#Rachel would faint

[0nerd-at-heart0]

The Stress of a Case

Harvey Specter x Female Reader

Please Read: Hello! It's been a hot minute since I have published anything. Have been currently studying for my LSATS and have been a busy bee but after being obsessed with Suits for the past 2 years and waiting for more Harvey stories to be published I decided to create my own little storyline. What started off as a storyline in my head is now on paper. I have this idea to create a mini-story/universe: how the reader got hired, when she first met Mike, her first case with Harvey, her first date with Harvey, etc. I guess I just want to see if people are interested. It's been a while since I had written anything that wasn't an academic paper and my writing skills have changed drastically. This is one of the first the fics of the universe I am building in my head that I have written so I decided to publish this. I hope yall enjoy it, please give feedback.

Warnings: Talks about not eating (due to stress), food mention, panic attack details, fainting, Harvey being an ass, cursing I think? if I am missing anything please let me know

Word count: 5.6k

Taglist: @happy74827 @princessvader15 @hashcakes @yiiiikesmish @malfoys-demigod

I tagged those who commented under my last post I hope that's okay and if you aren't interested in being tagged let me know and I will remove you sorry.

As you entered the corridors of Pearson Hardman, they were alive with the usual buzz of legal minds at work, but this time, a distinct tension hung in the air. You didn't even get a few steps into the associates area before hearing the straining  voice of Louis Litt yelling that there was an emergency meeting. 

You scrambled behind, stuffing your mouth with the banana nut muffin you thought you would eat peacefully at your desk this morning. You knew what this meeting was about, everyone knew. The case against Amir Jackson, the firm's ex-lawyer turned adversary, had everyone on edge. 

The briefing room was filled with hushed whispers as everyone settled in, and even the confident strides of Harvey Specter and Louis Litt carried a subtle weight.

Harvey, impeccably dressed as always, stood at the head of the conference table, his piercing gaze flickering between Jessica Pearson and the gathered associates, and maybe it was your imagination but it might have lingered a little longer on you. Snapped out of your imagination when he spoke, "Listen up, people. This case is different. Amir Jackson knows us inside out, and he won't hesitate to use that knowledge against us. He's playing dirty, and we need to be ready for anything."

You never got to meet Amir Jackson, but oh the stories. The firm had no problem doing what they needed to do to be successful, but there was a line they never dared cross and Amir crossed it. 

Jessica leaned forward, her hands planted firmly on the table. "Amir's betrayal when he left this firm was bad enough. Now, he's trying to take a piece of us with him. We can't let that happen."

Louis chimed in. "I've seen my fair share of dirty plays, but this guy is in a league of his own. We need to be one step ahead, or he'll bury us."

The gravity of the situation was sinking  in, associates exchanged knowing glances. They understood the magnitude of the challenge ahead. Amir Jackson wasn't just a legal opponent; he was a former comrade who knew their strengths and weaknesses intimately. The fact that there was a meeting needing to be held just told how much this case was about to get tricky. Usually the inner circle dealt with these cases: Harvey, Louis, Jessica, Mike and maybe sometimes Rachel. 

Your role as the go-to person for legal paperwork kept you in the thick of it. While Harvey Specter had his famed right-hand man in Mike Ross, he knew he could rely on you for drafting contracts with a precision that went beyond mere proficiency.

You might not have been Harvey's drinking buddy or his confidant like Mike, but there was a unique dynamic between you both. It was a quiet understanding that transcended the formalities of the workplace. You  knew you would never be his protege, and that was perfectly fine with you. What you brought to the table was a specialized skill set that complemented Harvey's legal prowess, if you do say so yourself. 

His voice thundered through the briefing room as he adjusted his cuffs, “I am building a specific legal team to help bring down Amir Jackson”. 

Of coure Harvey was going to pick Mike Ross, Mike was worth more than 8 associates. How much more help does he need? Who else could he need? Harvey's eyes scanned the room filled with associates. His gaze settled on you, and he flashed a sly grin. "You, Y/N. You're on my team for this one.” 

Harvey and you had worked together various times. He always knew he could count on you for legal paperwork. As much as he depended on Mike Ross, there was one thing you were that Mike wasn’t and that was that you had a talent when it came to drafting contracts. But I believe that there was some respect, one might even say in a blossoming friendship between you and him. You got a spark of it when he teasingly picked you out of the bunch of associates to be part of his team for his takedown of Amir Jackson. 

“You know, Y/N, if paperwork were an Olympic sport, you'd be a gold medalist," Harvey remarked with a wry grin, “And I expect you to bring the gold home for Pearson Hardman”

“I won’t let you down Sir”, you gave a weak smile as all eyes were on you.

 You hated the attention, yet you couldn’t help the small heat you felt on our cheeks as Harvey stared at you. Drawn to playing with the bracelet you wore as you slightly cringed at yourself for the words that came out of your mouth. Sir? Really. Stupid, you thought. 

Harvey moved past it and called out the name of 2 more associates and asked if anyone else wanted in on the case had to draw up a proposal. He only wanted the best of the best and trust him, he would get the best of the best. 

You made your way to Harvey’s office as the meeting was dismissed. And you reminisce on the first time Harvey complimented on your legal work. 

“ Are you a sorcerer”, Harvey asked as he made his way to your cubicle. It was late one night and you were stuck on an email. You had this need to overachieve and be perfect and it showed in everything you did. But if you were being honest it was exhausting. 

You glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Harvey, someone has to make sure the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed. Can't let you walk into a negotiation with a misplaced comma, now can we?"

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Maybe it's the lack of sleep or the fact that you had 4 coffees. But the confidence was there and to your surprise, Harvey chuckled. 

You swear you saw a twinkle in his eye as he responded, "You're practically the Mozart of legal documents. I half expect those contracts to start singing a symphony when I open them."

You smirked, setting aside the email you were currently writing, swiveling your chair to face him,  "If you want a soundtrack to your legal victories, Harvey, I'm sure I can find a way to make that happen."

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Now that's the kind of innovation I like to see. Who needs background music at a negotiation? Just cue in Y/N legal masterpiece."

You couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the idea. "I'll be sure to add it to the list of services I provide, Harvey. Background music, legal counsel, and a dash of flair."

Harvey straightened up, his signature confidence in full force. "Flair is your middle name, isn't it? The 'Legal Maestro with a Touch of Flair.' Has a nice ring to it."

You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. "I'll have to update my business cards. But let's be honest, Harvey, you appreciate the flair. It's what sets my paperwork apart from the rest."

Harvey smirked, leaning in. "You're not wrong. But don't let it get to your head. I can't have you drafting contracts with a crown on, declaring yourself the Queen of Legal Documents." He turned to leave right after and you could have sworn you were asleep and that any moment now you would wake up from this dream.

You yelled out, “Don't worry, Harvey. I'll keep the royal proclamations to a minimum. Wouldn't want to overshadow your crown as the King of Closing Deals." And you could have sworn he let out a hearty laugh from down the hall. 

“Y/N, nice of you to join us”, Harvey said. Jessica and Mike were already in the room as the other associates were already screaming. They had been given their assignments and were off to work. 

“What can I do”, you spoke above a whisper, feeling small as the eyes were all on you. Jessica knew your history, she knew you struggled to be the shark of a lawyer you could be. But she hired you anyway, your interview with her wasn't the best. But she saw something in you, something that reminded her of herself when she was starting off. She was gonna build and mold you to a shark. But for now she let you be. A shark wasn’t born overnight. 

“ I need one of your flawless contracts for Amir. I need no loopholes. Nothing he can use against us”, Harvey spoke in a harsher tone then he meant. 

All you could do was nod your head and swiftly leave the room to do the research needed.  Leaving Mike, Harvey and Jessica to chatter. As you walked down the corridor you saw Louis making his way to Harvey’s office with Rachel in tow. All hands on deck indeed, you thought to yourself. 

The first night working on that draft through the dim glow of the late-night office lights illuminated your determined face. The rhythmic tapping of the keyboard was accompanied by the occasional crunch of Hot Cheetos. 

Proud of  your work, you compiled the neatly typed pages and confidently walked over to Harvey Specter's desk. As  you  placed the document in the designated spot, you felt relief wash over you. It’s currently 2:00 am, no one is here but you but you really wanted to prove your worth. 

With only 5 hours asleep, the next day, you walked into the office, a little pep in your step. You made yourself some crappy coffee. And were about to head into the bullpen. 

Harvey, engrossed in his own work the minute he stepped into the office, took a moment to glance at the papers. His stern expression, usually unreadable, twisted into a scowl as he noticed a small Hot Cheeto stain near the corner of the document. And called you down to his office. Your pep was gone once you heard his tone of voice as he called your name. Turning on your heel you headed towards his office. Donna was expecting you and let you by. One foot through the door is as far as you got before Harvey had something to say. 

"Do you see this?" Harvey's voice was sharp pointing at the small stain.

Panicking slightly, you stammered, "I'm sorry, Harvey. I must have missed that." It was an easy fix, just print another copy, you thought to yourself making a mental note.

Harvey's gaze shifted from the stain to the content of the contract. He began circling errors with a red pen, his frustration apparent. "And these mistakes? This is what you place on my desk and yet it isn't up to my expectations”.

As he pointed out the errors, your pride in their work crumbled. The Hot Cheeto stain seemed to just make Harvey go on a power trip.. Each correction felt like a blow,"I expect better from you," Harvey remarked, his tone cold and unforgiving.

You nodded, unable to muster a response. Maybe the growing friendship you thought of was truly in your head.  As Harvey returned to his own work,  you retreated to their desk, determined to rectify the mistakes. 

You admit your first draft wasn't the best. And you shouldn't have eaten near the paperwork. You were currently starving as you finished up the last paragraph. It’s been 6 hours since Harvey scolded you but  this draft was perfect. And after you turned it in you were going to treat yourself  to a nice dinner. Probably the Mexican place down the road. You were zoned in for the past 6 hours. This was the only case you were working on and it needs all your attention. But your attention was quickly zoned into the associate that was stumbling through the door. 

Mike comes waltzing in, barely having any balance.  You and Mike haven't really talked much. But he didn't look well. 

“ Hey, Mike. You okay?" you asked, concerned in your voice. 

Mike attempted a nonchalant smile, but the wavering balance gave away his inebriated state. "Yeah, just...you know, a little tired."

Observing Mike closely, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story. "Are you sure about that?"

Mike hesitated before confessing, "Okay, fine. Maybe a bit more than tired. Harvey and I went to meet someone about the Amir Jackson case, and things got a bit...out of hand with the drinks"

Your  concern shifted to a mix of annoyance and frustration. While you had been tirelessly working on the second version of the contract, Harvey and Mike were out getting drunk. "Seriously, Mike? We have a case to win, and you two are out here partying?"

Mike scratched his head, a sheepish grin on his face. "We thought it was a good idea at the time. Maybe it was a bit impulsive."

Determined to express their frustration,  you headed towards Harvey's office, the door slightly opened,. Knocking lightly, you  entered and handed Harvey the second draft of the contract. The faster you gave it to him the faster you could leave. 

"Here's the updated version, Harvey," you said, trying to mask your  annoyance. After all, he is still the boss.

You sped walked out of there and back to your cubicle. Mike was there still, with his head on his desk. 

“Go ask Donna for some pain killers, you still have a long night ahead of you”, you told him. 

Mike just nodded and stumbled as he stood up to go to Donna. You were packing your bags, ready to call it an early night. When your computer dinged.  You sat down to respond to an email quickly when you felt the tension of the bullpen change drastically.

“What is this, Y/N ?" Harvey's tone was sharp, his blue eyes piercing into mine.

You frowned, confused by the unexpected hostility. "It's the contract you asked for, Harvey. I double-checked everything, and it's all in order."

He scoffed, he took out a red marker from his pocket and started circling stuff with his red marker again, "This is subpar, even for an associate. I don't have time for amateur hour."

You  felt a knot tighten in your stomach, a mix of frustration and disbelief. "Harvey, I don't understand. I followed the protocol, and the contract is flawless. What's the issue?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, cutting tone. "Flawless? If this is your definition of flawless, we're in trouble. I need precision, not this half-baked attempt at legal work."

The comments were like a punch to the gut. Harvey's relentless standards were known, but this seemed different. You couldn't fathom what had triggered such a harsh reaction. Was he too tipsy?  Doubt crept into your  mind, questioning your abilities despite knowing that the document was, by all standards, impeccable.

As you scrambled to gather my thoughts, Harvey continued. "If you can't handle the basics, I don't know why I bother keeping you around. Maybe it's time for a reality check, Y/N."

His words hung in the air, a heavy weight on my shoulders. The bullpen fell silent, and your colleagues exchanged uneasy glances. You knew how people judged women for being emotional in the workplace but you could not help the tears welling in your eyes. 

Harvey turned on his heel and walked away without a second glance, leaving you with a sinking feeling of inadequacy. You stared at the perfectly crafted document, now dismissed and devalued by Harvey's cutting words. It was a moment of doubt, a crack in the confidence you had built in your work. Goodbye nice dinner, you thought to yourself as we sat at your cubicle, back to square one. 

It's been about a week since Harvey yelled at you. You couldn't sleep, you couldn't eat. Doubt was eating you. You were always proud of your writing skills, that was what you were known for. This is what got you hired at Pearson Hardman. What if you weren't good enough for this job anymore? Did you speak? Your mind was racing and you were lucky enough to talk yourself down. You were currently working on your fifth version of this contract. Every draft before that had him taking out his red marker. A part of you could have sworn he was just circling things at random, but who are you to question the great Harvey Specter. It was 2:00 pm and you thought maybe you deserve a snack so you headed to the breakroom. Who do you happen to run into Mike Ross? He had no faults but just happened to be the unwitting recipient of your  frustration.

You stormed up to Mike barely containing the anger that had been building for weeks. "Mike, we need to talk," I blurted out, not bothering to hide the frustration in my voice.

Mike looked up from his sandwich, surprised by the intensity of my tone. "Sure, Y/N, what's going on?"

You took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "It's just... Do you ever feel like you're stuck in someone's shadow? Like no matter how hard you work, you're always one step behind?"

Mike furrowed his brow, sensing the gravity of my emotions. "What happened? Is it Harvey?"

You nodded, my frustration bubbling over. "It's always Harvey. He treats you like a partner, his drinking buddy, his go-to guy for everything. Meanwhile, I'm drowning in his shadow, drowning in rewrites and unreasonable expectations."

Mike leaned back, a sympathetic expression on his face. "I get it. Harvey has his moments. But you're great at what you do. Maybe he just doesn't see it."

"That's the problem, Mike. He doesn't see it. I'm just the person who writes and rewrites, constantly trying to meet his impossible standards. Did you know I can't even eat at my desk because once there was a Hot Cheeto stain on one of the drafts, and he lost it?"

Mike's eyes widened, realizing the extent of my frustration. "That's harsh, Y/N. Look, I know I have a different dynamic with Harvey, but it doesn't mean he values you any less. Maybe you should talk to him about how you're feeling."

"It's not that easy, Mike. I'm tired of being the one in the background. I can't handle the pressure anymore." you confessed, your voice laced with a mix of anger and vulnerability.

