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oukabarsburgblr · 2 months

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drabble...Miya Brothers🦊

"F-Fuck, you two trying to kill me or sumn'- mmff!!"

Clumsily palming his mouth, the (h/c) muffled his cries when one of the brothers suddenly sucked in his cheeks, Atsumu looking up at him with glee.

(m/n)'s pants and briefs were lazily draped on the floor, he didn't even bother taking the rest of his clothes off, the tip of his shirt pushed up, exposing his torso, littered with teeth marks. He was sitting on a chair, both his legs suspended in the air, each supported by one of the brothers.

They ganged up on him, again. Stupid idiots. (m/n) knew he would always be overpowered by those pair. Although Atsumu was the one who pounced on him the moment they stepped in his bedroom, Osamu had been the one to shimmy his pants off, tugging out his hard cock.

They were both on their knees, in front of the sitting (h/c), Atsumu's mouth suckling on his tip and Osamu sloppily lapping up at his base, his fingers inching closer to his hole.

(m/n)'s face was hot and he felt dizzy, they've been edging him for almost an hour, not letting him orgasm. His hips bucking, and his fingers clenching onto the arm rest of the chair. He was bound to burst but damn Atsumu would always clench his dick.

"Not lettin' ya cum first." He mumbled. "It's fun to see this. Meltin' so quick." (m/n) whined as he begged Atsumu to with his moans, whorishly pleading him to let him cum.

"Tsumu'! Tsumu'! J-Just let me- ahhn!" He painfully hissed when a dry appendage shoved into his asshole, his rim stretching as his thighs shook at the pain.

Osamu had moved on from sucking his cock together with Atsumu, to fingering him. He spat on the rest of his fingers before letting it join his pointer finger, prodding (m/n)'s asshole.

The (h/c)'s head knocked back, his eyes unfocused as he continued to suffer at the hands of the twins. "W-Wanna burst...Wanna orgasm so bad- mmn!"

"What do we get?" Osamu finally spoke, a similar glint from his more expressive brother gleaming behind his irises.

"It'd be cruel for you to squirt alone. What about ta' rest of us?" He prodded, curling his fingers deep, pressing onto the prostate making the other mewl in desperation.

(m/n) gasped a few times before crying out. "I'll do anything! I'll fucking bend over or whatever, just wanna cu- ah!"

Spurts of drool pooled at the end of his mouth, slowly dripping from his lips. The trail separating in time with Atsumu's thrusts. The blonde, hugging him from behind, both of them on their knees as he rutted his cock into his hole, their thighs sticky with Osamu's cum squirting out of (m/n)'s filled ass.

"Uhh mmn huh..." He babbled, too cockdrunk to even form distinguishable words. Not even noticing Osamu crouching in front of him, tapping his tip on his lips. "Open up now."

The (h/c) had came a few times by now. Every time one of the twin came inside him, they'd let him reach his high. And it had been the fitfh round for him, draining his balls since he had to accomodate for two stamina-driven volleyball players.

He unconsciously opened his mouth, spit still dripping down, his body still bouncing from the animalistic thrusts Atsumu was fucking inside him.

Osamu pressed his tongue down with his thumb, letting his cock slide right into (m/n)'s mouth, groaning at the warm wetness. The (h/c) immediately enveloped the thick shift, pressing his mouth close, his palate slid over with precum.

"So hot." Atsumu kissed his shoulder. "Should' get ya' a tramp stamp. With my name on it." He bared his teeth for a second before biting down on (m/n)'s bare shoulder, squeezing a whimper out of him.

"Ya' idiot, then everyone's gonna claim him. A tramp is a whore." Osamu frowned, casually berating his brother while pounding his hips into the (h/c)'s mouth. His balls were slapping against (m/n)'s chin and he could feel rows of teeth brushing against his base.

The twins were arguing again while (m/n) just had to sit in the middle, Atsumu still rocking his pelvis against the back of his thighs, Osamu pulling his hair and pushing his cock down into his throat. It wasn't until (m/n) came then did they return their attention back to him.

Spurts of cum splattered on the tatami floor under them, his tip dripping and his hole squeezing Atsumu. The blonde licked a stripe up his ear before berating him with a smirk. "Dirty little thing, ya' came without us."

"Selfish brat." Osamu gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the (h/c) strands. (m/n) blinked up at him, his cock still in his mouth. Teary (e/c) trying to coax him, Osamu easier to persuade compared to the bratty blonde.

He gagged when he felt the tip brushing roughly over his uvula, (m/n) withstood the angry thrusts Osamu was giving him. "Don't think ya' can pull that trick again." He mocked the (h/c).

A slap on his ass and he flinched. Atsumu rubbing one of his reddening cheeks, pulling out his cock before slamming it back in. He spanked the (h/c) again, a shriek muffled by his brother's dick and Atsumu just continued to fuck his cock into the wet hole.

You know how painful it is to get smacked by one of the best servers? (m/n) could only arch his back, his knees shaky. He didn't have time to recover from his orgasm as they continued to push through, using his body like a cocksleeve.

(m/n) choked, his mouth filled with cum, Osamu patting his head as the (h/c) pulled back coughing. He yelped when Atsumu pulled him up, his chest against his back, as they both were up on their knees. The blonde sucked on his neck, his pace quickening compared to his teasing thrusts from before while (m/n) could only moan and whine with Osamu's cum dripping down his chin.

Said twin crawled forward before propping himself up, licking and nibbling on his unoccupied shoulder while his hand went to sneakily jerk the (h/c) off.

"Fuck fuck holy shit-!" He yelled out, the pleasure inside climbing, about to burst.

Atsumu grinned, leaving one last smack before stilling inside the (h/c)'s ass, painting the coated walls white again. (m/n) could only whine as Osamu kept tugging on his shaft, pulling him to squirt in his hand.

The three took their breaths, panting and regaining their composure. Atsumu loosening his hold and (m/n) dropped onto the floor, his ass leaking white semen.

"....hah...haa...what were we supposed to do again?"

