#and even einstein for a bit

[just-an-enby-lemon]

A very important thing I just noticed when I relistened to RQG is how much Hamid is just despreatedly looking for a father figure everywhere. Poor boy has deep daddy issues and it will affect his relationship with all authority figures he finds.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

Is it bad that I want to see more of that Were-Doc Au?

the people love mad scientist turned big wet dog

[neonbodyache]

did some calculations and if im smart i could be my gw in time to do cosplay by the convention summer season next yr in which case be literally fucking unstoppable actually

[ilikeevilblondes]

Wide Open

18+ MDNI!

Summary: After a long day of work, Joel expects nothing more from the evening than getting some shut-eye. Fate has other plans, however, because the daughter of the family next door forgot to close her blinds again and is putting on quite the show.

TL;DR: Joel gets off watching you get off.

W.C: ~2.8k

Warnings: pervyneighbour!joel x reader, he's a tiny bit of a creep, accidental voyeurism (kind of…), mutual masturbation, dildo usage, lowkey a tiny breeding kink, implied age gap as per ushe (late-40s, early-20s), (no outbreak!)

Note: this is your daily reminder to close your blinds, y'all. unless joel miller is your neighbour. then maybe don't, and fuck with him.

Part One | Part Two

Joel always said he’d retire ‘soon’. 

Though as the years flew by, ‘soon’ remained ambiguously distant.

Presently, he had just come home from an unnecessarily hard day at work where some Einstein had misread the blueprint and cut every single piece of lumber half an inch too short. 

Joel was pushing fifty now. If asked toward his earlier adulthood, he’d have claimed that fifty-years-old balanced right on the precipice of retirement. And by sixty, he’d be golfing daily, attempting to read something other than the backs of DVDs, and not worrying about stupid shit like redoing an entire section of framing because of Romero’s shitty-fucking-eyesight.

“Fuckin’ Romero,” Joel mumbled to himself as he locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter.

With heavy footsteps, he ambled toward the fridge, praying he had the foresight the night before to leave a can or two of Modelo for his future self.

The unwelcoming sterile glare of the fridge light greeted him as he yanked open the door. Worse, it greeted him with its contents, or lack thereof.

No Modelo. 

Not even a lone, pitiful can of Keystone Light that Joel may have bought in desperation as a crappy substitute for literally any other beer.

Making a mental note to pick up a six-pack sometime tomorrow and, further down the line to maybe cut down on the beer, Joel trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.

His bedframe whined with a metallic creak as he sat on the edge, rubbing his hands down his face and feeling the scrape of his overgrown stubble on his worn palms.

Joel was more than ready to call it a night, he thought, as he leaned over to draw the curtains.

But he froze upon seeing you.

The two-story craftsman next door, formerly a ‘fixer-upper’, had been home to you and your parents ever since you moved in from the city a year ago. Your parents were mild-mannered neighbours who sent the street Christmas cards and kept the porch light on and took part in the neighbourhood watch patrol.

And you? You never made your bed, always had a book in your hands before sleeping, and more importantly, had a very noticeable habit of neglecting to close the blinds of your bedroom window.

Joel knew this, of course, because the bedroom of the two-story craftsman facing his house just so happened to belong to you.

“Shit,” Joel heaved a heavy sigh, still clutching the drawstring with notable tenseness.

Your cream-coloured blinds were slanted completely horizontally, allowing a direct view into your bedroom. And Joel found himself helplessly entranced, watching the back of your silhouette pull your shirt over your head and fling it across the room.

Fuck, you were very possibly wearing his favourite bra. The lacey ones that pushed your tits up real nice–

No. No, Joel, didn’t have a favourite bra of yours. What kind of neighbour would keep track of the family next door’s daughter’s bras? 

You turned around and, to his delight, confirmed that you were wearing the exact pair.

Him, evidently.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back, running a hand through his greying hair and letting out a deep exhale.

You continued undressing, seemingly oblivious to the state of your blinds and the lack of privacy that state entailed. And further, oblivious of the old man next door watching intently as you unzipped your jeans and stepped out of them.

A thong. You had chosen to wear a thong that day. Because, of course, you had.

Bright red and stringy and covering virtually nothing, which left no part of your lower half to the imagination and Joel was able to see most of your perfect fucking pussy from the house over—

“The fuck am I doing?” Joel mumbled to himself and decidedly tore himself away from his window.

What was he doing? 

It wasn’t like you were strangers. He knew you. He came over to barbecues hosted in your back garden, fixed the leak in your kitchen sink when your dad had called, and watched the Superbowl in your living room that one year.

And, as much as he may have indulged in watching you before, he had never lingered as much as just did. Usually, he’d be sated with a few seconds of your half-dressed state, and would only later conjure up that image in the shower to fuck his fist to.

The tightness in his pants seemed to disagree with that plan, and Joel was overcome with an overwhelming need to settle his problem down south immediately.

Joel turned back to his window, determined to draw the curtains shut once and for all and then quickly jerk off to the mere thought of you (not that that was a noble action in and of itself), when he, for the second time that evening, froze at the sight of you.

Your bedroom was furnished in a way that had your bed facing your window. So, your wonderfully respectful neighbour could easily have direct views of you lying on your bed chatting on your phone, or reading, or spread out and running your fingers through your slick folds.

If Joel thought he was hard before, he was definitely, painfully, rock-hard now.

As careless as you may have been in the past, you have never forgotten to close your blinds to this degree before.

And, owing to that logic, you would never slip up like this again.

So, one would be incredibly stupid to not take advantage of this rare opportunity.

“Fuck it,” Joel inhaled sharply.

He scrambled to undo his belt and unzip his jeans and pull them down just enough to tug his raging erection out of his briefs, all while desperately keeping his gaze set on you.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he let the other wrap around his cock, fisting it leisurely as he watched you take open-mouthed breaths while your fingers traced up your seam to rub at your clit, your thong haphazardly pushed to the side.

You looked so pretty like that; lying on your bed and touching yourself as if you had pent-up emotions of need you desperately ached to satisfy.

You went slowly, dragging your fingers down along your wet cunt and against your throbbing clit, likely savouring the intensity.

Joel matched your pace, his fist sliding in a lazy tempo around his aching member.

Fuck, he’d do anything to grind his cock against your pussy; feel it shiver and clench around nothing and coat his length with your seeping slick. He’d bet all his money he could make you come without even putting it inside, too. Needy fucking slut.

And then you dipped a finger inside. 

Then another. 

God, with the way you seemed to be shaking around two of your own slender fingers, Joel was sure you’d be a mess riding his. 

Fuck, he’d even give you a third just to see you lose your fucking mind.

Maybe you’d beg him to stop, crying prettily and gasping in pitchy breaths that you just couldn’t take any more. But Joel believed you could, and he’d tell you so as he slipped his index finger to join the other two, feeling you clench around them—

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand and it was all he could do not to come early and let the show go to waste. Instead, he adopted a faster tempo, trying his damnedest to follow yours, however erratic it was.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan and you tossed your head back against your pillows as your fingers sped up in their ministrations.

Shit, you probably sounded real fuckin’ sweet, all overwhelmed with pleasure.

Again, your mouth parted, letting out a syllable of something Joel couldn’t hear, your tongue flicking out momentarily as you sounded it out.

Maybe it was Joel’s twisted imagination, but he was somewhat sure you had just moaned his name.

You probably didn’t, but it was a nice fucking dream, anyway.

He’d do just about anything to hear his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer or screamed like a plea as he relentlessly pounded into your tight fucking pussy. And, if given the opportunity, he’d fuck you so hard, a slurred babble of name would be the only thing you could say.

A familiar warmth began to pool at the pit of his stomach and his cock tensed even more.

Fuck, he was close.

And, he assumed you were, too, owing to the sheen of sweat on your body glistening under your lamp and the giant breaths you were heaving in.

“C’mon, babygirl.” He encouraged aloud despite being a good distance out of earshot, his voice coming out raspy and low. “Come for me,”

He watched you carefully, waiting for the moment your eyes fluttered shut and your hand stilled so he could close his eyes and imagine fucking his load into your spent cunt.

But no such series of events occurred.

Unexpectedly, however, you pulled your fingers out and flopped over on your stomach to reach for the bottom drawer of your bedside table.

What… the fuck?

Did you come already? Without Joel noticing? Shit, he definitely was too cocky in his familiarity with the female body if he didn’t clock your orgasm.

“Goddamnit.” Joel sighed, his hand coming to a complete stop.

Maybe it was better this way. 

Maybe Joel could still salvage what little morality he retained and beg for forgiveness from the higher powers above—

And no, actually, he couldn’t because, being the dirty fucking whore you were, you pulled out what he recognised to be a dildo from your nightstand.

You stopped fingering yourself to get a dildo from your nightstand.

“Filthy girl,” Joel tutted through a depraved smile, watching with hazy, lust-flooded eyes as you sat back down, spat directly on the tip of the sex toy, and positioned it in front of your weeping pussy.

Who knew that the sweet girl next door, the one who always offered to help carry groceries or to water his plants while he was away, kept a thick fucking dildo near her bed.

Not just any dildo, either, Joel realised.

It must have been his lucky fucking day, because, upon squinting at the unholy sight, Joel discerned that the shade of which the toy was painted almost exactly matched the rich tan of his skin tone.

In other words, it was now going to be much easier to imagine himself fucking you when a close replica of his cock was pistoning in and out of your pretty cunt.

“You gonna put it in, sweetheart?” Joel sighed, his grip tightening around his length as he watched your dawdling.

Fuck, he was going to get humanity’s worst case of blue balls if you stretched this out any longer.

“C’mon, baby. Jus’ put it in. ‘S not that hard,” He all but whined.

He, a man pushing fifty, basically whined. Good lord, what kind of fucking temptress were you?

Thankfully, it seemed as though you heard his words, because right after, you had slid the first few inches inside your walls, gasping at its girth.

“Yeah, there you go.” Joel sucked in a sharp inhale as he thrust up into his fist. “That all? Oh, babygirl, you can give yourself more.”

As if reading his mind, you slowly began feeding yourself the rest of the tanned dildo, throwing your head backwards and chanting that syllable that was so dangerously close to Joel’s name.

For the purpose of that night, Joel took the liberty of imagining it was, in fact, his own name as he fucked up fully into his fist.

When you finally took the toy to the hilt, its fake carved balls pressing against your ass, you started moving it in and out of your drenched seam at a steady pace.

Joel let out a string of incoherent curses under his breath, which quickly turned into strained groans as he mirrored your rhythm, practically feeling the way your pretty pussy clenched around that fake dick.

Your chest was expanding and contracting frantically now and you were no doubt releasing breathy moans from the sensation of fucking yourself with those eight generous inches.

Joel wished he was in that room with you to give you the same and then some. 

He’d kiss his way down to your tits and take a nipple into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of your skin as he bent you in half and made you see stars.

He wouldn’t even have cared too much if you passed out, as long as, when you woke up, he was still driving into you and kissing your cervix with each thrust, sending you barrelling into orgasm after unbound orgasm.

He’d hold out as long as it took to get you completely sated, and even a little more after. Maybe he’d even pop a certain little blue pill just to watch himself fuck his come deep inside you again and again after rounds of laborious exertion.

Joel’s dick twitched again at the mere thought.

And again, upon seeing the sight of you pulling the soaking dildo out of your tight hole and manoeuvering yourself to hover above the thing like you were about to sit on it.

Christ alive. You were going to ride your dildo.

“Shit,” Joel breathed, his eyes widening slightly. God, this would be a treat to watch.

Worrying your teeth on your lower lip, you began to slowly sink down on the toy, a silent scream leaving your parted lips as you steadily took it all the way to the fucking hilt.

Joel, he imagined you to have mewled. Joel, you’re so fucking big.

“‘S okay, sweetie, you’re doin’ real well.” Joel sighed, watching you adjust to the size. “Brave girl, doin’ so good. Now, go on and ride that cock. C’mon, baby.”

And so you did.

Bouncing up and down on the toy, your mouth opening in a steady stream of what seemed to be expletives, and your tits springing from your efforts.  

Fuck, in his forty-something years of life, Joel had never seen such a pretty sight.

And, there you were, repeating that mystery syllable like your life depended on it.

Joel, Joel, Joel, he envisioned you whimpering.

You were close again. He was sure of it. If it wasn’t already painstakingly obvious from the way you were eagerly swiping at your swollen clit.

And so, he finally gave in and began fucking up into his fist—his hips intensely chasing his hand—at the ferocity at which he dreamed to ram inside you, dragging against your velvety walls and feeling as you shivered uncontrollably around him.

He was close, too. Very fucking close.

“Come for me, sweet thing. C’mon. Be a good … fuck, be a good slut for me and come around that cock.” Joel breathed, eyes glued to the display of you feverishly riding the toy.

Then, suddenly, your mouth opened in a long scream as you nearly went cross-eyed.

Shortly after, your face scrunched up in pleasure and your body fell still on the dildo, the only movements being small rolls of your hips against the rubber length as your breathing began to even.

You came.

Fucking finally. 

Joel shut his eyes and pictured driving into your throbbing, dripping cunt, hearing your pitchy whines as he shushed you with little follow-through.

Gonna come inside, he’d tell you in between heavy, strained breaths. To which, you’d frantically alert him of the fact that you weren’t on the pill and the two of you had chosen to forgo the assistance of a condom.

But Joel’d come inside you anyway. Mark up his pretty girl with pearly ropes of his come. And he’d keep you filled up as long as he fucking could.

Before he knew it, Joel was coming hard and fast into his fist, wildly jerking in and out of his grip as he rode out his high.

It took a few more moments for him to slow down, and a good number more for him to stop fully.

“Fucking hell,” Joel sighed as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, reaching over to a nearby table and plucking a few pieces of tissue out of its box to clean himself up with.

Satisfied, he crumpled up the tissues, tossed them into a nearby trashcan and gently tucked himself back in.

His head hung low as he caught his breath and tried not to linger on the dubious ethics of what had just transpired.

While that had possibly been the best jerk in his life, it was undoubtedly very non-consensual. At least, on your side.

After all, you hadn’t explicitly given him permission to fuck his fist to the sight of you doing… whatever fucking marathon that was.

At least, he didn’t think you did.

Until, bing!

Joel angled his head to catch sight of his phone lighting up with a recent notification.

Unsure of who could be texting him at that hour, Joel took it in his hands and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his passcode.

It was a message from you.

You: you gonna keep jerking off across the street or are you gonna come over?

Joel’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. 

So, you had seen him. Possibly even orchestrated the whole ordeal; neglecting to close your blinds on purpose, wearing that bra, and, well, fucking yourself right by your window.

Shit. Well, he couldn’t just come over and fuck you silly … could he?

Then, another text came.

You: home alone.

Joel never put on his shoes faster.

[girllblogging777]

LATE NIGHT LOGIC 𝜗𝜚

husband!spencer reid x reader (fluff)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 2k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : after a leg injury, spencer has to stay home. you try to keep him occupied with games and enigmas, but your husband just happens to be smarter than einstein

click. click. click. the soft and repetitive sound of the your fingers on the keyboard was beginning to make you drowsy.

you couldn’t tell how long you’d been writing, but based on the way the moonlight was streaming through the curtains of you and spencer’s living room, it had been a while.

you looked up, blinking twice and slowly emerging from that article you had been assigned to redact. a soft smile creeped up your face at the sight of your favourite brunette in front of you.

today marked a week since spencer had come home injured. a week since the last case. a week since he hadn’t been able to work. and as much as you incredibly adored having your husband around, he was getting restless.

right now, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes narrowed as he focused on the jar he was holding like it was his personal nemesis. you didn’t have much time to question what exactly he was doing with it, before he met your gaze and spoke up.

“did you know that the average american eats approximately 8.5 lbs of pickles a year ?”

you chuckled. of course, your husband would break a comfortable silence between the two of you with this sort of information

“seriously, babe ?”

he shrugged, shifting his weight to his left leg and trying to disguise a wince.

“i just happened to be reading the ingredients of your oh-so-lovely jar of pickles and-“

“woah, you’ve definitely reached peak boredom. this has gotta stop, spence.“

he sighed, leaning down to look back at the damn pickle jar, before putting it down.

“i know, i know. but i can’t help it, i’m going crazy. i’ve done everything i could, reorganised all your books on the shelf and re-read every single article you wrote since you started working. i need to do something with my brain or else i’ll go crazy-“

you cut him off gently, speaking in an understanding tone. anyone would enjoy a week off work, but rest was not a word in spencer reid’s vocabulary.

“put the jar down, you. come here”

he didn’t think twice, obeying you like he always did. in a couple of long strides, although he was still limping a bit, he sat down next to you on the couch, hands fiddling with the sleeves of his striped pj shirt.

you reached for your stack of documents, frantically searching through them. you knew exactly what you were looking for.

“hey, what are you doing ?” he asked curiously, shoulders sagged as if he was disappointed not to be getting your attention

“there it is.”

he looked at the sheet you’d just handed him.

“huh, eistein ? really ?”

you nodded, a playful glint in your eyes “yeah, the zebra puzzle. they passed it around at work, it’s a pretty difficult thing. you should give it a try”

and obviously, he wasn’t listening anymore. brows creased, nose scrunched, he was already back in working mode within seconds as his eyes scanned the enigma.

you couldn’t take your eyes off of him for a moment, a soft smile on your lips. he just looked so handsome like this, when he was so focused that you could practically hear the gears turning in his brain.

“see, this should keep you occupied for a while” you spoke, leaning back against the couch and shifting your attention back to your laptop.

he didn’t bother answering, way too concentrated to even be able to look up from the paper. soon enough, the comfortable silence between the two of you was back.

click. click. click.

for a moment, he seemed to have forgotten all about his injured leg and impracticality to work. no more reading off random ingredient lists or wandering mindlessly around the apartment.

just you and your wonderful genius sitting on the couch, keeping yourselves busy with your respective tasks.

