#rachel writes fanfiction

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin.  And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

 You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.” 

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

 “Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye. 

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name. 

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.  

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.” 

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock. 

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.  

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm. 

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.  

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder. 

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.   

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

No

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home.  Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.” 

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists. 

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you. 

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching. 

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?” 

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much. 

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”  

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”   

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?” 

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”  

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.” 

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”  

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you. 

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.  

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

#i hope you wanna know what happened at the dinner with rachel #cause i'm gonna tell you #my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

[theravenclawgirl7]

Veiny Hands? Yes Please

Ellie teaches you how to play her favorite video game

Idk what this is i just wanted to write something so here you go 🤲 also this is very much not beta read so sorry for mistakes i’m dyslexic don’t blame me

You shoved your keys in the lock to your front door sighing with exhaustion. The day was long and you didn’t get enough sleep last night and the only thing you wanted to do right now was snuggle up on the couch with Ellie and take a nap.

Speak of the devil, you find her sitting on the couch playing some war video game when you walk down the entry hallway.

Ellie pauses the game as she hears you come in and gets up to great you, “Hey baby,” she places a kiss to your temple as you set your bag down on the kitchen island, “How was your day?”

You huff in response to her question. You dealt with idiots all day, that’s how it was. You save your frustration though, wanting to let it home now that you are in your peaceful home with your peaceful girlfriend. No sense in tainting your favorite place with the negativity from earlier.

You turn to face her, “It was fine just long and i’m tired. How was yours?” You smile up at her, just the sight of her calming you.

“It was good. Hey how about you go upstairs and change and I’ll make us a snack and then we can chill on the couch, hmm?”

You nod already heading for your bedroom. You needed to get out of these work clothes immediately. And what did you say you wanted: a nap on the couch. Your girlfriend knew you so well.

You change into some leggings and one of Ellie’s tshirts before heading back downstairs where Ellie has made a bowl of popcorn and gotten you a glass of diet Coke, yes your favorite

She’s sitting on the couch scrolling on her phone waiting for you. You hop onto the couch snuggling into her side before she can have time to register that you are even in the room.

“Well hello,” Ellie giggles at your sudden appearance as you throw both you legs over her lap and lean your head on her shoulder.

“Hi,” you press a kiss to her cheek and revel in the fact that she blushes just slightly. You love when you can get her all flustered.

She rolls her eyes at your knowing smirk and asks, “So what do you wanna watch?” She leans for the remote on the coffee table but you stop her with a hand to her chest, “You can keep playing the game I just want to lay here.”

“Baby I don’t mind we can watch something,” She insists.

“I know but I wanna watch you play,” you tell her honestly. It’s kinda hot watching her kick ass in her video games. Not to mention the whole veiny-hands-on-the-controller thing.

“You sure?” Ellie tried to confirm one last time. You laugh and nod returning to your earlier position on her lap.

She leans back placing her arms and hands over your thighs and focuses on one the game.

You’re not sure how much time has passed but she’s played a few rounds by now. You’ve found yourself tensing when the fights happen and growing frustrated right along side Ellie when she dies and has to start the level over.

She’s in the middle of the battle with some giant cyborg dude. She gets in a couple shots and the robot stumbles, “Yeah get him baby!” you cheer sitting up straighter, focus honing in on the tv.

She shoots the guy a couple more times and he falls to his knees before faceplating.

“Fuck yeah baby!” You grab her cheeks and leave a firm kiss on her lips.

She smiles as you pull back, “You’re really getting into it,”

“I don’t know the storyline is just interesting. And that dude was a major ass hole.” you feel shy at the sudden attention on you. You normally don’t care about video games but you haven’t really sat down to watch them either.

Ellie laughs at the blush you know is staining your cheeks if the heat you feel says anything.

“You wanna try,” she holds the emote out to you.

“I don’t know the first thing about playing this game,”

“I’ll teach you. And look,” she turns back to the screen and flips through what looks like some game setting, “There now it’s set to easy so it won’t be has hard when your learning the ropes,” she holds out the remote and you look at it hesitantly, “Come on baby you’ll love it.” Ellie urges.

You sigh and take the controller. You are interested in the story and Ellie loves video games so much it’s just another thing you guys can do together.

“Okay show me what to do,” You settle further into Ellie’s side so she has access to show you each button on the remote.

She points out what each one means and the corresponding shape. Something about L’s and R’s… you’re not really sure but you have a great time nonetheless.

It takes a couple of tries for you to start getting the hang of it but by round three you get a couple of shots on the guys who are supposed to be hunting you. You cheer each time you hit one and Ellie reminds you that they are still coming before you focus back in on playing.

You play for a while, Ellie watching you and giving you advice when needed. You can feel her eyes on you face as you play but you ignore them, that incessant blush creeps back up.

Finally, you hand the controller back to Ellie growing board of playing the same round over and over again, not able to kill the group that is coming at you before they get to you.

“You did good baby,” Ellie praises as she switches the settings back to hard.

“Thanks,” you lean back to place you head on her shoulder once more watching her hands on the remote, this time paying more attention to what buttons she hits.

You do, however, clock the veins running along the top of her hand and her forearms. Who could blame you? After all your girlfriend is hot.

How do we like? This popped into my head a few days ago so I thought what the hell 🤷‍♀️. Anyway if you have any writing prompts or ideas for me let me know because i’m in a writing slump fr! Thanks for reading <3

#ellie williams #tlou2 #ao3 #fanfiction #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams fluff #video games #cute #random #writing ideas #veiny hands #veiny hands? show me to me pls! send it to me rachel

[er4tous]

Gender Neutral reader, O!Ciel Phamtomhive

Young kids love lol, Pure teeth rotting fluff, semi-proofread.

Ciel has brought his playmate home again, Vincent and his wife Rachel peek through the door on the kids playing, feeling scandalized at the revelation of y/n on top of their 6 year old son kissing him on the lips , As the kids pull away and gigle.

They both adjust and they lay down on top of him, their head on his chest, hand spread out and tracing circles on top of his heart.

After a brief moment of silence ciel wraps his arms tightly around them and starts speaking

“I dont know why you spend so much time playing with me instead of my brother” He pouts, and lifts his arm to start playing with their hair

They immediately sit up at his comment and hold his hands, making him sit up and look at them in the eyes

”Ciel, youre awesome! i would never trade you for anything else in the world” they exclaim, before hugging ciel and whispering words of love and appreciation like "youre the bestest" "i love you sososososo much" in his ear that the phantomhive couple cannot hear, but seeing the happy face of their son knowing that someone loves his entire being makes the couple think that, maybe, just this once, they can let this slide.

Their son might have sneakily gotten into a puppy love relationship, but theyre more than happy to approve his sons relationship with their future in law, and a future member of the phantomhive family.

#ciel phantomhive #yana toboso #black butler #ciel x reader #fanfic #childhood au #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #fanfiction #fanfic writing #ao3fic #fanfics #vincent phantomhive #rachel phantomhive #o!ciel #black butler x reader

[verysadghostieinacloset]

Wrote a silly little fic about my best girl Ito and the trans experience :P I also wanted to explore the friendship between Jekyll and Ito, and Rachel and Ito.