"Studying." Osamu stated blankly before pointing at his brother. "His idea to jump you." "YOU PROPOSED IT???" They argued again, (m/n) sighing as he let himself rest on the floor. It was only a matter of time before they would pounce on him again.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Me writing someone else other than daisou😱

Anyways, will be disappearing for a few days. Peace out.

I tried to do the accent thing, didn't think it turned out as well, ill do more research

Taglist:

@tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer @a-short-ass-disappointment @chikai-k @mello-life25 @miyuuuki @simpsations @sugar-p0p @kiiyoooo @helloanime @garlicforthewin @jaxyy219 @mikahrh @gayaristocrat

#oukabarsburg #bottom male reader #sub male reader #male reader #x male reader #uke male reader #x bottom male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x male reader #male reader smut #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #haikyuu #miya osamu #osamu x reader #miya twins

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 23 days

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Would I be able to request Navia, Clorinde, Natasha and Himeko bathing with their S/O whilst S/O is just getting increasingly flustered (NSFT or fluff idk) (also maybe Stelle but I feel like the only reason she'd take a bath would be for NSFT reasons unless forced too)

(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Sharing a bath with their S/O

Genshin Impact - Navia, Clorinde, Dehya, Furina, Arlecchino, Chiori Honkai: Star Rail - Natasha, Himeko, Firefly, Stelle

Mild NSF-W Implications below the cut!

Because you don't take a bath with your clothes on. At least, I hope that you don't, dear reader.

As Navia is relaxing into the bath, she notices that her S/O is actively avoiding meeting her gaze.

And truth be told, she wasn't immune entirely herself as her face started to heat up as well, and not from the hot water.

But that being said, Navia didn't mind. She thought it was cute more than anything that S/O was getting flustered.

(Navia) "S/O? You alright?"

(S/O) "J-Just fine, thanks!"

With a soft chuckle, Navia shifted over to them with the water rippling as she did so, sitting directly next to them.

(Navia) "You know I don't mind, right?"

Her heart began to pound as she took S/O's hand into her own and out of the water.

(Navia) "I'm here right now because I want to be, S/O."

That finally got them to stare lovingly into her eyes, with Navia returning the gesture before she couldn't resist the urge to not kiss them any longer.

Clorinde is enjoying the silence, but at the same time it was admittedly a bit awkward.

Both her and S/O were doing their best to remain respectful and not stare too long at each other in the bath.

Yet, she would catch them stealing the occasional glance as they noticed her doing the same.

At the very least, she appreciated that S/O attempting to keep some form of modicum, but at the same time, it was a bit redundant to do so considering they decided to bathe together.

Especially since they were lovers.

(Clorinde) "Would...it be easier for us to simply look where we please?"

(S/O) "...O-Only if you don't mind, Clorinde."

Realizing just how needlessly the two of them were beating around the bush, they let out a small laugh together.

(Clorinde) "I only request that you don't stare too long. You have my word I will do the same."

Dehya is no stranger to sharing baths, so it didn't really bother her too much to do the same with S/O.

Though the idea of doing so with her lover gave enough pause for at least a second upon first consideration.

S/O on the other hand looked like they were on the verge of exploding, which tempted her to tease them for it.

(Dehya) "Jeez, you look like you're going to pop a vein."

(S/O) "D-Do I?"

Letting out a hearty laugh, she gives a pat to their naked back, which makes them yelp out.

(Dehya) "I'm joking! You can loosen up a little, y'know. It's just me to see you like this."

(S/O) "That's exactly why I'm panicking!...Uh, I mean-"

Dehya ruffled their hair, letting droplets of water go onto the floor, not that she particularly cared.

(Dehya) "S/O, it's fine. I promise I don't care. Well, too much anyway."

Part of her wants to do this again solely just to see what kind of reactions S/O would make, but she figured she tortured them enough for one night.

Furina is extremely quiet as both her and S/O shared the bath, the silence and tension hanging in the air to the point it could be cut with a knife.

Her fingers slightly fidgeted with each other under the water, doing her best to not stare at S/O.

Which both Furina and S/O failed to do.

Balling her fists up, she decided to take the first step! Scooting inch by inch over to S/O, who noticed her working up the courage to get closer.

In which they bumped into each other, before staring wide eyed at each other in silence.

Instead of saying anything, Furina embraced S/O in a tight hug, a deep exhale leaving her body and finally relaxing.

(Furina) "Can we...stay like this for a while?"

(S/O) "Hah...anything for you, Furina."

The feeling was completely alien to her, being able to feel someone so intimately, but she didn't hate it. The farthest thing from it, in fact.

Furina loved this.

Arlecchino decided to go along with S/O's request to share a bath, partly just to see what would happen.

She never did anything so intimate with another person before, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Meanwhile, S/O already looked so nervous asking Arlecchino to come along, now they actually had her with them.

And honestly? They didn't think they would get this far.

Arlecchino leaned against the tub with her eyes closed, knowing fully well S/O was peeking glances every now and then, something that amused her.

(Arlecchino) "S/O."

Her calling their name caused S/O to freeze up in mild terror, making Arlecchino let out a breath of amusement.

(Arlecchino) "You needn't be so nervous. Had I wanted to strike you down for looking, I would not have accepted your request."

(S/O) "I know it's...I want to be respectful you know?"

Arlecchino hummed in response, whether that was acknowledgement or indifference, S/O didn't know.

A few moments later, S/O worked up the courage to hold her hand, a gesture she returned by simply squeezing theirs and saying nothing.

(Arlecchino) "...With all that being said, we do not speak of this to the children, understand?"

(S/O) "Y-Yes, ma'am!"

Chiori rolls her eyes at the blush on her S/O's face.

First of all, it's not like this was the first time they've seen her without clothes on.

Secondly, it was their idea to take a bath together and-

Her thought process was interrupted as Chiori felt the muscles in her legs loosen up.

(Chiori) "Ugh, today was killer. Thanks for warming up the bath for us at least, S/O."

(S/O) "Y-Yeah, no problem, Chiori."

(Chiori) "And no need to be so jittery. Yes, we're both naked, it's nothing that should get you that nervous."

(S/O) "I feel like you'd kill me for staring."