“just so you know,” you said, glancing at what he’d began scribbling on the sheet, “it’s really complicated”

“no, there’s a pattern… it’s actually pretty simple to find out once i get the-“

“the color of the house. the pet. the drink. the brand of cigarettes.” you enumerated while you kept writing, picking up on something he mumbled incoherently under his breath.

his lips were shaped in that signature upturned smile you dreamt of kissing away, and you kept going. “i mean basically, it’s gonna take you a good thirty minutes before-“

“done.”

you looked up, your brows raising. “what ?”

“i’m done. first to fifth house, left to right. this one owns the zebra”

you couldn’t help but freeze for a second, before pinching the bridge of your nose. “are you kidding me ? it took me an hour to figure it out !”

he shrugged, head tilting to the side as he answered like it was the easiest thing in the world. “well, i wouldn’t deserve the title of genius if i hadn’t been able to do it.”

“yeah… you definitely are a genius. fine. and here i thought this would keep you occupied for more than a minute”

spencer leaned in, brushing a wild strand of hair behind your ear in the most casual way possible. instantly, the rhythm of your pulse accelerated, and you could simply hum when he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“thank you, though. for keeping up with me.”

you shook your head, reassuring him “it’s fine. should’ve known i wouldn’t be able to finish up that article before you’d drop another fun fact”

“oh, you love my knowledge about pickles.” he attempted in a flirty tone, but since it was spencer, it just sounded like he was actually expecting you to agree and ask more about it.

you simply giggled, nodding before he spoke up again “by the way, considering how many pickles i’ve seen you consume within the past week, you’re way above average”

yeah. it was definitely going to be something, having to keep your husband occupied for the rest of his sick leave.

and even though the constant rambling and attention he needed should annoy you, those brown eyes of his were enough for you to selfishly hope he’d stay around forever.

a/n : had to solve this enigma the other day and my first thought was “i bet spencer could do this within minutes”… anyways, hope y’all enjoy whatever this is !!

@gf2bellamy @iamgonnagetyouback @reidscherrylady @xervoxs @kaz-03

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 7: Apologize

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Chapter Summary: When you call it quits on secrets, it’s funny how more of them spill out. Then Harry comes sprinting after you, begging for forgiveness. I mean, how can you say no to that face? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 10,5k, ROMANCE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

As the elevator headed up to the penthouse, disbelief hit you hard. How could Harry have lied to you like that? You’d been cleaning his place without even knowing it. It felt like a total betrayal, but honestly, you were more pissed off than anything. Then another thought struck you—those cameras. Had he been watching you this entire time?

“Jerk. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Huh?”

Right, you were in the elevator with Mia, this little girl you just met, both of you heading to the same flat. But it was clear you had a shared goal. The elevator chimed as you reached the penthouse, and Mia stopped you. “I need to do something first.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Mia peeked out of the elevator, checking the area. “The cameras,” she said.

You were caught off guard.

“I can’t let my mom find out I’m here, so I need to shut them down before we go in.”

“Your mom is Maria, right?”

“You know her too? Who even are you?”

With a smirk, you said, “Just think of me as your partner in crime.”

Mia raised an eyebrow. “Partner in crime?”

Leaning in a bit, you said, “I want to take down those damn cameras too.”

She thought about it for a second, narrowed her eyes, and then glanced at your uniform. “So that’s you, huh? My mom mentioned you.”

“What did she say?”

She smirked. “You are the girl who made Uncle Harry look like he’d been hit by a truck.”

You giggled. “I really want to hit him with a truck right now. Because you see, I didn't know it was his apartment when I was cleaning here, he played a trick on me. And as if that wasn't enough, he watched me on the cameras. So what do you say, partner? You want to smash those cameras?”

She frowned. “Smash them? What are you, a vandal?” She took his tablet out of her school bag. “Here, I'll activate the app here, but since we're partners, I need you to turn on the signal first, can you do that?”

You felt like an idiot next to this smart 10-year-old girl. “Okay, tell me what to do, partner.”

“Since you're the cleaning lady who always comes here...”

“Maid.” 

“Yeah, maid, whatever. I need you to go to the control panel on the wall and choose the option to connect to nearby devices.” 

You frowned. “Why can’t I just walk over and hit the button to turn off the camera? There has to be an option for that.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks Einstein, if you do that, the camera's feed will be disabled and Uncle Harry will receive a notification, which could make him suspicious. I’ll just link to the camera from the tablet and adjust its angle. Then there won't be anything to worry about. It's not like Uncle Harry is going to be monitoring the camera constantly during his meetings at work.”

Now you felt even more silly; it was a super clever plan. “Wow, you’re really smart,” you said. She styled her hair like her mom. “I know. Just go do what I say.”

You chuckled softly, “Understood, ma’am.”

She flashed a grin.

As you entered the apartment, you acted casually, avoiding the cameras while strolling down the corridor. “It feels like I’m in a movie,” you whispered to yourself. You quickly connected to the cameras through the control panel’s touch screen and hit "add device." Moments later, Mia's tablets name appeared, confirming the connection.

“Connection complete,” Mia announced as she walked in.

“High five, girl!” you said, extending your hand.

She laughed and high-fived you back. “We make an awesome team. I like you.”

“I like you too, Mia,” you replied with a wink.

Looking at the cameras, you realized Mia was indeed controlling them from her tablet. They were all aimed toward the corners, so as long as you didn’t walk by, the cameras wouldn’t catch you. Mia sprawled out on the couch as if it were her own home and started watching a video on her tablet. Glancing at her knee, you noticed it was slightly bleeding.

“Hey, let me take care of that knee,” you said, heading to grab a first aid kit. When you returned, you sat beside her and cleaned her wound with some alcohol. “Is this because you skipped school today? Is it about your mom?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s about her and my dad. They keep saying they’ll get divorced, but nothing changes.”

You paused. That must be tough for her. “I didn’t know; that sounds rough. How do you feel about it?”

She shrugged. “I just want them to figure it out already. I’m so tired of their drama and constant arguing.”

“I get it. If it ever gets to be too much, just call me. My place isn’t nearly as big as this one—barely bigger than the living room—but I’ll make room for you. What do you think?”

Mia smiled with a maturity beyond her years. “Thanks, you’re a really good friend.”

You smiled back and wrapped her knee with some bandages. “Alright, don’t take this off until tomorrow, got it?” 

“Got it, thanks,” he said as he flopped back onto the couch. “You’re mad at him, huh?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m really angry. I just want to break everything in here,” you muttered while glancing around. 

“How mature,” he remarked quietly. 

Feeling a bit embarrassed, you looked at her. “I mean, of course I won’t actually do that.” 

“My mom did,” she replied, surprisingly calm. “She broke everything in Dad’s office. You adults can be super childish sometimes, and then want us to act like we’re grown-ups.” 

You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re not wrong; we can be pretty childish about things.” 

“Just talk it out and figure it out,” she said.

You grabbed the first aid kit and stood up. “What if I’m so mad at him that I don’t even want to talk?”

She smiled. “I don’t think you are.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you are not, because I don’t want him to be upset.” She was messing with something on her tablet.

You loved how she was just like her mom, always keeping an eye on Harry. “I don’t want to upset him, honey, but I have to make him eat a little humble pie, okay?”

“But you’ll forgive him later, right?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“Of course, I love him,” you said softly.

“Awesome,” she said, clearly happy, and went back to playing with the tablet.

“Well, I guess I should get back to my chores,” you said, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

“What's up?”

Oliver stepped into his office to find Harry staring at his tablet with a frown.

“There’s something wrong with the cameras. They won’t rotate and there’s no sound coming through. Do you think there's a bug in the app?”

“Maybe your girlfriend got fed up with the cameras and sabotaged them,” he quipped, taking a closer look. “Let me see.”

“I can't blame her,” Harry replied, guilt creeping in.

Oliver noticed Harry’s troubled look as he fiddled with the app. “Seriously, when are you going to tell her?”

“I’m planning to do it tonight,” Harry said with determination. “I just couldn’t find the right moment this morning.”

At that moment, Maria walked into the office. “Harry, I'm seriously considering taking that tablet away from you. You’ve been messing with it more than Mia. I worked really hard to convince them—it’s not worth ruining the meeting over.”

“He was just worried he couldn’t see his girlfriend on the camera,” Oliver muttered.

Harry shot him a glare.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling her right now and telling her everything,” Maria said, pulling out her phone.

Harry jumped up and grabbed the phone from her hand. “Stay out of it. I’ll handle this.”

Just then, her phone began to ring. “School,” Harry said, handing her phone back to Maria.

Maria picked up immediately. “Hello? Yes, this is her mom.”

Harry glanced at Oliver. “Have you fixed it yet?”

“Nope, it’s weird. It’s like someone else has logged into the cameras on their phone and taken over.”

“What did you just say?”

They both turned to Maria, who looked concerned. “Okay,” she said, hanging up.

Harry frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Mia,” Maria said as she dialed another number. “Her teacher said she didn’t show up to school today. Come on, pick up the damn phone.” But Maria’s face dropped when Mia's dad said he hadn’t seen her either.

“Or perhaps she went back home,” Oliver added.

“We’ll find out now,” Maria said, pulling up an app on her phone.

Harry moved closer to her. “What are you doing?”

“Tracking Mia with a smartwatch app,” she said, waiting for the app to locate her. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try the app that tracks her phone.”

“Geez, Maria. Have you planted a bug on her, too?” Oliver said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did,” Harry scoffed.

“You’ll understand when you become parents,” Maria replied, giving them a pointed look.

“Hopefully not for a long time,” Oliver said.

Harry chuckled at the idea.

“There! I’ve got it,” Maria said, her eyes widening. “Oh no. Harry, you need to see this,” she said, showing him her phone screen.

Harry froze, staring at the location the app found. “No…Fuck...”

Oliver leaned over to take a look. “Damn, this is your apartment.”

Cleaning duty today felt tougher than usual. Ever since you discovered it was Harry’s house, things had started to feel different, especially now that you were technically his girlfriend. It made you feel a bit like a housewife, which was both thrilling and painful at the same time. You still needed answers, as you felt genuinely hurt. But your love for him was so strong—what could you really do? Deep down, you weren’t sure how long you could cling to your anger. With your pride and stubbornness tossed aside, you weren’t thinking straight anymore, so you chose to let it go for now.

As you walked through the hallway with the cleaning bucket, your eyes landed on that door—the locked door.

The secret room.

What was Harry hiding behind it? There were no keys in sight, so how would you ever get it open?

Did Mia know about this room?

When you walked in to check on her, her eyes were closed; was she asleep? Just as you turned to slip out quietly, you caught a hint of a muffled sound—no, she was crying.

“Mia? Are you okay?”

She sniffled and nodded, but kept her eyes shut. You moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Hey, what’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing... just nothing.”

You gently patted her head. “You sure?  You can tell me. I'll keep it between us, I promise.”

“My mom and dad... I hate them, especially my mom. They decided to get divorced without even consulting me. I don’t want them to split up, but they didn’t even ask how I feel. They won’t love me anymore, and they’re going to be busier with their work.”

“Shh, don’t think like that. Of course, they’ll still love you. They’re your parents, and their love for you will never fade, I assure you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a mother’s love for her child is unconditional; it can’t just vanish. You're not the reason they're breaking up, I swear. Sometimes, even if adults love each other, things get messy, and splitting up is the only way to handle it. It might seem like the end, but it can also lead to something better.”

“Really?” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Absolutely, trust me. You’re lucky to have both your mom and dad around; I’m sure they’ll take care of you, even if things change. I kind of envy you because I lost my mom, and I'll never get the chance to tell her how much I miss her. I wish she were still alive. As for my dad... it feels like he doesn’t care about me—he doesn’t even bother to call, you know?” Your voice cracked slightly. “But your mom and dad are with you and must have been searching for you all morning, haven’t they, Mia? I’m sure they are worried—”

Looking down, you saw that she had fallen asleep, holding your hand tightly. A smile crossed your face as you wrapped your other arm around her. Suddenly, you felt tired too, and before you knew it, you drifted off beside her.

“Mia? Sweetie?” Maria called out for her daughter.

You blinked awake, realizing Harry’s face was mere inches from yours, and his hand was gently resting on your cheek. You stared at him for a moment before pushing his hand away and getting off the couch.

How did you even fall asleep?

Mia stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mom?”

“What happened to your knee?” Maria's voice rang out.

“It’s nothing, just a little scrape. I fell in the street, and she helped me clean and bandage it.” She pointed to you.

All eyes turned to you, but you avoided their gazes. You forced a smile at Mia and quickly looked away. “I think it’s time for me to go. I hope you enjoyed my service, Mr. Castillo,” you said, trying to sound casual as you made your way to the door.

Oliver stood by the entryway, looking guilty.

“Wait,” Harry called after you. Just then, Maria touched your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m so relieved that Mia has been with you all day,” she said, pulling you into a hug that took you by surprise.

“You’re welcome, she’s a very smart girl,” you replied, feeling a bit evasive.

She beamed at you, and you offered a smile back, though it felt awkward given the situation.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Harry approached you from behind, his voice soft but insistent.

You turned to face him. “With whom? With your girlfriend? Or with your maid-in?”

Harry let out a troubled sigh, his frustration evident as he glared at you. You turned away again. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, stepping closer to the door.

Maria nudged Harry from behind, encouraging him to move. He stepped in front of you, causing you to halt abruptly.

“How can you say there’s nothing to talk about? There’s plenty,” he insisted, moving closer and locking eyes with you.

You turned your head away again. “Were you trying to get revenge? If you wanted to talk, you should have spoken up sooner.”

“Revenge?” he replied, confused.

“So because I lied to you from the start and deceived you, this was your way of getting back at me?”

“I would never, never do that,” he shook his head, his expression earnest.

“Is it out of pity then?”

His brown eyes darkened with frustration. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then why, Harry? Why did you hire me for this job without giving me a heads-up? You totally deceived me. Did you actually enjoy watching me on camera the whole time?”

“I’m sorry. I felt responsible because you were unemployed because of me, and I wanted to help—”

“It wasn’t because of you! Besides, I could have found a job myself. You didn’t need to use your money or power. Did you really think I would feel better about this? Right now, I just feel like a complete idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Maria took Mia’s hand and started to leave. “You two talk it out; we’ll give you some space, come on, Ollie.”

“No, there’s nothing left to say,” you snapped angrily.

"But you'll forgive him later, won't you?" 

"Of course, I love him." 

Oh no, that sounds just like what you told Mia earlier.

Did she record you? 

"Mia!" you complained, glancing at her.

She just shrugged, holding her tablet. "Sorry, my finger slipped."

"That's my girl," Mia said with a giggle, as she high-fived her. 

Oliver chuckled, and Harry smiled. 

But you narrowed your eyes at them, feeling furious. 

"Oops, we should get going," she said to her mother. They quickly headed for the elevator, leaving you alone with Harry.

But before you could go after them, Harry came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off your feet.

“What are you doing? Harry! Put me down!” 

“Nope. You're going to listen, sweetheart. No more running away.” 

“Let go!” you protested, but he refused to budge. 

 He carried you to the couch and set you down next to him, holding your hands tightly, but you turned your head away. 

“Baby, please forgive me. I tried to explain before, but I just couldn’t find the right words. I thought helping you find a job would make you happy. I never meant to offend or hurt you; please believe that.” 

“Did it have to be your house?” you grumbled. 

“Isn’t this better than being at someone else's place?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

His hand trembled as he sighed. “I mean, I hate this too. It hurts to see you so exhausted, to watch you work so hard, and I can’t stand the thought of your beautiful hands being worn down in those cleaning gloves. I want to kiss those lovely fingers, to cherish them.” 

As he began to kiss your fingers one by one, your heart raced. You almost let your guard down, almost kissed him.

Almost.

“Harry,” you whispered. “This is my job, and—” 

“Don’t,” he interjected, frustration evident in his voice. “Can’t you just skip the cleaning? You can keep working with Chef Bruno, but please, no more cleaning.” 

“Is it because you don’t want to introduce your girlfriend in that way?” 

“No, what I mean is—” 

You stood up, your frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry, but this is my life. I have no problem introducing you to my friends, but it seems you hesitate to do the same. I can’t change who I am.” 

He rose to his feet as well. “I don’t know how we ended up here. I never intended for this to happen. Listen-” 

“Harry, you listen. I understand your intentions, and I appreciate them, but I wish you had considered how I might feel in all of this. And I can't do this if...” 

“Wait a minute, why do I feel like you’re giving a breakup speech?” 

“Because I am,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“No, no, no, don’t do that.” He moved closer, but you took a step back and raised your hand. 

“We agreed there would be no secrets between us, but we couldn’t even manage that. How can our relationship develop from here?” 

“There are no secrets left now that everything is out in the open,” he said, trying to smile. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, acknowledging his point. Then he drew nearer and wrapped his arms around you.

“I promise, baby, there will never be any secrets between us again, I swear,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his breath soft and tender. “Please don’t leave me.” The plea struck deep within you, twisting like a knife. How could you even entertain such a thought? The very idea of parting from him was unbearable, a wound that throbbed in your chest and brought stinging tears to your eyes. It was the last thing you wanted—a painful notion that sent ripples of hurt through your heart.

In that moment, you set aside all other emotions and surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, allowing yourself to rest your head on his chest for a while.

“What about that locked room?” you asked then, glancing toward it, wiping your tears meanwhile. “I wonder what you’re hiding behind that door.” 

A sly grin crept across his face. “Do you want to see it? But promise me that once you see what’s inside, you’ll tell me you love me again, and you won’t leave me. Deal?” 

“It all depends on what’s in there.” 

He chuckled, then walked into the bedroom, still holding your hand. Nervousness washed over you as you tried to pull your hand back. 

