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velvetvisionsaurora · 9 days ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 18: The Wooyoung Effect

Wooyoung stood outside the guesthouse door for a full thirty seconds, taking deep breaths and trying to summon every ounce of charm he possessed. This was arguably the most important conversation of his life—not loosing his mate because his captain had the emotional intelligence of a brick wall.

"Okay, Wooyoung," he muttered to himself, straightening his shoulders. "Time to work the magic: charm her, win her favor back. No pressure at all."

He knocked gently on the door, then immediately called out in his most pathetic voice, "Tulip? It's me. I come bearing no opinions about your career choices and absolutely zero comments about your hormones."

There was silence from inside, but he could hear movement—the rustle of clothes being folded, the sound of a zipper. His heart clenched at the evidence that you were really, truly packing to leave them.

"Please don't make me stand out here talking to a door," he continued, pitching his voice to sound as pitiful as possible. "I'll start singing show tunes, and nobody wants that at this hour. Well, I want that, but Yeosang told me my midnight serenades are a crime against humanity."

Still no response, but the sounds inside had stopped. He was getting your attention, at least.

"I'm going to keep talking until you either let me in or I fall asleep," he warned, settling in for what might be a long siege. "And I have a lot of material prepared and had a nap. Did I ever tell you about the time I got lost in IKEA for six hours and had to be rescued by security? Because that's where I'm starting, and it only gets more embarrassing from there."

A soft sigh from inside the guesthouse gave him hope.

"So there I was," he began dramatically, "surrounded by Swedish furniture. It started innocently enough—Seonghwa-hyung sent me to buy a lamp. One lamp! How hard could it be, right? WRONG. So very, very wrong."

He heard what sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh from inside and grinned to himself. The Wooyoung charm was already working.

"First, I got distracted by the fake room displays. They're so realistic! I genuinely thought about moving into the tiny apartment setup on the second floor. It had better lighting than our dorm at the time. But then I realized they don't actually come with snacks, which seemed like a design flaw."

Another soft sound from inside—definitely a laugh this time, though you were trying to hide it.

"Anyway, I'm wandering through this maze of furniture, right? Following the little arrows on the floor like a good citizen. But somehow I ended up in the warehouse section. It's like a furniture graveyard back there—just endless shelves of boxes with names like BJÖRKÅSEN and KNÖPPÄNG."

He paused dramatically.

"I tried to find my way back to civilization, but every path just led to more boxes. I was like a lost puppy, except instead of finding my way home, I kept discovering new ways to mispronounce Swedish words. Seonghwa-hyung found me three hours later trying to build a fort out of HEMNES dressers and pillows."

The door opened suddenly, revealing your tear-stained face trying very hard not to smile. "You did not build a fort in IKEA."

"I absolutely did," Wooyoung said solemnly, his eyes lighting up at seeing you even as his heart broke at the evidence of your tears. "It was architecturally sound and everything."

Despite everything, despite the pain and anger and heartbreak, your lips twitched upward in a reluctant smile. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming," he corrected, taking your smile as permission to step closer. "Ridiculously devastated that our pack leader has the emotional intelligence of a particularly dense houseplant. Ridiculously in love with an omega who deserves so much better than what she got tonight."

Your smile faltered at the reminder of what had transpired, the pain returning to your eyes. "Wooyoung..."

"No, let me finish," he said gently, stepping through the doorway when you didn't immediately close it in his face. "What Hongjoong-hyung said to you was wrong. Not just tactless or poorly timed—wrong. Cruel. Unforgivable."

You looked surprised by his directness, clearly having expected him to defend his pack leader.

"He used your trauma against you," Wooyoung continued, his usual playful demeanor giving way to fierce sincerity. "He dismissed your completely valid feelings as hormonal hysteria. He tried to control you instead of listening to you. And when that didn't work, he doubled down and made it worse."

Tears were starting to flow again, but you didn't turn away from him.

"I'm not here to make excuses for him," Wooyoung said softly. "I'm here because I need you to know that what he said doesn't represent how any of the rest of us feel about you."

"Doesn't it?" you asked, your voice small and broken. "Because it seemed like you all agreed that my job, my career, everything I've worked for just... doesn't matter anymore."

