered, and they understand it will take you a while to start talking again. So they keep whispering sweet words to your ears while their hands calm you down with gentle touches. You don’t remember how long it takes before you fall into a deep slumber, but you know you feel a sense of peace you never felt before.

When you wake up, the clock hits midnight, you’re alone in the bed but you’re cleaned up and you’re dressed in a white shirt that reaches your thighs.

Somehow your legs carry your body out of the room and down the stairs where you take a sigh of relief seeing them laughing as they sit at the table. They’re dressed again, Johnny’s hair is brushed in its place, and her braids are pulled up in a bun again, they look as composed as usual but more familiar.

“Hey, you’re up?” Johnny is the first one who sees you and welcomes you with a sweet smile.  

“We were starving. We wanted you to eat but you fell asleep, and for how intense it was we figured you were going to sleep until morning,” Aaliyah explains, moving a stool so you could sit between them, tapping on the seat to signal you to reach them.

You push your feet forward, legs wobbly and heart still racing, but this time is not the orgasm. You’re still lost in the haze, but now you’re fully aware of what happened, and you don’t know how to act in the aftermath.

“Are you alright? You stopped talking, it worried us a bit,” she says, lifting her hand to caress your nape after she tucked your hair behind your ear.

You nod, shoulders dropping as the tension disappears at her touch. “I’m fine. I guess it was a lot, it never happened before.”

Johnny comes back to you with a glass of water and some bowls with different food, leaving you a choice between fruits, something sweet, and something salty.

“Thanks,” you reply, grabbing the glass and gulping it in one go. “Honestly, I’m not really hungry,” you say, eyes diverting their gazes, there’s still a bit of worry behind them and you’re not used to people caring so much for you, especially after sex. You don’t think you ever saw a one-night-stand the morning after, but not even your exes cared much about how you felt after sex.

“No? Do you need something else?” Johnny asks, a caring tone filling his words, and the look in his eyes is different than all the other times before.

You look around, shaking your head, your throat is dry again and from the corner of your eyes, you see her filling the glass again. You smile shyly before drinking it. “I… I don’t want to sleep alone,” you confess, biting your lips and playing with the hem of the glass in your hands.

They smile, hands cupping yours before holding tight. “We had no intention of leaving you alone,” they say at the same time, making you smile.

“A bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Johnny jokes while Aaliyah leaves to put the food back in its place. You might be awake but it’s clear as daylight that you’re still tired and want to sleep.

“Mhh,” you mumble. Your eyes lift to look at Johnny and you smile. He looks beautiful, the faint silver light of the moonlight paiting his cheekbones and hair.

“And still not very talkative,” she adds when she comes back, a soft look in her eyes. “Come on, there’s no need to talk, let’s get you to bed.” She stretches a hand out and you quickly grab it, jumping off the chair but regretting it when your legs make it known they’re not back just yet.

You gasp when two arms wrap around you and lift you up, and soon you’re met with Johnny’s eyes. You smile at him before locking eyes with her who’s following behind and quickly is at your side.

“Thanks,” you whisper because he’s carrying you but mostly, for the night you spent. You decide you will worry tomorrow, for now, you feel full, they made you feel wanted, and dare to say, even loved. It’s all that matters.

“You have to be grateful, he stopped carrying me upstairs a long time ago,” she jokes and Johnny scoffs, “Liar.”

And soon the three of you are in the bed again, the dirty duvet is not on the mattress anymore and a thinner blanket covers you. You’re in the middle, pressed between their bodies while they leave kisses on your face, and whisper sweet words to you, their hands intertwined on your stomach while their thumbs rub small circles on your skin.

And as sleep takes over you again, you think that there’s no other place you’d rather be, if not between them.

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