“Relax, I’m not trying to lure you into bed,” he laughed. “At least, not right now.” 

“You wish,” you grunted. 

He chuckled as he opened the nightstand drawer. “Funny. You were practically begging me last night. I can still hear you meowing.” 

Your cheeks flushed. “I don’t remember any of that,” you lied. 

He pulled out a box from the drawer and took out a key. “I have the scars on my back to prove it, kitten,” he teased. 

Your face was burning now, as red as a tomato. “Stop it and do what you need to do.” 

Chuckling, he held up the key, “Here it is; come on,” taking your hand again. 

Together, you stood in front of the locked door. Harry inserted the key into the lock and paused to look at you. “Are you ready, baby? The big secret is about to be revealed.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Stop showing off and open the damn door,” you muttered. 

Grinning, he unlocked the door and stepped back, inviting you in with his hand.

You hesitated before stepping into the room, shocked at what you saw. 

To your left stood a massive floor-to-ceiling wardrobe filled with clothes, and to your right was a complete wardrobe of bags and shoes. In the center was an elegant dressing table. Harry slid open the wardrobe, revealing all the clothes and shoes he had ever bought you, carefully arranged. He embraced you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. “It’s all yours. This room is for you. I was waiting for you to say yes to me before I revealed it to you.  I kept it locked and tried to stay away, but I found it hard to resist many times,” he whispered, nuzzling along the curve of your neck.

You were rendered speechless, taken aback. Then you noticed a jewelry box on the dresser. “Isn’t that the earring?” You walked over, picked it up, and examined it closely. “Have you had this all along?” 

“Oops, looks like another secret is out,” he said with a chuckle. 

You shot him a pointed look. “You really. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you I would pay you back?” 

“Because you broke my heart,” he replied softly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, so I thought the earring would be a good excuse to get you to meet me.” 

“You're unbelievable,” you shot back, your irritation surfacing. 

“What about you?” he countered, but then his expression softened as he noticed the look on your face. “I love you,” he confessed, his lips forming the word like an apology. 

Damn he was so cute.

His adorableness made you giggle despite yourself. 

“You didn’t say it again.” 

“Say what?” 

“Do you want me to make you say it? Just like last night,” he whispered, leaning in close. “You remember how well that turned out.” His lips brushed against your earlobe as his hand slowly slipped down, hovering dangerously close to your thigh. Your reaction was instinctive; you caught his hand. However, his lips found their way to your neck, and you couldn't help but bite your lower lip and roll your eyes. “Harry, stop.” 

“I know you want me, baby; don’t try to deny it,” he purred, his voice low and teasing. 

“No, you’re wrong,” you replied, almost breathless. 

“Then why are you holding my hand so tightly?” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. 

You withdrew your hand quickly, shocked at your own reaction.

What the fuck?

When did this escalate?

You frowned at his chuckle. “I really hate you,” you whined, though your irritation was half-hearted. 

“No, you don't,” he laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. 

“Well, I really like this room, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into bed with you,” you declared stubbornly. 

“Then what do I need to do to win your forgiveness? I’ll do anything,” he said, voice dripping with seduction.

The look he gave you was enough to make you avert your gaze. 

“I don’t know; I need to think,” you said, fighting back a giggle. “But I have to go now—I told Bruno I would head to the hotel early.” You turned to leave the room. 

He followed right behind you. “I’ll give you a ride.” 

You responded without looking back. “Well, if you’re that eager.”

With a smile, he followed you behind as you walked toward the elevator.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Harry asked again as he parked the car in front of the hotel.

“You just asked me that five minutes ago."

“I’ll keep asking until you say you forgive me,” he replied, shutting off the engine.

You opened the door and turned to him. “At least let me think it over.”

He took your hand, pulled you closer, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. “Whatever you say, kitty. Good luck at work.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a faint smile, stepping out and closing the door behind you.

As you made your way to the hotel entrance, Harry watched you from the driver’s seat. Just then, you spotted Alan getting out of his own car, heading your way.

“Good evening,” he greeted you.

You turned and smiled, “Good evening, Mr. Finnegan.”

“Come on, call me Alan already, will you?”

Harry, watching from a distance, muttered, “Asshole.” Trying to keep his cool, he stepped out of the car and approached you two. “Baby,” he called out, and before you could react, he spun you around and kissed you so passionately that it left you breathless. Pulling back, he glanced at Alan and added, “I almost took off without kissing my girlfriend goodbye.” The way he said “girlfriend” caught his attention and everyone around the street.

Alan’s expression darkened.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, caught off-guard by how intimate the kiss had been.

“Anyway, I should be on my way,” he said.

"Yeah, you do that," you said, squinting at him and gesturing for him to leave.

“Good night, Finnegan,” Harry said, getting into his car, clearly amused by Alan's reaction.

Shaking your head at Harry, you noticed Alan squinting at him, clearly unamused. “I didn’t realize you were with him,” Alan said as he walked inside.

“Well, things are a bit complicated,” you murmured.

“Not surprising, things always get messy with Castillo,” Alan muttered quietly. 

“Excuse me?”

“I just... You really should think twice about being with him,” he warned lightly.

“Alan, it’s—”

“Anyway, I suppose my employees’ personal lives are none of my business,” he said with a smirk, heading toward the elevator.

What just happened?

Why had he said that?

And why was he suddenly in a good mood?

You really should have asked Harry about the weird thing between them, but now you had to focus—you had a kitchen to get to.

Things were really hectic in the kitchen, and as if that weren’t enough, Alan was having a business lunch in the dining room and asked you to make some desserts just for him. As you handed off the treats to the waitstaff, he called you over and praised your work. If he wasn’t your boss, you might have said something about his overwhelming attention, but you figured it was best to keep quiet until your internship was over. Then, just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, Melanie called.

“What do you want?” you asked, annoyed.

“What do I want? I need you to talk to my dad, and I want you to do it right now, like you promised!”

“I will, but I've been super busy and haven’t had time yet.”

“Well, it’s on you. If my dad doesn’t let me come back home, I’ll just crash at your place.”

“Wait, what? You called my house a disgusting little flat. Aren’t you with Nate? Can’t he help you out?”

“Don’t even mention that jerk!”

“Did you two break up already? Wow, that was quick, even for you.”

“Just drop it, okay? It’s none of your business. Talk to my dad tomorrow night or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“As if you weren’t already a pain in my ass!” you shot back and hung up in frustration. As you walked toward the exit, muttering under your breath, someone called out from behind.

Ugh, it was Alan again.

“Are you okay? You sounded like you were venting at someone on the phone,” he said, wearing that annoying smile.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“Well, if you did it, they probably deserved it,” he said, grinning.

Just when you thought it was over, you turned to leave but almost bumped into the revolving door. Alan grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“Watch out!” he said.

What the hell?

You could’ve easily dodged the door; you weren't that clumsy. His other arm wrapped around you, too.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” you said, carefully pushing his hand away. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replied, watching you walk away as you stormed out. Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it; you weren’t in the mood for more of Melanie’s drama.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Harry.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?” he asked, and just seeing him made you feel so much better.

“Yeah, sorry, thought it was Melanie,” you said, spotting the bouquet of pink roses he was holding.

“Is she still being a pain?”

“Forget about her; I’ll handle it. Are those for me?” you asked, trying to hide your smile.

“Of course they are, beautiful,” he said, handing you the flowers.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a whiff of the roses.

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

As you walked together, he leaned closer. “Am I forgiven?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not in a day, ol'man.”

Harry sighed and opened the back door for you. “So, if I asked you to spend the night at my apartment instead of going home, you wouldn’t consider it?”

Ah, damn...

Those puppy-dog eyes and dangerously tempting lips made it hard to say no, but you somehow managed to act like you weren't interested, thanks to your stubbornness.

And the oscar goes to...

“N-no, sorry, I need to check on Zoe. She’s still home alone,” you stammered.

He sighed again and closed the door after you settled in the car.

“Hey, Ollie,” you said while he was chilling in the driver’s seat.

“Hey, girl! How’s it going? You two good now?”

“We’re good, right, baby?” Harry said, sitting next to you.

“Kind of,” you muttered, still eyeing the roses in your lap.

“Kind of?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged, teasing him.

“Come on, really? Okay, I’m taking you on a date tomorrow night, and we’re going to sort everything out,” Harry grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Oliver chimed in as he drove.

You squinted at Harry. “If you ask me with that tone, you might be going on that date alone.”

“Okay, sorry,” he said with a sigh. "Would you like to accompany me for dinner tomorrow night, lovely lady?"

You giggled but kept your expression cool. “Um, let me check my calendar first.”

Oliver chuckled.

Harry squinted again.

“Alright, fine. But I need to have a quick chat with Jack tomorrow. If he agrees, you can pick me up at the hotel again.”

He smiled widely taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “As you wish, darling.”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sweet scent of the bouquet Harry had given you lingered in the air, enveloping you until you finally reached your place with the flowers cradled in your arms. When you opened the door and walked inside, you were taken aback by the scene in front of you.

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

John and Zoe were on the couch, wrapped up in a passionate kiss—thankfully, they were fully dressed. The moment they noticed you, they pulled apart, and John shot up from the couch, his face a canvas of embarrassment.

But you felt even more embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry, guys, I, uh…”

“No, no, no, I’m so sorry!” John stuttered, quickly averting his gaze, adjusting his hair.

“Awkward,” Zoe murmured, covering her mouth in surprise. “I thought you were with your boyfriend,” she added, glancing at you and the bouquet still in your hands.

“Well, yeah… I mean, no, I wasn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I’d better be going. Bye, girls. Good night,” John said, grabbing his jacket and making a hasty exit.

Once the door closed behind him, you turned back to Zoe. "Jesus, girl, what just happened?"

Zoe huffed in disbelief. "I have no idea! He helped me change my bandage, touched my leg and then… suddenly we kissed. It was so strange, but it felt amazing."

“Strange”? You seemed pretty into it."

“It might have turned into something really hot if you hadn’t barged in,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

“Sue me,” you muttered, placing the flowers in a vase on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You were with him last night, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

“Still not officially together? Seriously, get your shit together already. What’s going on with you two?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. Just when I think things are finally going well, something messes it all up, and I'm left feeling hurt again…”

“Uh-oh, spill everything.”

"Okay, do you want something cold to drink?"

"Yes, please! I’m dying of heat over here."

You giggled as you made your way to the fridge. “So if I had come in five minutes later, would you have been completely undressed? Good thing I didn’t.”

“You're so bad,” she laughed.

You began the day with that text that pinged on your phone the moment you woke up, that familiar message from the person you had been longing to hear from, the one you had been waiting for eagerly.

Morning, kitten. The sun is shining, the birds are singing— Isn't it the perfect day to make you feel like forgiving?

Was he rhyming?

He was really good at it or bad not sure, but he would have to try a little harder.

Hmm. I'm not sure if today is the day. You'll know for sure tonight, doll. I'll make you. Hmm, how ambitious. Always I am.

After you changed, you stepped into the living room and saw Zoe was getting ready.

“Where are you off to?”

“To the hospital to get my ankle checked.”

“Do you want some company?”

“John will,” she replied with a cheeky smile. “Besides, you’ll be off on your date with Harry tonight, right?”

Your cheeks warmed at the thought. “Well, yes, maybe.”

“I’m planning to invite John over for dinner, and he’d better come clean about something tonight.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to get rid of me, huh?”

"Come on, he shares an apartment with three guys; it’s more convenient for us to be here."

“Okay, don’t worry, I won’t crash tonight,” you replied with a grin, thoughts drifting to Harry’s bedroom.  

“Awesome!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.  

“Wow, you could be a bit less eager about this.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help it, I’m in love,” she said, giggling.  

“Apology accepted,” you responded, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door. Just then, you bumped into John in the hallway. “Hey."

“Hey there. How’s work treating you?”

"Good. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Do you have feelings for Zoe?"

"Yes, she’s a wonderful person, and cute too," he said, smiling.

He was definitely into her.

“I mean, I thought there was something going on between you and that woman Lucy at the wedding. I need to know if you really like Zoe.”

"Lucy is just my childhood friend and ex. But, don't you know her already?"

"I only know she's Alan's girlfriend and a matchmaker."

John crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Surprised that Castillo hasn’t told you about her."

“What’s there to tell?”

John let out a troubled sigh. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s a good time for me to drop this on you, but those two were actually together a few years ago.”

Damn, you were worried about this. "So that’s why," you murmured after a brief pause.  

“Listen, he will share the details with you, but Lucy isn't like you or Zoe. She deceived both me and Castillo, leaving us heartbroken in the end. I can't hold a grudge against her because we share this strange bond, but I promise you, I’ll never hurt Zoe because of this."

You nodded. "It better stay that way, John. You should tell her as soon as possible, or I will," you said. After receiving a nod from him, you turned and headed down the stairs to leave the building.

All day long, as you worked, your thoughts kept drifting back to Lucy. You regretted asking John about her. It wasn’t just that Harry hadn’t mentioned her—after all, that was fine considering the incident had happened years ago. What truly unnerved you was the possibility of her showing up at any moment, especially as Alan's girlfriend. It felt like trouble was just around the corner, and you couldn’t shake that feeling. Alan himself was another source of tension; his frequent encounters with you and his growing interest were weighing heavily on your mind. You knew deep down that sooner or later, things were bound to get complicated.

You really hoped this internship would wrap up soon, and that Chef Bruno would write you a glowing letter of recommendation. Yet, with the fair approaching and the day ticking down, you had to press on through the culinary internship.

Earlier, you'd called Jack, and he had already said he wanted to meet. As you waited at the table, you spotted him approaching and stood up to greet him. "Thanks for taking the time to meet me here," you said, shaking Jack's hand as he took a seat across from you.

"Of course, no problem," he replied, settling into his seat.

"Jack, about Melanie—"

"Save your breath, honey. I’m not here for her."

You were taken aback. "What do you mean? I thought that’s why you came—"

He pulled out a bunch of newspapers and magazines from his bag and dropped them on the table with a bang, making the glasses and plates rattle.

Your eyes went wide. “What’s all this?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Following his lead, you picked up the top magazine, and your heart sank at the sight of your own image on the cover. Someone had captured a photo of you and Harry dancing at the wedding from a distance.

Who is the mystery girl dancing with famous businessman Harry Castillo? the headline read.

You quickly grabbed another magazine, revealing a picture of you and Melanie.

Get ready for a surprising twist! How did the maid in Melanie Johnson's mansion pretend to be her and trap a famous billionaire?

“Ugh, what a bunch of vultures,” you muttered, shaking your head.

As you continued flipping through the articles, the headlines turned more shocking. Words like "gold digger," "sneaky housekeeper," and "fortune hunter" jumped out at you.

"That's what I was warning you about," Jack said. "I don't want you to worry, though—none of these magazines have been printed yet. These are all test editions. We managed to confiscate them before they went into mass production, and Harry’s assistant has ensured the online stories have been taken down."

You looked up at him, relief washing over you. "Thank you, Jack."

"You don’t need to thank me for dealing with the news, which includes Melanie; I did that for my own reasons. But regarding the rest..." He pointed to the magazine cover with your dancing picture. "This is the thing I wanted to discuss. I see you as a daughter, so take this advice from a father to his daughter: end whatever is happening between you and Harry before it spirals out of control. If this keeps up, there’ll be more stories about you, people will dig into your past, and in the end, it’s you who’ll get hurt. Do you understand?"

You sighed. "Jack, I honestly get what you’re saying, and I do appreciate it. But there's nothing in my past or family that I’m worried about. Gossip like this finds someone new to focus on every day; it could just as easily be me one day and someone else the next."

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So, it appears there's something more between you two than I realized. You've made up your mind. Well, it's your life, after all. I just hope you don’t wind up hurt and come to regret this decision.”

"Jack."

You both turned your heads, and damn it was—Alan. He usually didn’t come to the hotel on Saturday nights, but today was clearly an exception.

Of course.

Jack stood up to shake his hand. "Alan."

"How are you? Didn’t see you at the wedding."

"I was in D.C.," Jack replied. Just then, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and answered. Alan looked at you with a smile, and you returned it.

Damn, he might have noticed the magazines on the table, you thought.

"Sorry, I’ve got to leave," Jack said suddenly.

You stood up, worry creeping in. "Is everything okay?"

"Melanie," he hissed, frustration clear in his voice. "She ran away from home."

"What do you mean she ran away? Or have you been keeping her locked up?" Your voice rose higher than you meant it to.

You couldn't shake off the memory of that one time Jack had locked her in her room, and it had ended poorly. A shudder ran through you at the thought.

"I had no choice. I thought she’d see reason and come to her senses, but apparently, I was wrong."

"Jack, are you out of your mind? Do you really not know your daughter? Locking her up isn’t the solution!"

Heads in the dining room turned toward you.

"You’re right. I messed up this time, but I couldn’t let her keep hanging out with that playboy Nate."

"I can’t say I blame you for that," you replied quietly.

"Anyway, I really have to go. Catch you later, Alan."

"See you, Jack."

As Jack strolled away, casting a backward glance, a heavy sadness settled in your chest. Melanie hadn't matured much and was acting like a nightmare. Despite his faults, Jack was a good father—if only he showed a little more genuine care to his daughter more than his work.

"Sounds like Melanie’s giving Jack a rough time," Alan said, still holding onto that smile.

"Yeah, she’s a bit immature," you admitted quietly.

To your surprise, Alan looked around the table and sat down in Jack’s vacated chair.

"Have a seat; your dessert's still waiting."

You did your best to keep it together and not roll your eyes. "Thanks, but I really need to go—"

"Just give me five minutes, alright?" he said, leaning in a bit closer.

You glanced at your watch, thinking about how Harry would be picking you up in about an hour. With a sigh, you plopped back down. "Fine."