Wooyoung's face crumpled with genuine anguish. "Oh, Tulip. No. No, that's not... we were scared. We were overwhelmed by the mate bonds and the biology and the chaos of everything happening so fast. But that doesn't excuse dismissing your achievements."

He gestured toward your open suitcase, clothes folded neatly inside. "You are brilliant at what you do. You took our disaster of a schedule and made it work in ways none of us thought possible. You anticipated our needs before we even knew we had them. You made our lives better, our work smoother, our pack stronger."

"But you all said—"

"We said stupid things because we were panicking," Wooyoung interrupted. "When alphas get scared about their omega's safety, sometimes we default to caveman thinking. Protect mate. Keep mate safe. Mate stay in cave where no danger exists."

Despite yourself, you snorted out a small laugh at his deliberately exaggerated alpha stereotype.

"See? You're laughing," Wooyoung said with a triumphant grin. "That means there's hope. You can't pack and leave while you're laughing at my terrible alpha impressions. It's against the rules."

"What rules?" you asked, though your tone was lighter than it had been all evening.

"The rules of dramatic crisis resolution," Wooyoung replied seriously. "Section fifteen, subsection three: 'No life-altering decisions may be made while actively enjoying someone's company.' I don't make the rules—well, actually, I just did make that rule, but it's a good rule. Very reasonable."

You shook your head at his antics, but you were definitely fighting a smile. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly lovable," he corrected. "There's a difference. One suggests I'm a problem to be solved, the other suggests I'm a treasure to be cherished."

"Modest, too," you said dryly.

"Modesty is overrated," Wooyoung declared with characteristic confidence. "Confidence, on the other hand, is undervalued. For instance, I'm confident that you don't really want to leave us."

Your bite your lip looking away. "Wooyoung..."

"Tulip," he said quickly, sensing you were about to retreat back into pain and anger. "I think you want to leave the situation. You want to leave the feeling of being controlled and dismissed and treated like you're just biology to be managed. But you don't want to leave us. Not really."

He was right, and you both knew it. The mate bonds hummed with contentment just from being in the same room with him, even through your blocker. Your omega recognized him as yours, craved his presence, felt safe in his energy.

"It doesn't matter what I want," you said sadly. "You heard what he said. What you all think. I'm just supposed to give up everything I've worked for because I'm your omega now."

"Okay, first of all," Wooyoung said, sitting cross-legged on your bed with the casual familiarity of someone who belonged in your space, "that's not what we all think. That's what our panicked, overwhelmed pack leader said while his alpha was having a complete meltdown."

You remained standing by your suitcase, but you didn't resume packing.

"Second," he continued, "nobody said you have to give up everything. We just need to figure out how to make it work. How to keep you safe while still letting you be the brilliant, capable, accomplished woman we all fell in love with."

Looking at Wooyoung sitting on your bed, speaking with such earnest conviction, something he'd said multiple times suddenly hit you with full force.

"Wait," you said, your voice catching slightly. "You keep saying... you said you're in love with me."

Wooyoung's confident expression softened into something infinitely tender. "Of course I am. How could I not be?"

"But..." you struggled to find the words, gesturing helplessly. "The mate bonds, the biology, everything happened so fast. How do you know it's really love and not just... instinct?"

Wooyoung was quiet for a moment, considering your question with the seriousness it deserved. When he spoke again, his voice held none of his usual theatrical flair—just honest, vulnerable truth.

"Because I fell in love with you before I knew what you were," he said softly. "Before I knew about the mate bonds, before I knew you were an omega, before any of the biology kicked in. I fell in love with the way you laughed at my terrible jokes. The way you rolled your eyes at my dramatics but still smiled. The way you made our chaotic lives feel manageable and warm."

He shifted on the bed, leaning forward slightly. "I fell in love with how you never made me feel like I was too much. How you just... accepted all my energy and gave it right back. How you made me want to be better—not different, just better."

Tears were gathering in your eyes again, but these felt different than the ones from earlier.

"The mate bond just explained why loving you felt as natural as breathing," Wooyoung continued. "It didn't create the love, Tulip. It just gave me a reason for why the thought of you leaving makes me feel like I'm drowning."

"What about the others?" you asked quietly. "What about Hongjoong?"