(Chiori) "In public, yeah. But if it's just us, then who cares? I stare at you all the time, y'know."

Turning Chiori head to them, she gives S/O a small smirk, playfully tapping their nose with her finger.

(Chiori) "Besides, nothing I haven't seen before. I am the one who takes your measurements."

(S/O) "I guess that's fair..."

Natasha is a little embarrassed herself to be sharing such an intimate space, but it quickly washes (HA) away after a few moments.

She smiles at S/O trying to look away, but feels their entire body stiffen in response as she hugs them.

(Natasha) "Aw, what's the matter? Getting shy?"

(S/O) "N-Nat!"

S/O's voice whined, making her tighten her embrace.

(Natasha) "Don't worry too much, S/O. Otherwise I'll have to do an impromptu physical right now-"

Not being able to hold back her laughter anymore, she caresses their cheek as soon as Natasha sees them pouting.

(Natasha) "Joking aside, you're allowed to look. It's a privilege only you get after all."

Himeko's beautiful laugh fills the bathroom air as her hand grazes their shoulder, feeling them jerk upwards in surprise.

(Himeko) "Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you. You just look so tense."

(S/O) "Hah well...The most beautiful woman is next to me, how could I not?"

(Himeko) "You could at least say that when you've actually looked at me once, S/O. It's not a crime to look."

She moves closer to them, kissing their cheek and watching their face turn into an even brighter shade of red.

Not that she wasn't a little nervous herself, but she figured they could at least see that, instead of having to tell them herself.

(Himkeo) "Please?"

With a sigh, S/O turns to Himeko, staring at her smile for what seemed like a small eternity.

Before Himeko closed the gap again to kiss them on the lips, S/O not saying anything in protest this time as her hands brought them closer.

Firefly's face was burning a bright shade of red, at least at first.

She had never done so with a lover, and things were awkward with S/O not knowing what to say either as they sat in the water.

But Firefly couldn't resist staring, and just affectionately eyed them up and down before speaking up.

(Firefly) "Is...it okay if I can move closer, S/O?"

(S/O) "O-Of course."

Her shoulders slumped downwards, taking their hesitance for rejection before S/O quickly cleared up the misunderstanding.

(S/O) "Ah! Wait, I want to be close with you! I'm...J-Just a little nervous too, is all."

Instead of a smile or even a demure look like S/O was expecting, Firefly instead pouted.

(Firefly) "T-Then why did you invite me to a bath if you were nervous too?"

...And to be fair, that was a good question.

But they both knew the answer to that already.

S/O made the move first against their rapidly beating heart to hug Firefly close, the action making her freeze up.

Before Firefly quickly relaxed and returned the embrace, her admittedly adorable pout melting into an even cuter smile.

Stelle sat in the waters with S/O, expecting to chat away or even get a little more...spicy in their interactions.

Instead, S/O was looking at the walls, everywhere except for her.

To show her disapproval, Stelle playfully splashed water at them, which got S/O to momentarily forget themselves.

(S/O) "H-Hey!"

(Stelle) "Hands slipped."

S/O smirked and splashed water back, making Stelle's stoic expression break with a smile of her own.

(S/O) "Take that, ya little punk!"

The tense atmosphere was quickly replaced by a more lighthearted one, with the two splashing water at each other before Stelle closed the gap between them, almost kabedoning them in the tub.

Which got S/O to quickly become silent again.

(Stelle) "So why'd you invite me in here if you were gonna get so embarrassed?"

(S/O) "I just wanted to spend time with you but I didn't think it'd be so...well, awkward at first."

Stelle smiled and rolled her eyes before sitting down next to them, getting S/O to relax.

...To which she promptly splashed water onto their face again.

(Stelle) "Whoops."

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hier--soir · 8 months

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a lover's pinch | eight

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: the one where they get caught. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, domestic bliss, gratuitous descriptions of joel reading, joni mitchell, explicit unprotected piv sex, delayed gratification, dirty talk, finger sucking, biting, academic praise kink, cream pie, who's in the pic on joel's desk??, angst, confrontation, an orpheus and eurydice metaphor uh oh, those blue panties from 3 come back to haunt us. word count: 6.9k nice series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: i need someone to make me write [or not write] the way j miller phd does in this... also sorry and i hope you like it and sorry again follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part eight of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Winter descends over Maine not with a bang, but with a whimper.

The days and weeks fold together in a blurring mess of sleep ins and papers and coffees, until suddenly a month has passed, and you hardly noticed it slipping through your fingers.

You spend less time at home, and more tucked on one side of Joel’s couch, your feet in his lap as he lounges down the other end. You dip pale toast in runny yolks at the table, listening to him on the phone to Sarah in the other room. Hear him say I’m good, baby girl… I’m really good when she asks how he is.

You ride shotgun in the truck between his place and the university, slipping out the passenger door a little early every time. Walk the final stretch lest someone notice his glasses, your hair through the windscreen.

On campus you watch him up there on his stage, a burn in your chest, and see how he seeks you out in the after. How he props you above him and returns your gaze finally. Curls his body around yours and repents for every time he had to look away.

It's warm and it’s kind and it’s trading books with scribbled notes in the margins.

It’s rain smacking against the windows as you read, his scruffy chin nesting in the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, two sets of eyes staring at the same words.

It’s nodding off in his bed where the sheets have started to smell like your perfume, eyelids heavy as you wait for him to get home. It’s wearing only his clothes and being woken up by his face between your thighs, pupils blown and lips slick.

It’s finding each other at the end of a long day and hearing him say, I thought about you all afternoon.

And this feeling of familiarity writhes between the slats of your ribs. A comfortable, quiet fondness that you see reflected in his eyes when he looks at you; that you hear when that tender mouth forms your name.

You gorge yourselves on it. Put lips to the crooks and thorns in each other’s bodies and suckle on that fondness, swallow, swallow, and watch the well never run dry.

The bleed is endless. Beneath the stain of time it floods and flurries, melting the two of you together until you start to feel certain it could never end.

Until, of course and at last, it does.

Sunday.