Mike sighed, understanding the weight of your words. "I can't fix everything, but I can listen. And I am truly sorry"

“NO, NO, no  I am sorry Mike, I am not mad at you or at Harvey. I guess I am mad at myself. I am just going back to work on my fifth version of this document”, you said as you felt the hunger take over. But you pushed through. You had to push through.

As you walked out of the break room,  Mike became an unexpected ally. He went to his binder Harvey put together and looked for the fourth version of the contract knowing Harvey had put it all in the file to look over. The document was perfect, no one could have done it better. 

Mike took in your look when you came bargaining in here. You looked awful. And what it was barely a week working on the case. Mike had heard about Harvey yelling in the bullpen but it had caused you so much disarray that Mike knew Harvey took it too far. He knew you and he didn't talk as much but Rachel adored you and he had to do the right thing and get Harvey to apologize.

Donna saw Mike striding towards Harvey’s office and knew what was coming. Donna knew Harvey was wound tight. That this case was getting the best of him and taking it out on the lovely Y/N but lord forbid she say anything. The last time she tried she nearly got her head chewed off too and Harvey right now needs to know he isn't alone in this case. 

"Harvey, you're being too hard on Y/N. The contract she wrote was perfect, and every draft since then has only improved upon perfection. You can't keep circling random stuff just to make her rewrite it," Mike asserted, his tone firm as he entered Harvey’s office. The fourth version of your contract in his hand. 

Harvey shot him a sharp glance. "I demand the best, and if she can't deliver, then maybe she's not cut out for this."

Mike shook his head. "It's not about delivering, Harvey. It's about you being stressed out over the case and taking it out on her. She's doing her best, and you need to acknowledge that."

Before Harvey could respond, Donna chimed in. "Mike's right, Harvey. I've seen the way you've been treating Y/N, and it's not fair. You've always had a soft spot for her, even if you won't admit it.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "A soft spot? Donna, you're reading too much into it."

Donna crossed her arms, "Harvey. I am Donna and I know everything. I also see everything. Harvey. Remember the time she was sick, and you made sure she had everything she needed? Or how you personally chose her for the team during the Jackson case? You compliment her skills and skip past everyone else you named for your team. You've got a soft spot for her, whether you admit it or not”

Mike nodded in agreement. "You can't deny it, Harvey. There's something about her that you can't ignore. Maybe it's time to acknowledge it and cut her some slack."

Harvey sighed, he didn't appreciate Mike and Donna ganging up on him but the fact that they were meant they maybe had a point, "Fine. Maybe I've been too hard on her. But she needs to know that mediocrity isn't acceptable."

Donna shook her head. "Harvey, there's a difference between pushing for excellence and being unnecessarily harsh. You owe Y/N an apology."

Reluctantly, Harvey nodded. "Alright. I'll talk to her. But this doesn't mean I'm going soft."

Donna smirked. "We wouldn't want that, Harvey."

Harvey made his way to find you. While Donna and Mike exchanged a knowing look. He made his way down to Rachels office, knowing that's where he will find you at these hours. He was taking the elevator and he thought about the last time both of you were in the elevator. It was the day the Amir Jackson case got handed for the first time. Harvey was on his way to meet with Amir for the first time in a long time to talk over the case, get under his skin.

The elevator doors closed, enclosing Harvey Specter and Y/N in a small, confined space. The tension from the  Jackson case was already weighing heavily on Harvey, evident by the way he impatiently tugged at his perfectly knotted tie.

"Harvey, relax. You're going to strangle yourself with that tie if you keep pulling on it," you quipped. You realized the stress coming off him and the words just flew out of your mouth before you could think.

Harvey shot them a sidelong glance, his usual stoicism momentarily replaced by a flicker of amusement. "Maybe I'd be better off without it."

A small, unexpected laugh escaped Harvey's lips, surprising both him and Y/N. It was a rare sight to witness Harvey Specter, the embodiment of seriousness, letting his guard down even for a moment. Specifically with you. 

" This isn't your first time easing the tension, I see the way you calm Rachel down when she gets in over her head. You always find a way to lighten the mood. What's your secret?" Harvey teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You shrugged, a smile forming as you too let down your guard "Maybe it's just my superpower. The ability to make even the mighty Rachel and even the mysterious Harvey Specter crack a smile."

Harvey's expression shifted back to his usual cool exterior, but a subtle warmth lingered in his eyes. "Careful, now you might start thinking you're irreplaceable."

As the elevator continued its ascent, the banter between you quieted down and Harvey and you started to go back to normal. Back to the quietness and coldness.

But before the elevator opened to the floor, Harvey sneaked in, “Well, don't let it get to your head. You're not the comedian Pearson Specter, just the document wizard.", his smile lingered a little before the face of the closer returned to its hard exterior. 

If you were there longer than Rachel or she was busy running around the office she allowed you to work in her small office room. It was currently 4:00 pm but Louis had yelled at all the associates and dismissed them for the day for being useless. Only those working on the Amir case were still here, plus Donna and Rachel. Rachel was off trying to get the emails of old associates of Amir. You thought that Mike probably went off with her after your little breakdown to him. You knew Harvey was in the office and that you were typing on your keyboard like there was no tomorrow. You  meticulously worked on the revised legal document, determined to prove to Harvey Specter that you could meet his standards and trying to prove yourself that you could melt your own standards. The door swung open abruptly, and you hooked up to see Harvey's stern expression.

"Y/N, we need to talk," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that another reprimand was imminent.

Your pulse quickened, and your breath caught in your throat. The anxiety that had been simmering since Harvey's earlier criticism surged to the surface. You felt a tightness in my chest, your hands trembling as you tried to compose myself.

Harvey noticed your distress, as his expression softened, and he took a step closer. "Hey, relax. I just wanted to talk about earlier. I think I may have been too harsh."

The words barely registered as your panic escalated. Your mind raced, and suddenly, you found it difficult to breathe. The walls of the office seemed to close in on you. Before you could respond, the edges of your vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness overcame you as you sat at the desk, gripping on to the edge for support. 

Harvey's concern deepened as he watched you struggle. "Hey hey hey, whoa, take it easy. You are okay, everything is okay”

But you couldn't catch your breath, and panic tightened its grip. Your hands shook uncontrollably, and you gasped for air. In the midst of the chaos, Harvey acted swiftly. He made his way around the desk kneeling down to be at eye level with you. 

"Deep breaths, Y/N. In and out," Harvey instructed, his voice a soothing anchor in the storm of panic.

As you continued to struggle, Harvey, without hesitation, he took your  hand and placed it over his heart. "Feel my heartbeat? Match your breaths to it. In, and out” 

His heartbeat served as a rhythmic guide, and slowly, your breaths synchronized with its steady cadence. The panic began to subside, replaced by a sense of calm that washed over you.  As the storm within you  quieted, exhaustion set in, and the world around you blurred into darkness.

Harvey caught you as you passed out. Guilt swept over him because he knew he was the cause of this. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile, the last time you ate, the last time you lit up a room. You were giving your all in this case and by doing so you were giving away parts of yourself too. He moved you onto Rachels couch so you could lay down properly. He knew you passed out because of panic and the lack of eating, he noticed these things about you. He noticed a lot about you actually, damn it Donna, he thought.

 He took his pocket square and wet it with your water bottle. He adjusted himself to the couch, moving so that your head was on his lap as he placed the cool rag on your forehead. 

The aftermath of the panic attack had left both of you in a vulnerable state. Yet Harvey couldn't deny the flutter in his chest as he gazed down at you. Was it concern for your well-being, or was it the proximity that had him on edge? He shook off the thought, focusing on steadying his own heartbeat.

In the midst of the stillness, the door creaked open, and right on cue Mike Ross cautiously entered. He took in the scene, the concern etched across his face.

"What happened?" Mike asked, his eyes shifting between Harvey and your unconscious state, ready to fight Harvey if he did you any physical harm.

Harvey, in his usual commanding tone, snapped, "Go to the Mexican restaurant two blocks down and get two number 5's."

Mike, taken aback, stammered, "But—"

"Just do it," Harvey insisted, his gaze never leaving you. 

Mike quickly exited, leaving Harvey alone with his unconscious colleague. He had so many questions but Harvey’s tone told him everything he needed to know.  Minutes later, the door swung open again, revealing Mike with bags of Mexican takeout in hand.

"Here," Mike said, handing the bags to Harvey. "I'll take off early for the night. Rachel and I were thinking about grabbing dinner. You got this, right?" A little weary to leave you, feeling like he should tell Rachel, Donna or even Jessica. But the look in Harvey’s eye told him he had nothing to worry about. 

Harvey nodded, a silent acknowledgment of Mike's understanding. As Mike left, Harvey couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and guilt. He knew you hadn't been eating well, and by the looks of your under eye bags you also hadn't been sleeping and the panic attack had been triggered by the stress of the Jackson case, a burden he bore on both their shoulders.

As you began to stir, Harvey glanced down at the bags of Mexican food. The aroma filled the room, and he hoped the gesture would, in some small way, make up for the turmoil he inadvertently caused.

"You're awake," Harvey remarked as you slowly opened their eyes.

You ignored everything around you as you slowly sat up with the help of Harvey. A blush rushing on your face realizing how close you were to Harvey. But all that faded when you saw the food, "How did you know this is my favorite?"

“That’s the first thing you ask?’Harvey raised an eyebrow. 

Your body slowly turned to face him.The headache and body sores had you wincing in pain. Harvey’s eyes held much guilt and sadness in them even as he tried to suppress them and act strong in front of you. This was about you and not about what he was feeling. 

“I am a simple girl. I get easily distracted by food”, you let out a small laugh even though you are exhausted, “Now answer my question”

Harvey hesitated, the words lingering on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to say that it's because he knew you. But Instead of admitting the depth of his knowledge about you, he chose a simpler response. "Who doesn't love Mexican food?" 

You hummed as he moved the desk closer to you so you wouldn't have to get up from the couch. The food was spread out and he took a seat next to you. A silence took over the room as you both began to eat. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension, the events of the panic attack still lingering in the air.

Harvey cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy silence. "Look, Y/N, I wanted to apologize for the unnecessary pressure I put on you. It was out of line, and I shouldn't have let it escalate to the point of causing a panic attack."

You glanced up from your plate, a mixture of exhaustion and forgiveness in your eyes. "Harvey, it's not entirely your fault. The case is stressful, and I should have handled it better."

Harvey's expression softened at your words. "That doesn't excuse my behavior. I should have been more considerate. I don't want you to feel like you have to carry the weight of the case alone."

You sighed, pushing the food around on their plate. "Harvey, I forgive you, but on one condition."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

" I can't keep being treated like an outsider, I know I only got hired because of my writing skills but I want to do more, be more. I want to be more than just the person who drafts contracts. I know I can be a kick ass lawyer if given the chance."

Harvey took a moment to absorb your words. The realization of the impact of his actions sank in, and he nodded. "You're right”

“Did those words really just come out of your mouth”, your eye grew wide as a smile danced on your lips’’

“Just, can you just shush for a moment”, he said as he placed his  fork down. 

“ Jessca told me when you were hired that you were born to be a shark. I guess I got so caught up in your skills that I haven't really even given you the chance to dominate the courtroom.  I shouldn't have overlooked that."

You saw something in his eyes you had never seen before. Was it hope?

You both continued to eat in subdued silence, the tension in the room shifted. The unspoken feelings between both of you simmered beneath the surface. This was forever changing the dynamic of your professional relationship. 

So where do you all go after this? The case of Amir Jackson isn't over, there is much more left for you both to do. This isn't the end. This is only the beginning, leaving both Harvey and you to navigate whatever comes next.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | six

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel and rachel have dinner. a confession is made. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, JOEL POV, sexting/nudes, joel has bad restaurant etiquette lmao, descriptions of arousal, references to past smut, the guilt and shame that sometimes go so neatly hand in hand with wanting, miller daughter cameo, mild angst, discussion of a car accident. word count: 4.8k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: just a reminder that this is set within ALP5, when joel goes to have dinner w rachel. just a short little peek into my beloved professor’s mind, and some context between j & r. hope you like it x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part six of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five.

Sunday.

“Nina thinks it’ll rain tomorrow. Overcast too, probably.”  

There’s a faint hum through the phone as she speaks. A vague buzz that crackles and pops in almost every beat of silence. Not for the first time, Joel wishes she would let him buy her a new phone.

A gust of wind whips against his face and he cringes, turning his back against the draft.

“Okay,” he replies. “That’s okay, right?”

“It’s fine,” she grumbles. “Wanted to take you to this bar, though. They do these tacos we love. Nina says it’s the best Mexican place in New York.”

“Now how many times do I have to tell you there’s no good Mexican food in New York?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel can practically hear her rolling her eyes. He chuckles.

“What time are you coming ‘round?” Ellie asks. “I’ll be in the studio for most of the day, but we normally get home around five. Could do dinner around eight?”

Joel hesitates, and then raises his voice to be heard over the rushing wind. “I was actually thinkin’ I’d come see your studio.”

A moment of humming, crackling silence.

“I’d love to see some of your work,” he continues, peering in through the window of the restaurant. He thinks he can see Rachel through the frosted glass – her mess of dark curls vaguely visible, tucked away somewhere in the corner of the space. He hears Ellie breathing through the phone as he looks. “And s’been too long since you showed your old man any of your paintings.”

“Joel,” she huffs, and it’s that smartass, pained tone that has him grinning wider than anything she’s said up until this point.

It’s few and far between lately – hearing that name coming from her mouth. Joel. Something that’s been intermittent for almost a decade, and has been steadily decreasing since she moved to New York five years ago.

Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad, Joel, Dad.

Joel for years, and then one day—Dad.

It was Summer; Ellie was eighteen and he was thirty-nine, and this word that he’d grown so accustomed to hearing suddenly felt like a fist squeezing around his heart. It became something new, something different. Because Joel knew that, for her, family had always meant mistrust. Had always meant loneliness. Knew that sometimes her childhood felt like a knife stuck in her throat, and on those days, she had to decide whether to leave it in and stem the blood flow, or pluck out the blade and watch everything turn red.

And then one day, years on, it seemed that she’d drawn that dagger enough times. The blood stopped, the mistrust fell away, and—Dad.

Dad to Sarah and now, finally, Dad to Ellie.

“Ellie,” he imitates her tone, well-versed in mirroring her attitude after so many years of practice.

A voice rears up directly behind him and Joel stiffens, glancing over his shoulder to watch a couple exit the restaurant. Coat collars dragged up to protect their necks, arms linked as they smile and start down the street. He imagines Rachel sitting inside, alone, and his smile falters. He knows he should go back in soon, but can’t quite bring himself to cut this short.

“Yeah, okay,” Ellie answers finally, and he can feel the weight that rests in those words.

The admission, but also everything that goes unsaid alongside it. A silent acknowledgement of years spent reading between the lines, trying to know each other; years of her locking her bedroom door, hiding her journals, her artbooks, her pencils. Anything to keep someone else from seeing the way she expresses herself – from understanding that she feels anything. And this yeah, okay – well, it’s as close to I love you as the two of them ever get.

Joel says, “I’ve been missin’ you, kiddo.”