Wooyoung's expression grew pained. "I can't speak for them—that's their truth to tell you. But Hongjoong... he's so terrified of losing you that his alpha keeps trying to control everything. The man is in love with you so much it's making him crazy, but he doesn't know how to show it without his instincts getting in the way."

You sank down onto the edge of the bed beside him, overwhelmed by the weight of his words.

"I love you too," you admitted softly. "That's what makes this so hard. I love you, but I don't know how to be yours without losing myself."

"Then I'll figure out how to love you without taking anything away from who you are," Wooyoung said with fierce determination. "I can't promise the others will get there as fast as I will, but I can promise I'll never stop trying to be the mate you deserve."

"Okay," you said softly, your decision crystallizing as you looked into Wooyoung's hopeful eyes.

"Okay?" he repeated, hardly daring to breathe.

"Okay, I'll stay," you clarified, and watched as his entire face transformed with joy so pure it made your chest ache.

"Really? You're really staying?" Wooyoung bounced slightly on the bed, his excitement infectious. "Because I have at least seventeen more embarrassing stories prepared, and I was really looking forward to using my 'pathetic abandoned puppy' expression. I've been practicing in the mirror."

Despite everything, you laughed—really laughed—for the first time all evening. "You practiced a pathetic expression in the mirror?"

"For weeks," he admitted with zero shame. "Ever since that time you couldn't say no to Jongho when he used his sad maknae eyes. I figured if it worked for him, it could work for me. Want to see it?"

Before you could respond, Wooyoung's face transformed into the most ridiculously exaggerated expression of pitiful sadness you'd ever seen. His bottom lip jutted out dramatically, his eyes went wide and glassy, and he even managed to make his shoulders slump in a way that suggested utter dejection.

"Oh my god," you gasped between giggles. "You look like a cartoon character who just had his favorite toy taken away."

"Is it working?" he asked hopefully, maintaining the expression. "Because I can add trembling if needed. I've been working on my trembling technique."

"Please don't demonstrate your trembling technique," you said, still laughing. "I'm already staying. You don't need to pull out all the stops."

Wooyoung's face immediately returned to normal, his grin bright and victorious. "Good, because honestly, the trembling looks more like I'm having some kind of medical episode. Seonghwa-hyung keeps trying to take my temperature when I practice it."

The image of Seonghwa fussing over a fake-trembling Wooyoung sent you into another fit of giggles, and suddenly the weight of the evening felt lighter. This was why you loved him—his ability to find joy and laughter even in the darkest moments, his determination to make you smile when everything felt hopeless.

"I love you," you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Wooyoung's expression went soft and wondering, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. "Say that again," he whispered.

"I love you," you repeated, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. "I love your terrible jokes and your dramatic flair and the way you make everything feel possible."

"Tulip," he breathed, his eyes filling with tears of pure happiness. "I love you too. So much it actually hurts sometimes, like my heart is too small to contain it all."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the contact. When he opened them again, they were blazing with affection and something deeper—need, longing, love so intense it made the air between you feel electric.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly. "Please? Now that you've said you love me, I think I might actually combust if I don't."

Instead of answering with words, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but as Wooyoung's arms came around you, it deepened into something more heated, more desperate. Months of suppressed longing poured into the contact, every emotion you'd both been holding back finally free to express itself.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, and Wooyoung's eyes had taken on that golden glow that marked an alpha responding to his mate.

"That was..." he started, then seemed to lose the ability to form coherent words.

"Yeah," you agreed breathlessly, understanding exactly what he meant.

Wooyoung's hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking gently across your cheekbones. "Tulip," he said softly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Can I ask you something? You can say no, absolutely no pressure, but..."

"What is it?" you asked, though you suspected you knew what he was going to request.

"Your blocker," he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. "Would you... could you take it off? Just for a little while? I want to scent you properly, want to smell your actual scent mixed with mine. I want to know what we smell like together."

The request sent a shiver through you—part anticipation, part nervousness. Removing your blocker would mean complete vulnerability, would mean letting him experience your true omega nature without any barriers.

"You don't have to," Wooyoung said quickly, clearly sensing your hesitation. "I just... the mate bond is so much stronger when I can actually smell you. And after everything tonight, I need that connection. I need to know you're really mine."

The vulnerability in his voice, the way he was looking at you like you were something precious and desperately wanted, made your decision for you. Slowly, carefully, you reached behind your ear and peeled away the scent blocker patch.