It’s late, you think. Somewhere in the mess where time blurs between sunset and midnight, Winter stealing hours that feel like minutes.

The curtains in his living room are drawn, low yellow light warming the room from a tall lamp in the corner. Blue spins in the on the record player, a gentle sway of sound that fills the room.

I like listening to Joni on Sundays, he’d confessed in the bathroom, bashful as he rubbed a towel over you, drying the wet ends of your hair and the slick skin of your shoulders.

He reads at the table now, strong chin cupped in his palm as his eyes flit across the pages of a textbook.

Something to do with conservation; a Minoan palace in Knossos, you think. He’d explained it earnestly, but his curls were soft and fluffy from the shower and his glasses were resting on the tip of his nose and so you’d found yourself zoning out, eyes going from round to heart shaped as you nodded along from the couch.

Every few minutes he grips his pen and jots down a note before glancing up to check on you. And whenever this happens you avert your eyes quickly, pretending to be enthralled by the half-finished essay on your screen. You have a feeling he catches you each time, because he keeps laughing softly, tutting under his breath as he goes back to reading, foot never stopping its tap-tap-tap in time with the music. The only time he gets up is to flip the record, and soon those little laughs and huffs start to mix with Joni’s bell-like voice, and the opening lyrics to California swell through the room as you type at a glacial pace.

She sings, I met a redneck on a Grecian isle, and you glance up again, eyes turning wide and doe-like when you find Joel already watching you. He gave me back my smile, Joni sings. But he kept my camera to sell.

“How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” Liar. “Great, even.” Bad liar.

Joel’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, lips twitching in a clear attempt to smother a laugh, but he just nods, looking back down at his book.

He’s wearing home clothes. That’s what he called them. Home clothes.

When he’d said it, still pulling them on, you’d wanted nothing more than to grip his hands and stop him in his tracks, but you’d sequestered yourself to the other side of the room instead, sorely committed to the study evening he’d suggested. But he’s in soft grey sweatpants and an even softer looking white t-shirt, and every time he sips his coffee he hums happily against the rim of his mug, and his bare foot goes tap-tap-tap and Joni sings Oh, will you take me as I am?, and—

“Come here.”

You blink. His eyebrows raise expectantly, lips split into a broad smile now.

“Unless you’d rather stay over there and keep starin’.”

You reach him as The Last Time I saw Richard, the final track on side two, begins to spin.

Joni sings, all romantics meet the same fate, and Joel’s knees fall apart, thighs splayed so handsomely across his chair, inviting you to take a seat. You ignore the woeful lyrics and focus instead on the knowing smirk on his face, taking a step forward, and another, until you’re stood between his open legs.

He doesn’t touch you. Just smiles, all saccharine and easy, leaning back in his chair.

“Much left to do?” He points at the laptop in your hands.

“Maybe another hundred words,” you grumble and put it down on the table. “Today, at least.”

Joel hums, eyes flicking down. His gaze skirts across the bare skin of your legs, the soft sleep shorts you’re wearing; ones he puts on you himself, and knows you don’t have anything beneath.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh; stops you with a soft tut when you try to straddle him. “Naw, baby, like this.”

Soft hands tilt your hips, turn you until your back is to his chest and he’s drawing you onto his lap.

“Oh.” You smile, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

Nose turned into the side of his face, you brush a kiss to the edge of his jaw and sigh in relief as he wraps his arms around your middle and squeezes.

The space between his chest and the table is a little tight; small enough that if you were to lean forward a few inches your ribs would knock against the wood.

As if he’s thinking the same thing, Joel leans forward. Presses you against the table, one hand coming up to hold your face. His fingers are soft on your skin, offering small amounts of pressure as he grips your jaw and encourages you to look forward.

“Gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little, skin prickling at the shift in his tone. Still soft, still quiet, yet with something… demanding, shifting just below the surface.

“You,” you say, cringing at the way your voice takes on a higher quality all of a sudden. Steeling yourself, you add, “You’re distracting me.”

“Wasn’t doing anythin’,” he responds simply. “Just sittin’ over here, minding my business while you burn holes in my head.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“I cooked dinner.” He squeezes you again. “Fed you. We showered, and now I’m readin’.”

“You were humming.”

Joel kisses the shell of your ear.

“And tapping.”

He flutters his fingers against your hip.

“S’that such a crime?” he murmurs.

“No, but…” You sigh when his tongue snakes out, tracing the soft curve of your earlobe. “But it…”

“But but but,” Joel mocks, and you can feel his sick smirk against your neck, teeth teasing along your carotid now. “But all you can think about is my cock, ain’t that right?”

Your stomach falls away. Everything firm inside you turns to goo as he laughs, knowing he’s right.

“So needy,” he taunts you, holding your hip tighter as his length begins to thicken against your ass. “Had all day to ask for it.”

You don’t respond, tongue tied and more uninterested in your essay than ever.

“Just lookin’ for a distraction now,” he teases lightly. “The more you put it off, the harder it’ll be to get it done, baby.”

“I know.”

“If you know.” He hooks a finger over the waistband of your shorts. “Then finish it.”

“S’not that simple,” you whine, rolling your hips over his lap. A sharp puff of air warms the back of your neck, so you do it again. His hand tightens around your jaw.

“Just a hundred words, right?” he coaxes gruffly. “Come on now, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You feel his thick cock beneath his sweats, stiff and pressing between the crease of your thighs, melting what’s left of your resolve. You want to grind down against it. To pull your soft sleep shorts to the side and let him sink inside with no more pretence. But you put your hands on the desk, eyes on the screen, and Joel slides his warm palms beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Floats them over the curve of your stomach, the soft flesh around your ribs, waking thousands of tiny hairs that cover your skin until his fingers meet your chest, and he cups your breasts.

You shiver, lids growing heavy as he squeezes and tickles at your skin. Your nipples harden to peaks against his rough palms, and he sighs at the feeling, face resting against the back of your neck as he plays.

“Fuck,” you sigh, voice a broken buzz in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought you wanted me to write.”

“I do,” Joel murmurs unconvincingly. “A hundred words, go on.”