This thing is filled with scientific and historical inaccuracy; it’s not a source of information, it’s a story. But I hope you enjoy because I enjoyed writing it ^^ ♥️

Category: Gen

Fandom: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic)

Relationships: Dr. Henry Jekyll & Virginia Ito, Rachel Pidgley & Virginia Ito

Characters: Virginia Ito, Rachel Pidgley, Dr. Henry Jekyll

Language: English

Word count:3,184

Summary: This won’t do, at all. She needs to investigate a solution to this feeling, naturally. Maybe if she can pinpoint the exact source of perplexity and worry, she can go about systematically and logically eradicating it? Yes, logic always works to help her calm down, just solving the problem like it is a maths equation or a chemical reaction can work wonders.

Wait. A chemical reaction?

//

OR Virginia Ito does some research- with the help of her two friends, Henry and Rachel. She also learns about acceptance along the way.

Can I prick your finger for science? (For self discovery?)

Ito doesn’t know what’s wrong.

She feels it; with every fibre of her being, brutal and cold, hugging at her shoulders and arms and stomach and legs, but she doesn’t know what it is. She’s been scrutinising it in the mirror for at least 10 minutes now- she’s wasting precious time when she should be studying- and she still can’t quite place her finger on it.

After all, there is no way it can be that same feeling of dread she’s been feeling for years, every time she looks in the mirror. No, it can’t, because she’s got long hair now, and everyone calls her Virginia, and ‘she’, and her life’s amazing because she can go out in amazing dresses.

But when she strips it all away, and stands with only soft linen covering her body, she feels something wrong. It makes her shameful, and a hint helpless, and she can’t stop looking at all the things wrong with her body.

Oh. It’s back. It’s stalking her. It’s not going away.

Which is honestly so rude of this feeling, curling itself dully in her stomach, trying to make her feel horrible about her body. How dare her mind play tricks on her and tell her she isn’t a woman? when she’s so clearly standing in front of the mirror, with shoulder length hair and a soft smile and a closet of warm colours that skirt her ankles.

This won’t do, at all. She needs to investigate a solution to this feeling, naturally. Maybe if she can pinpoint the exact source of perplexity and worry, she can go about systematically and logically eradicating it? Yes, logic always works to help her calm down, just solving the problem like it is a maths equation or a chemical reaction can work wonders.

Wait. A chemical reaction?

Of course, if the source the feeling stems from is this uncomfortableness in her own skin, is the doubt that she is really a girl because she looks like a boy beneath the layers of cotton and padding, then the solution would be to modify some part of her to change that, would it not? And is the human body not just a cluster of chemical reactions? Surely there was something organic that meant she was born this way, with spindly arms and a disappointingly flat chest, and differentiated her biologically from, say, Rachel? Right, and in such a case, all she would have to do is understand this compound to manufacture it artificially, and, in theory, once she’d prevented the compound in her body right now that made her look this way, and replaced it with said compound, it would work?

It seems too far-fetched, and Ito is a chemist, not a biologist. But then again, a society for rogue science seemed too far-fetched and yet here she was. What could she truly call impossible anymore?

//

“Doctor Jekyll?”

“Please, call me Henry.” He smiles at her, calm and practised, that same smile he’d given her the day he took her hand and led her to this palace of wonder. “Can I ask you a question?” She starts, looking up from the old notes he’d shown her, staring at him across the phials lined in metal on the table, one or two bubbling with some mediocre experiment she’d sought after to keep her excitement momentarily distracted.

“Of course you can, Ito.”

“You’re a biologist, right?” She approaches the subject cautiously, like she’d learnt to over the years, after the rejection and disgust of her own people, frowning in some places over her conduct towards the incoming topic, of the eagerness to change into something they thought her not. But they are gone now- and despite England itself being so uninviting too- something tells her, maybe, she can find peace here.

“I have studied biology and medicine, this is correct.” Henry raises a tentative eyebrow, as if contemplating her words, and what she may ask of him.

“Well…I’ve been thinking.” Pause.

“This is the perfect place for that, go ahead.” His ease relaxes her shoulders slightly, but there’s still the edge of fear about what he might do when she next asks, “This is an absurd topic,” Ito prefaces hastily, nerves getting the better of her.

“We’re rogue scientists, I’m sure it’s not too absurd.”

“But, say a..if a man wanted to appear as a woman- likewise, a woman wanted to appear as a man- and by this I mean, sound like, feel like, look like; is there, hypothetically speaking, some sort of biological chemical which differentiates the two and could potentially be…replaced?”

Henry studies her face carefully for a moment after she’s finished speaking. She cannot bring herself to meet his eyes, lest she find disgust or anger there like she had so many months ago, but she is certainly aware of his measured movements, of the stiff way he gives her his full attention and places his hands on the desk. Hot shame flushes her cheeks and regret roils inside of her, threatening to tear open her heart.

But then, respite, as he sighs softly. “Yes, I suppose.” Henry explains carefully, taking a seat opposite her. It’s all Ito can do to keep her breath from catching and her hands still. She glances up at Henry (mentor, kind of saviour, friend), and studies his eyes for a moment or two to find no hate all- surprisingly- just confusion and some concern.

“Biologically speaking, development of gendered characteristics begins when a child comes of age- when their body begins producing amounts of substances called hormones. Female hormones produce the desired effects of a woman’s body and emotion. Male hormones produce a deeper voice, more hair, a difference in emotion- anything that is different between me and you, is different because of the levels of each of these chemicals in our bodies. However, Ito, there is not much more I can tell you about them. They are a fairly new discovery, with very little knowledge surrounding the subject.”

Silence befalls them when Henry finishes talking, and Ito thinks on his words for a while. Soon, the atmosphere grows awkward, stiflingly so, and she can feel the way Henry’s gaze worries over her with healing curiosity.

“Forgive me for asking,” he clears his throat, voice stilted, weary. “What sort of research do you plan on undergoing?”

“I’m studying change.” Ito replies, somewhat uneasily.

“Change how?”

She panics, glancing away and racking her mind for the best way to explain. So far, and by his reaction, Henry has in no real way given her reason to worry at all, or let the feeling of her stomach roiling with fear latch itself to her. It infects her now, though, like growing disease, and she really dreads her downfall if she so much as opens her mouth.

“My hair wasn’t always this long.” She murmurs softly, a hand instinctively hovering near her hairdo. She meets his eyes begrudgingly, if somewhat fearful, and begs him silently to understand what she means. The last time she said it out loud, a world seemed to end.

Henry opens his mouth as if to press further, ask again because he didn’t quite understand. But then, she spies understanding dawning in his eyes like resolute kindness, and he nods gently, some semblance of a reassurance playing the smile on his lips. Something eases in Ito’s chest, like the world has lifted its fear from her shoulders.

“I see.” Is what he says next. “I won’t pry. But..” He looks like he’s contemplating something for a moment or two. Ito holds her breath, waits for ‘but I wouldn’t want you in the Society anymore’ or ‘but such conduct is improper and you’ll always be a male beneath it all.’ What she gets is; “You’re safe here. And so is your secret with me, if you want me to keep it.”

“Please do.” She answers hurriedly, anxiety still ebbing at her skin, she’s so sure her ears are deceiving her.

Again, Henry gives her a nod and that smile. “For what it is, you are a really courageous young lady, Virginia. And I’d hate for anyone to harm you so, if you find yourself ever in trouble, please don’t be afraid to speak to me.”