And she says, “I know.”

More silence. More contemplation of how to respond, how to keep emotions level when he is not Joel in this moment, but Dad.

Plucking out the blade.

“Ten tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the address,” Ellie says after a while. “Don’t be late or I’m not showing you shit, old man.”

Heat blasts his face when he steps back inside the restaurant. He tugs his jacket off as he wanders his way toward their little corner table inside San Vecchio—old saint. A small Italian place that Rachel likes to visit whenever she’s the city, and has slowly but surely grown on him.

When he gets close enough to see the table his stomach drops, face twisting into something apologetic as he lowers himself into his chair.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, staring at their food. Brought out while he was on the phone, sitting untouched; she didn’t even pick up her fork in his absence. A shameful heat rises in his face. “I’m sorry, Rach.”

“Hon,” she just laughs him off. “It’s okay, it only just came out.”

He nods, grateful, and lets her pour him a generous glass of wine. Red. A bottle of the Carignan, please, he remembers her telling the waiter. Although, when he takes a sip, he can’t tell the difference between this and the twenty-dollar cabernet he buys once a fortnight from the grocer.

They press the lips of their glasses together and murmur soft calls of cheers and another conference done, the words all but swallowed up by the raucous sounds around them.

“How is she then?” she prompts, never able to tame her curiosity.

“Ellie?” Joel’s eyebrows jut up, and he sets his wine glass down. “Good, yeah, good. It was nice to hear her voice, I, uh, I’ve missed too many of that kid’s calls over the past few months.”

Rachel nods, and when she smiles his chest feels a little lighter, because it’s the type of smile that says it’s okay, everything is okay, you’re a good dad, you took the call. And she has always had that kind of soothing effect on him, since the day he met her all those years ago. There’s this compassion to her character; a warmth akin to that of a sister. Smarter than hell and kinder than she’s ever been given credit for.  

“Are you seeing her while you’re in town?”

“Mhm, tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be lovely,” she beams and takes a sip of her wine. Carignan stains her mouth. “Is she still with Nina?”

“She is.”

“God, that must be, what, four years they’ve been together now? That’s great, Joel.”

“I’m happy for her,” he smiles, gripping his fork. “They’re renting out this art studio together at the moment – Nina’s an artist too, did I—?”

“Yeah, you told me.”  

“Yeah, they’ve been using the space to work on some new stuff. Ellie was tellin’ me ‘bout this gallery downtown, how they’ve offered her some exhibit space. Gonna have a show down there in March.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” Rachel’s eyebrows raise, top lip quirking into a soft smirk as she twirls her fork through a mess of red pasta. “Do you think they’ll get married? Follow in Sarah and Tim’s footsteps?”

Joel can’t help but laugh at the idea. He tries to imagine Ellie and Nina in a chapel, or on a beach, or anywhere, professing their love for one another with friends and family watching on. Tries to imagine Ellie, all tattoos, messy hair, and gangly arms, tucked into a suit or a dress. The image doesn’t come easily.

“I don’t really think they’re the type,” he admits, and Rachel laughs too then.

“No,” she agrees. “I guess not.”

She asks more questions about the girls, the way she always does. Asks about Sarah’s job at the primary school, if teaching is all she thought it would be.

And something like halfway through their meal, around a mouthful of food, Rachel says, “You know I’m glad we’re here, because I need to ask you something.”

Joel’s hands still, face going slack as he meets her eye. There’s something conniving in them. Something sly in the way she smiles, baring her teeth at him. It makes his stomach twist into a tight, burning knot. What does she know?

“Okay,” he says slowly, lowering his knife.

“So,” she hums. “At the conference yesterday…”

“Yeah?” he rasps, blunt nails digging into his thigh beneath the table.

“I couldn’t ask you about it because I didn’t want anyone to overhear us, but… did you see what Professor Neilson was wearing? That blazer?”

“Jesus,” he deflates.

“Oh, come on,” she sputters, and there’s lipstick stained on her front teeth and he finds himself smiling too, relaxing.

“You’re a filthy gossip, you know that?” he raises an eyebrow.

She grins back at him. Winks and says, “Don’t act like you don’t love it, Miller.”

So, for an hour they eat, and talk, and drink. Don’t stop until their cheeks are sore from smiling and their ribs are tight and aching from laughter.  

With full bellies and rosy cheeks, they scrape their plates clean. Lips purse and pucker around final sips of wine, and then… and then Rachel reaches across the table and places her hand atop his.

And Joel has never noticed that she has sunspots across her knuckles. Never noticed that she wears a ring on her pinkie finger, one with a dark emerald stone in the middle. Never noticed the thin white scar beside the nail on her index. She squeezes his hand, the pad of a finger skimming his wrist, and he remembers how he held someone else’s wrist only hours before this. Felt her skin beneath his fingers – the frailty of the tendons and veins beneath it, swimming with life as his thumb pressed down.   

Joel feels his eye twitch. Works to keep his face relaxed, calm. And when she leaves her hand there, he laughs a little. A choked, wary sound. Turns his hand over so his knuckles are against the table and his palm is against her palm and squeezes once in return. Rachel isn’t smiling anymore.

“You okay, Rach?”

“Do you…” she pauses, mouth twisting into a shy smile as she clears her throat. Joel feels something heavy settle in his stomach. A type of dread that curdles and burns like red sky at morning. “Do you remember when Sarah was in that car accident a few years back?”

Joel swallows. Her hand feels too warm against his, her palm tacky with sweat.

“We were… we were at work, and… and Tim called you and told you she was in the hospital—”

He almost cringes at the memory. Her husband’s name flashing across his phone screen during a lecture. Stomach churning and why is Tim calling me, heart racingand Tim never calls. Remembers hearing those panicky breaths down the line and thinking Texas and Maine had never felt further apart than in that moment.

“You drove me to the airport,” he nods. His knuckles feel tight – he wants to pull his hand back and crack them. Wants to feel the joints pop beneath his skin, let the tension slip away like a sigh.

“You were so distraught,” Rachel sighs. “I’d never seen you like that. So uncomposed, so… chaotic.”

Joel huffs out an awkward laugh and tries to pull his hand back, but she squeezes harder. Keeps it in place beneath her own.

“What’s this all about?” his eyebrows furrow, face pinching into a sort of scowl. He can feel it, he can always feel it when his face does this. So unpleasant, so unwelcoming, and he knows it. Just never figured out how to stop it from happening.

“We were in the car,” she continues, and her eyes are so earnest now. So wide, the whites shining, her lashes darkened and fanned out around them in a way he’s never seen before. She’s wearing makeup. “And you didn’t even have a bag packed, you just wanted to get to your girl. Needed to see her with your own eyes, make sure she was okay.”

His jaw feels tight inside his head; teeth clenched painfully, digging into the gums around his molars as the memory plays in his mind.

Tim’s voice wavering, crying, she was unconscious when they pulled her out.

His hand is numb beneath Rachel’s. She’s fine, he reminds himself. Sarah’s fine, that was years ago.

“I think I knew then,” she says quietly.

“Knew what?” Joel tries to keep his voice level. Ignoring the odd feeling that twists in his chest and has his heart racing faster, so much faster than normal, faster than it has ever raced for Rachel.

“That I loved you.”

It’s almost dreamlike, the way everything seems to blur and fade around them after she says it. Or perhaps nightmarish is the right word. A sharp pain sparks between his ribs and he feels his body stiffen and then loosen all at once. Face, shoulders, hand beneath hers – everything softens. Fuck. His mouth tastes like sandpaper, tongue resting fat and gravelly against the roof of it as she stares at him.

When he doesn’t say a word, she says, “I’d always known you were so kind, so generous to the people around you. But to see the way you love? It’s… shit, Joel, I just knew.”

He’s convinced his throat is tightening.

“And I held it in all of these years, and I’m sorry for that. I was just never sure of how you felt, and you never tried anything with me, never hinted at any feelings. But after the conference yesterday...”

“The conference?” he whispers. He pictures that bench outside NYU. Remembers the nasty wind, an empty champagne flute on the ground, the side of his body going hot where it pressed against hers.

“Walking around that hall together,” Rachel smiles. “You kept holding your arm out for me to hold, and I thought, god, maybe this is it. Maybe you actually feel the same.”

Joel imagines that this must be what people describe as critical velocity. Everything that once was smooth turns turbulent. Every second, every minute, that he’s allowed himself to careen forward, wanton and reckless, on the deliciously destructive course he’s set for himself – all of it just for someone close to him to step directly into his line of fire.

And his silence is so painfully telling. He knows immediately when it’s been too long, too much quiet, too many seconds of nothing said, of no reassurances offered. The muscle in her jaw ticks, and a vertical line appears between pinched eyebrows. Confusion, surprise, hurt. Her hand pulls back, and he tucks his in his lap quickly.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh, shit.”  

Joel is suddenly certain that he’s going to be sick. His hands shake beneath the table, a violent tap tap tap where they’re clasped against the inside of his thigh.

“Rachel—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t apol—”

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“Rachel,” Joel’s voice raises, just a little, just enough to make her pause, enough for conversation at the table beside them to halt for a second. “If anythin’, I should be the one apologisin’.”

She laughs; a sad, quiet thing. Shakes her head at him.

“I guess I… somewhere in my head, I thought you knew,” Rachel says quietly. “Thought you….” The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Thought you felt the same.

And it hurts. His skin prickles at the sound of her voice; laced with pain, with rejection. Your fault, he thinks. That pain is your fault.

“Is there someone else?” she asks then, and her voice is so feeble. So small, so un-Rachel that it makes his chest feel tight. Your fault.

Joel sighs, cringes, fumbles for the right words. The words to explain something that he himself doesn’t even fully understand. Words that will make her feel better, that will put her at ease. Put him at ease.

“It’s not….” he trails off, half-prepared to lie. But then he meets her gaze. Sees the tears that have settled on her waterline and knows he can’t. Wants to hate her for asking, wants to beg her to take back the question. But in the end he just admits quietly, “I suppose there is.”

She sniffles, and when she speaks again, it almost sounds like a question.

“You never mentioned anyone.”  

“I know,” Joel nods. “I’m sorry, I think I just… it’s complicated, and it… it’s new.”

“New,” she repeats softly. “And you never… you never thought of me that way.” This time it isn’t posed like a question. There is nothing open ended about it. Instead it’s resigned; final.

The corners of her mouth are downturned, and her lower lip wobbles, a movement so miniscule that he could have missed it if his eyes weren’t trained on her face. Trying painfully to understand this situation that feels as if it has crept up on him in his sleep. 

“I’m sorry,” Joel finds himself saying again, and he thinks his eyes must be wide, unblinking, because they’re dry, and he feels panicked.  

In his mind all he can think of is every cup of coffee in her office, every borrowed book, every sly joke in the corridor at work. Comforting smiles offered at conferences, snarky notes passed back and forth during faculty meetings. His friend. One of the truest, longest, most persevering ones in his life. One so dear to his heart. The idea of all of that being no more seems almost too painful to contemplate in the middle of a restaurant, with your fault thundering in his chest.

Rachel waves a hand. Feigns nonchalance and offers a watery smile.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” she says. He doesn’t miss the waver in her voice, nor the harsh splash of crimson humiliation that stains the skin of her face. “I am. Really.”

Except he doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what there is to be happy for. Can only watch her face. Can only sit, and stare like a fool at the way the skin beneath her eyes tightens as she draws back tears.

“I’m—” Rachel swallows. Sucks in a huge breath and flattens her palms against the table. Her napkin, stained with soft blots of red and brown, is pressed beneath the fingers of her left hand. The one with the sunspots and the ring and the scar. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m going to use the restroom—”

“Rach,” he tries, hand reaching across the table for—for what? Joel isn’t sure. What is there to do? To say? “What can I do?”

“It’s okay,” she stands, holds a hand out to silence him. Steps out from the behind table and squeezes past him. Her fingers brush against his arm as she goes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just need a second to freshen up.”

Joel watches her weave through the restaurant, shifting around tables, until her back disappears through a door at the far end of the room.

There’s a minute of painful quiet. A sort of buzzing in his ears that won’t go away. For a moment all he’s aware of is the look of disdain coming from the woman on the table to his left, and the sharp pain in his chest, and then the sounds of the restaurant come rushing back in. Cutlery scraping against plates, conversation, laughter, the sound of a bell ringing. And something buzzing, really truly buzzing this time. Something against his leg.

Joel pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries not to wince when he sees her name on the screen.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

The glance he spares over his shoulder is short, searching, looking to see if she’s coming back yet. Don’t make this worse than it already is.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing? 

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

Something tightens in his stomach, and he knows what she’s doing, knows this game so well. The way she always manages to creep beneath his skin. Knows exactly what to say, to do, to have him hanging on her every word.

His fingers hover over the screen, contemplating a response.

Is that right? he types out, and then grimaces, backspacing quickly.  

Want some company? he types next.

“Christ,” Joel mutters under his breath, erasing that too.

Embarrassment itches across his body. And then guilt, like a tidal wave chaser rushing to cool his inflamed skin, as he notices Rachel walking back toward him. You fucking asshole.

He straightens in his seat, tucking his phone out of sight as she hovers beside the table, eyes darting between him and her empty chair. She doesn’t sit down again.

“I think,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I should probably go. Early flight to catch, you know? I need to get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

He can feel his mouth hanging open, dumbfounded, ridiculous, as his brain scavenges for something to say. Never the right words, never when he needs them. Not for her, and not for Rachel.

Rachel reaches for her purse, and he holds out a hand. “Hey, let me… I’ll cover this.”

She pauses, nods. “Thanks.”

“Course,” he says gruffly. She pulls her coat from the back of her chair, wraps it around herself and does the buttons up slowly. Her mascara is smudged. “Hey, Rach, can we… should we talk about this some more? I don’t want to—”

“Not tonight,” she interrupts sharply. “Please, Joel, I’m sorry, just…. not tonight.”

—lose you.

“Sure, okay.” His throat is tight, your fault lodged heavy against his Adam’s apple. “You need help to get a taxi?”

“I’m fine,” she places a hand lightly on his shoulder, and presses her thumb against the skin beneath his collarbone. “Get home safe, okay? We can talk in Maine.”

“In Maine,” he repeats, and the words split and sour inside his mouth. “Okay.”

He doesn’t watch her leave. Doesn’t want to have to see her retreating from him. Doesn’t want to think about if this will be the last time they get to do this.

The waiter returns and he pays the bill, hastily jotting down a generous tip, and offers the women at the table on his left a tight-lipped smile before standing up.

When he finally makes his way outside, he finds a tax idling by the curb, lights on. The driver notices Joel staring; rolls down the window and raises his eyebrows. Where to?

Joel only shakes his head a little, leans his back against the dank, cold brick wall behind him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before opening his phone, and sends two words.

Show me.

And then, when she doesn’t respond for a moment, he sends another message. Insistent now. Desperate, and even more desperate not to let it show.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

And when she does show him, it takes all of his might not to let this guilt consume him. Takes everything not to ruminate on how quickly he can shift from I’m sorry to Show me.

Because her skin.

So much skin.