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his suit jacket and settling in. "I know what happened here last time." You looked at him in surprise; this wasn't what you expected. "About what Lucy did..." He paused and took a breath. "I want to say sorry on her behalf."

Your eyes widened. “Alan, it’s okay. But if you start treating me differently because of her, it will only make her dislike me more. Plus, this kind of stuff probably isn't over yet."

“It won’t happen again,” he stated firmly. “I won’t allow it in my hotel. I broke up with her, and I doubt she will be coming back here.”

“That can’t be the only reason you decided to break up with her, right?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, but it played a part. It’s disgraceful to have such disrespect shown here, especially towards our customers. I was wrong about her; she’s not the kind and innocent person I thought she was.”

"I’m sorry," you said, your tone a touch insincere.

"Not me," he replied with a grin. "I’m kind of relieved."

What was that supposed to mean?

A nagging feeling grew as you sensed he was gearing up to say something you wouldn’t like.

"One of the reasons I broke up was because of a question she asked me."

Oh, please, let this be over.

"She wanted to know if I had feelings for you."

You fought to maintain a neutral expression.

Don't say that, please don't.

"I couldn't answer her because, honestly, I actually have feelings for you that I didn't realize until now."

That was more than you could handle.

"Alan, do you even realize what you’re saying?"

"Yes, I’m fully aware."

You sighed deeply. "Maybe you’re mistaken," you suggested, looking away and starting to shake your foot nervously.

"No, I absolutely know how I feel now. I like you." He reached across the table and took your hand, catching you off guard.

You quickly pulled away. "Alan, I’m with Harry."

"You mentioned before that things were complicated between you two," he said, casually picking up one of the magazines.

"That doesn’t mean I don’t love him," you shot back, your voice sharp.

His serious expression told you he wasn’t taking it lightly.

You stood up, feeling a surge of urgency. "Look, Alan, whatever you’re feeling, you need to let it go, or I won’t be able to stay here."

"Are you really going to quit your internship?"

"If I have to, yes," you affirmed.

"Alright, I won’t pressure you unless you come to me yourself."

Surprise and annoyance washed over you. "That’s not going to happen."

He leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile on his face. "Don’t be so sure; life has a funny way of surprising us.”

What the fuck?

Your phone started ringing, and you just held it in your hand without answering as you rushed out of the dining room, still shaken by what had just happened. It was Nate calling, so you definitely weren't picking up; you quickly silenced your phone. Taking a deep breath, you let it all go and shifted your focus to getting ready for your date. Harry had offered to buy you a dress again earlier, but you turned him down. This date was meant to feel like a fresh start, a first date of sorts, and you wanted to treat yourself to the entire process.

During lunch break, you popped into one of those upscale department stores and slipped into the black, shimmering backless dress you had chosen—probably the priciest dress you had ever bought, costing almost four months' salary. You tried to keep a positive mindset; nothing would ruin tonight. The expensive Birman black shoes that Melanie had given you the night before matches perfectly with the dress. Just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone rang again, but your smile quickly faded when you glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Harry.

Seeing "Trouble" light up the screen only added to your anxiety.

No way were you picking up.

The phone could ring its heart out. When it rang again as you reached for your red lipstick—perfectly matching your nails—you pushed on, determined to finish your look.

However, the incessant ringing soon got on your nerves, and you finally answered, ready to give Melanie a piece of your mind. “Look, I can’t deal with your drama right now—”

“It’s me, Garry.”

You could barely hear him over the loud music in the background. “Garry? What are you doing on Melanie’s phone? And where in the world are you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while; she’s completely wasted, and I don’t know how to handle this. Please, I need your help.”

“Look, I have a very important date tonight—”

“And it seems we have our new volunteer dancer!” a woman’s voice chimed in, followed by masculine cheers and applause.

Oh man.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a strip club!”

“You just heard it. I’ll try to drag her out of here, but you need to hurry. I’ll send you the location.” Garry hung up before you could say anything. “Garry! Hold on—what the hell! What kind of night is this?” you exclaimed, quickly changing up your outfit and bolting out of the room.

When the taxi driver brought you in front of the strip club, you were cursing inside, nervous and angry. It was too much, the strip club was too much, even for her. How could she be so thoughtless and reckless?

At the entrance to the door, unfortunately, everyone was staring at you, including the women.

Oh that's right, you were all dressed up, probably looked breathtaking, but it wasn't to come here, damn it, it was to meet your boyfriend. 

Things got even worse when you entered the club. You've never been in a club like this before, it wasn't like other nightclubs.

You're thinking, No shit, I wish it was.

The music was blaring, and two girls were dancing on stage. Some men were cheering and staring at you.

Great.

Ignoring the gazes, you spotted Garry and made your way to him. However, just like the other guys, he seemed fixated on the girls performing. “Hey!” you nudged him.

“Oh you're here? Wow girl, you look great, but I wish you hadn't come here wearing a dress like this.” he said, looking around at the men.

“I couldn't change because you called me while I was getting ready for my date.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, but Melanie's gone crazy.”

“Where is she?”

“She was going on stage and tripped and fell, I was tried to check her but the women wouldn't let me in. That's why I called you.”

“Goddamn it,” you grumbled, shoving your purse at him. “Hold this, I’ll go get her, and then we’ll all head to the car together, okay?”

“Got it. I’ll wait here.”

Just as you left, Garry couldn’t help himself when your phone started ringing non-stop. He didn’t think to check your purse without asking, but when it rang like crazy, he finally picked it up. “Yeah?”

Harry nearly wrecked his car when he heard a guy’s voice on the other end. “Who the hell are you? Why are you answering my girlfriend’s phone?”

“Mr. Castillo, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Mr. Johnson's driver.”

“Wait, is that club music I hear? Where is she?”

“We're at the strip club. It’s kind of complicated.”

Harry was stunned and slammed on the brakes, making the tires screech on the road. The car behind him honked and yelled, but he didn’t care. “Just tell me where the club is!”

"Melanie, I swear to God, if you don't come with me right now, I'll drag you out of here by yanking your hair if I have to! I'll do it, believe me, I will!"

“Not until Nate gets here!” she snapped.

The girl was not only drunk but also trying to climb onto the stage. You were tugging at her from behind the curtain, hoping Garry could lend a hand, but she was putting up a fight.

“Hey, you two, get lost! Stay clear of the stage!” one of the dancers hissed at you.

“I'm not interested; as you see, I'm trying to get her out of here!” you retorted, still struggling to pull Melanie back.

“No! I’m going up there! I paid for it!” Melanie shouted defiantly.

“What did you just say?” you exclaimed, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Leave them alone, girls,” an older woman chimed in, casting a knowing glance at you. “The guys who wanted you on stage shelled out a lot of cash,” she said with a sly smile.

Melanie laughed. “See? They’re dying to see me! Nate needs to get over here right now, call him!”

“It wasn’t for you,” the woman replied, eyes darting between Melanie and you. She surveyed you up and down, a smirk playing on her lips. “They paid for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m not a dancer or stripper.”

“That doesn’t matter, darling. You look fantastic. I could even give you half the take.”

“What the fuck? You promised me that I’d go on stage! Not her!”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at Melanie. “No one’s going up there!” you shouted firmly.

“Enough with this! Girls,” the woman called out, and the two dancers approached you, trying to take off your jacket.

“Hey! Get your hands off me! What do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed, wrestling against them.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t overreact. Just trust yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wrist. But before she could pull you away, someone else seized her arm and pushed it back.

“Leave her alone!”

When you spotted Harry, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over you, yet relief followed quickly. He grabbed your arm, pulling you behind him, and draped his jacket around you, wrapping you with it.

“Hey, mister, what do you think you’re doing?” the woman asked, taken aback.

"If you touch my girl again, I'll bring this club down!" Harry growled.

Just then, a man approached you two, dressed in a suit. "Mr. Castillo, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. Please forgive us, sir." He then turned to the girls. "Get back to work and return the money to those customers." 

"And give me back my jacket!" you shouted. 

Harry reached over, snatched it from one of the girls, and pulled you closer. "Are you okay?" 

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Melanie! Harry, stop her!" you exclaimed, pointing at her. Harry grasped her arm and pulled her away from the stage. 

That's when Nate strolled in, his phone in hand, ready to take pictures. "Oh no, did I miss the show?"

The son of a bitch was grinning.

"It's all your fault!" you shot at him. 

Garry came over to Melanie. "Miss Johnson, let’s head to the car, please." 

Melanie clung to Harry's arm touching his face. "Hey, old man, want a lap dance?" She was clearly trying to make Nate jealous, but it was Harry she had her hands on. 

Your man. 

Harry chuckled as he gently pushed her hand away. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not interested."

Wait a minute.

Not only was Melanie, but almost all the women dancers were looking Harry up and down. A wave of jealousy washed over you.

And then you lost it.

You were so angry that you pulled her off of her by the hair. "You little slut, who do you think you're touching?" You pushed her towards Nate. "Take your girlfriend and get the hell out of my life! Garry, you call Jack right now!" you said to him. Grabbing Harry's hand tightly, "Let's get the hell out of here." you urged.

He was still laughing as you pulled him out with you.

“Stop laughing, Harry,” you scolded as you made your way to the car.

“But you were so cute when you protected me from real Melanie back there,” he replied, still chuckling.

You paused and turned to face him. “Are you really enjoying this?”

“Actually I don’t know what to think. Do you know how angry I was when I saw you here with those women? And those men… the way they look at you? I think I hate the real Melanie.”

“Welcome to the club,” you replied sarcastically. “But I’m sorry; you are right. I shouldn't have come here. Tonight was supposed to be special, and now it’s all ruined—just like my hair,” you said, running your fingers through your locks.

Harry glanced at the clock. “Um, the restaurant is about to close.”

“I really messed up,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ve ruined everything.”

He gently took your face in his hands. “Nothing’s ruined, baby. We’re going to plan B.”

“You had a plan B?” you asked, intrigued.

“I just came up with it,” he said with a grin. “Come on, we’re starting over.”

You smiled. “Okay, but where’s your car?”

“There it is,” he said, pointing to a red sport car.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “But it’s a Mustang GT!”

“That’s right. I rented it just for tonight,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to you. “So, am I forgiven now?”

You snatched the keys from his grasp. “Let me take it for a spin, and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed, and as you slid into the driver’s seat, he took the passenger seat beside you. You fastened your seatbelt and started the engine. “Hold on tight, ol'man.”

“Drive carefully, honey. The streets of New York are a whole different beast compared to the traffic you dealt with back in Paris.” 

You shot him a playful glance before slamming your foot on the gas. “I accept the challenge.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a challenge,” he retorted, his eyes wide as he clutched the seat.

You laughed, the thrill coursing through you. “Relax! A little excitement never hurt anyone.”

“You excite me enough in that dress, babe,” he grinned, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and mischief. 

After a few exhilarating laps, embarrassment washed over you when the flashing lights of a police radar caught you speeding through the night. Still, you found a way to enjoy the moment, laughing together as you swung by a 24-hour diner to grab some late-night munchies before heading toward Harry’s building. “Wow, that was an incredible ride."

“Yeah, it was a blast, even if it’s going to cost me a few hundred bucks in fines,” Harry said, opening the car door.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you said, stepping out of the car.

As he opened the trunk, he pulled out a huge bouquet of roses. “If it hadn’t been for that strip club incident, I would have met you at the hotel with this.”

“Harry,” you murmured, touched.

“Here you go, Cinderella—99 roses.”

You raised an eyebrow as you accepted the bouquet. “Why not a hundred?”

“That’s you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “The hundredth rose is you.”

You felt yourself melting at his words.

“That’s very romantic, ol'man. Thank you,” you said, reaching out to kiss his cheek.

“So, you forgive me now, right?” he asked, extending his arm so you could take it.

“Come here,” you said, encouraging him to lean closer. He complied, and you shared a tender kiss, sweet and gentle. “You’re forgiven, Mr. Castillo.” 

He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with more passion, the world around you fading away. But since you were still out on the street, you gently pushed him back, laughter in your eyes. “Save the rest for later, mister.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer with one arm still wrapped around your waist, and together you strolled toward the entrance.

“Here we have some Bordeaux wine,” he said as you unpacked the food and set the plates on the table. 

“Parfait,” you replied with a smile, embracing the French language. 

With skilled hands, he uncorked the wine using a polished corkscrew, the soft pop echoing in the cozy room, and poured the ruby liquid into your glasses, its rich color glinting in the soft light. 

“Hmm, delicious,” you remarked, savoring the first sip. 

As you shared the meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving in and out of tales about Melanie and the others, laughter bubbling up like the wine in your glasses. “That’s actually much better,” you said softly, feeling the warmth of the evening. “I mean, it’s better that we’re here than in a bustling restaurant.”

“I couldn’t agree more; it’s just the two of us,” he replied, his fingers entwining with yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your gaze locking with his, a deep connection simmering in the air between you. 

He sighed and stood up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I have something for you.” 

“Another surprise?” you asked, intrigued. 

He returned with a small box, sitting back down and handing it to you across the table. Different from any jewelry box you’d seen, it piqued your curiosity.

"I’ve been pondering this all day, and I've come to a realization. I always wanted you to be part of my world, but I was missing something important," he said as you opened the box. Inside, you found a card and a key. nstantly, you recognized them; it was the very card and key you had used countless times for the elevator and the apartment door.

“Harry,” you gasped, taken aback. “You mentioned that you don’t feel like you fit in my world, so how about letting me into yours?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you rose and embraced him tightly. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” 

He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you before leaning in for a kiss. Then, he turned on some soft music from the stereo. “Will you dance with me?” 

You nodded. “Absolutely.” 

You found yourselves swaying together, lost in the slow, sweet melody, savoring the magic of the moment in comfortable silence.

But then the tension between you began to rise. Harry ran his hand through the fabric of your dress. “Great choice of dress by the way.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he whispered.

“What about my bra?” you said huskily, guiding his hand to the lace strap of it.

“I admire it,” he purred.

You lifted the skirt of the dress, revealing your lace garter stockings. “My stockings?” your eyes twinkling.

He smiled at you and reached out, drawing a circle on your leg with his fingertip. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “I worship it, baby,” he said, his voice breathy and deep.

Your arm found its way around his waist, and your fingertips caressed his back. “Mmm. Keep doing that, please.”

He chuckled and continued, his hands slowly creeping up under your dress. You gave a deep, breathy moan when he latched on to the spot behind your ear, licking, sucking. Getting eager, you found his lips and kissed him, your tongue sweeping into his mouth tentatively. He responded by grabbing your hips and pulling you, lifting you into his lap. Then you broke the kiss to unbutton his shirt.

Taking a brief moment to admire you he let you stripped him out of his shirt before kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth hungrily. Popping the clasp on your bra with ease he let it fell to the floor, whilst he kissed a path between your breasts leaving a trail of goose flesh in his wake. Noticing your nipples were already pert betraying your arousal, taking one between his thumb and forefinger he rolled it making you cried out, lowering his head he circled you other with his tongue before drawing it into his hot mouth and sucking. He could feel his cock straining against the his pants but he ignored it focusing all his attention on you. He repeated the action with your other nipple before moving on, his lips gliding down over your ribs, across your stomach towards the garter belt and waistband of your panties.

Hooking his thumbs into the lace, he pulled the small scrap of material down your shapely legs until you could kick them off, but letting the garter belt still be on you. Kneeling before you he cupped your hips bringing you closer to him inhaling your scent, then he ran his tongue along your wet folds the cry that escaped you when he circled your clit was guttural, he felt his cock throb begging for attention but he ignored it once again. Slowly he worked you over, teasing you with shallow thrusts of his tongue into your velvety softness over and over again until your skin was slick with sweat and your thighs began to tremble.

“Please,” you begged, your fingers tangled in his curls, clinging to him. In answer to your plea, he flicked his tongue over your swollen bundle of nerves until you cried out when your orgasm hit. Keeping a tight grip on your hips, he held you steady, letting you ride it out before kissing his way back up your body, finally claiming your lips once more. You tasted yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care; you devoured each other desperately.

Once your equilibrium returned, your hands found his belt, quickly you unbuckled it and pulled it from the loops before popping the buttons on his fly and pushing the material down over his hips. He shucked his pants and his boxers off and before he knew it your hand was around the base of his throbbing member and you were pumping him into your fist. He gritted his teeth, "Fuck, baby, you are such a needy kitten aren't you? Good girl. But there’s no way I’ll last if you keep that up."

Taking your hands in his, he threaded your fingers together and crushed his lips to yours once more, pinning you against the wall with your interlocked hands above your head. You gasped in response. His aching cock lied heavily against your core, you shuddered. He realized he couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to be inside you.

Hoisting you up, he hooked your legs around his waist, pushing into you in one smooth stroke.

"Harry," you moaned, feeling dizzy with incredible consuming lust.

Your hair was plastered to your sweaty face now and in the throes of passion when your pupils dilate, cheeks flushed.

"You're breathtakingly beautiful just like this, darling," he hummed.

You were soft and warm, and your walls gripped him tightly as he thrust into you, making love to you against the wall. God he’s missed you so damn much, burying his head into the crook of your shoulder he picked up his pace, he knew you were close because he can feel your inner walls begin to tremble around him. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, your heels press into his firm ass as he pounds into you deeper and deeper.

As you ran your fingers through his hair down to his neck, spurring him on with sweet cries. "Harder, faster, please."

"Fuck," he growled, pressed his forehead against yours so that he held your gaze as your second orgasm striked. You screamed his name as your body locked up, your sex gripping his cock in an iron grasp.

He made an incoherent sound and cursed as your orgasm triggered his, and he released himself inside of you. You collapsed into each other a hot, sticky, sweaty mess, panting heavily. When finally he caught his breath, he ran his nose along your smiling devilishly down at you.

“So how was it, baby?” he asked waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fast, delicious, hair-raisingly good,” you giggled.

"How about a second round? This time in the bedroom?" he panted, still catching his breath.