Ito lets out a shuddering breath at that, and the last whispers of panic fall away like snow sliding from glass. Henry’s smile is genuine, and that seeps out into his words, the way he looks at her like he means what he has said. Ito cannot seem to comprehend it, but at the same time, what is there to imagine?

“Thank you.” She feels something like tears blur her eyes and wipes them away hurriedly. ‘Lady.’ She seems to realise belatedly, as she sits there and looks at him. ‘He called me a lady.’ Her heart skips a beat, and then Henry chuckles slightly, getting up from his seat and returning to his work. “You’re very welcome, Virginia. I wish you the best of luck in your research and change. I’m sure you’ll do some marvellous things.”

Previously, Ito had convinced herself- ever since that fated day she left Japan and never looked back at the faces of the ‘family’ who hated her- that she would not rely on the validation of others for her comfort or happiness; that she was a woman no matter whatever anyone said or did or called her. She still retains that sentimentality, of course, but Henry’s words loosened something against her heart.

It felt good to be seen for who she really was.

//

Her mentor’s words had left her puzzled, she will admit. The substance she was looking for certainly existed biologically, but contemporary discovery meant that there was very little information on it, despite her searching for hours in local libraries for any type of biological papers on the topic. It made Ito somewhat distraught and her patience thin in some places, but the prior feeling of dread that had her so disgusted with herself had dulled down to manageable, so at least that was a plus.

Her excitement had been insatiable so that she sprung to work as soon as she could, grabbing her cloak and making for the libraries on foot, after she’d assessed every book on human biology available within the Society itself. The walk had served another purpose too; Henry’s reassurances had left her head reeling oh so delighted, but paranoia had followed it and some good old, polluted air was in order to clear her thoughts.

It hadn’t done much; perhaps given her space for a few epiphanies, none of which she could really claim because most of her walk was just the numb thought of hiding herself, of the way Henry had reacted with the most genuine attitude, of whether or not he meant it at all and she was truly safe.

This was proving quite difficult. Perhaps it would be safest for her to fall back on that mentality; if Jekyll did tell the other Lodgers (she doubts he would, inside, he’s too kind-), and they all gave her difficulty for it; well, it wasn’t new to her, was it? Would it hurt like her ‘family’? She doubts it, with how new this all is to her. Alas, no matter their reaction, she’d stick to her ideology through the thick and thin of it; once it came down to it, Ito didn’t need anyone to love herself.

As she traverses the hallways of the Society, back up the winding steps to her laboratory, she spots Henry midway to her room, walking somewhat briskly. For a moment, Ito is shocked (she’s not sure why; he is the leader of this place, after all- it’s only natural for the man to be working), but then she regains her composure and he waves warmly at her. “Good afternoon, Virginia. Is your research going well?”

“Well, not…I don’t have much information.” She replies, trying to avoid stuttering as her thoughts slot appropriately and calmly back into a coherent fashion. The way he treated her, his words, the distinct calmness in his voice of speaking to a friend made it impossible to think that she had worried over him betraying her like that. He did, after all, vow to her safety. (Who's to say he’ll be the only one like this? Is there good to this world?)

“Then you get your own information.” He reassures, and Ito’s mind stills, focuses solely on her project. He’s right; this is her passion and she won’t spend it worrying away about the possible perceptions of herself from others. “Is that not what rogue science is?” She finishes, not missing a single beat.

Henry smiles at her. ‘Yes.’ She thinks. ‘Acceptance is possible.’

//

Exasperated, but with newfound energy, Ito pushes open the door to her lab, fingers already coming up to frantically undo the broach holding her cloak around her shoulders.

She hisses in abrupt pain as something pinches her finger, and when she draws back, there is red beading at the very tip of her forefinger. It seems she was too frantic, because now she is bleeding lightly.

Ito rolls her eyes, sucking on the blood flow to stop it whilst she hangs her cloak up. Then, she walks over to her desk, arrayed with notes and the stray pages of copied out biology papers, a few phials nested amongst them.

Hold on. Blood.

She draws her finger back expectantly, and frowns down at it for a moment before something clicks. Of course! Blood transports every substance in the human body one way or another, and therefore must include hormones. The logical solution would be to study the reactions of human blood to distil it and gain a better understanding of the substance hidden within it.

Ito takes a clean phial and holds it under the running drip of her pricked finger, letting some of the liquid gather enough so she can test it.

Now, she wonders; will blood from other people breed the same results as her own?

//

“Rachel!” Ito calls out, hurrying down the corridor as she spots the day manager, strolling about. Rachel looks up with a confused squint of her eyes, and then smiles when she clocks Ito’s excitable figure walking towards her.

“Hello Virginia, I trust your day is going well.”

“Why yes, thank you. It quite is; it’s going fairly better because you’re just the person I need right now.”

Ito swears Rachel looks a hint nervous at her words, something red at her cheeks. It’s only faint. “I see. What would you need me for?”

“Can I prick your finger?” Ito asks, without quite thinking it through, far too excited about the breakthrough she’s looking for. If Henry’s previous words are anything to go by, to study the differences between what makes a female and a male, she’d need a sample or two of blood that wasn’t hers. And Rachel had been one of the kindest people to her since she’d arrived. And this really didn’t seem like a crazy request. Nope.

Mmhmm.

Oops.

Rachel gives her a weary look at this, eyes scrunching slightly at the corners. She seems slightly taken aback and yet not too surprised. “You want to prick my finger? For?”

“A blood sample; I’m researching something.” Ito beams, trying not to let embarrassment consume her, though she’s sure her cheeks are burning scarlet.

“Well,” Rachel blinks, and it seems to fall into place, now. Perhaps she was used to this sort of request from the other Lodgers? “I certainly prefer that wording…what are you researching?”

“Change.” Ito replies as easily and steadily as she could. She’s not wrong; it’s what she’d told Henry. But she doesn’t quite want this to escalate like that conversation had- not yet at least. Not from paranoia or anxiety but…she doesn’t know. It’s ok.

“The changes in biological structure.” She finishes, explaining away the blush on her cheeks somewhat proudly. Rachel chuckles softly. “I see. Well, yes, I suppose you can prick my finger.”

Ito gives a nod of thanks. “But Ito, please, next time just ask for a blood sample.”

Virginia blinks owlishly. “Asking someone to prick their finger is so much more fun.”

Rachel rolls her eyes in mock annoyance but there is no real hint of the emotion there.

Ito’s heart flutters at the encounter. With time, she finds that perhaps, she can tell Rachel.

//

“Henry…” Ito greets her mentor, one morning over a cup of tea, with the sweetest smile she could possibly muster because she’ll be very close to figuring this out and cannot contain her hope. Also, because she loves making Henry confused but unrelated.

Henry lifts an eyebrow in confusion. “Virginia?” He prompts cautiously, placing his teacup back on its saucer. The ceramic clinks against itself. “I have a request.”

“This early in the day?” Henry huffs lightheartedly, “What would you like?”

“Can I prick your finger? For science?” Ito doesn’t give herself time to hesitate, holds up a finger innocently in demonstration and stares Henry down.

He stares back, eyes wide in half suprise, but honestly, what was he expecting? “Pardon me, please rephrase that?”

“I would like a blood sample…for my research.” Ito elaborates, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders and lowering her hands.