Soft, smooth; shrouded in a robe that covers more than he’d like, and he knows how it tastes. Knows how it feels. Could press his fingers, his lips, his nose, to every part of it that he’s touched, in the exact same places, from memory alone.

It’s cold outside – windy, the beginnings of tomorrow’s storm twisting through the air. He feels it snake across his neck, curl beneath the lip of his collar, as he takes in the curve of her breast, the stiff point of her nipple, peeking out from behind white fabric. His cock stiffens in his pants.

He gazes at the softest part of her stomach, the thatch of curls that cover her mound, and wants to press his palms against the plush of her thighs. Wants to lay himself atop her, feel that skin against his again, hear her whimper and moan beneath the broad weight of him as he slips inside her. Wants to snatch her finger from her mouth and glide it inside his own. With her slick and her skin against his tongue, he’d sink his teeth in and inhale that warmth, that beating, pulsating force that he’s found himself so intoxicated by.

And to think, only hours ago, he was doing just that. Lowering himself to the ground in a public bathroom and drinking her down. Feeling the muscles in her thighs pull tight and then loose against the sides of his head. Anything to satisfy the craving that only she seems to inspire in him.

Resolute, persistent – a probing, prodding thing that nips at his heels and thrusts him forward at a double time pace.

A hunger that follows him down the nights and down the days.

A hunger that can only ever be sated like the taking of a sacrament – on his knees, devotion in his eyes.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am.

Are you touching yourself?

Joel’s jaw tightens. He holds his breath and waits. Can’t quite tell what would be worse; knowing that she’s touching herself, alone, thinking about him, or that she isn’t, that she’s waiting for him. He can feel his cock leaking against his thigh.

No.

He exhales heavily, and the faintest hint of a groan slips out with it. Fuck, pull yourself together.

Joel’s fingers float over the keyboard, and for a moment he thinks of Rachel.

Thinks that if he could only bring himself to look up, to look away from her, he might be able to see Rachel still. The back of her coat, the dark scrawl of her hair, disappearing into the night. Joel thinks of the tears in her eyes, taunting him, threatening to spill spill spill, to streak down rosy cheeks and wet the hollow of her throat. Feels something throb and crack in his chest – a painful, resounding ache that hurts so much like fear, like loss. 

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

And wouldn’t that be so much easier? If he were to look away, to chase his friend down the street and tell her that he was wrong, that he wants her, that it makes sense for them to be together. Wouldn’t it be easier if that were true?

But he doesn’t stop looking at her. He thinks of Pothos, of Himeros, and stares at the soft curve of her stomach, the indent of her belly button.  Looks at the way her lower lip rests below her finger and pictures it swollen, slick with a medley of her spit and his. Even notices a small mark, nestled in the crevice between her hip and the top of her thigh. A fading remnant of where his teeth had once pinched – like a tangible little footprint, whispering that he was there.

Longing and desire flame between the cracks of his ribs; a bright white heat that curls itself around your fault until he manages to shake the thought.

What was it that Kaminsky said? There was no mythology: Odysseus hanged himself. Homer drank to death and stank of mud.

And perhaps he was right; for there is no witness to this. No being over his shoulder, God or mortal, to lay their eyes upon this moment and understand that all he has ever known of love is deprivation. That fondest, blindest, weakest part of his being that has always yearned for, or perhaps grieved over, this love that once seemed so intangible and now, at last, maybe he has been deemed worthy of.

Alone so long, living in a body grown accustomed to such quiet. Familiar with no touch other than that of his own rough palms. And now… the intensity of it shakes within him. The urge to sink his teeth in like a bad dog and hold, hold, hold, to consume and be consumed, and never yield to anyone who wants to take this away from him.

No, there is no looking away from that, from her. Joel feels the noose tighten around his neck the longer he stares – a dog on the leash of its own longing, that need only sharpening with every second that dares to pass.

And Joel knows that nothing has ever been easy. Considers the idea that maybe that’s how it was supposed to be for him. And perhaps he doesn’t want easy, doesn’t want simple. No – Joel was always drawn to the flame.

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

And that flame welcomes him now in kind. The arms of a lover spread open for embrace; the address of her hotel sent directly to his phone.

Joel looks up and makes eye contact with the taxi driver again. Light still on.

Where to?

**the Kaminsky mentioned in this is Ilya Kaminsky, and the quote is from Dancing in Odessa.

thank you for reading! x

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

"And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do,"

"I don't get it" Rachel says to herself, staring at the couple. You're sitting on the island while Jason's head is buried in the fridge looking for another brew.

"Get what?" Gar chimes in, following where Rachel's gaze was at. "Jason and Y/N? What about them?", he quietly asks, not wanting the lovebirds to overhear their conversation.

"Yeah, I think I'm improving, but I still can't get the landing right," you say to Jason as he pops the cap off of the beer he finally finds. He replies with a simple hum of acknowledgement while taking a swig.

"He's so..." Rachel starts, trying to look for the right words to describe him. "Rude? Self-absorbed? He's not even listening to what Y/n's saying," she whispers back to Gar, finally turning away from the two.

Gar tilts his head to the side. "I don't know... They've been together for a good few months now, right? We don't see them together that often, we don't know how they're like," he tries to reason.

Rachel scoff, sitting on the couch. "That's another reason why he's a bad boyfriend. We never see them around. Does he not like showing off that they're together? Jason being a cocky-ass person, he's the kind of person to flaunt around his partner."

Rachel turns back to where you and Jason were standing just to see the two of you were gone as she scoffs once more.

Gar opens his mouth to speak once more as Kori and Dawn enters the room.

"What are we talking about?" Kori asks.

"Jason being an asshole of a boyfriend," Rachel almost laughs.

"How so?" Dawn questions.

"How could you not see?" Kori says. "Jason's always brushing Y/n off, blunt, short replies, puts missions before them, he's hardly ever acknowledging their presence," She laughs, listing all of Jason's flaws as a partner.

"I guess I've never really notice..." Dawn says, unsure.

~Meanwhile~

"Jesus, you drive me crazy," Jason says, his voice low, grinning at you like a school girl with her crush.

You're on his lap, hands cradling his face, his hands on your ass with a firm grip. You're placing soft kisses all over his face, a quick break from the hungry make-out session you both were so busy with.

Your soft kisses trail away from his face, down his jaw and onto his neck, kisses and nibbling all over. Biting a certain spot, Jason lets out a quiet gasp along with a held back whimper.

You let out a light chuckle while continuing to pepper kisses on his neck.

"I liked that," You softly say, kissing against the same spot. "Do it again," you teased.

Jason groaned. "You're trying to kill me, babe," he complains as he captured your lips against his once more.

You sighed in content, breaking the kiss and leaving another lingering kiss on his forhead.

"Don't let them get to your head, love," You tell him quietly. The both of you are well aware that the other Titans (maybe except Gar) don't see why you would date Jason. You're kind and considerate while Jason is... Jason. Jason has told you many times that he wants to be taken seriously by the other members, hence his cold demeanour. And along with those explanations, came affectionate apologies of him spending all his free time alone with you in either his or your room, cuddling, kissing, properly listening to your rants and more.

"They're right though," his reply is delivered rough and raspy, a change of voice that indicates to you that he's upset.

You sigh, arms wrapping around his neck, burying your face in his meck, breathing in his distinct scent of faint alcohol and strong cologne.

"No they're not," you say, just above a whisper. "I get it, Jay. You want to prove yourself. But you don't have to prove yourself to me. Okay? You're more than enough for me," One of your hands move down, grabbing hold of his own hand, bringing it up to your lips for another gentle kiss as your other hands cup his cheek.

Jason sighs, leaning into, your touch. "I love you, okay, Jay?" He nods in reply.

"I..." He tries to say it too, but fails as his gaze shifts to the ceiling in guilt.

"Hey, hey. I told you. Only say it when you're ready, you don't have to force yourself to say it, Jay," I assure him. "Now," You move yourself off of him, bringing him down to lie with you as you rest your head on his chest. "You're supposed to tell me about this book you were reading," You remind him. He smiles once more, his arms wrapping around you happily as he starts ranting about his new book.

~

"You guys got it?" Dick confirms with the rest of the group, finishing up a debrief with the other Titans. Everyone nod and murmur 'yes's and 'yep's.

"Alright, everyone get to training," He says as he departs.

You turn to Jason excitingly. "You wanna train together, Jay? You can help me with the new move I was telling you about!"

"Not today. I'm gonna train with Gar," Jason replies.

"Ah, okay! Have fun, teach me some new stuff you learn, later, kay?" You reach up to his cheek, giving him a quick peck and a short "Love ya!"

He responds with a grunt and a nod and leaves you with a quick caress on ur cheek as he goes to one of the training rooms with Gar. Oh how much he wants to just pick you up and kiss you and hug you and hold you for all eternity.

Hank scoffs at Jason's reaction as he walks off. Donna shakes her head in disapproval as she followed along too. The other women in the room have their eyebrows furrowed, judging looks towards your boyfriend and crossed arms as they looked at you with a lovesick grin and heart eyes, watching your love walk away til he disappeared.

You quickly turn around, smiling at the rest of the members. "Any of you guys wanna train with me- what? What's with the looks?" You ask, confused.

"What's with your boyfriend?" Rachel hisses.

Your face scrunches in slight offence. "What about him?"

"Honey, he's..." Dawn starts to say though her words trail off.

"You can do better," Kori states, her hands landing on her hips.

You lightly scoff "Why's that," You say lowly, eyes narrowing, ready to defend Jason.

"Y/n..." Dawn speaks up. "We're just looking out for you. We just think you and Jason... Aren't the best match."

"We think Jason is selfish, rude and annoying, is what she was meant to say," Rachel said quietly, but loud enough for all of you to hear.

You roll your eyes. "And who are you to judge him? It's not like you've tried to get to know him. You guys just don't know him like I do," you barked, almost wanting to cry for Jason.

"Y/n, we just-" you cut Kori off by putting a hand uo, refraining her from continuing.

"No. No, no. You can talk to me when you find some respect for Jason." You coldly say as you walked away to train.

The girls looked at each other with disappointed and worried looks.

~

The team was on a mission that involved Deathstroke. It was wild and messy to the point where everyone was split up, and only some of the Titans returned back to the tower.

Jason is pacing around, alone in his room. He's covered in blood and bruises, but those don't matter to him right now. The only thing in his mind was

Where the fuck were you?

It's been two hours since he came back with Dick, Gar, Rachel and Donna but there were no signs of you coming back. Or of the others coming back he guesses. You're comms weren't working and you weren't answering his messages.

To piss him off more, Dick forbade him from going back out, knowing that Jason's impulsiveness would bring further damage.

"He's not even worried," Rachel says, sitting in the couch cleaning the blood of herself, noticing Jason's absence of worry.

"He could be?" Gar shouts from the kitchen, trying to reason again.

"Why are you even trying to defend him, we know how he is."

"He's our teammate, Rachel. We can't go off judging him if we don't know him that well," He says softly, trying not to get a rise out of the purple haired girl.

She scoffs and reply with whatever.

Dick and Donna walk into the room. "We got a message from Kori," Dick says. "The comms were breaking up but they're all safe."

Rachel and Gar sigh in relief.

Around half an hour later, you, Dawn, Hank and Kori finally return.

You're cracking your back and stretching your arms. Parts of your hero outfit is ripped and some of your blood that escaped your skin was dried and dirty and bruises littered your face, but you were always in a bright mood.

"She's finally back and bird brain isn't even running out," Rachel whispers to Gar as his shoulders sink.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna need a lie down for the rest of my life," You groan, cracking your neck.

Even from his room, Jason heard your voice as he rushed out and saw you there all battered up.

He heavily sighed in relief, running up to you, lifting you up. You lightly shriek at his sudden appearance, wrapping your legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders.

"You're okay... you scared me..thought you weren't coming back," he admits quietly, but as the other Titans stare silently in shock, especially Rachel, they heard him loud and clear.

Jason lets you down slowly and litters your face with kisses before pulling you in closer, attaching his lips to yours, finally not caring about the presence of the other members.

"Hello to you too," you giggle, leaving a kiss on his nose.

"You're hurt," he says, looking at your scrapped body.

"I'm okay, Jay," You reassure him. But he shakes his head, carries you bridal style.

"I need to patch you up," He says, giving you another kiss on the cheek before heading to his room.

"Okay, that just happened," Kori said in amusement.

"They're cuties, aren't they, Hank?" Dawn asks, looking up at the lover of her own.

Hank rolls his eyes and answers with an "I guess so" before they leave the room.

"So?..." Gar grins in success and amusement as he looks at Rachels shocked reaction.

She sighs and leans back against the couch.

"Yeah, yeah you're right, I was wrong. They are good for each other," She admits.

~

"In front of them too?" You question, sitting on Jason's bed as he wipes away any dried blood before patching you up.

"I don't care," He says, keaving you surprised. Jason patches up your last wound, giving it a kiss before getting up and cradling your face.  "Your safety is more important to me"

You lean into his touch, your hand coming up to hold his. He leans into you for a deep, passionate and long lasting kiss.

Breaking it, he leans his forhead against yours.

"I love you," He quietly but confidently say.

Your eyes brighten and you couldnt helo but break into a wide smile, feeling giddy like a kid receiving a oresent from Santa.

"I love you too"

[diapydemon]

Breaking Baby (Reissued)

It was 7PM, and I was in my crib all ready for an early bedtime. Usually being in my crib this early meant that I had been naughty and had earned a punishment, but that wasn’t the case tonight. Tonight I had taken a deal.

Mommy was having a friend over. Her name was Rachel —or Auntie Rachel as mommy now insisted I call her. Rachel had told Mommy that she had never seen Breaking Bad, so mommy invited her over to watch the masterpiece with her.

But there was one issue, according to Mommy. Breaking Bad was not age-appropriate for “little ones” like me, she said. Hence the early bedtime — so mommy and auntie Rachel could watch their adult show away from “naughty little eyes” as mommy had put it.

Upon hearing the news, tears began to well in my eyes, and my fists clenched — the telltale signs of an impending temper tantrum. Mommy knew it, I knew it.

Mommy, either out of charity or pity, told me that there was a silver lining. This paused my imminent temper tantrum enough for her to offer me a deal:

Since I had been a good boy recently, she said I could have unlimited screen time on my tablet tonight as long as I was willing to be put down in my crib by 7PM. It had been a long time since I binged any show. This deal was too good to pass up, so I agreed.

Now, hours later, I laid in my crib with my tablet. I could hear the faint sounds of Breaking Bad playing in the other room along with the occasional gasps from Mommy and Auntie Rachel.

I opened Netflix. I had watched —and thoroughly enjoyed— Breaking Bad, but I had never finished it. I wanted to, but I watched the show before I had told Mommy about my most intimate and babyish desires. I watched the show back before my days were made up of nap times, diaper changes, and playtime. It had been so long since I’ve watched anything rated higher than PG.

I clicked on the adult profile of Netflix, and my heart sank when it asked me for a password. In my desperation, I had misconstrued unlimited screen time for unlimited tablet privileges.

Tears began to form in my eyes, and I was only comforted by the suckling of my paci. In this moment, I realized how babyish I actually was. This wasn’t pretend or a fantasy anymore; I wasn’t allowed to watch big kid shows, I couldn’t use the potty, and my paci was the only thing keeping me from having a full on meltdown in my crib.