You tightened your arms around him playfully. “You betcha, mister."

Just as your words finished, he scooped you up and rushed toward the bedroom, causing your laughter to ring out cheekily through the hall.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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[listenerslanguage]

Tbh, I really like the idea of characters that act the opposite of their personalities as yanderes.

The cold, villainous, sadistic character that turns soft, not daring to lay a finger on you in fear that you may shatter. They promise to kill anyone who dares look at you wrong – or even think of you wrong. But don't worry, they love you, and they are not one bit hesitant to show that to you.

Then, the kind, innocent, sweet character that doesn't even act like the same person anymore. The person who makes sure to release any bug that got trapped in their room outside is covered in blood. Maybe they still have their iconic smile but it became twisted and malicious, or maybe they got rid of their gentle persona.

Maybe even smart characters that seem to be the next Einstein start to fumble and mix up facts, becoming sloppy in their work. And the rather dumb or stupid character using their brain for once and being scarily too good at finding and concealing their work.

Something along those lines, yeah.

[peakyrain]

"proving" shifting through scientific evidence (& philosophic theory)

this post is heavily inspired by @voldyateme on tiktok. i saw her video and decided to do research on my own, and write a detailed post about this topic to make myself understand better. i also would like to mention that some of the claims irene made in her tiktok were wrong (and biased) i also wanted to clear some things up for myself.

fyi: long post ahead. this took me three days to understand and write. i might still be a bit unclear on my understanding of some aspects, but to avoid having to write a whole novel on the subject, i simplified my findings and shortened them by a lot.

-

john clauser is a physicist who won the nobel peace prize in 2022 for his work on quantum entanglement. his theory confirms that quantum particles can be entangled across vast distances, and that their behaviors are instantly connected, even if they're light years apart.

a very simplified example:

i: you create two entangled particles

ii: you send particle A to tokyo, and particle B to paris

iii: a person in tokyo measures particle A and sees it spinning up, then instantly, meaning instantly, faster than light, the person in paris will know particle B is spinning down

this is simply based on particle A or B's observation, w/o there having to be sent any message or signal between them. they behave as if they're one system - not two separate ones.

the moment you measure one particle, you're instantly aware of the other particle's state.

⭒ relating quantum entanglement to shifting:

okay so now we know that entangled particles act as of they're one system, even through long distances. so, if everything was once connected to the big bang, then on some level, everything may still be entangled. meaning you, your consciousness and other "versions" of yourself in other realities.

this could therefore suggest that we are already connected to all possible versions of ourselves. they exist within a quantum field of potential, and our awareness can shift between these versions by tuning into the version we desire - essentially by choosing a different frequency.

say you're listening to the radio. you know that you’re able to listen to any radio broadcast because there are thousands playing at the same exact time, but you choose which one to listen to, knowing you have the choice to change it to another.

it's the same exact with shifting. you know that there are endless versions of you in existence right this moment - you only have to choose to become aware of your desired self.

-

john wheeler, another physicist, proposed that reality is directly linked to our consciousness and what we observe. it's been demonstrated that particles don't move until they're actually observed. so if we're not observing something, it doesn't have a definite state at all. this is called the "observer effect"

the effect has challenged and in some ways helped disprove einstein's theory of realism. einstein believed that that the physical world exists independently of whether we observe it or not.

example: according to einstein, if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to observe it, the tree still falls. this is shown to be false on a quantum level. that said, we can't w/ certainty say that the tree does (or doesn’t) exist if no one is perceiving it (confusing, trust me, i know)

wheeler also proved that particles will change their makeup based on our choices and observation. simplified, this means that reality doesn't fully decide its state until it's observed. it can have different outcomes, and our choices affect the past behavior of particles.

⭒ relating the observer effect to shifting:

we know that quantum particles don't take on a definite form or "reality" until they're observed. this implies that our observation plays a direct role in shaping reality - not just by watching, but also deciding. this implies that reality isn't fixed, but fluid, shaped by our decisions, thoughts and observations and means we can "choose" our reality.

quantum physics shows that reality isn't fixed until observed, observation and consciousness do play a key role and that multiple outcomes are possible. so our consciousness focus can be said to be the mechanism that "shifts" us into a desired timeline or reality.

-

way before quantum physics existed, george berkley, a philosopher in the 1700s argued the idea "to be is to be perceived", which is eerily similar to what scientists are exploring today.

he believed that physical objects don't exist independently of our own perception. so if no one is for example perceiving a tree, then it doesn't exist.

berkeley said that there is no such thing as matter existing on its own w/o a mind to perceive it. BUT! there's a twist. you see, berkley also argued the existence of God being necessary to explain how the world works within his theory of perception and idealism.

okay so, to simplify because it can be really confusing:

i: physical things only exist if they're being perceived.

ii: when humans aren't perceiving things, God is.

iii: the reason why the world keeps existing even when we're not looking is because God is always "watching".

this raises the question: if we're not perceiving something, and the only reason it exists because God is, then how do we know it actually exists when we're not perceiving it?

berkeley responded:

"we know it exists because we can come back and perceive it again, and it behaves consistently"

if you look at a tree, walk away, come back. it's still there. berkeley argued that you assume the tree existed the whole time because when you go back, the tree would still be there, at the exact same spot.

this consistency would therefore be explained by God's continuous perception of it. so even though you didn't perceive it the whole time, the fact that reality is orderly and consistent is reliable "proof" that something (God) kept it there.

critics have argued back that assuming God is perceiving all the time isn't proof that He actually is, so how would we know that?

the answer is: w/o God, things would just pop in and out of existence every time we blink and that doesn't happen. so God is used to explain why the world is consistent and stable even when we're not watching.

you can't personally perceive something that you're not perceiving, but you trust that it's still there when you go back there, because of God.

berkeley's theory is still relevant today because the things he imagined in the 1700s do line up w/ scientific discoveries today and i resonate w/ his theory, so i just had to include it even though God’s existence isn’t proven. it’s fascinating, really.

⭒ relating george’s idealism to reality shifting:

if, like berkeley said, things only exist when they're being perceived, and if reality stays consistent because someone is always perceiving it, then that means perception isn't just passive, it's creative and shapes what exists.

this ties back to shifting beacuse it suggests that your desired reality doesn't need to "appear" in front of you for it to be real - it only needs to be perceived. if you consciously focus on your dr, perceiving it in your mind as real, then by berkeley's logic, it is real, maybe not in the physical sense just yet, but within the field of awareness that gives rise to reality in the first place.

so basically: if reality is perception based, and you're perceiving your dr, then you're giving form to something that exists because you're actively perceiving it, and you are capable of being in that place.

[whisperedmeg]

QUIET PROOF ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part v

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: a morning ambush from spencer’s friends tests a bond still forming. when doubt creeps in, love answers — not loudly, but clearly.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

w/c: 2.7k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, vague talk of intimacy but nothing explicit, jj and garcia being cutie nosy bffs, reader gets insecure and anxious and spirals a bit, spencer is a reassuring sweetie pie

a/n: this one goes out to all my fellow anxious girlies with a words of affirmation love language. as always, appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! thank you sm to everyone who has followed this series so far 🫶🏼

series masterlist

I woke to the faint weight of sunlight brushing my face through the thin curtains, soft and gentle like a secret only the morning knew. For a moment, I laid still, feeling the steady rhythm of Spencer’s breath against my back, the warmth of his body curled close. Something had shifted between us overnight — I could feel it in the quiet spaces, in the way he hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t spoken, yet didn’t quite let himself relax, either.

Neither of us said a word. We didn’t have to. The air between us hummed with a tentative understanding — maybe hope, maybe fear — and I wasn’t sure which of us would break the silence first.

I traced lazy circles on his arm. His hand found mine, fingers curling around mine with a softness that made my chest ache in the best way. I smiled into the quiet, this small bubble of peace we’d started creating together.

Things started to lean toward something more — a brush of lips, the slow heat of skin meeting skin — when suddenly, there was a loud knock at his front door.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling away and scrambling out of bed. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m sorry.”

He padded quickly across the room in just his boxers, trying to finger-comb his hair into something less Einstein-like. From the other side of the apartment, voices drifted in.

“Hey, Spence,” a woman called through the door. “You’ve been kind of off the grid lately, so we thought we’d drop by.”

“And by ‘drop by,’ she means ambush,” another voice added, singsong. “Hi, boy genius. Don’t mind us. We just want to make sure you’re still alive.”

Spencer winced. “It’s JJ and Garcia,” he whispered, looking like he might spontaneously combust. “They’re my colleagues. I haven’t, um, told them… about you.”

I silently thanked some invisible force of the universe for convincing me I should wear shorts under his t-shirt last night instead of just my underwear.

“I figured,” I said, sitting up and clutching the sheet tighter. “Do you want me to, like, hide under the bed, or should I just pretend I sleepwalked into the wrong apartment?”

His face crumpled into a smile — nervous, but genuine. “I don’t want to hide you. Just… maybe wait a second before you come out.” He finished pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before walking out of the bedroom.

He walked to the front of his apartment and unlocked the door. “Morning,” he said, and I heard the practiced calm in his voice. “Everything okay?”

The more colorful blonde woman — Penelope Garcia, I guessed, based on photos he’d shown me — didn’t even pause. “Define okay. We’ve texted, we’ve called. You didn’t show up to our standing monthly brunch on Sunday!”

“I’ve just… been here,” Spencer said, clearly trying not to panic. “Taking time.”

The other woman, who I assumed had to be JJ, narrowed her eyes. “Time for what?”

That was when I moved. I wasn’t sure why — I could’ve stayed hidden — but something in me didn’t want to. Maybe it was the warmth still clinging to me from the way Spencer had held me all night. Maybe it was just that I liked knowing where I stood. So I stepped quietly into view, hair still a mess, heart thudding like a drumline, blanket wrapped around me like a fluffy shield. “Um. Hi,” I said, voice soft and a little shy and awkward, but steady.

Garcia froze mid-expression, her mouth hanging open before she clamped it shut. JJ blinked once, then tilted her head.

Spencer stammered out an awkward laugh. He ran a hand through his hair and introduced me, motioning for me to come stand next to him.

JJ’s eyes flicked from me to him, then back again. “Nice to meet you,” she said, visibly recalibrating. Her smile settled into something kind. “Sorry to barge in like this. We didn’t know Spencer was seeing someone.”

Garcia, clearly never one to resist a dramatic pause, took a breath and beamed. “You are a vision. Spencer Reid, I did not see this plot twist coming. When on earth did you find the time to meet someone?!”

I laughed, a little startled by how easily they both made space for me. “Sorry for the surprise. This is not how I usually meet people,” I said as I gestured towards my overall messy appearance. “And definitely not how I planned on meeting Spencer’s friends.”

“Trust me, it’s not even in the top three weirdest ways we’ve met some of Spencer’s acquaintances,” JJ teased.

Spencer groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Do you guys want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Garcia said, already stepping inside and handing JJ her purse. “I also want answers, but I’ll wait until we all have some caffeine. I’m not a total monster.”

JJ followed her in with a smile. “This won’t be an interrogation, by the way. We’re just… protective. He’s family.”

“I get that,” I said, glancing at Spencer, who gave me a quick smile over his shoulder as he started pouring water into the coffee pot. “I’m the same way with people I care about.”

We all made our way to the kitchen, where I perched on a stool, still wrapped in a blanket like some kind of toga-clad guest on a morning show. Garcia was already scouring Spencer’s cabinets for mugs.

“So,” she began, “how did you two meet?”

“I’m a nurse,” I replied. Once her blank stare made me realize that my response didn’t actually answer her question, I cleared my throat with an awkward laugh. “At, uh, Millburn. I’m a nurse in the infirmary there.”

That made JJ glance up from where she was doctoring her coffee. “Really? That’s how you two met?”

I nodded. There was a pause — not an uncomfortable one, just a moment of absorption.

“Huh,” Garcia said. “Well, that’s a meet-cute I did not see coming.”

Spencer made a small coughing sound and handed me a mug like he needed to redirect his awkward energy somewhere.

JJ looked at me for a second longer. “That couldn’t have been easy. For either of you.”

“It wasn’t,” Spencer chimed in. “But that part is over now.”

JJ leaned back against the counter. “I’m glad you had someone looking out for you in there,” she said to Spencer.

“I did,” he said quietly. “She’s the one who got me moved out of gen pop, actually. It was her medical report that convinced the warden to put me in protective custody.”

Both women looked at me with something resembling awe and gratitude in their expressions, then we moved along to sipping our coffees.

There was another short pause, broken when Garcia pulled her phone out of her purse and wiggled it dramatically. “Okay. So. About that reinstatement news.”

Spencer groaned. “Penelope…”

“I didn’t break into anything,” she insisted, holding up her hands. “I just… peeked. And word on the encrypted street is, you’re about two weeks away from an official decision. And it’s definitely looking like it’s leaning positive.”

Spencer looked stunned for a second — hope and fear battling quietly in his eyes. He didn’t say anything right away, just nodded slowly.

JJ stepped closer, resting a hand on Spencer’s arm. “Whatever happens, we’re here. Okay? You’re not alone.”

“I know,” he said. His voice cracked a little.

We finished our coffee slowly, the conversation drifting toward lighter things — Garcia’s latest side project (something involving 3D printed dog collars?), JJ’s boys (Spencer’s godsons, I learned) and their ever-expanding collection of Nerf weapons, and the absurdity of trying to explain to anyone outside the BAU what their job actually was. They asked me more questions about myself, but it didn’t feel like an inquisition. It felt like they genuinely cared to know about this new mysterious person in their friend’s life.

Eventually, they stood to go, giving Spencer gentle hugs and me a warm goodbye.

Garcia leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Take care of our boy, okay?”

“I will,” I said, meaning it.

And when they were gone, when the door closed behind them, I looked at Spencer, finally releasing the breath I’d been holding since they first knocked.

“I think they like you,” he said.

I smiled, letting out a sigh of relief tinged with joy. “I like them, too.”

And I liked him. More than I knew how to say. But maybe, for now, this was enough.

—

It had been one week since JJ and Garcia had shown up on Spencer’s doorstep, bright-eyed and suspicious and exactly as wonderful as I’d hoped his friends would be. One week since I stood in his kitchen in a blanket toga, answering soft but pointed questions over coffee. One week since Penelope squeezed my hand and told me to take care of “their boy,” and JJ gave me a look that said she saw me.

In the days that followed, everything had both shifted and stayed the same.

Spencer had his final psych eval with the Bureau. I worked more shifts at Millburn. And each night, I came back to him — or he came back to me — and we made a quiet ritual out of not saying too much about what any of it meant. We kissed until our lungs burned, explored each other’s bodies with hands and mouths that knew how to be reverent. There were moans and whispers, and the dizzying pleasure of being skin-to-skin. But still — no sex. Not yet. Sometimes he’d stop suddenly, forehead pressed to my collarbone, murmuring that he needed a minute. I always gave him one. Sometimes two.

It wasn’t unspoken. But it also wasn’t discussed. It just… was. That boundary had become part of our rhythm. He didn’t rush, and I didn’t press. We were building something with our hearts and hands before letting our bodies finish the story.

Tonight, we laid tangled on his couch, a half-watched documentary playing quietly on the screen — something about extinct languages that I could only follow for about five minutes before getting lost; classic Spencer fare. He was behind me, his arm looped around my waist, and I was tucked back against him like a comma in the sentence of his body. He traced shapes into my hip bone like his fingers were thinking out loud.

But for some reason, my mind wouldn’t still. A silly, passing comment he made earlier about how nice of a person I am tugged at the taut wires in my brain. I stared at the blue light of the TV and tried to focus on the narrator’s voice, the familiar cadence of academia. It was useless, though — my thoughts had already started spiraling.

Spencer always called me beautiful. Kind. Wonderful. Nice. But those words were just broad strokes. They didn’t feel anchored in who I was, not really. He hadn’t said why he liked me, just that he did. And part of me — the part that had built walls and lived too long inside my own overthinking — started whispering dangerous little questions.

What if I was just… convenient? What if I was the safest thing he’d had in a long time, and he was mistaking that for something else? Sure, he looked at me like I was something precious. But that didn’t mean he knew me.

Maybe everything he thought he felt for me was just transference. Maybe I was just the person who kept him from unraveling in prison, and now he didn’t know how to let go.

I felt my body begin to tense. My breathing grew shallow. My chest ached with the weight of my own unworthiness — a feeling I thought I’d outgrown, but apparently not.

Behind me, Spencer shifted.

“Hey,” he murmured, pausing the documentary. The room fell into a soft hush. “You just disappeared. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said automatically, eyes fixed ahead. “Just thinking.”

His hand brushed my side. “You’re shaking.”

I hadn’t realized I was. My throat tightened. “I don’t want to ruin this,” I whispered.

“You won’t.”

“I just… sometimes I think maybe this isn’t what I think it is. Like maybe you only feel any sense of attachment to me because of what I was to you in there.”

Silence. My shame filled the space between us like smoke.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady. “Please look at me.”

I turned, hesitantly, until we were face to face. His eyes searched mine like they were scanning for injuries — soft, deliberate, full of that quiet panic he always tried to hide when someone he cared about was hurting.

“I know it’s stupid, I know I shouldn’t think like that, but… you’ve never actually said what you like about me. You just use words like kind and wonderful, which are very nice things to be called, obviously, but they’re not… they’re not me, not really. I’m terrified this is all just gratitude disguised as something more. Or that one day you’ll stop being grateful and realize I was part of the damage.”

By now my voice had begun to shake, and I was blinking fast. Spencer moved instantly, sitting me up and kneeling in front of me, both hands on my thighs.