“Well,” Henry sighs, his familiar smile making home on his lips. “Certainly an odd way to ask.”

“You and Rachel are no fun.” Ito informs him as he goes back to sipping his tea.

“Yes, yes. You can have a blood sample, Miss Ito.”

//

Ito is sure she’s spent more time than strictly necessary and healthy in close proximity to her desk, writing out notes and observations, so much so that it’s maybe the early hours of the morning.

Her lab, and herself, right now, are not the prettiest of things they could be; dyes staining the cuffs of her dress shirt- she’ll keep this one for experiments, she supposes; table scattered with filter parchment and observation reports; frantic notes scribbled into her book in hopes of her groundbreaking discovery.

She is right on its door- so much so that she can feel the end of her days dreading her dress, or her hair, or the mirror. It’s at her fingertips now, with distilled blood smeared over pages and dyed to identify the substances.

She’s pinned the chemical structure, the slight differences between female and male. The blurred line in between is tangible. Anything like this is tangible, truly: all she needs is the correct chemicals, varying amounts of carbon and water and phosphates, the make-up of her wants.

What she’s really missing is none of that; just to scrutinise it long enough until all her pieces fall together in the puzzle, slot into a wider picture and give her the right scope.

Bingo.

‘Well,’ She thinks, as it all lines up and the melody flourishes with the final shift in view and recipe. ‘This- change- is who I am.’

Ito smiles. It’s maybe the widest she’d ever smiled. She can’t wait to tell Henry.

#the glass scientists #tgs #the glass scientists fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #tgs henry jekyll #tgs rachel #tgs ito #trans fem character

[nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx]

Helpless part 38, devil's roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

Nico turned for the hundredth time, he checked the clock, 01:53am. He still hadn't been able to get to sleep, he stared out the window until he noticed a figure standing outside the infirmary. The doors weren't locked, he wasn't sure why but he walked outside trying to see who would be standing outside side the infirmary, by the look of it smoking at almost two in the morning. As he edged closer, still remaining perfectly silent he realised it was Will, he crept up behind him, not believing his eyes. As he got closer he realised he was crying, he sank to the floor as he brought the cigarette back to his lips, breathing the smoke in and out.

"Will, are you okay?" He said sitting down next to him,

"Neeks? What are you doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep, saw someone outside. Will what happened?" Nico said, grasping his hand,

"Lost a patient today, she was barely seven. Isla Brown, I thought she was doing better, she said she was feeling fine, everything seemed normal, we were doing hourly check ups, she was fine at seven, then we walked in at eight and she had no pulse, she never said anything about being in pain, and we tried to bring her back but it- it didn't work. We never even found out her godly parent, I think she was an Athena kid though, she was crazy smart especially for her age."

"I'm so sorry."

"I should have been able to save her."

"You can't prevent every death, it's part of how the world work."

"But she was so young."

"I know, the world in cruel that way."

"It's my fault, I should have noticed I-"

"Noticed what? Something you still can't figure out?"

"I should have run extra tests I-"

"William. It isn't your fault, there was nothing you could do. She's happy, she's in Elysium, I can sense it, and she doesn't blame you."

"But-"

"Shh, you said you could glow in the dark, can you show me?" A faint light started to appears from around him, growing brighter quickly.

"I can go brighter but I don't want to get anyones attention."

"That's so cool, why don't you show it off more?"

"I have the most boring powers, what's glowing in comparison to having perfect aim with a bow."

"Anyone with enough practice can learn to shoot a bow and arrow, don't think anyone can just try and suddenly glow in the dark." Will half smiled

"I guess." Nico glanced down, the light had revealed a scar on his forearm, he didn't want to panic but as he slowly turning his arm around more and more scars and cuts revealed themselves, most didn't look that old and they all looked very much self inflicted. How the Hades had he not noticed before? He thought back to every time he'd seen Will, he was always wearing a hoodie or some other sort of long sleeves. Fuck, he started to panic but managed to keep his expression calm, he knew he needed to say something but what the fuck was he going to say?

"I guess you think I'm a hypocrite now?"

"What?"

"Telling you to quit drugs and smoking yet here I am."

"Why haven't you gotten help?" Nico asked, being careful around the subject, he wasn't exactly sure how Will would react and was trying desperately to not make him mad.

"I'm not worth it, even if I was I don't have the time for it."

"Wil-"

"I've never been on a quest and I can't fight to save my life, I'm not worth helping."

"Without you all of camp would be dead."

"Clearly I'm not doing too good of a job, I've lost so many patients, more than Michael ever did."

"Two wars have happened, obviously more people are going to die after a war."

"He would ha-"

"No. No he couldn't, Will sometimes people die no matter what you do. If the fates decide it you can't save them, sometimes people are too close to death and no matter what you do you can't save them." He pulled him closer, pressing his lips to the taller boy's. "Everyone's worth saving Will, you told me that, so apply it to yourself." Nico ran his finger over Will's cuts, "And please, please tell me if you ever want to hurt yourself again. William, you're one of the nicest people I know, you care for people even if you know nothing about them, I've never even seen you get mad at someone, everyone would miss you."

"You haven't seen every part of me, you don't know how many people I've hurt. I hate myself."

"Will, you can't be perfect. Nobody's perfect, everyone has different sides. You're only human."

"But I hurt them, I was trying to hurt them and I did."

"What are you even talking about?" He said, pulling the cigarette out of his boyfriend's hand and taking a breath before getting rid of it, he knew he wasn't meant to but he needed it.

"When I first came out, people started to say stuff, it made me hate myself but I wouldn't fight them. That- that was until one time a group of Demeter kids were beating the living shit out of Kayla for being les so I... I sort of fought them... I broke a few jaws and arms until Annabeth stopped me. I don't regret it but- I shouldn't have hurt them, I'm a fucking healer I'm not meant to fucking hurt people."

"You did the right thing."

"I should have called it down, not made it worse."

"You stood up for your sister, that's nothing to feel bad for."

"I still shouldn't have hurt them."

"I would have killed them, you're did a lot better than I would have."

"I'm a fucking healer, and that wasn't the only time."

"You're a person, you're whole life isn't your power, you are a living, breathing, human being who sometimes does things that aren't perfect. I don't know who told you otherwise, tell me who hurt you, and let me make life hell for them."

"Don't do that, they don't deserve it."

"Look me straight in the face and tell me you wouldn't do the same if someone was in your position."

"I- but- they-"

"Will, you deserve to be happy just as much as everyone else, I don't know why you don't believe that."

"My own blood doesn't want me."

"What would you say if Leo said that?"

"But that's different, he's brave and smart and a genuinely amazing person. He's fought and his life's been hard, he's had to work so hard for everything."

"Apply that to yourself."

"I'm worthless, no one fucking wants me, not just my family."

"I want you. Will I want you and I love you no matter how much you hate yourself I will always love you."

"You'll get tired of me soon enough, they always do."

"I swear I won't, I swear on the river of Styx I will never stop loving you William."

"Why would yo-" His sentence was interrupted by a kiss, Nico wrapped his hands around his neck, Will smelt like smoke and strawberries, he was warm even in the cold night. He wiped a tear from his eyes,

"Just being honest, come on Sunshine." He whispered, pulling him up, they walked with each other inside the infirmary.

"Will, can you stay?"