Hands like lead on the table, it feels like an impossible task. Even more than it did ten minutes ago. You force yourself to lift your fingers to the keyboard, vision sharpening as you look for where you left off. You try to shut him out, try to ignore the way his tongue warms the skin on your neck, the way the hairs on his thighs tickle against yours, and begin to write.

But he doesn’t make it easy.

The second you finish the first sentence one of his hands drifts down your stomach to cup your pussy over your shorts. You flinch, heart galloping in your chest when he sighs in your ear.

“Joel,” you whimper, pleading already. “I can’t if you…”

“You can,” he soothes. The warmth of his palm is suffocating, so hot against where you’re already wet and wanting. Thick fingers press against the fabric, nudging it between your slick folds until it goes damp. “Just ignore me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” you reply. You type five more words, chest rattling with heavy breaths as he paws at you, thumbing at your clit through your shorts.

His breath is hot and heavy against your neck and his soft curls tickle your skin as you try to focus.

“Ignore me,” he repeats, and you squeak as he tilts you forward. A rush of breath spills from your mouth, chest flush to the desk, ass suspended above his lap as he shifts behind you. And when he pulls you back down, you sigh pathetically over the fact that he’s pushed his sweats down.

The full weight of his length presses against you, nestled between the rounded flesh of your ass, and you manage to mumble his name.

“Just—” You’re panting now; considering begging. “—I can do this later. I will finish it later, I swear, just—”

Joel nudges your shorts to the side and presses a finger between your folds. A ragged gasp stutters out of you, finger jammed against the keyboard. A steady stream of kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk fills a line of the document as he smears your wetness up to your clit.

“Fuck,” you mumble, hips tilting forward, trying to chase the feeling.

“None of that,” he tuts quickly, other hand slipping down and pinching the skin at the inside of your thigh. You’ve only backspaced half of the k’s when he slips two fingers inside you. “Come on, now.”

Thirty words fly as he crooks his fingers inside you. Slow and gentle, thumb rubbing messy circles against your clit as he works you open.

“That’s it,” he coos, pressing a third finger inside. Your cunt sucks desperately at his fingers, the skin of your face warming as you catch a glimpse of your reflection on the laptop screen. Jaw hanging low, a silent prayer for relief written across the open slant of your mouth. “My smart girl. Knew they didn’t give you that degree for nothin’.”

You gasp and swat at his wrist, but a satisfied little smile cracks your face for a moment when he laughs. Only for it to fall seconds later when he lays a sharp bite to the back of your shoulder. You moan, voice cracking around his name, rutting desperately against his hand.

“You can do it,” he flatters you, sickly sweet and entirely convincing as he strokes at your insides. Curling and stretching until you’re turning to a wet trembling mess in his lap, wobbling through half-assed sentences that you aren’t sure even match up with your essay outline anymore.

“Good,” Joel murmurs. “That’s good.”

“Don’t look,” you slur out, heart pounding at the idea of him reading anything you’ve written in this state. “It’s f-for your class, you can’t look.”

“Not lookin’.” He noses at the back of your ear. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Just lookin’ at you, m’always just lookin’ at you.”

“I’ll finish it.” You switch up your tactic now. Voice low and breathy, the back of your head resting heavy on his shoulder, eyes longing to close. “Tomorrow, I’ll write it—”

“Tomorrow?” His thumb drags harder on your clit.

“Yes,” you gasp, stomach tensing. You feel a bit floaty all of a sudden. Locked out of your own mind, all thoughts spilling from between your thighs as desire grips you, consumes you. “Please, just…”

“What, baby?” he prompts. “Say it.”

“Just let me sit on your cock,” you groan. “Please, I can’t think right now, I’ll finish it, I promise.”

“You fuckin’ promise—Christ,” he grumbles, fingers drifting from your tight clutch. “Just a little more, baby, for me.”

You don’t even really know how it happens after that. Ears roaring, skin tight, everything is a blur as you write and write and write and he presses his leaking tip between your folds works you down onto his length. Hands everywhere, so warm, so rough, holding your thighs, your waist, your breasts, your shorts to the side. Slower when your gasps spin higher, you think, always knowing when to ease up, when the burn gets too much too quick.

Joel grips your thighs, prying them apart until your calves are on the outside of his, and then he’s shifting his legs open wide, giving your own no choice but to follow. You feel the full weight of him in this position. The long, thick stretch of his cock inside you as your legs dangle listlessly over his lap, toes straining and failing to reach the floor. You can do nothing but rest heavily across his thighs, those hands still everywhere all at once, and whine pitifully as your walls spasm and clench around him, coil inside pulling tighter and tighter.

Vision waning, the text on your screen warbles as Joel slips the pad of his finger against your clit and begins to play with it. Soft little rubs that have you going tense and leaning forward on the table, braced on your elbows and grinding down into his lap, desperate for release, for movement, anything. It feels like your brain is splintering into a thousand tiny pieces inside your skull.

“You’re so wet,” Joel rasps, forehead heavy against your shoulder blade as he groans. “Pretty pussy’s drippin’ all over me, honey. You really need it that bad?”

You say something you think, mouth moving and eyes rolling as his hips shift up in a weak little thrust. Just one.

“Keep goin’.” He sounds pained, half-drunk as the words stumble out of him.

Your mind slips further from your grasp and you’re typing pure gibberish. Slurring messes of letters cloaked in perfect punctuation. Your fingers fly across the keys, painting commas and full stops and semi colons around complete and utter bullshit as your cunt flutters and your belly stirs.

His finger glides and his cock pulses and your vision darkens and you come. Shoulders hunched, table digging into your forearms, you fold forward and cry out as an agonisingly brief orgasm rips through you.

It’s over before it’s even begun, but Joel groans and offers a shallow thrust, your cry turning to a gasp as he grips your thigh for dear life.

“Oh good girl,” he murmurs, fingers slowing against your nerves, not wanting to overwhelm. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now. Liquid frustration that pools against your waterline and threatens to spill when he still doesn’t fuck you how you need him to.