“You’re not part of the damage,” he said, and his voice was low and sure. “You’re the reason I made it out of there still believing people could be good. You didn’t just help me survive. You made me want to.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“I didn’t fall for you because you were kind to me in prison,” he said. “I fell for you because you notice things other people don’t. You read people like I read books — not just with interest, but with care. You’re perceptive. Sharp. You ask good questions. You make people feel seen.

“I fell for you because you see me, exactly as I am. And you don’t ever flinch. You don’t try to fix me or save me. You just… stay. Even when I pull back. Even when I don’t know how to move forward.”

His voice caught for a second, then steadied again.

“You’re funny, even when you don’t mean to be. You make these little under-your-breath observations that always make me laugh. You help people like it’s instinct, not obligation. And when I panic, you don’t panic with me. You just breathe, and wait, stay, and let me come back.”

Tears pricked hot at the backs of my eyes. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to interrupt.

“I fell for the way you carry things quietly, like your own heart has had to do the heavy lifting too many times but never hardened. I fell for the way you always ask me what I want instead of assuming. And how when you touch me, it never feels like I owe you anything — you touch me simply because you crave my closeness and want me to feel wanted. I fell for your stubbornness, and your calm, and the way being with you feels like home, no matter where we are.”

He paused, eyes locked on mine. “So yeah. I fell for you. I’m grateful for the way you helped me when I was in Millburn, sure, but it’s more than that. I like you. I want you.”

I stared at him, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. “You fell for me?” I asked, barely more than a whisper.

He nodded with that pure, honest softness only Spencer had. “I did,” he said. “I do. I'm still falling for you. Every day.”

I let out a shaky laugh that was halfway to a sob, my chest cracking wide open. “Good,” I whispered. “Because I’m definitely falling for you, too. So much so that it terrifies me — good terrified, though.”

His expression softened in a way that made my whole body ache. Like my words had knocked something loose in him — or maybe settled something that had been rattling too long.

For a long, quiet moment, we just looked at each other. Breathing. Shaking a little, together.

Then he leaned in slowly, resting his forehead to mine. “You’re not something I’m clinging to. You’re someone I’m choosing.”

And I believed him.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part vi

[seobinghard]

WISDOM TEETH, OYSTERS, AND BEDTIME STORIES — j.yh

[ ☆ ] summary: apparently, all it takes is two wisdom teeth, one foul oyster and a fuckass bedtime story to end your decade-long beef with your arch-nemesis, jeong yunho.

pairing: arch-nemesis!yunho x fem!reader. tags: enemies-to-lovers au, fluff, crack, witty. note: yuyu's a bit mean mwahaha. slight yungi x reader. best friend!mingi mentioned. yunho and reader's beef is not intense but long-standing and petty. mingi loves you both tho. wc: 1.5k i think. warnings: mentions of anaesthesia, vomiting, and swearing.

the instructions were plain and simple.

mingi was supposed to pick you up from the dental clinic after your wisdom teeth removal appointment at two pm sharp because god knows you'll be high off your head from the anaesthesia to even comprehend traffic lights. but lo and behold, things don't go quite as planned because some guy in a grey hoodie shows up instead of your best friend. how d'you know?

he's got naked fingers.

"you're not wearing any r-rings–" you slur at the unidentifiable stranger, decoding his face with your half-lidded eyes before realising;

"wait, you're not mingi!"

"no shit, einstein." yunho rolls his eyes, scoffing at your accusation. you're barely standing up straight.

yunho's your arch-nemesis, your best friend—mingi's other best friend (which is why he's your arch-nemesis), and your ex high school class president who caught you cheating on your physics finals in junior year and almost got you expelled. whatever, you think he's just conceited and has no life, that's why he goes around policing the free-willed like you. acting all high and righteous like he knows it all (he actually does know it all but you'd rather swallow a lava rock than admit it).

"man, you're so cooked," yunho laughs mockingly, snaking an arm around waist to hold you upright.

although he can be petty and leave you here for the flies (it's summer), yunho's a man of his words and great time management.

the plan was plain and simple.

he promised mingi to pick you up from the dental clinic after your wisdom teeth removal at two pm sharp because mingi decided it was a great idea to slurp a two-day old raw oyster straight from the fridge that san had forgotten to throw out which sent him straight to the emergency room for food poisoning at ten in the morning. who escorted him? that's right. yunho. after all the barf hysteria mingi's put him through, yunho only got a 'bro, can you pick y/n up? also wear rings so she doesn't freak out.'

the fuck, yunho thought to himself.

but now it all makes sense.

you identify mingi by the rings on his fingers when you're feeling loopy and not quite there; like when you're drunk from the club or high off your head from anaesthesia.

yunho thinks that's kinda cute; your habit. you're kinda cute, now that he's gotten a closer look at you.

"can someone please remove this man from my sight?"

yeah, fuck that. yunho shoots you a glare you probably can't even see. "enough. we're going home."

"um, no. the fuck," you hiss, prying his hands off your arm before turning to your assigned nurse with tears in your eyes, "n-nurse yoon, this is not my guy– mingi's supposed to pick me up and he wears loooots of rings. this–"

"y/n, look at me." yunho steadies you with both hands, looking you straight in the eyes. "mingi's got food poisoning and he's at the er right now. so, i'm, me, yunho," he points at himself, "i'm gonna take you home, okay?"

there's a moment of silence.

nurse yoon finally excuses herself and hands you over to the tall man in the grey hoodie, advising him to watch you until the anaesthesia wears out from your system. he sounds so familiar yet you can't quite wrap your head around where you've seen him. the only thing you recognise, though, is his scent—soft, clean and musky like freshly hung laundry in the summer sun.

"yunho?" you mutter weakly, finally regaining a bit of clarity.

"yeah, me, dumbass. who else?" yunho replies flatly, though if you squint hard enough, you might just spot playfulness on the curve of his lips.

getting you home was a journey. not that you live far from the clinic but you couldn't stop bursting into fits of giggles and asking yunho to tell you funny stories so much so that he had to stop three times on the road to fix up your seatbelt.

"no more funny stories," yunho shuts you then your apartment door with a firm 'bang'.

you're standing in front of him like a kid in time-out, lips pursed in fear and excitement. maybe it's the anaesthesia, maybe it's your first time being this close to your arch-nemesis, maybe it's the sternness in his voice and the intensity in his gaze when he tells you to "behave" while gently grabbing your chin. something is definitely different about yunho, and you can't quite say you hate him as much as you did before.

"can i get a bedtime story then?" you bat your lashes.

"sun's still up."

"you're actually so lame, you know that?"

yunho never left you.

the sun has long set and you're fast asleep in your room, softly snoring under a pile of pillows after a bowl of chicken soup he made you and two tylenols. he kept the nightlight on—a small miffy lamp on your bedside table and made sure to refill your humidifier once every few hours. you're in deep, deep sleep, as expected. nurse yoon had advised him to keep an eye on you for two to four hours post-op. it's now half-past nine. why is he still here? he doesn't even know.

mingi's still at the hospital with a guilty san though he can now text. they'll probably let him go tomorrow morning if his conditions improve tonight. this is good news, yunho tells himself. he feels a great relief that his best friend's recovering, yet a part of him is filled with utter dread because if mingi gets discharged tomorrow morning then that means he's no longer your primary carer; that means he's ... leaving you.

what the fuck, yunho thinks.

is this what he thinks it is? no ... there is no way he's crushing on you. you? the chronic academic cheater? the spoiled crybaby? no way. yunho is genuinely crashing out in your little pink kitchen. before he can string together another mental smear campaign against your name in an attempt to 'un-crush' you, a shrill cry breaks from your room.

rushing over, yunho finds you uncontrollably sobbing in bed, eyes shut, brows knitted in utter distress. you're having a nightmare. his heart softens.

"shh, shh, it's okay," he coos, "it's okay, now." slowly, he slips into your bed and under your sheets, holding your trembling body close to his chest, cradling your head in his arms as he gently rubs circles on the skin of your lower back, steady and slow.

"yunho?"

yunho glances down at your half-awake face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "mhm?" the circles on your back don't stop.

"can you tell me a bedtime story?"

"no," he replies flatly, swallowing the urge to smile. but when he sees your teardrops double-up in size, he immediately switches up. "alright, fine, fine. let me think of something." he coughs, "once upon a time, there were three best friends–"

"is it us?"

"no questions," yunho mutters, restarting, "once upon a time, there were three best friends who lived in a small cottage by the woods. one was goofy, one cried a lot, and one was super smart. they would go fishing by the creek and spy on the neighbours–"

yunho pauses.

he looks down and finds you snoring on his chest, hand still gripping onto his grey hoodie. a content sigh leaves his lips as he takes in the features of your face; your pretty lashes, pretty nose and pretty pink lips. you're so pretty, he thinks. why are you even beefing?

"goodnight, crybaby," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. before he knows it, sleep creeps up his sleeve and you're both fast asleep in each other's arms.

epilogue

"WHAT THE FUCK."

you and yunho jolt awake, whipping your heads to the doorway to find a freshly discharged mingi, frozen and wide-eyed, staring at you with horror and bewilderment dripping from his face as if he's just seen a ghost.

"while i was puking my life out in the er, you're here cuddling up to each other like– bro, what– you betrayed my moral loyalty! the both of you!"

"just say you're jealous and jump in," yunho groans groggily and throws throws a pillow at his best friend. he dips back into bed, pulling you into his chest.

you giggle when the bed dips behind you, followed by an arm around your waist, cold rings pressed against your skin.

"i need a proper explanation after this," mingi murmurs in your hair, eyes drooping as the post-food-poisoning fatigue starts to hit him.

yunho only hums in response and swats mingi's arm away from you. "did i say you can touch her?"

© seobinghard 2025 . all rights reserved. / m.list

a/n: one of the best shit i've written so far. also it's 2:44am n i need to sleep. but peep possessive yunho at the end mwahaha fuck i need him bad

[yuzujjn]

𝑓 . . ﹙ ✉️ ﹚ ATTRACTED TO YOU, loser jake ────𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

( 𝑓𝗍) ㅤ 𓈒 심재윤 & fem!rea 5OO ── dis skinship, kissing, petnames, loser au fluff, non idol au ୨୧ established relationship + C𝑙𝑖CK

다니 ⠀⦂⠀happy @yuons day (> <) we were talking about loser enhypen today so i was trying so hard not to spoil this . ㅠㅠ anyways LOVE YOU JUNIPONI

JAKE PUSHES HIS GLASSES UP AGAIN, fingers brushing against the bridge of his nose as he glances down at the textbook between you. he’s been explaining the same physics problem for the past five minutes, voice animated, hands gesturing in excitement as he scribbles equations onto the paper.

you, however, haven’t been paying attention.

not even a little bit.

"—so when you account for external forces, the net force is—"

you stare at him, chin propped up on your palm, watching the way he bites his lip in concentration. the way his eyes light up when he gets lost in thought. the way he occasionally pushes his glasses up when they slip down his nose.

he's so into it, so completely in love with explaining physics to you, and god, it’s cute.

"are you even listening?" he suddenly asks, turning to you with a frown.

"mhm," you hum, offering him an easy smile.

he squints. “then what’s the formula for force?”

“...love?”

jake sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “this is why you’re failing physics.”

“this is why you’re my tutor,” you shoot back, straightening up. “but you know, i was just thinking. what if we make this more fun?”

jake raises a brow. "like what?"

you grin, shifting closer to him. "one correct answer, one kiss."

he freezes.

his ears immediately turn red, his fingers tightening around his pen as he stares at you like you’ve just suggested something illegal.

"what."

"one correct answer, one kiss," you repeat, nudging his knee with yours. "i think it'll help me focus."

he blinks at you, "that… theoretically wouldn’t work."

"oh?" you tilt your head. "why not?"

"well," he starts, pushing his glasses up again—stalling. "if we consider the concept of positive reinforcement, then yes, a reward system could enhance learning, but in this case, the variable is flawed because—"

you stare.

"—the stimulus, being, um, a kiss, is too subjective to quantify in terms of effective learning patterns, and if the goal is information retention, then—"

"jake."

"—introducing an external factor like physical affection could actually act as a distraction rather than a reinforcement, so theoretically—"

you kiss him.

his glasses bump against your cheek, and he makes a small, surprised noise in the back of his throat, instantly going still.

when you pull away, he’s frozen in place, eyes wide, lips parted.

"see?" you murmur, smiling. "works just fine."

jake blinks once. then twice. his fingers twitch where they rest on the textbook, and his lips part slightly, like he's about to say something, but nothing comes out.

you bite back a laugh. "you okay there, einstein?"

he swallows, clearing his throat. "yeah.. i think,"

you grin. "so. next question?"

his ears are still red as he glances at the book, voice slightly hoarse when he says, "what’s the acceleration due to gravity on earth?"

you shrug. "no clue."

jake exhales sharply, tilting his head back like he’s trying to gather what’s left of his dignity. “i can’t believe this,” he mutters.

you grin. “come on, next question.”

[emacrow]

Jazz always wanted a little brother.

Her best friend's mommy having a baby brother in her tummy, but right now they were at gotham, mom was meeting with some important people while she stay safe in the car with dad sleeping in the front passenger seat.

When she asked her mom and dad for a baby brother earlier that same week, mom had to explained that her tummy was broken after she had her because she was a very special miracle baby because they tried so hard to have her.

Jazz understood but at the same time, she wanted- no she need a baby brother, maybe one with dad's hair and mom's eyes, or maybe one with hair like hair and dad's eyes.

And she was determined, as she snuck out of the fentomobile car, sneaking inside beside the scary ninjas guards that were temporarily distracted.

She was very good at sneaking around thanks to mom training her to stay quiet and hide better then a ghost.

There was pools of ectoplasmic but much dirtier and less cleaner then the stuff mom and dad work with. Container and chambers full of them.

She saw doctor walking out of one room and snuck in before the the door close on her. There was another ectoplasmic container that had babies in them..

One sleeping upside down and the other upside up. The one of the bottom was sleeping but the older has his eyes open, revealing pretty blue eyes like dad's eyes.

She chewed on her bottom lip a bit and weigh her short limited choices as nodding.

She close her eyes, focusing as she quickly started to float a bit wobbly, sticking her small hands onto the glass ectoplasmic ball using her secret powers that she had learned without mom and dad noticing.

Her invisible hand grabbed the baby slowly, making it invisible as she pulled it out of the ectoplasmic ball.

The baby was very small and light then a feather while covered in wet ectoplasm goop.. the baby cough a bit, dripping ectoplasm out his mouth, squirming a bit as he was about to make a fuzz but quiet down as she held him close into her warm fuzzy jacket.

She snuck back out of the room and quickly out of the place all the way back into fentonmobile..

Covering the baby with her Einstein bear designed blanket, cleaning the baby up like she would with her baby dolls, and she open the empty toy baby bottle and open her mini almond milk jug, then pour the milk in and close it, after remembering to cut a little open hole on the tip of the hard plastic nibble part.

Scooting over to the baby, and carefully picking him up and helding him close onto her lap like she seen the mommy do on TV as she press the toy baby bottle again the baby's mouth.

It would be 1 hour later before mom came back looking excited then 2 hours later after they left gotham before a soft baby wail woke her dad from the backseat of the fenton car where jazz was.

Jazz was pink in the face as she was trying to hide the baby but she couldn't stop him from crying.

It would 20 minutes of jazz lying straight to her parents's faces on where she found the baby, and it would forever be her only best lie she ever told that convinced them to adopt the baby boy that was now named danny..

Meanwhile back at league of Assassin headquarters. The head scientist has noticed that the first unborn twin baby has been removed early then schedule, probably due to natural condition of death since the first one has a much weaker pulse compared to the second unborn baby which Talia had name Damian later.

The leading scientist check off the existence of the supposed first born who went without a name on the data base...

Unknownly to both parties, Jazz was very happy to have a little brother of her own now, even if his eyes flashes green a bit from time to time.

Ao3 story made here <-

[sparsilees]

Harry is a clever and competent wizard

A recurring theme in fandom I find endlessly tiresome and disappointing is the portrayal of Harry as an academically struggling student who’s lamentably hopeless at Potions and middling in all other subjects aside from DADA, and who, alongside Ron, is in constant need of Hermione’s guidance. It’s present almost everywhere. It’s reinvented canon. And it’s shoved down new readers and non-fans’ throats alike. Please, there’s an HP wiki available for your perusal. Don’t go about consulting popular fics and the Hermione-biased movie director’s visions to draw your ideas of Harry and Ron’s psyche!

It’s doubly aggravating when this depiction is used to highlight Hermione, Draco, or so-and-so classmate’s magical Einstein-levels of genius and reinforce the false narrative that Harry’s singular claim to brilliance lies in Quidditch, and that he’s got nothing more than fluff and snitches between his ears on top of being oblivious to the point of idiocy. That apart from excelling in Defence, he doesn’t have much upstairs... (And even then a minority of the fandom portray DADA as akin to gym class where it’s all honing muscles, muscle memory, and reflexes, with Harry framed as an archetypal gymbro on top of being a himbo. What?!)

So we’re just going to overlook his devastatingly biting wit and clever asides? Or brush aside how he repeatedly demonstrates his ability to perform well under pressure? His keen intuition and how he carefully retains seemingly insignificant, misfit puzzle pieces until the eureka moment strikes and he seamlessly integrates them into the bigger picture?

Take these two examples from Philosopher’s Stone with an intrepid tiny Harry—

Exhibit #1:

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn’t have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy . . . never . . . but — Harry suddenly jumped to his feet. “Where’re you going?” said Ron sleepily. “I’ve just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned white. “We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.” “Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?”

Exhibit #2:

Quirrell cursed under his breath. “I don’t understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?” Harry’s mind was racing. What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it — which means I’ll see where it’s hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I’m up to? He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself. “What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!” And to Harry’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. “Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . .” Quirrell rounded on Harry. “Yes — Potter — come here.” He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet. “Come here,” Quirrell repeated. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” Harry walked toward him. I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that’s all.