"Course Neeks." He started to walk towards the chair

"Sleep, you need it." Will wanted to protest but his tiredness got the better of him so he slipped inside the bed next the the raven haired boy, kissing him on the forehead before they both fell asleep.

***

#percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fandom #nico di angelo #fanfic #will solace #pjo #annabeth chase #solangelo #fanfiction #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson fan fiction #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfiction #percyjackson #fan fic writing #fan fic #fan fiction #solangelo fic #my fic #fic writing #reyna avila ramirez arellano #jason grace #piper mclean #leo valdez #frank zhang #hazel levesque #rachel elizabeth dare #grover underwood #gay ships

[thetimetraveler24]

Holy shit I’m actually here. I’ve made it to the end of Keep Your Face Always Towards the Sun and I’m writing the very last chapter now. I never thought I’d ever make it to this point. Oh my gods.

#keep your face always towards the sun #riordanverse #percy jackson and the olympians #will solace #will solace pov #will pov fic #apollo #apollo cabin #kayla knowles #austin lake #lee fletcher #michael yew #clarisse la rue #percy jackson #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #grover underwood #rachel elizabeth dare #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #fanfic authors #writing fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfics #fanfic writing #fanfic #fanfiction #rick riordan

[patchodraws]

Happy Birthday Rachel Amber!

in celebration of the day she absolutely does turn 29, here’s some fics of mine featuring her for y’all to enjoy !!

find me here (where i belong) (AmberPriceField)

Transition (AmberPrice)

(all these people think) love’s for show (AmberPrice)

close to the sun (our mere prologue) (AmberPrice)

Blue Heat (AmberPrice, Explicit)

#my writing #life is strange #life is strange fanfiction #rachel amber #amberprice #amberpricefield #amberprice fanfiction #amberpricefield fanfiction

[drabbles-mc]

The One Where It's The Right Time

Rachel Green x Joey Tribbiani

Gift written for the 90's Channel Exchange: AU where Joey and Rachel stay together after Emma's birth

Warnings: fluffy fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Participating in fic exchanges has really gotten me out of my comfort zone in the best way. I've never written a Friends fic before but I love Joey and Rachel together too much to give up on the opportunity when it presented itself. Hope you enjoy!

It had all been so chaotic when she got out of the hospital. It was a bit messy for the first couple of days, too, if she was being honest with herself. Not Emma, of course. Emma was everything that Rachel ever could’ve hoped for and more—so small and beautiful and perfect. Every day that went by Rachel felt like her heart was growing more and more just to make more room for all the love that she felt for her daughter.

She sat in one of the chairs in Joey’s apartment, the apartment that was now filled with half-unpacked boxes of her things and Emma’s. That was part of the chaos of it. Most of the chaos of it, really. It was tough to figure out what stayed across the way and what came back to Joey’s, what things it was worth it to just buy two of so they didn’t need to lug it back and forth depending on who was watching Emma at any given time.

Emma cooed against Rachel’s chest, pulling her back from the ledge of spiraling thoughts. Looking down, Rachel smiled through the exhaustion that she was feeling. Motherhood was as tiring and fulfilling as people had told her it was going to be. She knew that they’d find their rhythm eventually—it was just going to take a little doing.

“Hey,” Joey’s soft voice sounded through the living room as he emerged from his bedroom. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, looking at Rachel and Emma on the chair for a moment before turning to look at the window to try and gauge just how early or late it was. “Everything okay?”

Rachel nodded, bracing one foot on the floor so that she could rock the chair that she was sitting in ever-so slightly. “Yea, we’re okay.”

Joey walked over, resting his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. He looked down at the two of them through half-lidded eyes, still heavy with the sleep he’d just woken up from. “You sure? What,” he tried to bite back a yawn and failed, “what time is it?”

“Early,” Rachel said with a soft laugh. Tilting her head up to look at him, she said, “You can go back to sleep, Joe. I think she’s almost ready to go back down.”

A small smile twitched the ends of his mouth. He could feel the tiredness in him, and he wanted to go back to bed and get right back to snoring through what little was left of the night. But he wasn’t going to leave Rachel alone now that they were both up and in the living room. There had been a couple times in the short span between all of them leaving the hospital, and the moment they were currently in, when Joey would hear the two of them on the other side of the wall from him. He was tempted to go over and offer to help, but Rachel always seemed to get it under control so quickly.

He wondered when the right time would be to offer shuffling around the sleeping arrangements. He wanted to tell Rachel that the room the two girls shared could be turned into a room that was just Emma’s, and that Rachel could stay in his room with him. But it felt so soon.

“You can join us, you know,” Rachel said as she nodded to the chair that was next to hers. “If she wasn’t so close to falling asleep again I’d offer you this chair, but…”

Joey chuckled softly, shaking his head as he sat down in the seat next to them. “I wouldn’t wanna disturb the princess.”

The apartment fell silent again. It was dark, the slightest bit of grey light coming in through the slats in the blinds. It wasn’t going to be long before the grey started to shift into the first colors of the sunrise. As Joey sat there, staring at Rachel as she stared at Emma, the thought crossed his mind that even though he’d never been a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, he wouldn’t mind being up to see the sunrise with the two of them every morning.

Rachel didn’t have to take her eyes off her daughter to know that Joey was staring at her. “What’re you thinkin’, Joe?” she asked, still looking at Emma.

There were so many things that he wanted to say to her, but it wasn’t the right time. He didn’t know when the right time would be, but it didn’t feel like he’d reached it yet. “Nothing.”

Rachel hummed, finally peeling her gaze away from the baby that had just gone back to sleep in her arms. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

“When have I ever lied to you?” he asked, and once he saw the disbelieving look on her face he chuckled and added on, “Successfully.”

The tired smile on her face grew a little wider as she stood up. “Let me put her back down,” she stepped between the chairs and towards her room that doubled as Emma’s nursery, “and we can talk.”

He wanted to argue but he knew that it wouldn’t be any use. He was never good at saying no to her, but he was even worse at winning arguments against her. Instead, he just watched her slowly, quietly pad off into the next room. In the quiet of their apartment, Joey was able to hear the rustling of Rachel getting the baby situated. He smiled, tilting his head to hear it a little better. He never would’ve thought that he would be living with a woman who had a baby, definitely didn’t think that he would be enjoying it.

He also never thought that the woman would be Rachel.

She tip-toed back out of her bedroom and into the living room. Even though there was no way that she wouldn’t hear the baby cry, she still had the baby monitor in one hand. With her free hand, she raked her fingers back through her hair. It had that slight bit of messiness to it from her tossing and turning, but to Joey she still looked just as beautiful as ever.

One end of Joey’s mouth lifted into a soft smirk. “If you’re tired we can always—”

Rachel stopped him short by plopping down on the arm of his chair. She slumped against his side, one arm snaking around behind his neck and draping over his shoulders. Joey huffed out a quiet laugh as his arm reflexively wound around her waist. She leaned a little more into him, resting her head on his shoulder, somehow managing to be as close to him as she could possibly hope to be without falling completely into his lap.

He chuckled quietly as he let his head rest against hers. “How you doin’, Rach?”