The effect was immediate and overwhelming. Your natural jasmine and vanilla scent flooded the small space, and Wooyoung's reaction was instantaneous. His eyes blazed fully gold as his alpha responded to the sudden presence of his unblocked omega, a low rumble of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.

"Oh," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion and desire. "Oh, Tulip. You smell like... like coming home. Like everything I've ever wanted."

He buried his face in your neck, breathing deeply as your scent surrounded him completely for the first time. The sensation of his warm breath against your skin, the way he seemed to melt into you as if you were his anchor, sent waves of omega contentment through your entire being.

"You smell perfect," he murmured against your throat, pressing soft kisses along your pulse point. "Like mine. Like you've always been mine."

The possessive words should have alarmed you, but instead they sent a thrill of satisfaction through your omega. This was your alpha, claiming you with scent and touch and reverent words, and every instinct you possessed was singing with joy at finally being able to show him your true self.

"Wooyoung," you sighed, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck.

"I love you," he whispered between kisses, his hands tangling in your hair. "I love you so much, and now I can smell how much you love me too. It's in your scent—happiness and affection and home."

You could feel tears gathering in your eyes again, but these were tears of relief and overwhelming emotion rather than pain. This was what the mate bond was supposed to feel like—not control or dominance, but mutual love and acceptance and the joy of finding your perfect match.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," Wooyoung said softly, pulling back to look into your eyes. "Don't ever pack your bags and threaten to leave. My heart can't take it."

"I won't," you promised, meaning it completely. "We'll figure this out together."

"Together," he agreed, sealing the promise with another soft kiss that tasted like hope and forever.

You and Wooyoung were lying peacefully on your bed, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns through your hair. The emotional exhaustion of the evening was finally catching up with you, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat was lulling you into a drowsy contentment.

"We should probably head back to the main house soon," you murmured against his chest, though you made no move to actually get up. "Let the others know everything's okay."

"Mmm," Wooyoung hummed in agreement, his hand continuing its soothing motions. "Five more minutes. I'm not ready to share you with seven other alphas just yet."

You were about to tease him about his possessiveness when a sound from the main house shattered the peaceful quiet of the night.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID HE SAY TO HER?!"

The roar was so loud and so full of rage that it seemed to shake the very foundations of both buildings. It was followed immediately by what sounded like furniture being thrown and a string of colorful curses that would have made a sailor blush.

You shot upright in bed, your heart hammering as another furious bellow echoed across the garden.

"WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS THAT FUCKING—"

"Oh dear," Wooyoung said with exaggerated calmness, propping himself up on his elbows. "Sleeping Beauty is awake."

Despite the terrifying sounds coming from the main house, you couldn't help but snort with laughter at his casual tone. "Sleeping Beauty?"

"Our darling Mingi," Wooyoung explained with theatrical flair. "I'm guessing Yunho filled him in on Captain Foot-in-Mouth's latest verbal disasters while he was recovering from his medication-induced nap."

Another crash echoed from the house, followed by what sounded like multiple voices trying to calm down the raging alpha.

"Should we—" you started, moving to get up from the bed.

"NOPE!" Wooyoung declared dramatically, grabbing you around the waist and yanking you back down onto the mattress. Before you could protest, he'd pulled the covers up over both of your heads, creating a makeshift blanket fort. "Absolutely not. I cannot handle any more possessive, angry alpha energy tonight. I have reached my quota."

"Wooyoung," you laughed, trying to push the blanket down. "We can't just hide under here."

"Watch me," he said firmly, his arms tightening around you. "This is my safe space. No angry alphas allowed. Only cuddles and the lingering scent of jasmine and vanilla."

Another furious roar from Mingi made the windows rattle, followed by what sounded suspiciously like Hongjoong's voice trying to explain himself and failing miserably.

"Oh, this is going to be good," Wooyoung said with morbid curiosity, his voice muffled by the blanket. "I'm betting Mingi throws him through a window. Twenty bucks says our fearless leader ends up in the pool."

"You're terrible," you said, but you were giggling despite the chaos erupting across the garden. "Shouldn't we be worried about them killing each other?"

"Seonghwa's there," Wooyoung said with complete confidence. "He won't let anyone actually die. Maim, maybe. Severely injure, possibly. But no actual death. He's very responsible that way."