After a few moments of intense suckling, I opened the kids profile on Netflix and started watching My Little Pony, resigned to my fate of being Mommy’s little forever.

—————————————

This is a rewrite of one of my old popular captions. If anyone has the credit for this image that would be greatly appreciated!

The censor-obsessed tumblr gods struck this post down, so I’m reposting it. While there are sexual themes, there’s nothing inherently sexual being depicted, so idk what their deal is.

As Always, all characters depicted on this page are 18+

[slutty-transformation-stories]

Revision Guide

"Come on, you can do this, Jen," she murmured to herself, staring at the thick textbook in front of her. The words swam together on the page, a jumble of incomprehensible facts and figures. It was the night before her big economics exam, and the pressure was mounting.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting the silence. She picked it up and scrolled through social media, seeking a brief respite from the academic onslaught. An ad popped up, promising a quick fix for stress and improved concentration: "Unlock Your Mind's Full Potential with Our Exclusive Audio Program!" It looked like a miracle wrapped in pixels, and she clicked it without hesitation.

The program's description was enticing. It spoke of ancient techniques and modern science combining to create a pattern of relaxation that would sharpen her focus like a blade. She downloaded the files eagerly, plugged in her headphones, and hit play. The sound of ocean waves washed over her, melding with a soothing voice that instructed her to breathe deeply.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she felt a strange warmth spreading through her body. The voice grew hypnotic, saying, "Good girls are rewarded, Jen... Just listen and obey." The words were comforting, almost maternal, and she found herself letting go of her stress, sinking into the pillow. The voice grew faint as sleep claimed her, and she didn't notice the transformation that had begun deep within her.

Jenni awoke to a world that seemed both familiar and alien. Her dull dorm room had transformed into a vibrant, luxurious space. The once plain walls were now adorned with cheerful posters and fairy lights, and her desk was buried under a mountain of makeup and hair products. She sat up, feeling an unfamiliar weight on her chest and realized her breasts had grown, straining against the fabric of her pajama top. She looked down and gasped. Her body had changed—her skin was now a glowing brown, her nails sharp and pointed, and her lips were fuller and redder.

Her gaze fell on her old glasses on the nightstand, and she felt a sudden revulsion at the sight of them. Her eyesight had always been terrible, but now everything was clear and sharp. She didn't need those nerdy contraptions anymore. With a snarl of disgust, she flung them across the room.

Her roommate, Rachel, lay sleeping in her bed, her mousy brown hair a stark contrast to Jenni's new golden locks. Rachel had always been a bit of a party girl, never understanding Jen's dedication to her studies. Now, Jenni saw her as a potential project, someone to mold into a bitchy bestie to share in her newfound confidence.

Quietly, Jenni stood and walked over to Rachel's side, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She picked up the headphones, the same ones that had brought about her transformation, and gently placed them on Rachel's ears. The voice from the audio file began to murmur, and Rachel's eyes fluttered closed. Jenni watched, eager to see the changes that would soon take over her roommate's body. Rachel had always been pretty, but not like this—not like the goddess Jenni knew she could be with a little push from the mysterious program.

The transformation began almost immediately. Rachel's hair grew out, the dull brown giving way to luscious blonde waves. Her nose sharpened, her cheekbones rose, and her eyes grew wide and blue. Jenni couldn't wait to see Rachel's reaction when she woke up to her new, improved self. The thought of Rachel's shock and awe brought a thrill to her heart.

The voice grew louder, filling the room with its hypnotic command. Rachel's body began to shift and change, her skin darkening to match Jenni's. Jenni felt a strange kinship, a bond forming between them as Rachel's body grew more and more like hers. Her own transformation had been exhilarating, but watching Rachel's was an entirely different thrill—a power trip that had her heart racing.

The room was silent except for Rachel's soft breathing and the steady rhythm of the ocean in the background. Jenni's mind raced with possibilities. How far would she take this? Would she make Rachel her servant, her toy? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a delicious mix of excitement and power.

When Rachel finally awoke, she was met with a world that had changed overnight. She looked at Jenni with wide, confused eyes, taking in her new look. Jenni leaned in close, whispering, "You're going to be just like me, Rach. A bitchy cheerleader. And we're going to have so much fun." Rachel blinked, and Jenni knew she was hearing the voice too, the voice that had changed her life forever.

[herejusttosufferalong]

RE: Someone write me a fanfic of L jealous of N and JD. Plot could be N is not dating JD but L is worried she is. JD, like Nic, is quite touchy feeling, it seems, it would be hilarious to read a fic of him watching him touch her, hug her etc. OH OH maybe L reading the Deux pap pics and being angsty about it. two good fics plots. Come on, give to me, Rachels! Maybe something like... (not great, but let's scratch that itch)

Few days into S4 filming. N is in her trailer. L knocks on her door. Usually his knocks are soft, tentative, but N can't help but be startled by the force.

"Uhm is that you, L?", she squeaked.

"Yes..." the way he sounded was different too. She couldn't put her finger on it, sort of frustrated, but also laced with apprehension.

She unlocked her door and his face was hard to read. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw tense, and forcing a faint smile. He walked in tentatively. She didn't understand what was going on? Why was he here looking at her like that? It had been a long, hard day on set. Their relationship was different. Things seemed to take more time. Things had to be forced instead of flowing freely like in the past. She didn't entirely know why, but when she thought back to Summer, she experienced a pang of irritation that hinted at the source of their disharmony. He had his fun, why couldn't she? She was an adult after-all, and the sexual tension that had been brewing over 6 months touring needed to be released somehow. JD was the perfect escape. Witty, energetic, sexy. He knew how to push all the right buttons...

L stood in her trailer awkwardly, looking at the lino floor. "So... how was the rest of your Summer?" he began, looking up briefly to meet her eyes. It was the first time he asked about it. Before shooting, his texts were usually vapid and wholly work-related. Never personal like it used to be.

"It was fine," she admitted, nonchalantly. She saw him scoff and became instantly annoyed. What the fuck was he scoffing about? "What?" she probed in a huff.

"Just fine? By the looks of it, you were having lots of fun!" he blurted. It came out of him like verbal diarrhea. It had begun and it wasn't going to stop now. He was awash with rage as those photos came to mind. Of them together. He knew the minute he saw those photos something was going on. JD had that goofy smile HE used to make when he was in her presence. The image of his hands on her body flashed in his mind and he became incensed.

"Seriously N, with him? You gave me such a hard time for dating a younger person, and then you go and do the same thing? What were you thinking!?" his nostrils flared and his head looked like it was about to pop off his neck. He had never been so angry. His reaction was completely over the top and he was acutely aware of it.

N was as enraged as him. She watched him rant, clenching her fists, her eyes darkening. She stepped towards him and his energy dropped ten-fold. "What. was. I. thinking!?" she said slowly, teeth gritted. "Maybe I was thinking, shit, I should have some fun in my life, instead of always being the good girl? Always doing the right thing for the team, stepping up when required... then there's you, Mr I can't keep it in my pants. I had to sit there and watch you... watch you..." she stumbled, she didn't want to complete the sentence. Her eyes started filling with tears. He saw her distress, and couldn't help but mirror her feelings. He had no choice but to cut her off, stop her from wounding further.

"N I don't fucking understand. I wanted to pursue this. Pursue us. You said, 'Not right now. Go have some fun, continue the narrative.' I did what you said! I... I tried" he choked out, feeling completely vulnerable. She saw it, but she couldn't help but give him an extra serve of her wrath.

"I know what I fucking said, L. But why did you have to block me out? Go on living like I never existed? We never existed? And now you have the nerve to come at me with your jealousy? Are we still calling it professional or...?" she half-smiled, rolling her eyes with petty frustration. She saw his face drop. His visible sadness tempered her fury, and in its place came empty regret at her choice of words.

He couldn't believe how she was speaking to him. He had been miserable the last 3 months. Couldn't she tell?? His sadness began to shift into a well-tread emotion, one he knew how to express. Angst. SHE had put him through hell, and now she has the nerve to make fun of him? Degrade him. No, he wasn't having it. He was done listening to others and trying to do the right thing, but always getting it wrong. He was going to do things his own way.

He strode towards her, eyes fixed on hers, and a dark expression on his face. She stumbled back against the trailer wall not expecting his advance. He liked the effect he had on her, and suddenly the angst molded with something more, something from deep inside his fantasies. She shyly looked away not daring to meet his steely, denim gaze. His thumb and forefinger grabbed the tip of her chin and guided it forward, facing him. She scanned his face and was taken aback by his intensity. He was breathing heavily, quickly, and she couldn't help but breathe in rhythm. He looked at her eyes with careful consideration, then to her lips, full and soft, licking his lips unconsciously. Her lips parted as if having a mind of their own.

He whispered slowly, exaggerating each word, "Don't speak. I'm done listening. I'm done talking," once again, his eyes darted back to her lips, parted just so. He pressed his body closer to hers and gripped her wrists, pushing her further against the trailer wall. She let out a little noise, not quite whimper, not quite moan, his touch like warm tea steeping into her skin, flowing through her veins. His face dipped down and ghosted hers, lips hovering over lips, noses lightly grazing, breathing in soft pants. Electricity crackling between them. "I'm done playing games. I know what you want.... And I want to give it to you," he continued gruffly, thumbs stroking her wrists, feeling her pulse quicken. He looked at her eyes, searching for a reaction.

She gulped in disbelief, every bit of lust overtaking her body. She was his, body and soul, and she wanted to claim him too. He saw her eyes darken with impurity. He took his time, once again hovering over her lips, teasing her mercilessly. "Please..." she begged, breathless, starving. With a slight smirk, he lightly pressed his lips to hers, so softly, so slowly, it was almost torture. She leaned into the kiss, quickening the momentum, lightly sucking and pulling at his bottom lip. He let out a soft, guttural moan, not expecting her level of hunger, and unconsciously eased his grip on her wrists. She wriggled them free and her hands found their way gripping the back of his neck and stroking and tugging at his wavy, thick hair. One of his hands met the side of her cheek, guiding their movements and deepening their kiss. Her tongue brushed along his bottom lip begging for entry, and he obliged greedily, taking each other in with fervor. Months of buried sexual tension bubbling up to the surface, overflowing with heated anticipation. His other hand brushed down her breast, lightly down her side and along her hip, holding the curve and slightly pulling her forward. She pushed him back towards her bed, still peppering his mouth with greedy kisses. He fell back with a humph, both smiling like dorks at the sound escaping his lips. Her smile shifted mischievously as she settled on top of him, her knees straddling either side of his body. His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down onto his lap, unable to hide his growing desire. Her hands dropped to his chest to steady the ride...

Ok, I better stop there as this could get x-rated rather swiftly. But goddamn, do I like an assertive L. Respectfully, release the beast, sir.

Please link the next installment on your AO3 anon

💜🥃

[zyhkoo]

♡ I wish you love!

raven x gn!reader, fluff, crack, request, not proof read

raven has trouble asking you out

You were a classmate at the college Raven attended. Though she never spoke up or approached you, she secretly held a deep infatuation for you.

From afar, she would catch glances of you, admiring your features, your laugh, your very presence on campus. The thought of approaching you and initiating a conversation made her heart flutter with nerves.

Sitting with her good friends Dick Grayson and Kory, Raven was in a dilemma. She wanted advice on how to approach the object of her secret admiration.

Raven let out a sigh, her hand on her head as she spoke. "I was going to ask them to be my friend today," she said.

Dick and Kory exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to Raven. "Well, how did it go?" Dick inquired.

In a flashback, Raven discreetly followed you to a secluded area on campus. You heard your name being called and instinctively spun around, your guard up.

"Ah, hi," you said. "Do we know each other?"

As soon as Raven heard your voice and saw your face, she froze. For a moment, she was lost in your features as words eluded her. Collecting herself, she began to speak.

"Uh.. I want.."

Your confusion was evident; you reached into your bag and pulled out your wallet, digging through its contents. Pulling out twenty bucks, you held it up to Raven. "This is all I have," you stated, her mind jumping to the conclusion that she was attempting to rob you.

Once you had left, she stood there speechless as she realized how her actions must have appeared to you. She hadn't meant to scare you or make you think she was trying to take your money.

In the present, Raven's face remained flushed with embarrassment as she confessed, "They thought I was trying to rob them.." She let out a weary sigh.

Dick and Kory tried to contain their laughter at Raven's revelation.

"Oh come on, Rae," Dick began, a grin playing on his lips. "How could they have thought that?"

Kory chuckled, adding, "I mean, you're not exactly the intimidating type. You're too cute for that!"

Raven rolled her eyes, "I don't know, alright? I just wanted to talk to them, and the next thing I know, they're giving me money," she replied, her tone laced with frustration.

Raven shifted in her seat and implored, "Well, how should I approach them in the future? Give me some pointers, please."

Dick chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Well, for starters, maybe don't follow them to a secluded area and expect them not to get scared?"

Kory shot him a glare before turning back to Raven. "He's right, you know. You have to be more subtle, Rae. And maybe don't look like you're about to murder them every time you speak."

Having absorbed Dick and Kory's advice, Raven knew it was time for her to approach you once more, this time in a far more approachable manner.

Days passed, and Raven found the courage to approach you again. Taking a deep breath, she approached you as you were sitting alone in the library, surrounded by various books.

She mustered up a soft smile before speaking, her voice quivering slightly. "Hey, can we um.. talk?”

You looked up from your reading; recognition dawned on your face. "Oh, it's you," you greeted, acknowledging her presence.

A faint blush dusted her cheeks as her heart thumped in her chest. Her fingers fidgeted with the straps of her backpack, and she averted her gaze, struggling to make direct eye contact.

"Yeah, it's me," she responded softly, her fingers nervously toying with the edge of her shirt. "But you can call me Rachel."

To your surprise, Rachel rummaged through her bag and pulled out the twenty dollars you had inadvertently given her. With an apologetic look, she held the money out to you.

Your eyes widened as Rachel produced the twenty dollars you had handed her during your last encounter. Your surprise mingled with embarrassment as you remembered mistaking her intentions.

You hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the money from her hand, “Thanks, I thought you were mugging me sorry.” you smiled.

Raven chuckled softly, her nerves slightly eased by your response. "Yeah, I figured. Let's just say it wasn't my best approach," she admitted, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment before Raven mustered up the courage to speak again. "Can I sit with you?"

"Sure, have a seat," you replied, gesturing to the empty chair beside you with a welcoming pat.

The two of you were soon engaged in a lively conversation, your initial misunderstanding replaced by a friendly exchange of words.

As you and Raven continued talking, the initial tension between you faded away. The conversation flowed more naturally, and you found that Rachel was actually quite charming.

She listened intently as you spoke, her eyes occasionally lingering on your features, taking in your expressions. The more she observed, the more her fascination with you grew.

The days turned into months, and your interactions with Raven continued to become more frequent. She found herself making excuses to be around you, whether it was in classes, at the library, or just passing by in the hallway.

One evening, you found yourself at a party, where things ended up getting a bit too wild. In your inebriated state, you made the decision to call Rachel, asking for her help getting back to your apartment.