She laughed quietly against his shoulder. “It’s impressive, really, how you can be pervy and caring at the same time.” They both chuckled once more before Rachel took a deep breath, letting her body relax against his a little more. “How are you, though, Joey?” She tilted her head just enough so that her eyes could meet his. “I know we haven’t really gotten a chance to talk since everything at the hospital. We sorta agreed to try and figure this out without ever really, you know, talking about what this is.”

“I’m, you know,” he nodded, shrugging with that same smile that Rachel had come to know so well and love so much, “I’m good.”

“Really?” she questioned. It was hard for her not to doubt him, not because it was Joey, but because it was all so much to ask of anyone.

He laughed and nodded. “Of course. I’ve got you back,” he squeezed her gently, “Emma’s here,” he nodded towards the other room, “how could I not be good?”

Rachel smiled, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes. “I know that it all got a little mixed up there for a bit…” she trailed off, knowing that she was putting it more than lightly.

Joey chuckled. “It did.”

His expression shifted from one of amusement to one of deep thought. He wanted to have the right thing to say about it all. Things at the hospital had gotten mixed up. It was a straight-up mess for a little while there. If one was being unforgiving, they’d say it was a mess that they were all still trying to clean up. But Joey didn’t really think of it that way. Despite the confusion, despite the difficult conversations, despite having to take back a ring that hadn’t been his to give away in the first place, Joey knew that it had all gotten them to the right spot, to where they were now. Maybe he wasn’t in any position to propose now, and Rachel wasn’t in any position to be proposed to, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t work towards that. If he hadn’t blundered the way that he had, Rachel and Emma wouldn’t have come home with him, and she wouldn’t be a few inches away from sitting on his lap right then.

“I’ve been thinking about,” Rachel started, giving his shoulder a tiny squeeze, “us. All,” she nodded towards Emma’s room, “of us.”

“Yea?” Joey wished that he didn’t feel as anxious as he did about where Rachel’s train of thought was going.

“Yea. But first I wanna know what you’ve been thinking. If, you know, if you still want everything that we talked about before. I know it’s different now that Emma and I are actually here, but—”

“I still want everything that I said,” Joey cut her off, but gently. Feeling a little braver than he had a few moments before, he pulled Rachel closer so that she was fully on his lap, her legs draped over his own. “It is different with the two of you here, but it’s only made me want this more.” His heart pounded in his chest but the smile on his face just kept growing. “I’m crazy about you, Rach, just as much now as before. And I, I love Emma. I love having the two of you here.”

She wanted to blame the tears stinging her eyes on the hormones and the exhaustion, but she knew what the real reason for them was as a smile stretched across her face. “Oh, Joey.”

“And I know,” he chuckled through the emotional lump building in his throat, “I know the ring wasn’t mine, and the proposal wasn’t really one, and it’s probably not really the time right now,” his grin grew a little more with each word, knowing just how ridiculous it all was, “but I do want that with you one day. With my own ring, and a real proposal, and when—”

“When it’s the right time,” her voice was hardly a whisper as she finished the sentence for him.

He nodded as he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “Exactly.

She gently cupped both sides of his face in her hands. “I’d like that.”

His body sagged with relief, letting go of tension he hadn’t even felt himself holding onto. “Yea?”

She laughed as she nodded, the motion causing their foreheads and noses to rub against each other’s. “Yea, I really would.”

“I love you, Rachel.” It was a sentence that he’d said countless times over the course of their friendship, but he knew it was different this time, he could feel the shift in the weight behind it.

Rachel’s thumbs grazed along his cheeks. “I love you too.”

He felt his breath threatening to get stuck in his throat as he started to ask, “Can I—”

She closed the sliver of a gap left between them before he got the tail-end of his sentence out, pressing her lips to his. Joey’s arm wrapped tighter around her back, the other reaching up so that his hand was resting on the back of her head and pulling her closer to him. Her lips were soft, gentle against his, and he didn’t try to push it to be anything more. He wondered, if he kissed her for long enough, if the rest of the world outside their apartment wouldn’t just fall away, if it would just be him and his two favorite girls in the world.

When Rachel pulled back, the rest of the world was still there, but more importantly Joey knew that this wasn’t all just some dream that he was going to get yanked out of as he woke up. The rest of the world was there, sure, but more important than that, Rachel was still there, Emma was still there.

“We’re gonna figure it all out,” she said to him after a few seconds of silence.

She was close enough that Joey could feel her breath against his skin as she spoke. He nodded. “I know. We’ll figure it out together. Just like always.”

#rachel green #joey tribbiani #friends #friends the show #friends tv #f.r.i.e.n.d.s #rachel x joey #joey x rachel #rachel green x joey tribbiani #joey tribbiani x rachel green #friends fanfiction #joey tribbiani fanfiction #rachel green fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[aidellylover]

My fanfictions with Aidan and Elly

Back To You

Their story after the movie. Ten chapters.

Prequel - Aidan and Rachel's relationship in their spy era:

You're driving me crazy!

Everything I do, I do it for you

Secret date in Greece

Prequel - Five years as Elly Conway:

Dance & Wine

#aidelly #argylle #argylle movie #elly and aidan #elly conway #rachel kylle #aidan wilde #sam rockwell #bryce dallas howard #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #story #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing

[thomas-life]

I wrote and @drksanctuary drew the chapter image for my Fluffy Coffee Shop AU Oneshot. its just short and cute. i hope you enjoy!

 A Nicobaster Coffee Shop AU with notes of ReyRae.

Hazel opens up a coffee shop and Nico is helping her out by working at it while she is still hiring staff. He meets the local union rep Alabaster Torrington...

Hidden Gem Cafe

“Well don’t you look chipper.”

Nico huffs and glares in the direction of one Rachel Elizabeth Dare.  She looks entirely too well put together with her red curls in a pony tail and black apron around her waist. The coffee shop door clinks closed behind him and he locks it. They don’t open for another 30 minutes.

“Some of us,” Nico replies, “aren’t born to be Baristas.”

Rachel snorts at his attempt at insulting her. “You’re just grumpy because you’re used to waking up at noon, and we both know it.” She pats his shoulder sympathetically as he passes. “You really will do anything for your sisters.”

Nico grunts. The clock on the break room wall reads 4:30 a.m.

Who in their right mind would ever willingly be up this early in the morning for coffee?  He emerges with his apron tied around his hips and eyeliner applied in hopes that the bags under his eyes don’t show too starkly. Rachel is preparing the drip coffee canisters and Nico starts on the pastry display case.  He’s a little surprised that Hazel hasn’t show up, but according to his text string she had barely managed to get to bed around 2 am, anxious as she was for the Hidden Gem Café’s Grand Opening. 

Nico opens the doors right on time, Rachel humming behind the counter. He can’t help but yawn. “Why are you like this.” He deadpans. He has no energy in his entire body and she laughs at him.

“The trick,” she side whispers like it’s some big secret, “ –is that I never went to sleep in the first place!” She sing songs the rest, and Nico can’t help but realize…Rachel is delusional.

He groans and makes a cup of coffee with creamer and four sugars. He might as well take advantage, and coffee really is mostly a way he uses to get sugar into his system. He takes a large swig as the door chimes and Hazel’s first ever customer enters.

The man that enters is tall and looks a little frantic. Nico tries to smile but it doesn’t come naturally, so he settles on a bemused expression as the man approaches the counter, his dress shoes clicking along the vinyl flooring. “Hey,” Nico wonders if that was too casual of a greeting but proceeds, as it’s too early to be self-conscious. “What can I get you?” The man’s squinting at the menu on the wall behind the counter, freckles scrunching on his nose; He seems almost startled to be addressed at all.