“How much left?” he asks roughly, rocking his hips against yours in a steady pace now. Gentle, rolling movements that snag on the heels of your orgasm and hold it close.

“Huh?”

“How many words?”

“I don’t…” Your eyelids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” he laughs a little then, rueful but not unkind. “That’s gonna be hell to edit.”

With a furious groan you slam the laptop closed, the sharp smack of metal on metal filling your ears as he grips your hips and really starts to fuck you.

It’s not fast though, not rough. Just deep, lingering strokes that grind against the end of you and nudge you stumbling toward the edge. He pinches your clit between the tips of his middle and ring fingers, rubbing slow drags up and down against the hood like that. Moaning and sweating, you slip your hand over his. Press lower and let your fingers glide around his girth, thick and vascular between your thighs, hot skin wetter every time he pulls out of you.

“Feel that?” Joel pants, teeth nipping at the top of your spine. “You’re creamin’ for me, baby. Fuck, I—I need to taste it.”

“Shit—oh god.”

He grips your wrist and drags it up, chin harsh against your shoulder as he sucks your fingers into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is filthy as his hot tongue snakes out to lick the webbing between your fingers, and you tip your head to watch his eyes roll back. His thighs tremble beneath you, but you can’t be sure it’s not just the vibrations of your own body tricking you.

But no, it’s him. His hips stutter against yours, deep plunges stilting into shallow movements, and he stalls deep inside your cunt for a second on the end of every thrust, as if his brain is short-circuiting.

You hook your fingers in his mouth, the tips digging into the gums behind his teeth, and tug him back to reality. He nips at your fingers and moans, hand falling heavy between your thighs again. And he doesn’t stop now; keeps pushing and pinching and fucking and grinding until your pussy is pulling tight and slick around his length and your fingers are fanned loose and shaky across his face, and you can hardly breathe except to say Joel or please or oh my god.

“Can feel it,” he grunts breathlessly, skin smacking against yours in a sharp staccato beat. “Deep breath, baby, c’mon, let me have it.”

“Your teeth,” you gasp feverishly. “Bite me again.”

“Fuck,” he snarls and then he’s grating the hard line of his incisors along your shoulder.

The sweet pinch of his canines digging into your back sets your cunt aflutter around him, mouth hung open in silent ecstasy as he fucks you full of his seed and you suck it in deep, tight with longing, still panting and high when it begins to drip from where you’re connected, spooling around his cock and smearing between your thighs and his.

His chest heaves against your back. Chest hair damp wet sweat, dripping through your thin shirt until it can’t decide whether to cling to his skin or yours. There’s an ache at the base of your spine, maybe a muscle pulled, and his thumb presses into the flesh there as if he can sense it.

Sounds come back slowly. Joni’s finished and the needle tracks around the runout groove on the record, a little crackle flaring every few seconds where the two channels join. Joel’s breathing too, rough against your shoulder, harmonising with the wet sound of his lips peeling from your skin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Wild eyed, cunt-struck, Joel knocks his nose against yours. Groans low when you flick your tongue out to graze across his bottom lip. He’s bitten it rough and ragged and red, and you want to soothe the sting. His glasses are on top of his head, smudged lenses tucked amidst wild fluffy curls.

You try to kiss him, hard and wet, but he stops you with a hand to your jaw. Cradles your face and strokes your cheekbone and wipes the spittle from your lips before kissing you lightly. Chaste and gentle, like the two of you are ten and have never kissed anyone before, have never been brave enough to use your tongues.

That invisible bleed in your chest drips heavier. You picture a thick spurt of red against your chest cavity as he kisses the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, your eyelids.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling when his lips catch and drag across your skin with the movement of your head.

A moment passes like this. Searching kisses dotted over your smiling face. The swell of your cheeks, the ends of your eyebrows.

“Sometimes I feel like you aren’t real,” Joel confesses. A bare bones whisper that tickles the skin between your eyebrows, where his lips rest now. “Like you might just melt away if I don’t hold on tight enough. Disappear if I look away too long, and I’ll be stuck tryna convince myself that you were ever really here.”

Twisted up in his arms, you can feel the way his heart batters against his chest, thrashing through to vibrate against your back. He might as well be plucking the admission straight from your own mouth.

“I’m real,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m here, it’s real.”

“Me too,” he says. Something wet tickles your skin, but it’s gone in a second. Rubbed over by his thumb, soothed with another kiss.

I love you, you think, but when you speak it comes out as, “No melting.”

Joel laughs softly. Kisses you again. “No melting.”

Thursday.

“It was too much.”

“It was fine.”

“I said the word grateful three times.”

“Four, actually.” You chew the inside of your cheek and shrug apologetically. “I counted.”

“Jesus,” Joel sighs, reaching up to a drag a hand over his face.

He’s pulled his desk chair all the way across the office. Tie loosened and top buttons undone, he slumps in it a little. His thick knees almost brush against yours where you sit in his armchair.

“Hey, I liked it,” you smile, bumping his knee. “It was nice - shows you care.”

“Well, you ain’t all that hard to please,” Joel smarts, lip quirking up into a sly grin.

Mouth open in a scoff, you feign offence, dragging your laptop from your satchel and making a show of ignoring him.

“How the mighty fall,” he continues, sighing dramatically and tilting his head over the back of the chair. The light coming in through the window hits his face just right, and the grey hairs in his curls shine. “Grateful to have been your professor… asshole.”

“Don’t be precious,” you laugh softly. “You’re just embarrassed because you said you were going to miss us.”

“That was a lie,” Joel tuts, brushing you off with a hand in the air, biting back that grin. “I ain’t gon’ miss any of you assholes. And when those final papers come in—” He taps a finger against the top of your laptop “—I’ll be sayin’ my prayers that any of you can string a worthwhile sentence together.”

“If you’re lucky,” you drawl, batting his hand away. “You’ll teach some of us again next year. And when that semester finishes, you’ll say all of that shit again, because you’re a sap, Joel Miller.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, face softening, and then clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Smart ass.”

“And you love it,” you quip easily, only balking a moment later when the word hangs awkwardly in the air. Hands pausing on your keyboard, you glance up, neck hot, only to find Joel watching you still. Face suspended in a small smile; eyes light as he nods.