Rachel's heart skipped a beat as your name flashed on her caller ID. Despite the late hour and the unexpected nature of the call, she quickly agreed to come and fetch you.

She soon arrived at the party venue, noticing and finding you, struggling to balance on your feet, clearly inebriated. Concern etched on her face, she swiftly came to your side and wrapped an arm around your waist, providing the necessary support.

"Rachie!" you exclaimed, a tipsy giggle escaping your lips with a hint of affection in your voice.

Rachel's heart fluttered at the sound of you calling her name. She couldn't help but smile at your drunken state, her cheeks slightly flushed as she supported your weight.

"Hey," she replied, her voice soft. "You've had a bit too much fun, didn’t you?"

You slurred your words a bit, but managed a smile. "'Just a bit," you confirmed, swaying slightly as you spoke.

"I would say more than a bit,” she chided gently, making sure to keep you steady as she began walking towards your apartment.

She struggled a little with bringing you back, knowing deep down that she could easily use her teleportation powers. But she refrained from doing so, unwilling to reveal her secret abilities.

After a slightly laborious journey, you finally reached your apartment, with Rachel guiding you through the building with her arm wrapped around your waist to provide support. Even in your intoxicated state, climbing the stairs proved to be a bit challenging.

Once inside, Rachel helped you settle onto the cozy couch in the living room. She took a seat beside you, her gaze a mix of concern and amusement as she observed your drunken state.

She left you momentarily on the couch and went to rummage through your cabinets, eventually finding a glass. She filled it with cold water before returning to your side and holding the glass out to you.

"Here, drink this," she directed, her voice filled with care. She perched herself on the couch beside you, her eyes watching intently. "It'll make the hangover less unbearable tomorrow morning."

She settled beside you, taking in your slightly disheveled state. Your cheeks were tinged with a flush of color, and your eyes had a hazy, inebriated look to them.

You slurred your words a bit, but managed to ask, "Why ya starin'?"

She realized she had been caught staring at you. "Sorry, I was just.. making sure you're alright," she confessed softly.

Without any warning, you suddenly cupped her face, your hand caressing her cheek. "Rachie,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred. "You’re really pretty, you know?"

"Idiot.. you're just drunk," she muttered, her voice wavering slightly. She couldn't help but feel a flutter of self-consciousness under your touch, although secretly, she savored the compliment.

"No, it's true," you insisted, your pout emphasized, a stubborn look on your face.

Rachel sighed, her resistance crumbling under your insistent words. "Alright, alright," she reluctantly agreed, her voice slightly softer now. "If you say so."

She knew arguing further would be futile, so she decided to let the compliment slide.

Your eyes fixated on her lips, a curious look in your gaze. "Can I kiss you?" you blurted out. "Just wanna taste you.”

As you continued to fixate on her lips, Rachel's heart skipped a beat, her body freezing in response. She struggled to register your unexpected audacity and the question that followed.

"What are you saying?" she said "That’s a bad idea. You’re drunk," she continued.

Rachel's resistance began to falter as you wrapped your arms around her neck and looked at her with such a pleading expression.

There was a brief moment of hesitation on Rachel's part, as her gaze ping-ponged between your eyes and your lips. But then, with a mixture of caution and anticipation, she slowly closed the distance between you.

In that moment you kissed back, your movements clumsy but filled with eagerness. A soft, happy hum escaped your lips as the kiss continued. Rachel's eyes fluttered shut, savoring the feel of your mouth against hers.

What was she so worried about?

[golden-ariess]

To The Moon & Back

Pairing: Stalker!Artist Steve

Warnings: Stalking, Manipulation 18+

His Muse Masterlist

| A/N: Surprise, surprise. I had inspiration for the first time in nearly two years. I hope y'all enjoy this ✨

-

You read the message again, each word feeling like it was scraping against your skin. How could the person you once loved so deeply become the one you feared most? It didn’t seem possible. You had thought, once, that your love was invincible, that it could weather anything. But Steve’s darkness was something you never anticipated, something that grew in the shadows of his mind until it took over everything else.

You folded the note in half, then again, and tucked it into the side pocket of your bag. You told yourself you’d throw it away later, but a part of you knew you wouldn’t. Even now, when you felt nothing but dread at the thought of him, the memory of who he used to be still clung to you, haunting like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t just the notes, or the roses, or even the sketches—each one more haunting than the last. It was the feeling that he was always there, watching from the distance, just out of sight. You’d feel the prickling of eyes on your back as you walked through the parking lot at night, or the faint rustling of leaves outside your window when you knew no one should be there.

But the worst were the dreams. Dreams where his face would change, morphing into something unrecognizable—twisted, desperate. He’d reach for you, and you’d wake up gasping, sheets tangled around your legs as you fought to break free from the memory.

Once, you had believed in soulmates. Now, you were just trying to find a way to break the ties that bound you to him.

The police had told you that there wasn’t enough evidence to issue a restraining order. The flowers, the notes—none of it was explicitly threatening. “He’s just trying to get your attention,” they’d said. But they didn’t understand the fear that twisted inside you, the sense that each day brought him closer to crossing a line you couldn’t come back from.

You forced yourself to stand, trying to shake the unease that had settled deep in your bones. You had a life to live, a life that no longer included him. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over your apartment, and you decided it was time to draw the curtains, close the door, and block out the past.

But as you pulled the blinds shut, you caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye—just a flash, a movement on the sidewalk. Your breath hitched, your hands froze on the fabric. You peered through the slats, your heart hammering. Was it him, watching again? Or was it just your imagination, playing tricks on you?

You told yourself to let it go. You shut the blinds tight, locked the door, and turned on every light in the apartment. But even then, the shadows seemed to press in, whispering that he was still out there, waiting.

And somewhere deep inside, you knew that the storm wasn’t over yet.

Night settled in, and the apartment felt smaller, the walls closing in as you paced from room to room, checking the locks and glancing at the windows for any sign of movement. You told yourself it was just nerves. It had to be. You couldn’t let him control your life like this, not when you’d fought so hard to get away.

You had left everything behind changed your number, moved to a new city, even deleted your social media accounts. You told yourself that a fresh start was all you needed. But Steve was a shadow that clung to you, no matter how far you ran.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, and you jumped, your heart leaping to your throat. You grabbed it, hands shaking. It was only a text from Rachel, your best friend and the one person who had stood by you when everything with Steve fell apart. She’d always been the voice of reason, the one to remind you of who you were before him.

"Hey, how’s everything? You good?"

You wanted to lie, to say that everything was fine and you were settling in perfectly. But Rachel knew you too well.

"Just another night, I guess. I thought I saw him again. I’m probably overreacting."

She replied almost instantly.

"You know you’re not. He’s dangerous, and he’s obsessed. Just stay safe, okay?"

You typed out a quick response, feeling the familiar ache of longing for a time when things were simple, when you didn’t have to think about locking your doors or feeling your stomach twist every time your phone buzzed. Rachel was right; you couldn’t let your guard down. But the weight of it all felt heavier than ever.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence of the room. You tried to distract yourself, turning on the TV, scrolling through channels until you settled on an old sitcom—one you’d watched a million times before, back when laughter came easy and life felt normal. The familiar characters played out their scripted lives, oblivious to the messiness of the real world.

You lost yourself in it for a while, the laughter and the bright colors a brief reprieve. But when you reached for your glass of water, you noticed your hands were still shaking. The fear sat there, right under your skin, and no amount of sitcoms or bright lights could chase it away.

Then, there was a noise. It was soft—just a slight scraping sound, barely audible over the TV. You paused, holding your breath, the room suddenly too quiet. There it was again, like metal against metal. You strained to listen, every nerve in your body on edge.

It was coming from the door.

You felt the cold rush of fear, your body going rigid. You knew better than to ignore it. Slowly, you crept toward the door, your footsteps silent on the carpet. The peephole felt too small, like it couldn’t possibly show you the truth of what lay beyond. You hesitated, hand hovering just above the doorknob.

The scraping stopped.

And then, there was a knock.

Three slow, deliberate taps. Each one sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Your mind raced, a thousand thoughts crashing together. Was it him? Could he really have found you?

“Hello?” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would invite something in. No answer. Just silence, heavy and pressing.

You pressed your eye to the peephole, holding your breath. At first, you saw nothing but darkness—just the dim glow of the hallway light. Then, slowly, a figure came into view. A man, standing still, his face obscured by shadows. You couldn’t make out any details, but you knew.

It was him.

Panic surged through you, and you stumbled back, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Your mind screamed at you to call someone—anyone—but your fingers fumbled with the phone, the screen slick in your sweaty grip.

Then, the knocking started again. Louder this time, more insistent. And you knew, deep down, that Steve wasn’t going to leave.

With a trembling hand, you typed a message to Rachel. He’s here. You pressed send, praying she’d answer, praying she’d know what to do, because you were out of options.

The door rattled as the handle turned, and you backed away, feeling the walls press in, the fear tightening like a noose around your throat. Steve’s voice, quiet and low, drifted through the door.

“I know you’re in there. We need to talk.”

You felt the world narrow to that single point, every instinct screaming at you to run. But there was nowhere to go. You were trapped. And as his voice filled the silence, you knew this wasn’t over—it was only just beginning.

You bolted to the kitchen, clutching your phone as you moved. You fumbled to find the knife drawer, hands shaking as you yanked it open and grabbed the first one your fingers touched. It wasn’t much—a small paring knife, its blade reflecting the overhead light—but it felt like a lifeline, a piece of steel against the terror thrumming in your veins.

Your phone buzzed, and you glanced down. It was Rachel. Call the police. I’m on my way. Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly replaced by dread as Steve’s voice echoed again from the hallway.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked, his tone soft, almost pleading, as if you were the one being unreasonable. “You know I just want to talk, right? We need to fix this. I love you.”

The words felt like poison, winding through your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning against the counter for support. You’d heard those words so many times before, when he still had a hold on you, when you still believed they meant something real. But now they sounded like a threat..

You dialed 911, your fingers trembling as you pressed the phone to your ear. The operator’s voice was calm, clinical, as you whispered, “There’s someone outside my door. I think he’s trying to get in.”

“Stay calm, ma’am. Can you confirm your address for me?” You rattled off your location, the words spilling out in a rush. “We’re sending a unit now. Stay on the line.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, clutching the phone tighter as you crouched down behind the kitchen counter. Steve was still at the door, his voice a low murmur, like he was talking to himself now. You strained to catch the words.

“…always trying to push me away… like I’m the bad guy…”

You felt the burn of tears in your eyes, but you forced them back. You couldn’t let him see you cry. That was what he wanted—to see you break, to know he still had power over you. But you were done giving him that.

Minutes dragged by, each one feeling like an eternity. You clung to the operator’s voice, her calm instructions grounding you in the reality of the moment. You were no longer the person who used to cling to Steve’s words, hoping he would change, hoping he’d be the man you once thought he was. You were someone different now—someone who had learned to survive.

The pounding at the door grew louder, and you felt the kitchen walls closing in as Steve’s patience ran out. “Open the door!” he shouted, and the sound of his fist slamming against the wood made you flinch. “You can’t keep ignoring me!”

You gripped the knife tighter, crouched down as small as you could, the sound of his rage vibrating through you. You tried to focus on the operator’s voice, the promise that help was coming, that you weren’t alone. But Steve’s shouts filled the apartment, drowning everything out.

A loud crash came from the door, and your heart leapt to your throat. You peeked around the corner, just in time to see the wood splintering under his weight as he slammed his shoulder into it. Fear surged, your mind screaming at you to run, but there was nowhere left to go. You were trapped.

“Ma’am, are you still there?” the operator’s voice cut through the chaos. “Officers are only a few minutes away. Stay with me.”

The door buckled again, the wood cracking. You knew you didn’t have minutes. You had seconds. Steve’s shouts were growing louder, more frantic. You backed up, knife in hand, feeling the walls press in.

Then, a sudden burst of noise—a new sound. Sirens. You heard them faintly at first, then louder, echoing down the street. You watched as Steve paused, his face twisted in frustration as he realized what was happening.

“No,” he muttered, his hands still pressed against the door. “No, this isn’t over.”

But you could see the shift in him, the way he hesitated, caught between his anger and the fear of being caught. The sirens were louder now, and you heard the slam of car doors, voices shouting orders.

Steve turned, and you watched through the peephole as he fled down the hallway. Relief crashed over you, so strong you almost collapsed. You stayed where you were, heart still racing, until you heard the knock on your door—a different knock this time, firm and authoritative.

“Police! Ma’am, are you in there?”

You scrambled to your feet, rushing to the door and fumbling with the locks. You pulled it open, and the sight of the officers standing there—two of them, their hands resting on their weapons—made you sag with relief.

“He was here,” you breathed, feeling the tears finally spill over. “He was trying to get in.”

One officer nodded, stepping forward to guide you out of the apartment. “We’ll take care of it. We need you to stay with us for a moment, okay?”

You nodded, letting them lead you out into the hallway, your legs shaky beneath you. As you stepped out, you caught sight of Rachel rushing through the lobby doors, her face pale with worry. She sprinted toward you, pulling you into a tight hug.

For the first time in months, you felt a flicker of safety, like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. But even as Rachel held you, her voice soothing in your ear, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end.

Because as you looked back at your apartment door, the wood still splintered and broken, you knew Steve was out there. And he wasn’t going to stop.

Long time no see💛. I have so much to catch y'all up on. But in the meantime hit up my ask inbox. I would love to chat ✨

[sadlynojellybeans]

So I am re-reading TOA and i have decided to write some things i noticed now that I know what is going to happen next.

THE HIDDEN ORACLE

Meg was about do develop a crush on Percy, and Apollo noticed. It was immediatly curbed by Percy mentioning his girlfriend. He did not even notice XD

Apollo actually got out of the three legged death race unscathed O.o Scared to death but unharmed

Lester is being surprisingly not pathetic??? I mean, he can't remember shit and has the constutution of a limp noodle, but he has not fainted in several chapters!!! Maybe it's because Camp Half Blood is a relatively safe space for them...

THE FORESHADOWING IN CHAPTER 26 IS DEVASTATING - he gets confirmation it is the emperors behind everything and he thinks "i would have rather tangled with Tartarus or Ouranos or Primordial Chaos" APOLLO PLEASE

Speaking of foreshadowing, Rhea?!??!? "Find your center. Enlightenment has to come from within" HELLO??!?!??

Apollo mentioning he caused an earthquake that wiped out most of Sparta and that he never liked the Spartans much??? What about HYACINTHUS???????

"I busted out some footwork the Nine Muses and I had been working on" please I want so bad to see Apollo dance. Especially Apollo as Lester

Apollo being absolutely convinced that he will never have a proper partner is tragic. "It was not in my destiny" bro

The Germani appear and the absolute first thing Apollo does is move in front of Meg. "Instinctively". This is the same guy that at the beginning of the book was evaluating which demigods would be best to keep on hand to throw at quests. I can't. Just how much exactly did he repress his protective instincts through the years and centuries?

I find so fascinating that Apollo wants to strike Nero down immediately after meeting him. Like, yes. Apollo is a god. And he would not allow anyone to threaten what he cares about. Even after his trials, he might be kinder and more attentive to demigods, but I think that anybody who crosses him (really crosses him) will have to start praying for mercy.