Bravery alone wasn’t enough to overcome his troubled upbringing with the Dursleys, or Quirrelmort, or Diary Tommy, or the final leg of the Horcrux hunt — it required a combination of mental agility, resourcefulness, and cunning to evaluate the situation, outsmart his opponents, and tip the odds in his favour. Harry needed to survive. To survive, he needed something other than mere guts. Harry’s ability to think on his feet and leverage his intelligence to gain the upper hand in challenging scenarios remains a testament to his brilliance and his remarkable presence of mind. He isn’t the foolhardy, impulsive Gryffindor who leaps into danger headlong without prior planning everytime.

(For that matter, Gryffindors are more than their “bravery” which has somehow been twisted into being synonymous with “reckless” — Sirius being a prime example of this, when in GOF he was urging Harry caution in their communications, despite the fandom conveniently only zeroing in on the depressed, cooped up version of him in OOTP, sigh. Bravery is fortitude, pluck, tenacity, strength of moral fibre, resilience, and heart as well.)

Some other less-mentioned examples of his quick mind: Harry wondering about Snape and Karkaroff being on a first-name basis; remembering Nicholas Flamel just from a long-ago glance, and again, Stan Shunpike despite their single encounter; Harry coaxing out Slughorn’s secret (no, it wasn’t all the Felix Felicis); Harry putting himself in Voldemort’s shoes, and Ron and Hermione deferring to his superior, albeit scary, knowledge; and Harry frightening Ollivander with his deductions about the wands. (It wasn’t solely Hermione’s brains that enabled their chances of survival in DH, let’s ditch that false narrative.)

The most laughably contrived bit in fanon is the unfounded notion that Hermione lets the boys cheat off her work to coast by in class. Fanon is wrong on both counts. Hermione would sooner report the boys for cheating than allow them to copy off her, and Harry isn’t anywhere close to scraping the bottom of the barrel in class, and neither is Ron. The handful of instances in canon where she looks over their assignments and helps correct mistakes isn’t cheating. Her input is akin to getting a second pair of eyes or a beta reader to ensure their work is up to snuff — heaven forbid a student help out a friend by suggesting some tips and tweaks. (Or attend tuition or retain a personal tutor or three.)

The ‘that’s why Harry isn’t a Ravenclaw’ jokes get pretty stale once you realise a large portion of the fandom genuinely think he isn’t a smart kid or has never read a book of his own volition/interest in his life. But Harry enjoyed reading his new books late into the night before starting Hogwarts (he found Hedwig’s name in A History of Magic, after all). Admittedly, studying is a feat in and of itself when you have zero access to books, but some cunning can turn around your luck!

Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to Harry, even if he couldn’t be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry now had all his school things in his bedroom with him. The Dursleys had never allowed this before; their general wish of keeping Harry as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock his school trunk in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

‘Oh, Potter can’t differentiate between a salamander and newt’s eyes.’

‘Asking him to skin shrivelfigs is a tall order since he can’t wield a dagger properly.’

‘He used shredded jobberknoll feathers when the recipe called for a fine powder. Poor Hermione will have to take over yet again to save his stupid arse.’

It’s these many variations and renditions of Harry’s alleged, often exaggerated, ineptitude in fandom content and making a monkey out of him, which I come across more often than not, that are an instant turn-off.

The widespread idea that Harry’s success in the subject can be attributed solely to the Prince’s book is misguided and further undermines his intelligence — and this jaundiced belief that’s crystallised itself as canon, of Harry and Ron putting on a double act as stupid slouches in class and therefore deserving of Snape’s derision and the Slytherin’s put-downs, is a far cry from the truth. Snape’s opinion of Harry’s intelligence or ability should be taken with a grain of salt, given that Harry has been described as a bright and talented child since his first year, by the Professors, Dumbledore, and the Sorting Hat. Even the resident megalomaniac described him as “not unintelligent”. You know what’s actually canon?

1) Snape’s biased approach towards Harry and Neville caused them to have an unwarranted fear of failure and reprimands. The Potions classroom was a hostile and unwelcoming learning environment for these two boys.

2) Harry is pretty confident when left to his own devices in class in OoTP before Snape flushed his effort down the gutter.

Exhibit #1:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favourites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E. He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise; Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around again. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor, and Snape was watching him with a look of gloating pleasure. “Whoops,” he said softly. “Another zero, then, Potter . . .” Harry was too incensed to speak. He strode back to his cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to his horror that the rest of the contents had vanished. “I’m sorry!” said Hermione with her hands over her mouth. “I’m really sorry, Harry, I thought you’d finished, so I cleared up!”

Exhibit #2:

“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye.” His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.

Exhibit #3:

Ron found it quite easy to ignore as they spent most of Saturday and Sunday studying for Potions on Monday, the exam to which Harry was looking forward least and which he was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written exam difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: He could describe its effects extremely accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year. The afternoon practical was not as dreadful as he had expected it to be. With Snape absent from the proceedings he found that he was much more relaxed than he usually was while making potions. Neville, who was sitting very near Harry, also looked happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class. When Professor Marchbanks said, “Step away from your cauldrons, please, the examination is over,” Harry corked his sample flask feeling that he might not have achieved a good grade but that he had, with luck, avoided a fail.

Whereas in Ch 15 of OoTP, Snape had marked Harry’s essay on moonstones as Dreadful and claimed it to be a realistic expectation of OWL grading:

“I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L.,” said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. “This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination.” Snape reached the front of the class and turned to face them. “The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week’s essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D’s.” He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, “Some people got D’s? Ha!”

And yet, Harry did very well on his OWLs before he even got a whiff of the Prince’s book.

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures EE

Charms EE

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology EE

History of Magic D

Potions EE

Transfiguration EE

Harry and Ron studied (!) both days of the weekend before Potions OWLs (!) without Hermione (!), and still Harry wasn’t sure he’d secure a good grade yet ended up scoring an EE. Exceeds Expectations, which y’know translates to: Surpasses Expectations, So Much Better than Expected, Rather Brilliant.

Unless you believe that anything less than the top percentiles is rubbish, Harry is not a ‘certifiable dunce’. There’s no denying he’s a competent and clever wizard and easily punches above his weight when he’s properly motivated and applies himself. Intelligence is a genetic trait, and Harry comes from nerdstock.

If he could achieve those grades whilst serving 7-hour torture sessions with Umbridge, suffering from Voldemort and Snape tearing into his mind, and putting up with the government slandering him in his second most important school year, running on fumes and sheer will (constantly disruspted sleep routine? Ugh!), then yeah, remove all those crutches, and he’d be raking in straight Os for most of those subjects. (It sort of sounds like ‘excuse our mental health and and anxiety’ for us if we perform poorly in exams, but not for Harry ‘he’s an idiot throwing teen tantrums’. Someone give me a hammer.)

“You’d need top grades for that,” said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. “They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, and nothing under ‘Exceeds Expectations’ grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It’s a difficult career path, Potter; they only take the best. In fact, I don’t think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.”

Did he earn the grades? Yes. The Auror program ran aptitude tests, too, and only took the best, yes? Not because he’s a hothead with a daredevil streak and impulse issues, yes? Not because his dream was to be an Auror since his third year, or that he was only exceptional at fighting, or some such nonsense. After all, Barty Crouch Jr, he of the impeccable OWLs record, saw something worthy of Auror material in Harry and planted the seed in his mind. (Reminder: Barty also said Hermione should consider joining the Aurors too because her “mind works the right way”.)

And Moody thought he, Harry, ought to be an Auror! Interesting idea . . . but somehow, Harry thought, as he got quietly into his four-poster ten minutes later, the egg and the Cloak now safely back in his trunk, he thought he’d like to check how scarred the rest of them were before he chose it as a career.

If Harry was incapable of telling up from down in Potions, the Prince’s annotations would have been like casting pearls before swine. Worse still, Harry’s supposed lack of know-how would have caused more harm than good. The book only helped to refine the skills and knowledge he had cultivated over five years of study. Having a comfortable learning environment, an encouraging teacher, and superior instructions allowed Harry to maximise his potential and excel in class. (This phenomenon of underachiever-to-star pupil can happen in real life and is not unique to Harry. It happens with neurodivergent students with slightly different needs, students who require a more personal teaching style, and students stunted by an unhealthy learning environment. When their needs are met and supported, they tend to thrive and reach their potential.)

To put it into perspective, imagine taking an average kid whose expertise in cooking extends to making beans on toast and putting them in a professional kitchen. Imagine asking this kid to fillet a salmon and very finely slice lemons for garnish, tasks that require careful hands, finesse, and patience. If the kid can’t distinguish between a paring knife and a boning knife, they don’t stand half a chance. They’re liable to mess up the fish from the get-go. They might use a petty knife for everything and present a terribly executed dish; or they might cleverly choose a smaller knife but misuse it, not knowing that the flexibility and sharpness of a blade vary depending on their purpose, and end up seriously hurting themselves. Either way, filleting a fish is best left to seasoned home cooks and the pros.

In contrast, Harry is identical to a proficient home cook who knows the ropes but lacks some finesse and the fancy carving and plating skills of a trained culinary student. He has a firm grasp of the necessary theory and techniques and knows how to prep ingredients correctly, but may fumble the ideal application of said techniques, lacks an inborn zeal for the craft that lends to creativity, and overlook the finer details, particularly when he’s weighed down by fear of censure and humiliation. His level of success hinges on variables such as his confidence, familiarity with a recipe or method, and the type of environment he’s in. Talent is like a little seed; when nurtured, it will flourish.

Slughorn’s NEWT class was small, admitting twelve students out of a fortyish-student batch. No Gryffindor apart from the Golden Trio made the cut, and they were joined by the lone Hufflepuff, four Ravenclaws, and four Slytherins. Essentially, only a dozen students achieved an EE or O to qualify for NEWT Potions. Fanon will tell you most of the Slytherins have been tinkering with cauldrons in their diapers, but canon shows that only two other Slytherins, besides Draco and Blaise, made the grade. So, how are we still perpetuating this incorrect interpretation that Ron and Harry were barely keeping up academically when they’re more adept than half their year?

Harry and Ron aren’t academically inclined or driven by an obsessive urge to pore over books most hours of the day for fun, so what? Let them joke around and play chess and cards and broom race in the rain without bringing their brains and academics into the equation. Let Harry be a proper child/teen when he’s not busy hunting clues and crushing evil plots. Stop making the sum of HJP be “Powerful Himbo” or “Saviour Complex and Running on Luck”, which is pretty disrespectful towards a character who has shown himself to be so, so competent and well-rounded.

It’s such a huge thorn in my side that both Harry and Sirius (of all people, when he’s twinning with James as the insultingly effortless mavens during their time at Hogwarts!) habitually have their intelligence questioned and maliciously devaluated, or blown off entirely. So I had to sit and get this chaotically demonstrative commentary off my chest. Thank you, if you’ve read till the end!

[jakesangel]

jake as your boyfriend headcanons <3

loser boyfriend

⁃ jake's loves for physics is something you have always been fond for but u certainly wasn't ready w the amount of content he watches and MAKES you watche as well. he is a cutie n will make you a playlist to catch up on him or to watch together. he will be shy about it at first, but once he will feel secure enough or that ull give him enough reassurance, he will share it w u n hopes ull talk to him about it.

"omg y/n!! did you know that einstein has been proven wrong ?? apparently the speed of light isn't the fastest in the universe ??" he told you, buzzing of excitement. he is so excited you could see an imaginary tail waving n his puffy ears perking up. "omg what is it then ?", u ask smiling. "it's the quantum entanglement !!" he then went on and on about what quantum entanglement as if you could understand anything. but your boyfie is a cutie so you kiss him n let him be.

⁃ second thing jakes loves. legos. and it's his favorite kind of dates w you. either in his bedroom or in urs or even during ur picnics, u guys will alwasy make legos together. when he is on tour in the usa, he will go to the manufacturer and replicate the both of you in legos, your future ideal house and even add your pets :( you'll be making it together once he is back to your arms.

clingy boyfriend

⁃ he needs to see his pretty baby EVERYDAY, if not he will be calling u wayyy more or he will send u lots of voice messages n selfies.

⁃ he also needs his kisses n his hugs :( daily does of you or he can NOT fonction

⁃ when you guys are together his hands are alwasy on your waist or in the back jeans in the pocket because he is romantic like this ᵎ when u both are sitting, his hands can be on your lower back or your thigh. either way, he will be strocking the area lovingly

⁃ cuddles are also a must ! in the morning when you wake up together or at night before sleeping. but also when watching movies or eating. anytime n anywhere. even in front of the members. he loves u n he isn't shy to show off his pretty girl.

"let's eat on the couch baby, i want ur legs on you my lap ", he said taking his and your plates on his way to the living room. settles on couch, he takes ur legs to out them on his lap, kisses your temple and finally out his plate on ur leg so he can eat. "there we go, were lunch better like, no baby ?ᩚ "

⁃ he loves laying on ur chest, your hands in his hair or subbing his back. he would often fall asleep like this. he also likes laying his head on ur lap for the exact same reasons.

⁃ he would add kisses on u guys routine. like when brush ur teeth together he would kiss ur nose. or when u make breakfast ,he would come behind u and kiss ur shoulder and ur neck. kissing ur hand when eating together. kissing the top of your hair when u guys hugs, etc.

- talking about kisses, kisses w him are always different, you never know what to expect. they can be very passionate or full of love or teasing or filled w giggles.

scorpio boyfriend

⁃ as munch as he loves u wearing mini skirt, he can not let u go outside wearing this if he is not here. even his meme we ar won't allowed to this his heaven like gf. he can fight tho so he will let u go outside like that but by urself no.

- he isn't a controlling boyfriend but he won't like you going out w one guy, nor talking too much w them. he trust you but not men.

- because of that he can get a bit jealous, so if you both are in public and someone hits on you, trust me he will be making out right in front of the man.

down bad boyfriend

⁃ jake will be ur supporter #1, if he can he would be going out w ur face on his t-shirt. he also would want to participate in every event u have. your graduation, ur first day at work literally ANYTHING, he wants to be there for his baby.

⁃ evertime u would send a pic he would go feral, on text or irl, his friends are worried about you.

⁃ he will buy u everything u want n would go bankrupt for u. your eyes would linger on something for not even one second, it WILL be in ur hand few minutes later.

how to love jake VS how jake loves you hc

notes : it's my first time doing headcanons, please lemme kno what you think about and what other kind of boyfriend jake is ><

@imaluckygirl @luvj4key @heeseungswifefr @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @jaeyunpinkyring

[ltgubler]

Don't let them find out. [lew einstein]

pairing: lew einstein x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

summary: +18, professor x college student.

warnings: public display of affection, fingering in public, oral sex.

Thursday night at the library, again. Nose buried in your books, no date, no friends, just homework to do and straight A’s to get, same as always since you got into college. Everyone says that you’re just… smart, a nerd probably, but you’re not very social for your own reasons, and between studying and working to pay your tuition, you had no time to go out and experience the college life of a regular girl.

It was a slow night, not many people at the building, but that was better for you, you needed the silence. As you left your things at the table, you went to find a book you needed for an assignment, you searched everywhere, getting to the secluded section known as the “make out section”. And of course, you were the one to catch Professor Einstein humping his latest hook-up on the hallways of the library.

When you saw the girl walking away with teary eyes, blushed cheeks and messy hair, you noticed he saw you there, standing awkwardly, and honestly, a bit disgusted.

“Very classy, don’t you think?” The sarcasm in your voice made him stop on his tracks as he tried to walk away.

“Excuse me?” he looked at you for maybe the first time ever. He noticed your big brown eyes, too judgemental considering how angelic your face looked. “You’re one of my students, aren’t you?” There was a sudden glimpse of amusement creeping in his eyes. “You know… It’s very rude to get your nose in other people’s business.” His comment made you scoff, rolling your eyes, your annoyance awakening something in him.

“Me? Rude?” Your sarcastic tone amused him. “Rude is sticking your tongue in your students’ mouths, especially on campus, but who am I to judge, right?” He laughed at how mean you sounded.

“Oh I'm sticking more than just my tongue.” The repulsion on your face made him laugh. “I’m messing with you. But hey, maybe you can be next, if you're interested.”

A blush creeped on your cheeks, you were too stunned to even say something, and with a pat on your shoulder he walked away, leaving you standing there astonished and… intrigued. His words stayed on your mind for longer than you'd care to admit, not being able to focus as you went back to work on your assignment, laying in front of you as you sat there on that empty table in the silent library.

————

Days passed by and his words were still stuck in your head. *Did he mean that? Was he seriously implying that I could be that easy to get? I’m not an easy girl, right? Well, I don’t really know if I am, no one ever wanted me in that… way.* You shake your head to forget the thought, your own mind getting way ahead of itself.

Around noon you had your second class of the day, his class, and the idea of seeing him after the other night, looking at him in the eyes without making a fool of yourself, felt absurd. A simple sentence had you on edge for days, and being flirty was his normal self, maybe he even forgot about your minor encounter.

“Good morning class, how are we today?” His voice interrupted the murmur of your classmates, getting everyone's attention. His eyes roamed over the room, something he never did before. When he saw your face in the back of the classroom, his gaze lingered over you for a second too long, and pretending he wasn't looking for you, he cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Today is chapter… 6, open your books, your notes, your computers, whatever you have.”

His way of teaching –of interacting with the student body– was fun but effective, something that you picked up since his first class, but now you started to really pay attention to his mannerisms. The way he moved around the classroom, smoothly checking up on everyone, cracking a few jokes here and there, attentive to what was going on around him at all times. From afar he felt your eyes on him, and every few minutes, like clockwork, his own gaze met yours for a second or two. Each time his eyes met yours you weren't able to hold his gaze, looking away every single time. He held back from smiling each time he saw the nervous way you looked away.