“I do,” he says after a moment. “But you’re on thin ice, wise guy.”

He plucks a book from his desk and spreads it open on his lap, either not noticing or simply not caring as you watch on, slack jawed. I do.

After a moment, Joel taps his foot against yours again. “Write.”

So, sucking in a breath, you do. Time passes and rain starts to drizzle against the window as you write, and Joel reads. Having forgotten to put a record on like normal, he hums lightly under his breath; some tune you can’t place but still nod along to. Every few minutes he turns his page, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate the way he holds books. Hate the way he cradles the spines, thumb hooked around the footnotes to hold his page. Hate the way his fingers trace the stanzas as he reads, tender and patient, and always afraid to miss something. Hate most the way the tendons on the backs of his hands flex when he turns the page. How the veins around them go fat and blue the longer he does this, as if all the blood in his body is sprinting towards the words. It’s a dangerous sort of eroticism, watching him read. You hate how much you love it.

In need of reprieve, you focus on your own hands. Crack tired knuckles and stretch out cramps and aches, taking a moment to peer over at his desk. The picture frame you’d once been so curious about is propped on the edge of it once again.

You can see Joel behind the glass panel, sporting a shit-eating grin with Sarah, clad in a graduation gown, tucked proudly against his chest. Taken the day she finished high school, you know now. And you’d never noticed it that first time, months ago, but Ellie’s face rests in the corner of the picture. Pink tongue stuck out and eyes pinched shut; she’d snuck her head into the frame at the last second apparently.

You gaze fondly at it, and feel that familiar warmth in your chest over the fact that he’s put it back out. No more hiding.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Joel glances over his shoulder, and then smiles.

“It’s a good photo,” you say. “You look so happy there.”

“I was. It’s one of my favourites,” he nods, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He seems to consider you for a moment, eyes flicking around your face, fingers fidgeting with the corner of his page. “Hey, I uh… Sarah actually called yesterday.”

He pauses. Takes an unusually deep breath and folds the book shut.

“Okay.” You blink, confused. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, she was uh, she was askin’ about the holidays, and if—”

The office door creaks open, and Joel’s mouth seals shut as Rachel walks hastily inside, rushed words filling the small room.

“Joel, sorry, I need to grab—oh.”

There’s an odd pause after the words catch in her throat. A moment of uncomfortable stillness as the three of you inhale all at once, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

You and Joel aren’t touching, but your knees rest close, one of his feet in the space between yours on the carpet. Laptop propped on your knees, your final essay still lays open with a stream of edits pasted through the margins, cursor blinking at the end of the word nostos.

Joel, tie undone and sleeves rolled up, looks painfully casual in your presence.

“Sorry.” Rachel blinks, hovering awkwardly as the door clicks shut behind her. “I didn’t realise you had a… a meeting today?” The end of her sentence flares up, as if she’s confused, phrasing it like a dubious little question.

You offer a smile in her direction and hope it comes across as relaxed, a little encroaching even; as if you are the one who has interrupted; the one who should not be here.

“It’s fine,” Joel supplies easily, straightening in his chair to give her his full attention. His face gives nothing away. Stoic and calm, the way you’d imagine him to be if you weren’t here at all. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says, frowning like she’s affronted by the question. Looks between the two of you again, listless fingers curling at her sides. “Just came to get that Livy copy back

You look back at your screen and will yourself to type something. To appear casual, studious, as if your heart isn’t lodged in the base of your throat.

“Sure,” he nods, gesturing vaguely toward his desk. “It’s in one of the drawers on the left.”

Rachel nods, walking over to the desk, and as her back turns you spare a glance at Joel. Find him already looking at you, eyebrows pulled down a little. Pink lips mouth It’s fine, married with a soft nod of his head, and for the second time in seconds you attempt a smile.

There’s the sound of wood sliding against wood, and then a soft, tired kind of silence. The lack of sound seems to swell, the air in the room thinning, your eyes focusing on Joel’s fingers on the armrest of his chair, tap tap tap, Rachel’s unruly curls somewhere past that, her face downturned, looking at something. Wary breaths held in unison, synced heart beats racing. It’s fine, it’s fine, no melting.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Your head snaps up. Joel turns in his chair and begins to ask what’s wrong, but all that ends up coming from him is a sort of choked noise, rough around the edges, and breathless in the middle. Chest on fire, you let yourself look past him to where she stands.

Her gaze is hard as she stares Joel down from across the room. A slip of blue; soft material visible between her fingers, held up for a stunned chorus to see.

Your hearing deafens a little as you look on, motionless, a vague memory of birthday boy and got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock? playing in your mind. Of a damp patch on his shirt as he tucked blue into his desk drawer.

Joel says Rachel’s name, you think. Can see the way his jaw moves, the way her dark eyes sharpen, flitting back and forth between the two of you. And then, like a volcanic eruption or the swell beneath a wave, realisation crests the hill and It’s fine cracks and crumbles and turns to dust in your grasp. You don’t know what she knows, or how she knows, you just know that she does.

“You… what is this?” Rachel’s face shifts into something uncomfortable. A warped, grotesque shot at a smile. But as her lips curl upward, eyebrows down, it’s nothing but a contorted mess that blurs endlessly between confusion, surprise, and then horror. “This… her? She’s the reason you—”

“Rachel.” Joel’s entire body is wound tight. You can see the edge of his jaw from where you sit; the way his shoulders pull back, tight he watches her.

Your body seems to hold itself together for a moment. Breath caught on an inhale, lungs expanded, eyes frozen on the hard line of his nose, the arm of his glasses—places you feel safe to hover. But then she speaks again, and everything lurches back into focus. Like a needle scratching on a record, or tires squealing as a car pulls to an abrupt stop at a red—the words make you cringe, chest deflating and face crumpling.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she’s saying, and her voice raises, louder to match the disbelief in her tone. “You… she’s a fucking student.”