If there is one thing I can say about TOA is that it is certainly expanding my musical horizons, with all the songs I have to check out on youtube just to have an idea of what Apollo is singing about.

He did not suck during the confrontation with Nero?! Burst of godly strength saved the day and his dignity

"Just because she had lied about being my friend did not mean I wasn't hers. She was in danger. I was not going to leave her" man. He cares so fucking much. No wonder he never let anybody get close to him in the last years.

Didn't they say a sonnet was worse than a limerick in the next book?

"BLESS HIS CONNIVING LITTLE HEART". "Children of Hermes cannot rap". "[Cecil] was demoted to dancer" skjsjskansnkzbsnsmmsnzm

It's kind of ... sad? How happy Apollo is when flying on the giant ants. He is used to being a god who can fly whenever he wants, and a part of him is usually in the sky every day as he drives the sun chariot. And instead he has been stranded on earth, away from what is both his duty and something he greatly enjoys. "It felt so good to fly again. [...] For two or three seconds I was exhilarated".

AND THE ARROW OF DODONA IS FINALLY HERE AND TALKING FRIENDS!!!!

I cannot believe I am so happy because of a talking arrow

The arrow QUIVERED kjsnsksjsnsnzjxndnsk i love them so much

Not Apollo asking where Jason Grace is 💀

I genuinely cannot understand if this is foreshadowing or really lucky wording on Riordan's part. Rachel asks about Meg and Apollo thinks "She might as well have plunged the Arrow of Dodona into my chest". RICK. RICK DID YOU KNOW? HAD YOU ALREADY THOUGTH ABOUT THAT SCENE IN TBM OR WAS IT PURE CHANCE????

WE WERE ROBBED. I have been wondering for a few days if in TOA we ever see Apollo sing for fun (not to confuse enemies, not to open doors, not for any practical purpose. Just for the fun of it). The depressing answer seems to be no, although I might have forgotten. At the end of THO it is implied that Apollo, Leo and Calypso join the sing-along at CHB, but the fact that the books end before we actually see him sing is a travesty.

[sassenach77yle]

The tent flap was closed, but there was a candle burning within. He coughed politely outside, and Rollo, seeing where they were, wagged his tail and uttered a cordial woof !The flap was thrust back at once, and Rachel stood there, mending in one hand, squinting into the dark but already smiling; she’d heard the dog. She’d taken off her cap, and her hair was messed, coming down from its pins.“Rollo!” she said, bending down to scratch his ears. “And I see thee’ve brought thy friend along, too.”Ian smiled, lifting the little tin.“I brought some grease. My aunt said your brother needed it for his arsehole.” An instant too late, he re-collected himself. “I mean—for an arsehole.” Mortification flamed up his chest, but he was speaking to perhaps the only woman in camp who might take arseholes as a common topic of conversation. Well, the only one save his auntie, he amended. Or the whores, maybe.“Oh, he’ll be pleased; I thank thee.”She reached to take the tin from him, and her fingers brushed his. The tin box was smeared with the grease and slippery; it fell and both of them bent to retrieve it. She straightened first; her hair brushed his cheek, warm and smelling of her.

Without even thinking, he put both hands on her face and bent to her. Saw the flash and darkening of her eyes, and had one heartbeat, two, of perfect warm happiness, as his lips rested on hers, as his heart rested in her hands.

Then one of those hands cracked against his cheek, and he staggered back like a drunkard startled out of sleep.“What does thee do?” she whispered. Her eyes wide as saucers, she had backed away, was pressed against the wall of the tent as though to fall through it. “Thee must not!”He couldn’t find the words to say.

His languages boiled in his mind like stew, and he was mute. The first word to surface through the moil in his mind was the Gàidhlig, though.“Mo chridhe,” he said, and breathed for the first time since he’d touched her. Mohawk came next, deep and visceral. I need you. And tagging belatedly, English, the one best suited to apology. “I—I’m sorry.”

She nodded, jerky as a puppet..“Yes. I—yes.”He should leave; she was afraid. He knew that. But he knew something else, too. It wasn’t him she was afraid of. Slowly, slowly, he put out a hand to her, the fingers moving without his will, slowly, as though to guddle a trout.And by an expected miracle, but miracle nonetheless, her hand stole out toward his, trembling. He touched the tips of her fingers, found them cold. His own were warm, he would warm her…. In his mind, he felt the chill of her flesh against his own, noted the nipples hard against the cloth of her dress and felt the small round weight of her breasts, cold in his hands, the press of her thighs, chill and hard against his heat.He was gripping her hand, drawing her back. And she was coming, boneless, helpless, drawn to his heat.“Thee must not,” she whispered, barely audible. “We must not.”It came to him dimly that of course he could not simply draw her to him, sink to the earth, push her garments out of the way, and have her, though every fiber of his being demanded that he do just that. Some faint memory of civilization asserted itself, though, and he grabbed for it. At the same time, with a terrible reluctance, he released her hand.“No, of course,” he said, in perfect English. “Of course we mustn’t.” I—thee—” She swallowed and ran the back of her hand across her lips. Not as though to wipe away his kiss, but in astonishment, he thought. “Does thee know—” She stopped dead, helpless, and stared at him.

“I’m not worried about whether ye love me,” he said, and knew he spoke the truth. “Not now. I’m worried about whether ye might die because ye do.”

“Thee has a cheek! I didn’t say I loved thee.”He looked at her then, and something moved in his chest. It might have been laughter. It might not.“A great deal better ye don’t,” he said softly. “I’m no a fool, and neither are you.”She made an impulsive gesture toward him, and he drew back, just a hair.“I think ye’d best not touch me, lass,” he said, still staring intently into her eyes, the color of cress under rushing water. “Because if ye do, I’ll take ye, here and now. And then it’s too late for us both, isn’t it?”Her hand hung in the air, and while he could see her willing it, she could not draw it back.He turned from her then and went out into the night, his skin so hot that the night air turned to steam as it touched him.

67 GREASIER THAN GREASE~ An Echo in the Bone

[it-is-theatre-my-dudes]

No one ever talks about Rachel’s mental breakdown during HOO and the amount of trauma she faced in TOA, so I would like to be the one who breaks the ice.

So previously in PJO Rachel successfully takes over the role of the Oracle of Delphi. Not because she necessarily has to, but because she has nothing to lose anyways. She finally becomes a member of Camp Half-Blood, though some campers avoid her out of fear. She learns to deal with them by pretending to be nonchalant about it, but the words and conspiracy affect her enough that when Piper faints in TLO, Rachel immediately begins to panic and thinks that she killed her. But despite the mishaps, she genuinely believed that Camp Half-Blood was her home.

Then the main events of HOO happened, and Rachel realised how dispensable she really is. People at camp start turning on her for losing her powers. On the outside, she pretends to be fine, but internally she freaks out, loses control, and throws a tantrum in her cave, destroying the paintings she drew of visions because they were a taunt of what she used to possess in the past. She destroys the painting of Apollo because at her most vulnerable moment, the god she trusted the most wasn’t there. She was truly alone, with no Percy or Annabeth, no Nico, and no gods to help her.

When she finally sees Apollo again he is banished into the mortal world and she‘s too tired to even be angry at him. She had just seen someone sacrifice themselves to save her, and she couldn’t bring herself to worry about Apollo. But then he mentions his oracles. Multiple of them. Once again she realises just how dispensable she is, and this is one of the rare occasions where we actually see Rachel being genuinely angry, though Rick passed it off as a comical scene.

Rachel opts to go with Apollo on his quest. She wants to take the risk despite knowing that she’d likely be kidnapped and used as bait. Apollo rejects her volunteer, and once again she is shunned by both the greek and mortal world. She spends the next few months in a constant state of restlessness, worrying about her fate if Python wins, anxious that he has already taken over her mind.

Six months. Rachel Elizabeth Dare spent six months leaning on the edge of her sanity, maniacally painting drawings so she wouldn’t lose her mind. And when asked about her trauma, 80% of the fandom would only say “She was hated by Annabeth because she liked Percy”.

Bruh.

[leggerefiore]

Do you think you could do a funny headcanon/story with Lear and an S/O who thinks he’s not actually royalty and just joking? Like S/O doesn’t actually believe he’s royalty and just supports his “persona” unaware of the kingdom he rules over. They just love Lear and think he’s a silly guy and not an actual Prince.

rereading his dialogue... Sawyer is such a good person... Judging by how old he seems too, he's probably the only healthy adult figure that was in Lear's life (outside of his mom)...

cw: comedy mostly

pairing: Lear/Reader

You supposed rich boys could be a bit over the top – Especially those with apparently enough money to both build and own an entire artificial island with enough room to host a population and events constantly. Really, Lear appeared to be made endless cash. When you had first come to the island, he had been quite haughty. You barely understood anything about him outside of being the creator of Pasio. Well, that, and how much of ass he was. It certainly had been a shock when Sawyer had proclaimed him his prince after Rachel had claimed they both loved him. But, when you gave it some thought, it seemed entirely likely that he meant he was prince-like.

Even his entire speech about becoming a king, it was far too easy to chop it up to him being some heir who fell too far into romanticism. Even his retainers clearly calling his father His Majesty might have just been playing into Lear's fantasy. You simply just assumed it was something that started as a child, and everyone around him was kind enough to indulge him. It was easy to play along, too, when you became his partner.

Granted, you did feel a bit strange when he insisted that if you two were to become truly serious, you would need to study up on his country's culture due to your future role as a royal. You wanted to scoff and ask if he simply wanted you to just be better informed since you would be living there with him. He was even talking about you would need to have a coronation separate from his own. You wondered what that could even mean. Sawyer seemed quite insistent on you learning, too, offering himself as your tutor. Rachel mumbled about having to help you find clothing more befitting of royalty.

Really, you had no clue, even as he took to one knee and promised to be a worthy husband to you. Honestly, you have been completely shocked when you brought to his home country to meet his father to gain his approval properly. You nearly fainted when you were brought to an actual palace. This led to your current situation of being in Lear's quarters trying to cope with the fact that he was an actual prince. It was not some strange fascination those around him indulged. He was actually a genuine prince. You stared at him as he desperately tried to calm you… which he was bad at.

“Wh-why are you panicking?!” He tried to get answers, completely unaware of what had distressed you so much, “I can assure you that my father will approve you of you! He already has! This is merely a formality!” Lear's hands were held out in front of him. You felt even more panicked at the thought of meeting an actual king. Your supposed rich boy boyfriend had turned from some romantically obsessed with royalty to an actual prince you were engaged to. Some small part of you wished that you had taken up Sawyer's offer of tutelage on culture. It certainly would have cleared things up even sooner.

“… You're actually a prince? Like… This isn't some weird house, right?” you still tried to rationalise everything. The overly rich might build an entire palace… But the theming felt far too intense and precise. Lear blinked a few times. He took off his sunglasses, even to meet your eyes with his own properly. He tilted his head. It was clear he had no idea what you were thinking.

“… I am a prince,” he deadpanned, “Do you recall your own name? Is this a fugue episode!? I need to call Sawyer… No, anyone!” He seemed to fall into a panic himself. You realised he must have thought you knew he was being serious. Reaching out, you grabbed his arm before he could call for any kind of help.

“Lear, no, I'm not having any kind of issue,” you shook your head, “I, uh, thought your whole prince thing was some fantasy you had.”

His expression at your words was indescribable. Those purple eyes of his were wide open while his mouth fell into a grimace, not unlike when Hoopa pranked him. He brought a hand to run through his hair. Silence overtook the bedroom. He turned away from you, placing his face into his hands. “… How… How many times did I mention wanting to succeed the throne?” he mumbled quietly, almost to himself.

“A few, but I thought it was like inheriting a company or something!” you argued. There were not any royal families still around to your knowledge! He was acting like it was normal to meet and somehow get into a deep relationship with royalty. And… like, you felt fairly certain rich company types were the modern equivalent to royalty anyway. He turned back to glance at you with lidded, exhausted eyes.

“… I gave you a speech about the five traits meant for Kings in my family…” He continued, “Sawyer often talks about my father. I…” He placed his face back into his hands. Swallowing, he sighed. “… How did you… How…” He peered at you through his fingers. You wished you could answer that. In retrospect, it certainly seemed more logical that he was a prince. Seriously… Retainers? He would have called them by something else, assuredly. Sawyer certainly was not hiding anything about his connection to Lear's family and how he supported him in acceding to the throne. “I even mentioned that if we got married, you'd be royalty, too!” he threw himself onto the bed at this point, clearly overwhelmed by this realisation. You laid back, too, glancing at him.

Eventually, he offered to give you as much information as you needed to help this meeting with his father go more smoothly. Sawyer eagerly offered his help when he learnt of the situation. Apparently, he truly felt happy that his young master had found love and happiness.

~

“Um, Lear… I know this probably isn't a good time to mention this,” you spoke to the prince after finishing the meeting with his father, “I… I don't think I can ethically support a monarchy.”

He stared at you with that same indescribable expression once more.

This truly must have been love since he otherwise would have sent you away after the first situation.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Prompt for Frosie from 100 assorted prompts!! 2, 10, 11, 25, 32. Sorry if that’s too many but I was reading through them and I thought they would add up to be a cute little oneshot❤️❤️❤️

Thank you, Rachel!! I see the vision, and I raise you postwar domestic Rosenthal family 🙏🙏 PROMPT LIST

2 -> pyjama bottoms / 10 -> old playing cards / 11 -> chipped green nail polish

25 -> slept-in braids / 32 -> a tattered patchwork quilt

Frankie woke with a groan, morning sunlight streaking in through the bedroom window as hairpins poked uncomfortably at her skull. It had been a long night of drinking and charming, stuck at one of Rosie's fancy lawyer dinners, her distaste of which she always downplayed for his sake. They had been so exhausted by the time they arrived home, that neither of them had quite managed to properly undress - Frankie's hair still pinned in its updo, although in a significantly less-dignified state after a night's sleep. Rosie had only had the energy to change his trousers, pyjama bottoms peeking out from beneath an expensive (and now horribly crumpled) dress shirt, the sight of which made her chuckle as he continued to doze quietly beside her.

Pushing herself upright, she sat cross-legged on the bed, hands raised to finally release her hair, scalp aching in all the places it had been relentlessly tugged at all night. Frankie grimaced, feeling one of the hairpins slip and gouge a chip into her nail polish as she tried to retrieve it, tossing the pins with a clatter onto the nightstand once she was done.

A sudden press of warmth against her back almost made her jump, turning to look at where Rosie was stirring, hand instinctively worming its way beneath her button-down to rub circles along her spine. "Mornin' honey," He mumbled, face still half-burrowed into the pillow.

"Good morning," Frankie hummed, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple. As she pulled away, he turned his head up to her, and with a faint chuckle, she leaned in to press her lips against his, a self-satisfied grin creasing his cheek. "Now get outta that shirt."

His brow raised with a teasing curve. "Is that an order?"

"Well, now it is. It's expensive, and I'm not ironing it for you."

"You don't iron my shirts anyway," Rosie chuckled, pushing himself up to sit as he fumbled with the buttons. She let out a huff of amusement, smiling as she began to untwine one of her braids.