The class came to an end and everyone started to leave, you gathered your things and as you started to walk towards the door, he said your name, making every set of eyes in that half full classroom set on you.

“_____, don’t go just yet.” He said without even raising his gaze, leaning over his desk as he read some paperwork. “The rest of you can leave, keep walking people, see you next week if you don’t drop out. I’m joking, don’t drop out.”

Everyone walked away with a smile on their faces, that was the effect he had on his students, a sense of camaraderie no other professor had.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Einstein?” your voice made him look up again, you could feel your own breath getting caught in your throat. When finally the last student left the classroom, he took a breath before speaking, with a smile that could melt anyone, and it surely melted you. “If this is about the other day…” He interrupted before you could finish your sentence.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not gonna apologize or anything. Well, I am gonna apologize for lustful behavior on campus premises, but not about what I was doing exactly.” You rolled your eyes without even realizing. “Ah, that roll of eyes… You shouldn’t do it that much, don't get me wrong, you have beautiful eyes, you could use them to your advantage” Your cheeks were turning red as he kept talking “I know they would work on me.” He confessed in whispers, wanting for you to hear it, but he wouldn’t dare to say it out loud.

You swallowed hard before being able to speak again, he noticed the blush in your cheeks, and the nervous way you were standing in front of him. “Okay, is… Is that it?” he was taken aback by your question, figuring that maybe you weren’t interested in him the way he was about you. “I have other classes today, so…” your words hung in the air for a little longer than expected, while he searched in your eyes for even a glimpse of wanting, of yearning.

“Sure, you’re a very dedicated student.” He straightened up, his tall figure taking your breath away. He noticed the way your gaze dropped to his body, instantly going back to his face, almost if you were afraid to look, to check him up. “See you next week, ____.”

—————

The promise of seeing him next week was broken when you, like never before, went out to a bar with the only two friends you had in college. The place was packed, with barely any room to walk in. Squeezing into the crowd the three of you spotted a table that was just getting available, your friend ran at an amazing speed to get it, pushing away a drunk guy that had the same mission as her. Once settled you took the first trip to the bar, picking mojitos as the first drink of the night.

The music, the alcohol, the lights, the gossip and laughter with your friends, everything felt intoxicating, all your senses were wrecked already, and when some guy took your hand to dance with you, you went with it without hesitation. As he held you by the hips, moving in sync with you and the music, you let yourself get loose for the first time in ages. This guy tried to get further, his lips grazing over your neck, and that repulsed you. Before he could even protest you were back with your friends, and he walked away with a pout on his face.

“Can you believe that guy?” you scoffed as you sipped your drink.

“Men are pigs.” your friend said and the three laughed. “But talking about men… There's a very popular professor over there that couldn't look away from you and that guy…” she said as she pointed surreptitiously to a booth behind her.

“What? Who?” you followed the direction of her finger, and sitting at the booth, there was him, drinking with two friends. “Oh, hell no, I just made a fool of myself in front of him?”

The deep shade of red that covered your face was even more embarrassing than the show you put on in front of your professor. He raised his beer with a cheeky smile, letting you know that he was, in fact, absolutely entertained by you. You couldn't take your eyes away from him, the way his glasses sat flawlessly on the bridge of his perfect nose, the way his curls fell messy and wild on the top of his head, his rosy lips that grinned at you, and God, that smile…

“Girl, focus, get back to us” Your friend snapped her finger in your face, awakening you from your trance. “You should go talk to him, bag him, for shit and giggles you know?” your eyes widened at your friend's words, but you were seriously considering it.

“Should I, shouldn't I?” you mumbled, your eyes every few seconds going back to him, magnetic.

“Go!” they both said in unison and laughed, almost pushing you in his direction. As you walked to his booth, his friends magically went away to get more drinks, mysteriously leaving him alone.

“What a nice surprise.” he smiled and invited you to sit next to him. He watched you intently as you nervously sat there, your eyes going back between him and your friends that giggled from afar. “I thought of you more like a bookworm, this is different coming from you.” His words hung in the air for a second.

“Well, you don't know me that well, professor.” He smiled, looking down when you called him that outside the classroom.

“I guess not. You're a party girl now?” His mocking tone got a reaction from you, that goddamn roll of eyes, making his heart skip a beat. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I'm whatever you want me to be.” Your blunt confession made him short-circuit, but even when you said that, you couldn't hold his gaze, and he found that endearing, and extremely captivating. He boosted himself closer to you, his leg pressing against yours.

“Why's that? What makes you think I want you that way?” His hand dropped from the top of the table to your thigh, resting there, cold against your warm skin. You didn't answer. “You already have the perfect grades, the perfect reputation… What’s in it for you?” He kept pushing to know what was on your mind.

“how do you know about my grades and reputation?” you finally looked at him, pure curiosity in those breathtaking eyes, he was going crazy getting lost in them. He shook his head slightly before speaking again.

“I did some digging, not because I'm interested,” he paused, “but let's say I am… interested.” His fingers on your thigh moved in their place, lazily caressing your skin.

Your eyes dropped to his hand, and back to his face. The proximity made you feel drunk, more drunk than any mojito could get you. The mix of beer and his perfume ignited something in you. “About your question… What's in it for me? You.” your words take him by surprise, he narrowed his eyes at your response.

“Like I'm a trophy for you to get? A land to concord?” He asked as he laughed, his hand lightly squeezed your flesh. He knew exactly what he was doing to you with his touch, with all those questions, with his closeness, and you let him do it.

“Does that bother you? That I want you…” you looked around to make sure no one could hear you. “... just to fuck?” He smiled, shaking his head.

“Considering that I want you for the same purposes, no, it doesn’t bother me at all.” His tone was getting lower, and his hand on your thigh was going higher. His fingers hid under the hem of your skirt, closer and closer to where he wanted to be, where he craved to be.

“Here?” you asked in a barely hearable whisper. He smiled, amused.

“Here what, darling?” He asked with an innocent tone, while his hand squeezed your inner thigh. “Use your words… Do you want me to start here? On this bar where anyone can see us?” Your eyes darted towards the crowd out there, no one was paying attention to you two in that dark booth.

“Y-yes.” you mumbled and he pulled your underwear to the side, but not touching you just yet. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He was drunk in your desperation.

“Oh no, you can be loud, you can moan and whimper, the music is gonna muffle your cries.” as the words rolled down his tongue, his middle finger started to play with you, so slowly it felt like a punishment. “Are you this wet because of me?”

“Can you blame me?” you smiled with a ragged breath. Two of his fingers were now playing with you, touching you in gentle and soft circles, with the perfect pressure to make you squirm under his touch.

“You're so pretty, letting me feel you, taste you.” With that, he pushed those two fingers inside, making you hide your face in the crook of his neck to stop your moans. “That's it, let me take care of you, you deserve it, don't you?” His hand picked up pace, his finger slightly curled up, like he knows exactly what to do, exactly how you like it. You were overstimulated, the music, the voices, his movements, his praising, the alcohol… A build up of emotions that made you melt against your seat, with him moving his fingers almost all the way out, just to push them deeper, making you lose your mind. The way he was controlling your body with just two fingers, not even a kiss and he already knew how to make you whimper and cry. “Let go for me, darling, don't hold back.”

A high pitched moan rasped your throat as you came undone in his hand, your legs shaking, your hips thrusting forward to meet his touch. “Oh, fuck me…” you breathed out, cursing, your orgasm washing over you.

“Good girl.” he smiled and withdrew his fingers. “And yes, I'm planning to fuck you if you'll have me.” he had a winning smile on his face that made you chuckle, and once again you rolled your eyes. “Stop doing that… I get hard every time you do it.” he confessed as he cleaned the residues of your orgasm with a napkin.

“I'm definitely gonna do it more often, especially considering how much you annoy me.” his eyes shined with amusement at your words, making him laugh.

“Let's get out of here, what do you say?” he asked. You thought about it for a second. “Here's too crowded, there's too much noise, and I deserve to hear you without any ambient sound.” He took your hand in his, fingers entwined. “Don't make me beg, because I will, I'm great at it.”

“Fine, okay, I'll go.”

With excitement he stood up and pulled you out of that booth and out that bar, forgetting about his friends and you forgetting about yours. The cold autumn night chilled your bones the second you stood in the street and he noticed how you crossed your arms, hugging yourself. Without saying a word he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to keep you warm. With a shy “thank you” you wrapped your arm around his waist, letting him guide you to his apartment. Once in his building he led you up the stairs to his flat, opening the door for you.

“What a gentleman, Professor Einstein, I didn’t think you had it in you.” your little tease made him laugh. He closed the door and walked straight to you, towering over you. His fingers gently but firmly grabbed you by the chin, making you look up at him.

“That’s mean, I am a gentleman, do you want me to prove myself?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against your cold skin. “Because I wouldn’t mind proving myself to you.” His lips grazed over your cheek. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

“Go ahead then, Professor.” You whispered, trying hard to not sound too eager. He smiled before finally giving in to the need to kiss you. His lips moved slowly, tenderly, tasting you for the first time, drawing in the soft sensation of your lips. He buried his hand in your hair, holding you impossibly close, his other hand pulled up your top just a bit for his hand to rest on top of your skin.

His kisses grow more desperate, needy, starting to feel like a drug, a fix you're gonna come back to over and over, addicted to the taste of his lips. A whine escaped your lips the second he stopped kissing you, his mouth trailed up your jawline -leaving a bite here and there, he wasn’t able to resist- and down your neck, getting from you sweet and soft little moans on his wake.

“I like the way you keep calling me Professor…” His voice was muffled by the closeness of his mouth on your neck. The heat of his breath brushing against your skin was intoxicating.

“Oh, so all this is to feed your ego?” The implications of your question plus your heavy breathing made him chuckle. “Is it a power thing? You're capable of ruining my life, is that it?” Your feisty tone only fueled him further, getting him even more worked up.

“Maybe it is, but doesn't that turn you on a little? That your reputation depends on how I feel about you?” His voice was a low murmur, an agonic reminder that –in fact– it did turn you on, his proximity making your heart jump out of your chest.

“It 's scary…” you confessed, slightly throwing your head to the side. His eyes dropped to your pulse point, he wasn't even able to focus on what you were saying. He pulled back a little to meet your eyes, his fingers firmly yet delicately grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

“It is. Scary, I mean. But you like it, _____. Don't you?” As the words rolled down his mouth, his thumb traced over your bottom lip. “The adrenaline, the fear of getting caught.”

He kissed you again, more desperate than before, yearning to take you further, to make you his, to dive and get lost in you. Without breaking the kiss he led you to his bedroom, in the way he bumped with every piece of furniture he had, making you giggle between kisses.

Once in his bedroom, he stopped right beside his bed, he let go of your lips to look you in the eyes, searching for even a glimpse of regret, anything that could make him stop in a heartbeat, but all he found was the same desire he felt. His hands trailed from your hips to your waist, his touch delicate, reverent. Hooking his fingers on the hem of your top, he pulled the piece of fabric up your head, throwing it on his hardwood floor, you mimicked his action, taking off his shirt. His eyes dropped to your bare chest, almost drooling at the sight. With gentle touch he cupped your breasts, his thumbs caressing your nipples. You watched his every move, letting him explore you.

“You are…” he started to say, kissing your neck, going down your collarbone. He knelt in front of you, his breath hot against the delicate skin of your chest. “... so goddamn beautiful.”

His lips trapped one of your nipples, his tongue circling around it, he smiled at the sound of your moan. After a few minutes he kept going down, trailing a path of hot wet kisses down your stomach. He pulled down your skirt, his lips stopping at the edge of your underwear.

“This seems like the perfect moment to ask if you want me to keep going.” He looked up with a cheeky smile, messing with you. “Do you want me to keep going, ___?” He caught you so off guard that it made you laugh.

“Oh, shut up.” At the sight of you rolling your eyes at him again, he took your words as a dare and with a laugh of his own, he threw you on top of his bed, kneeling between your thighs. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him, while he, with ease, removed the last piece of clothing you had on. With his eyes fixed on you and your reaction, he started to kiss up your thigh, sloppy, wet, hungry kisses, and when he finally got to where you wanted him the most, it felt incredible. His tongue moved with expertise, he knew exactly where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck. He took his time to please you, your moans and whines only fueling him further, it was music for his ears, the only thing he wanted to hear tonight.

He noticed your body tensing up, the way you squirmed under his mouth, how your legs wanted to shut close, squeezing his head. He knew how close you were, but he wasn’t gonna let it happen. “Not yet, darling.” he whispered from down there, grinning as you pouted.

He got up from the floor, and as you looked at him with pleading eyes, he took his time to remove his pants, making you more desperate. His boxers were tight, his erection throbbing for you and only you. He removed and kicked them somewhere in his bedroom. His hand stroked his cock as he moved closer, his hips fitting perfectly between your thighs.

“Is this what you want?” he asked with a low murmur, teasing you with the tip. You had no words, nothing came out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried. “Use your words, ____.”

“I want it, please.” your shaky whimper almost made him growl.

The sight of you, naked on his bed, with your hair spread all over his sheets, with those big desperate eyes. His self control was slipping, and when you cried for him, he lost the last bit of restraint he had. After aligning himself, he slowly thrusted forward, burying himself in you. He held himself up with a hand next to your head, reaching down to kiss you as you adjusted yourself to him. He took a second, enjoying the way you felt before starting moving, thrusting at a slow pace to not hurt you.

“I’m not gonna break, Lew.” you whispered against his lips, making him smile.

“I know… I’m just enjoying how good you feel right now.” His lips landed on your neck as he moved painfully slowly, making you squirm under him for more. “You are so eager, aren't you?” he chuckled against your skin and pulled it almost all the way out, just to thrust back in even deeper, setting a new pace, less gentle, more primal.

Your moans echoed on the walls of his room, your nails digging on his back as he took care of you like no one ever did before. His movements became more erratic, his hips slapping against you, the sound of skin on skin flooded your senses, his own low moans and groans each time he thrusted deeper took you to the edge of release. His fingers found your clit as he kept moving, the overstimulation was way too much for you to handle.

“Be a good girl and let go for me.” A loud, animalistic cry tore up your throat as you climaxed. The feeling of you twitching and shaking around him -plus the sound that came out of you- was all he needed to get lost in you, feeling his own orgasm wash over him, he pulled out quickly, relieving himself all over your stomach.

He fell to your side on the bed, his body covered in sweat as he breathed heavily. You both laid there for a while, until your heartbeats got back to normal. He stood up and took you with him, guiding you to the bathroom, turning on the shower. The warm water relaxed you, no words were needed now, his actions spoke louder than anything he could say. With tenderness he shampooed your hair, washed you and himself, and once he was done, he wrapped you in his bathrobe, kissing your forehead.

Taking you back to his bedroom, he helped you get settled in, and he lay next to you. You rested your head on his chest, his fingers caressed the soft skin of your back.

“How can this not affect you at all?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What do you mean?” he sounded genuinely confused by your question.

“Being with your students, knowing you can lose your job, your reputation.” you looked up at him. “Aren’t you afraid someone is gonna betray your trust?”

“Are you gonna betray my trust?” he didn’t respond to your question, you shook your head saying no. “Then I’m not scared.”

“That’s not really an answer…” your whisper got him all tense.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, ____.” his tone -that moments ago was sweet and gentle- was now sharp and cold.

“Okay, I’m sorry I asked.” you tried to pull back, thinking you did something wrong, but he pulled you back against him.

“No, I’m sorry, your curiosity is valid.” He said as he hugged you, burying his nose on your hair. “I’m not scared of it because all the parties involved have something to lose, not just me, you know?”

“I guess you’re right…” you whispered and yawned, your eyelids falling heavy, your breath getting softer.

“Let’s get some sleep, darling. And if you want we can keep talking about this in the morning, what do you say?” When he got no answer for you, he knew you were already gone to the land of dreams.

______________________

The smell of coffee and the soft sound of music woke you up, it took you a second to recognize where you were, and the flashback of last night came to you in a blur. You got up and walked to the kitchen, his apartment looked so different in the morning light, it had a midcentury vibe, mismatched furniture, a lot of art on his walls, it even surprised you a little.

“Good morning.” your voice distracted him as he was making eggs.

“Hey, I didn’t want to wake you up, you are a very peaceful sleeper.” He looked at you from over his shoulder, his hair was messy, his skin glowed in the morning light.

“That doesn’t make any sense, but thank you?” you chuckled and walked to him, standing beside him, leaning on the kitchen counter.

You observed his mannerisms, watching him move with ease, like he was in his element when he was at home, and it warmed your heart that he let you see this part of him, but that also made you wonder.

“I bet you bring all your dates to your apartment.” your tone was playful, but deep down you wanted more information.

“Uhm, no, not really.” His words were not what you expected. “I don’t really like bringing people back here, it’s my space, and I like to preserve my peace.”

“Then what am I doing here?” His eyes didn’t look at you, like he was shy all of the sudden.

“It felt different with you.” He just said, no explanation, no excuses, nothing. “I just went with my gut.”

You went silent for a second, doubting if he was even telling the truth. “So maybe this can happen again? You and me?” A little smile appeared on his lips, he seemed sincere.

“Don’t get your hopes up, ____.” He joked, calling you by your last name. “But yeah, I guess it can happen again.”

He got you in his kitchen giggling at his jokes, the knowledge that this was wrong sat at the back of your mind and before you even realized, the thing you had with your Professor turned into something more than just a one night stand. Every little gesture he had towards you made you fall deeper into the rabbit hole, you needed to remind yourself that this wasn’t love. This was wrong, you knew that, nothing that is meant to be hidden can be good. But it didn’t matter, there was no going back now.

hi hi hi :) i hope u like this one, or at least i hope u don't hate it lol. Since Lew Einstein doesn't exist yet I took some liberties with his personality, I see him as a good professor, dedicated (sometimes too dedicated with those he wants to f*ck), funny but firm, etc.