When the fear hits it doesn’t come slowly. It strikes hard and solid; an icy sheet of dread that sucks at your fingers and numbs your extremities. Cool and abrupt, it sinks to your bones and promises that you’ll never again feel anything but this. It laughs in the face of your warm kind month, pressing its chilled ice picks to the back of your eyes until they burn.

Her words hang heavy in the air, thick weights that press down on three sets of shoulders, and you have never wanted anything the way you want to see Joel’s face right now. To look at him and believe that this isn’t as bad as you know it to be. See that mouth tell you it’s fine and remember how it tastes.

Instead, a fear-stricken Orpheus, you will yourself not to look at him. Despite that longing, the way your arms beg to stretch out, to hold and be held, you do not look. No, you don’t think you could suffer the double death of both knowing this is happening and seeing him know it too.

In his place, you let your eyes turn to Rachel, and find that she already stares at you, small mouth cracked ajar in incredulity.

Mind whirring, racing, stumbling; fumbling to pin back together the pieces of who you once were in her eyes and who you are now. This woman you admire so, whose career path you’ve dreamt of, whose wit and quirk has propelled you, invigorated you.

It’s agonising to watch—the way her face morphs into something so unfamiliar as she looks at you now. An expression that once held only admiration, kindness, marred here by an inexplicable sense of pity. Not hate, or contempt, which perhaps would be easier to handle. Easier than the way those dark orbs go round and solemn with worry as they fall upon your anguished frame. It’s a slap in the face; camaraderie washed down the drain like the dregs of a long overdue bath, as she grips your soiled underwear in her fist.

Joel says her name, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s said it now, and she spurns his attempt at placation like a snake. Fast and deadly, venom dribbling from her tongue.

“Someone else?” she says, and her voice is like never before. Mirthless and cold, fury laced through every word. With a sharp jerk of her elbow, she tosses the underwear across the room. They land against Joel’s chest, caught silently in his fist. “You’re fucking sick.”

“This isn’t what you think it is—” Joel starts, and you think you hear his voice shake.

“It isn’t?” She laughs cruelly at that. “You haven’t been sleeping with one of our students?”

The cursor blinks on your screen. Nostos, nostos, nostos, nostos.

“Listen, can we talk about this somewhere else?” he asks. “Not like this, I—”

“Oh, is this not a convenient time for you?” she scowls. “Jesus Christ.”

The urge to speak bubbles in your chest. You don’t even know what you’re going to say until the words are spilling from your lips, disjointed and warbled, a voice that doesn’t even sound like your own.

“I pursued him,” you say.

You can feel them looking at you. Can hear the way you must sound to her, like some kid and not a woman who’s almost thirty years old and just as much to blame. But you can’t stop it.

“We’re both adults. He never made me do anything I didn’t—”

Joel says your name sharply. His fist, in the periphery of your downturned gaze, grips your balled up underwear so tight that the blue is entirely invisible within the thick masts of his fingers.

You suck in a breath, and it feels like the last bit of air in the room disappears into your lungs, so you hold it there. Keep it safe inside and figure that if all three of you were to suffocate then at least the truth, and all the foul consequences that come with it, would die here with you.

“Can you give us a minute?”

Silence falls in the lull after those words, and it takes a moment for you to look up, finally. To realise that the double death wasn’t in looking at Joel, but in understanding that he’d spoken these words to you, not her.

Eyes locked with his, you feel the fear move to your side. Hang low until it ebbs and flows in the space beneath your ribs—a sharp ache with no end in sight. He looks tired; resigned. Mouth thin and downturned, cheeks splashed with red.

You think you must say something. Some fumbling, awkward acknowledgement, because Rachel is giving you that look again and you can’t bear it. Can’t stand those eyes, that misplaced pity.

You collect your things, hands numb as you pile them into your bag and head for the door, skin prickling in defence against the silence that follows your movements.

Outside his office, alone in the long corridor, you know you should go. Should follow the wall down the stairs, out to your car, and not look back. Can you give us a minute? But that sharp ache leaves you cowering against the wall, limbs heavy, ear to his door.

“Rach,” Joel says softly, and it’s so familiar that your stomach rolls, lids fluttering closed. “It isn’t what you think, just let me explain, alright? We met before the term began; before she was my student. Before.”

“And then?”

“What?”

“I said, and then?” Rachel’s voice is steely. “You met her before and, what, you saw her in class and decided it was fine to let it continue? You—”

“Everything was consensual. You know me, I would never—”

“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it. Did you not think about what would happen if you were found out? Her credibility will be destroyed, Joel.”

“I know—”

“I mean for fucksake, her first major presentation was given at a conference where you were the keynote speaker. How do you think this will look?”

“Fuck, I know. Can you keep your voice down, please.”

There’s a brief silence. You hear shuffling, feet against carpet, and a dull spike of fear flares in the back of your mind. The idea of getting caught a second time, eavesdropping from outside the door. Against better judgement, you don’t move, and Rachel speaks again.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “I don’t know you. I… you aren’t the man I thought you were.”

You don’t hear Joel’s response over the drumming in your ears. Hot blood thrashes and roars inside your body, veins pounding with terror. Hands shake damp and weary at your sides, thinking hard, hard, grasping for solution, for the chance to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.

But he must have said something because then you hear it. A low fragment of a human voice, words spoken clear as day. They slice through your ears and have you peeling away from the door, swallowed by a white-hot longing to disappear as you stumble down the hall, the stairs, until you’re sucking in cold air on the pavement outside.

It’s raining hard now. Thin spray that comes at you sideways, lashing at your face and blinding you. You curl your back to the downpour and search thoughtlessly for your car, hands outstretched, those words of hers ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

When you find it, you press your key into the door and slump inside, and you still can’t avoid it. She might as well be standing right by the door, peering in at you. Shock in the jut of her brow, disappointment in the slant of her mouth as she whispers those words over and over through the crack in your window.

"I don’t care if you love her, Joel. I have to report you.”

refs:

joni mitchell's 1971 Blue album. [life changer]

the hollow men by t. s. elliot [fat juicy banger of a poem]

orpheus and eurydice from metamorphoses by ovid, tr. by a. d. melville

thank you for reading x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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