“Oh- ah,” He clears his throat looking vaguely apologetic and he ruffles his light brown hair. “Do you sell large travel containers of coffee?”

Nico nods, “We’re not busy, so we can make you one, but it will take some time. It’s $30 plus tax.”

The man brightens, “Perfect. I’ll also get a small coffee and…” he looks at the pastry display case, “One of those lemon poppy seed muffins.” A smile flashes across his face and Nico can’t help but think the man is handsome.

“You got it.” Nico winks at him, and blames it on how sleep deprived he is; he can feel the sugar and caffeine starting to work through his blood stream,  “Name for the order?”

“Alabaster.”

Alabaster sounds a little strained…Maybe I shouldn’t have winked at him. Nico thinks as he writes the name on a small cup. He looks up to see Alabaster blushing and holding his hand against the bottom half of his face. Or maybe I should do it again… Nico reconsiders, his mood sufficiently boosted. He fills the small cup himself since Rachel is working on the traveler and grabs the muffin as Alabaster inserts his credit card to pay. He looks at the other pastries in the case and grabs a cookie.

He hands both over to Alabaster. “Here’s something sweet... For being our first customer at our Grand Opening.”

Alabaster flushes again and takes them. “Thank you. I do appreciate you accommodating me.”

“Anytime.” Nico responds; This time the smile comes easily. “Enjoy your coffee. You’re traveler will be ready in a couple minutes.”

Alabaster nods and settles down at a table, taking his traveler when it’s finished, waving at Nico as he leaves.

Nico hopes he comes again.

-------

“You’re telling me you fell in love at first sight with a barista, and now you go two cities over every Monday morning just to see him?” Reyna sounds incredulous and when she says it like that, Alabaster can’t help but agree. It does sound ridiculous.

“-And the Coffee!” he rushes to justify. “Not just the Barista, Reyna. The coffee too. There’s a reason it’s called Hidden Gem- And it wasn’t at first sight!” he defends himself.

Reyna scoffs at him as they get out of the car. It’s a rare Friday off and he had insisted they come to this location for coffee. Reyna won’t deny she’s intrigued, and she’s not actually all that bothered. It’s not every day she gets to tease Alabaster C. Torrington about having a crush.

It didn't hurt that and he’d brought her some of their coffee a couple weeks ago. It really was much better than any of the popular chains they had around the office. She can’t help but tease a little more. “So when are you going to actually ask him on a date?”

Alabaster looks at her, a scandalized expression on his face. “Ask him out? While he’s at work??” His tone drips with derision, “ oh yes, that what everyone wants. For some random customer to ask them out on a date while their just working their shift.”

Reyna laughs and elbows him. “I thought you said he was flirting with you .”

Alabaster puffs out one cheek, “I believe I said I wasn’t sure if he was flirting with me. And I don’t want to be a creep. Or make him feel uncomfortable. Or ruin everything. What if I can never come back to his place because I fucked it all up?! That would be the absolute worst…” He looks regretful, “I’d have to go back to regular coffee and we both know that would be awful. I’m too pampered now.”

Reyna opens the door to Hidden Gem Café. The place is nice; plenty of space seating with personal touches that make the space welcoming and homey. There’s a mural on the wall next to the seating area she can’t help but admire. It really would be a terrible loss if Alabaster could never come here again.

A man’s voice greets them as they approach the counter, and Reyna can see why Alabaster, their number one union organizer, who has nerves of steel when negotiating with greedy executives, has been acting like a teenager: Dark hair and eyes, muscled forearms, eyeliner and earrings…just Alabaster’s type.  He keeps glancing at her with a subtly perturbed expression, and it takes her a moment to realize- she smirks. That is crestfallen expression someone that thinks we are dating.

She nudges Alabaster, hoping he will take her hint, but he’s too engrossed in chatting with Nico to notice to subtle signs of distress. She’s almost worried Nico will get the wrong idea.

Nico gestures to her, looking at Alabaster with intensity. “Is she you’re girlfriend?”

Alabaster almost chokes on his own saliva as he’s in such a rush to say ‘No’.  “Absolutely. Not.” Alabaster confirms.

Reyna likes straightforward people, and she likes Nico even more for his blunt attitude. That will save them a lot of drama down the road.  “We’re just friends.” She seconds, “And besides, you’re co-worker is more my type anyway.” She smiles winningly at the red-head behind the counter who grins back at her and gestures to Nico and Alabaster with a shrug that communicated “what can you do?”

Reyna moves to the side, waiting at the pickup counter for their coffee order. Rachel approaches with two drinks and hands them to her. “Were you serious about me being your type?” she asks, looking honestly curious, “-because I’m available.”

Alabaster chuckles nervously as Reyna walks away and looks back at Nico who appears relieved. He hopes he isn’t reading too much into that. “Honestly. She’s just a good friend.”

Nico nods, and rings up their order, debating if he should ask… more. It’s been a while since they first met, and Nico always gets butterflies on the days when Alabaster comes in. “You know,” he starts, and decides to barrel on with it, “I get off shift today in an hour … are you free after that? I know a good Italian place that serves a really good lunch menu.” He hears Alabaster audibly take a breath. “Yes!” Alabaster’s voice can be heard very clearly over the background noise of people and music. “ah- I mean. Yes.” He returns to a normal volume, “I would love…that.” He can’t stop grinning from ear to ear. “I would really really like that.”

The End

@them-awesome-rarepairs

#nicobaster #shadowmagic #reyrae #reyna/rachel #nico di angelo #alabaster torrington #alabaster c torrington #coffee shop au #pjo fanfiction #my writing #pjo rare pair week 2023 #pjo rarepair week 2023 #fluff

[bella-buggied]

so ive been thinking of my Inés cast in invisible string, and how it never really fully fit my vision of her

and so lately whenever im writing ive been considering Rachel Zegler as the new cast- what do we think? should i change it to her?

ps she finally met oscar you guys 🥹

#writing #wattpad fanfiction #original story #ocs #fanfic #bella ramsey #bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey x fem!reader #bella ramsey x oc #inés torres #oc #oc cast #writing diary #bella ramsey fanfic #wattpad #rachel zegler #bella ramsey blurb #fanfic writing #fanfic cast

[entitynotfound]

PJO + KOTLC crossover where the KOTLC boys (Tam, Dex, Fitz, Keefe) get lost/stuck in the Forbidden Cities and end up finding Nico, Will, and Rachel (who are BestiesTM) and Nico is like "why are there elves here wtf?" because he's Nico and for some reason He Knows All and decides to help them out while trying to figure Why There There when they are definitely Not Supposed To Be.

so the Boys are trying so hard not to reveal that they aren't human while the Trio already know and are just kinda laughing at there efforts.

set after Stellarune but before Will and Nico's book probably.

bonus points if Nico helps Tam figure out Shade stuff at some point because Why Not

#keeper of the lost cities #kotlc #tam song #dex dizznee #fitz vacker #keefe sencen #nico di angelo #will solace #rachel elizabeth dare #someone help me come up with an actual plot #ive never written fanfiction but i kinda wanna write this

[rlbbackup]

Just This Once...