Once he had discarded his shirt, Rosie took a deep breath, leaning across to rest his chin on Frankie's shoulder. "Y'know. It's a nice morning."

"It is," She agreed.

"And there's nowhere we gotta be."

She was catching on now, a chuckle lining her words as she spoke. "There isn't."

"Sooo, I was thinkin' we might as well just stay here," Rosie beamed. Frankie had begun to smirk, a hand on his cheek bringing his lips up to meet hers, only millimetres away when a sudden cry pierced the silence - and then another - infant wails echoing down the hall towards them.

She sighed. "Right. Well, I'm staying here - you go get 'em."

"On it," He nodded, stealing a quick kiss before sliding off the bed, the bedroom door creaking as he disappeared from the room.

The cries grew louder as Rosie slipped into the nursery, then steadily began to fade as he returned, tapering off into little more than a mournful whine as he pushed the bedroom door open again with his foot. "Here she comes," "There she is," They both cooed, voices overlapping as he stepped inside, the baby cradled in his arms, her little chubby legs dangling against his front as she squirmed in his grip, arms outstretched towards her mother. In one tiny hand, she had the corner of Frankie's old quilt held in a vice grip, having dragged it all the way from her crib.

"Hello Miss Maggie," Frankie beamed, taking the child in her arms as she gurgled and babbled away to herself, slotting perfectly into her mother's lap. Rosie climbed back into bed beside her, pressing a kiss to the almost invisible whisps of hair that covered Maggie's scalp. Not a sound of discontent had come from her since the moment she'd entered the room, utterly content now as she sat between them, wrapping a fat little hand around one of Frankie's fingers and she gently bobbed up and down on her knee.

"Y'know, a couple guys from your work invited me to play cards next Saturday," She spoke nonchalantly, gaze fixed on Maggie, absent-mindedly stroking her head with her free hand.

"They did? Oh, that's nice," Rosie smiled, bending over to fix the child's sock, which had twisted backwards in her sleep.

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna go."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't wanna spend my Saturday nights hangin' around with lawyers," Frankie chuckled, a teasing glint in her eye. "I already have to live with one."

"Oh, you poor thing," He groaned. "Just for that, I'm gonna make sure Maggie goes to law school when she's older."

She gasped. "Nuh-uh - she's got a legacy to protect!"

"A legacy of fixing cars?"

"Precisely," Frankie hummed, letting out a chuckle as Rosie leaned over to kiss her, grinning against his lips. "Now go get me a coffee will you, dear?"

"Yes ma'am," He nodded, pressing another kiss to her forehead and an identical peck to Maggie's, before pushing himself up from the bed, almost tripping on the hem of his pyjama trousers as he walked.

"Oh, by the way," She called. "Bucky's gonna be in town next week."

"Oh yeah? Should we ask him to babysit?"

They were both silent for a long moment, before simultaneously erupting in laughter at such a prospect.

"Yeah, funny," Frankie chuckled before suddenly sobering up. "No."

[fashionteahouse]

Can you do Embry or Jared where reader invites her friend she hasn't seen in years to a bonfire and her friend starts staring at her man and reader gets really jealous and Rachel butts in after readers friend starts touching him and saying how cold it is and Rachel asks him and reader how the wedding planning is going. You can choose the other details

ooo yes i can! 💜 hope you enjoy:)

thought i knew you - jared x reader

Glancing at the phone, a big smile was displayed. The girl on the other end of the phone shows proof of her purchased ticket to visit you. Life has gotten a bit busy, making you two not being able to hang out. You knew she was out of town for the time being and wanted to show her a good time. Your friend accepts the bonfire invite, her claims being: she’s never been to one.

You two embrace into a hug when she arrives at the beach that you guided her to. Jared hasn’t arrived yet so you introduce her to the other girls there and you all talk, dance, and have a good time. Your friend wants a drink and with her away, you strike up a conversation with Rachel. Jared arrives and greetings are called to him.

Jared embraces you before anyone else and you introduce him to your friend. He loved to make anyone feel comfortable, he liked to have fun. Something bothered you though. After you introduced them, you followed your friend’s eyes follow his every move. You knew your friend long enough to know that she was a bold individual. You still didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

“What are you thinking about?” Rachel says as she links your arm with you, interrupting your thinking face.

“Nothing…”

Rachel gives you a look to make you reconsider.

“I don’t want to seem..crazy or..anything but I think she’s checking Jared out.” you say quietly. Rachel takes her head to see if she can see what you were talking about.

Your friend was watching him dance, a faint blush is evident.

“Let’s watch it play out.” Rachel says with a quick wink.

As the night went on, your friend is much closer, saying how much she liked his shirt. Touching him in the process. A spiked feeling developed in your throat. Jared took a few steps back when she glided her fingers on his arm to tell him something.

You walk to Rachel and you gesture towards your friend again. “Unbelievable.” you say as you and Rachel watched. You start to walk towards them with Rachel following. You hear glimpses of the conversation.

“Wow..does it always get cold?” Your friend asks Jared.

He just nods.

She moves closer and leans her body on him and says, “I could use a warm up.”

You were about to say something until Rachel does the job for you.

“Jareddd just the man I needed to see.” She says as you two move closer.

“What’s up.” Jared chuckles.

“I’ve been trying to squeeze information out of this chick but she won’t budge. Would you puh-lease tell me how you two’s wedding plans are going?” Rachel says, making sure to emphasize her pointing between you and Jared.

This caused Jared to chuckle and come over and wrap his arm around you and hold you close.

“She’s very picky about which cake to pick.” he says looking down at you.

Your worries are eased a bit as you see your friend come to realization that her chances with Jared were slim to none. You were just glad that you trusted your gut. You silently thanked Rachel with your eyes and she throws a discreet quick wink in your direction.

[dalekofchaos]

If Chloe was the villain of Life Is Strange

I remember games like Silent Hill, Portal and Bully where your friend or trusted figure turns out to be the villain and I can't help but wonder what Life Is Strange would look like if Chloe Price was the villain. So this is an au I put together about said scenario.

My way of doing this is to turn Chloe into a possessive Yandere that uses their nostalgic friendship to use Max to do what she wants. Max's journey from the beginning of the game is to build the confidence that she does get throughout the game we know and love, only this time she acknowledges the friendship with Chloe is toxic and can walk away. We'd also see characters like Kate, Warren, and Joyce telling Max that there is something off about Chloe.

But to change it so Chloe is the actual killer, Chloe finds Rachel’s crumbled up letter and acts irrationally, broken hearted and this leads her in killing Rachel in a jealous rage. Chloe later finds out Rachel was involved with Nathan, Frank and Jefferson and pledges to kill them all. Then one day, Max comes back and tells Chloe about the storm and her powers. Chloe is gonna get her revenge and she’ll have Max to herself(in a very yandere way)

She’ll first kill Frank because he threatens Max, when we go to interrogate Frank as we do in canon. Chloe antagonizes Frank to the point where Frank pulls a knife on Max and then Chloe shoots Frank. Then get back at Nathan for trying to daterape her, as Max goes to the party, Chloe goes back to the dorm and when Nathan is in his dorm room, Chloe doses Nathan and then gives Nathan an overdose of pills.

Since Jefferson isn't the killer, at worse he's just a pervert who preys on teenage girls. They found the dark room where he develops his pervy pictures. Nothing more, nothing less. He uses the everyday hero contest as a means to collect new subjects and had plans for Max. Chloe found the perfect scapegoat and the perfect excuse to kill the man Rachel wrote about.

As they are getting to find Jefferson. Chloe suddenly vanishes and leaves Max to Jefferson’s mercy as Max acts like the bait, and then bam, Chloe shoots him from behind and Max faints due to seeing someone die in front of her. While Max is still out, Chloe takes her to the dark room.

Max is relieved to see Chloe, but sees that she’s tied up. Chloe explains everything. She saw an opportunity to get back at everyone who has turned her life into shit. Rachel for cheating on her and the men she cheated on her with and Max’s doomsday gave Chloe an out on all the debt, the abuse from David and how Joyce ruined their lives. Chloe and Max can start fresh without Arcadia Bay. "I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted Arcadia to turn to glass, and you gave me the perfect way to bring my dream to reality" Max is horrified with everything she’s hearing, asks what about her friends and Chloe uncaringly says “I just can’t let anyone but me be in your life, sorry Max but they’re going down with the storm, no tea dates or going ape for you, shakah brah. Funny thing, when I saw how you lived a life at Blackwell without contacting me, I just couldn't take it. I persuaded your precious Kate to go to that Vortex party, I just couldn't believe she would go viral….if only you let her jump. And Warren, I wanted him dead since that phone call about "Going Ape", but the storm will take care of that, you are mine Max” and Max calls her a monster and throws back all the gaslighting and abuse she’s thrown her way and all Chloe can say is “you’ll forgive me after the storm is over, don’t worry, no matter what you’re mine Max,” Then Max has had enough. and has a very Todd like callout. "Chloe, just stop. You are all the things that's wrong with you. You chose to be bitter, insecure and jealous about Rachel. It isn't William's death, or the abuse, David or Joyce, the drugs or the debt. It's you. You chose to be this way. You chose to manipulate me with our past and abuse me if you didn't get your way. You chose to kill Rachel and you became a monster and I'd rather die than continue being your friend. I should've done this when you blew up at me about taking Kate's phone call, but I am done with you, fuck you Chloe."

Chloe did not like that one bit. She angrily takes out her gun and prepares to kill Max.

She's stopped when David arrives.

Chloe knew he’d be there and hides and when David opens the door, Chloe blows his head off. Max has a choice.

Stay in this very abusive relationship and hope she can make her better after the storm glasses Arcadia Bay or rewind and help David stop Chloe.

Stay.

Max tells Chloe everything she wants to hear. That she's sorry that she didn't contact Chloe all those years, that she's right about everything and that she needs Chloe and as much as she needs Max. Chloe puts the gun down and hugs Max, but tells her "don't you dare think of standing up to me like that again, but it's okay. We're going to leave this ugliness all behind and start all over, it will be just like when we were kids, but better. I'll be better Max, I promise" They drive off to the Lighthouse just to watch the destruction of Arcadia Bay.

Chloe looks on the destruction with satisfaction and wonder, while Max looks horrified. Chloe kisses Max in the chaos of the storm. "Now you're all mine Max"

They drive off. Max looking uncertain with a tinge of fear in her eyes while Chloe has so much in store for their new lives.

Rewind

David subdues or kills Chloe and Max goes to the diner.

Max tells Warren everything. He believes her and he's proud he stood up to Chloe and survived that awful relationship. Max kisses him for being the real person who stood by her side and she's sorry she didn't see it sooner.

Max doesn't know what she should do about the storm and Warren advises Max to use the picture they took, and have the two of them make it to the lighthouse while David arrests Chloe.

But during the nightmare, it isn't Max who's trying to convince Max her choices were bad, it's Chloe.

She berates Max and tells her what a bad friend she was to her. Gaslights her and uses their memories as a means to manipulate her(yeah the memory lane bit is not a happy thing, it's nostalgia meant to control Max) but outcomes Kate and Warren to bring Max out of this cycle of abuse and for the last time, Max rejects Chloe.

So Max goes back in time and instead of just letting Nathan kill Chloe, she warns Nathan not to go into the girls bathroom and leaves the evidence for David about Rachel's death and David is the one waiting for her in the girl's bathroom to apprehend Chloe. Max also leaves a trail of bread crumbs leading to the arrests of Nathan, Jefferson and Frank.

Max is sad of what Chloe became, but she's free and she's moved on with her life and it ends with a montage of Max having a teadate with Kate and Going Ape with Warren

[isfjmel-phleg]

Photographs, 1916

Rachel Doncath, age twenty-five. She stands steadily and faces the camera, but her eyes show a hint of glancing at someone out of the shot. There is a hint of humor about her expression, as if the unseen person were trying to make her laugh. She wears the height of fashion, a dress with a higher waist and a fuller skirt with a hem high enough to expose a pair of delicate shoes that lace up her ankles. Underneath her wide-brimmed hat, her hair is waved. A watch is clipped to her waistband, and she holds her handbag at the ready, as if she hasn't much time to waste in the photographer's studio. A notation on the back of the photograph indicates that it was taken in Otionovia during a state visit from Queen Rietta.

Rietta I of Faysmond, age twenty-six. This is her yearly formal photograph, a portrait of her in state intended for mass production. Unlike most previous years, she sits rather than stands. Her court gown, dripping with various sorts of intricate lace representing different regions of Faysmond, engulfs her, as does an impressive train swept in front of her. The glove of her left hand is removed, revealing her famous emerald engagement ring and wedding ring. The state crown of Faysmond rests on a table beside her, and on her head is a smaller (but not small!) crown. Not a curl is out of place; they seem to have been tamed with some sort of hair product. Her expression is difficult to read. There is something uncertain in her gaze.

Delclis V of Corege, age twenty-five. An unnamed photographer has caught him sitting in the corridor outside a conference room before a meeting. His face is partially turned away toward a large window through which sunlight is streaming. He wears a dress uniform with sash and decorations. His pince-nez rest on his nose. They are attached to a string tied to one of his medals. A wire fox terrier puppy paws at his knee, and he strokes its ears. A faint smile crosses his face. He appears to be desperately trying to grow a moustache.

Elystan, Duke of Gorchester, age twenty-one. He is posing in the full academic dress of a BA from Hollingham University over an elegantly-cut suit. One hand rests nonchalantly on a pile of books on a table, representing his literary studies. The other hand is on his hip, exhibiting the sleeve of his gown. He holds himself regally, shoulders back, chin uplifted a little. His eyes are less dark-circled and his face less hollow than in earlier photographs. He looks very pleased with himself.

Amarantha Melbray, age twenty-one. In a pose reminiscent of a famous self-portrait of her favorite Renaissance artist, Teofila, she sits at her easel lifting a brush to an already-complete painting of a little girl. The painting is identifiable as "Portrait of Chrysantha" (1916), produced during Melbray's time at the Royal Art Academy. Her palette and an orderly paintbox wait nearby. She wears a ruffled light-colored frock that she clearly would never have worn while actually painting. Her hair is pinned high on the back of her head and waves over her ears. She fixes the camera with a steady, intent gaze.

Tamett Låsrygg, age twenty-one. An informal photograph, made clear by the wide grin on his face. He leans casually against the side of an aeroplane. His arms are crossed over his chest. He wears a leather jacket and flying helmet with goggles. A scarf, probably knitted by his sister Emenor, drapes around his neck. Noriberrian insignia is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. The photograph is inscribed with his signature and the words "With love from New Archangel. Watch the skies for me soon!"

Josiah Callon, age twenty-one. He sits at the piano, one hand over the keys, the other holding a pair of spectacles, which he appears to have just removed. His long legs stretch out in front of him; after years of track and field at Hollingham, he is built like a runner. A morning suit, with its cutaway tailcoat, accentuates his height. Instead of the common 1910s male practice of slicking back the hair into flat smoothness using oil, his hair is parted on the side with curls dipping across the forehead above one eye. His expression is not so much haughty as it is profoundly serious and a little sad.