This was inspired by SxF Chapter 87 and Aerequest's lovely comic! Please enjoy!

Beware minor spoilers.

AO3 Link Aerequet's art!

~~~~~~~~~🕵️~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t intended to get caught in the hallway.

With all the commotion coming from the living room, how was a man to get any kind of rest (or, in Twilight’s case, finish working on his report regarding the whole shit storm that had gone down in Shellbury and maybe catch fifteen minutes of shut eye). His arm ached, his head throbbed, and every sound felt amplified by a thousand, even with the door closed.

It was probably his injuries that led to his slower reaction after opening the door from his room to hear clearly what was going on out there. Blue eyes simply staring down the hallway, watching as Yor knelt down at Bond’s side. The large dog rested his paws and face on her lap, his fluffy tail wagging eagerly.

Over the chaos that was Anya and Franky arguing about something Twilight could barely catch, the spy could see his wife’s lips move, inquiring to their dog.

“You’re enjoying this, huh Bond?” She asked, a happy smile on her lips as she brought her strong, bandaged hands gently on the dog’s fur, one hand patting him lightly while the other moved in gentle strokes with a brush.

He was so exhausted that he couldn’t turn away from the sight. A little voice told him to go back to his room, that he had work to do, that no one was in danger and he needed to sit down, dammit.

But he was pinned to the spot. Too weary to move, to look away, to go. Torn between want and responsibility.

Which in turn led to his daughter spotting him. Her head snapping towards him, her green eyes honing in on him like heat seeking missiles, her expression morphing into something not entirely innocent but not entirely malicious either.

“HaHa!” She called, letting go of Franky’s arm and clutching her fists in front of her. “You have to fsshh Chichi! Since Scruffy is a coward!”

Fsshh? What the -

“Hey!” Franky called in protest, but was drowned out by another anxious voice.

“Oh no!” Yor called, her voice pitching up into that range when she was worried she had messed something up irreversibly. Ruby red eyes landed on him, wide and remorseful. “D-Did we wake you up? I’m so sorry, Loid-san!”

“Wh-” Twilight began only to be cut off.

“Fssh him, HaHa!” Anya demanded, now jumping up and down. Her little Mary Jane’s clacking on the wood and most definitely bothering the neighbor below.

“Heh! Yeah, I’d love to see that!” Franky added, cackling...even if he had been distraught only moments prior for some reason. "A nice downpayment for retrieving those things you needed from work, eh, Loidman!"

“No!” Yor squeaked, hands outstretched towards Anya over Bond’s prone form to stop her from stomping. “Your Papa needs his rest, a-and he did say his head hurt so -”

Oh. The dots finally clicked. Thank goodness this was just a small (but demanding) request from his daughter and not something that ticked seconds closer to the end of the world. \

Fsshh must mean brush. Like what Yor had been doing to Bond only seconds earlier.

Taking a deep breath, Twilight felt his ears redden. Should he give in? Anya was already making a loud fuss over this and with Franky encouraging her... there would probably be a tantrum on the horizon.

If only he had been fast enough to retreat back to his room before he had been spotted.

Some spy he was.

Clearing his throat lightly, two of the voices quieted, eyes boring into him to see his answer. Drooping his head slightly, Twilight acquiesced.

“Once is...fine.” He answered, barely audible down the hallway, his feet finally able to move, move towards the living room.

Yor’s face snapped towards him. “Huh? But-”

Although everything ached, his strides still took him to his wife’s side in a few seconds. “Just once and then you really should get back to you schoolwork.”

Their daughter had the gall to look a bit smug at that, as if her father had complimented her antics, even with this insistance that she study. If he had been well enough, he probably would have thought that something was afoot, but he was just...so worn out.

Careful to not accidentally trip over or step on Bond, Twilight sat down on the floor next to Yor and pulled his knees to his chest. Blue eyes staring ahead, unseeing as his wife shifted beside him. Her bandaged fingers came down softly on one side of his head while the brush made contact with his golden locks on the other.

Just once. He thought, though he could feel his mind beginning to unfurl, a soft...barely remembered memory coming to the forefront.

“Hold still, baby! Let me get these knots out of your hair. Then you can go play with your friends.”

“Just this once, Mama! I’m a big kid! I can take care of my hair myself.”

The gentle sound of fsshh... fssshhh so close to his ear made the memory go stronger, heavier in his heart. His expression flattened, his eyes narrowed but not in anger or suspicion...just distant as the past came flooding back.

Just this once...is fine.

#Spy x family #sxf fanfiction #sxf fanfic #Rachel Writes things #SxF manga spoilers #Sxf Chapter 87 spoiler #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #franky franklin #bond forger #i hope this turned out okay... I #I wrote this while I was sick ngl #No beta we die like men

[9firefly9]

GUYS IM BORED! COULD SOMEONE PLEASE SEND ME A FANFIC REQUEST! I WANT TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR TWILIGHT OR SOMETHING WITH BBRAE (beast boy and raven) IN IT BUT I CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING TO WRITE! PLEASE HELP ME!

#9firefly9 #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #fic writing #request #requests open #bbrae fanfiction #bbrae #twilight fanfiction #twilight saga #twilight #twilight books #dc universe #raven x beast boy #beast boy #rachel roth #raven roth

[escherlat]

Last Stand

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

Not at all.

Jagged rocks and hard earth dug into Max’s knees as she knelt before the crude grave. Stones jumbled together in a chaotic mess, just like her life.

You didn't deserve this. It should be me in there, not you. Max thought as the stones blurred together.

A void opened in her chest, hungry, relentless.

She wiped her nose with a gloved hand while around her the world screamed with engines, blaster fire, and explosions. It was a fitting end to this chapter of her life where peace was constantly stolen from her. She so desperately wanted to cry but tears simply wouldn’t come.

A hand fell onto her shoulder, far heavier than it should be. Immediately, she grabbed it and held on as her mind threatened to slip away into the void.

"Come on," Rachel cried, "they're closing in! Transport's ready. We gotta fucking go!"

A nearby rock shattered, spraying them with shrapnel, as if to emphasize her words. Several bits sliced Max’s cheek and hand, leaving red trails in their wake.

The void beckoned.

Max stood.

Continue Reading...

#max caulfield #amberpricefield #fanfic #life is strange fanfiction #life is strange #lis fanfic #rachel amber #chloe price #creative #creative writing #fanfiction #alternative universe

[naturallydark]

Inscryptober Week 3: Crossover

I wrote a crackfic for my Inscryption/FRIENDS AU for this week’s Inscryptober prompt but it’s almost too absurd to share so here’s this much more wholesome drawing I made a few months ago. If you have any spare braincells knocking around in your brain that you want gone, check below the cut for the fic.

Okay, you asked for it. Make sure you check the tags before reading, and don’t say I didn’t warn you. https://archiveofourown.org/works/42504768

#inscryptober #inscryption #inscryption au #friends sitcom #fanfiction #i stayed up incredibly late on the 19th in order to upload that story in time for inscryption's anniversary #and yet stupid ao3 marked the upload date as being on the 20th #anyways this story is 100% pure shitpost written after years of being tormented by the show friends #i hate that show so so much #really i hate the writing and ross and rachel in particular #everyone else can stay #especially joey #in this house we love and respect joey #i can write better than that i promise #this was just for fun #my art #my fics