As if to punctuate his point, they could hear Seonghwa's voice cutting through the chaos with sharp authority, though the words were too muffled to make out clearly.

"See?" Wooyoung said smugly. "Mom's handling it. We can stay in our blanket fort of denial and pretend everything is fine."

"This is the most ridiculous crisis management strategy I've ever encountered," you said, but you weren't making any real effort to leave the safety of the covers.

"It's not ridiculous, it's strategic," Wooyoung corrected. "I have successfully removed us from the equation, thereby preventing any additional emotional trauma for my precious omega who has already been through enough tonight."

His arms squeezed you gently, and despite his playful tone, you could hear the underlying protectiveness in his words. He really was trying to shield you from more conflict, even if his method was utterly chaotic.

"Besides," he added with a mischievous grin you could hear in his voice, "this way we get front row seats to the drama without any of the risk. It's like reality TV, but with more property damage."

Another crash echoed from the main house, followed by what sounded like Yunho's voice shouting something about "everyone just calming down for five minutes."

"Your pack is insane," you said fondly, settling more comfortably against Wooyoung's chest.

"Our pack," he corrected firmly. "You're stuck with us now, remember? No take-backs. You already unpacked your suitcase."

The reminder of your decision to stay sent a warm flutter through your chest, even as the sounds of chaos continued to drift across the garden.

"I love you," you said softly, the words still feeling new and precious on your tongue.

"I love you too," Wooyoung replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head through the blanket. "Even if you did almost give me a heart attack with that whole packing-to-leave stunt."

"I'm sorry," you said, meaning it. "I was hurt and scared and—"

"Hey," Wooyoung interrupted gently. "No apologies necessary. You had every right to be upset. Our pack leader was being a complete disaster."

From the main house came the sound of what might have been a door slamming, followed by blessed quiet.

"Think they're done?" you asked hopefully.

"Probably just moved the fight outside," Wooyoung replied cheerfully. "Or Seonghwa locked them in separate rooms until they can behave like civilized humans."

"Should we check on them?"

"In the morning," Wooyoung declared firmly. "Right now, we're staying exactly where we are, safe in our blanket fortress, far away from any more alpha drama."

And despite the lingering sounds of conflict from across the garden, wrapped in Wooyoung's arms under the ridiculous safety of your blanket fort, you had to admit his strategy wasn't entirely without merit.

The guesthouse door suddenly burst open with such force that it bounced off the wall, and you heard Mingi's frantic voice calling your name, followed by the sound of multiple footsteps rushing into your space.

"Shh," Wooyoung whispered urgently under the covers, his arms tightening around you. "If we don't move, maybe they can't see us."

"That's not how—" you started to whisper back, but it was too late.

The blanket was suddenly ripped away from both of you with dramatic flair, leaving you blinking in the sudden light. Wooyoung let out a theatrical gasp, clutching the sheet to his chest with exaggerated modesty.

"I could have been indecent under here!" he declared with mock outrage. "What if I was naked? What if you traumatized yourselves? I'm not responsible for any emotional scarring that might result from seeing my magnificent—"

"Wooyoung," Seonghwa's tired voice cut him off. "You're fully clothed."

"That's not the point," Wooyoung huffed. "It's about the principle of the thing. The potential for indecency. The—"

His rambling was cut short as Mingi moved with lightning speed, reaching down and hauling you up from the bed before anyone could react. You let out a surprised squeak, instinctively wrapping your arms and legs around his tall frame as he lifted you completely off the ground.

The moment you were in his arms, Mingi buried his face in your neck, breathing in your unblocked scent with desperate relief. His whole body was trembling as he held you, his grip almost painfully tight.

"I thought you would be gone," he whispered against your throat, his voice broken and raw. "Yunho told me what happened, what he said to you, and I thought—I was so terrified that you'd left. That I'd wake up and you'd be gone forever."

Looking around the room over Mingi's shoulder, you saw the faces of your other mates, and they all looked just as frightened as Mingi sounded. Yunho's usual brightness was dimmed with worry, San's hands were shaking slightly, Yeosang's composed mask had slipped to reveal genuine fear, Jongho looked like he'd been crying, and Seonghwa's face was etched with exhaustion and relief.

But it was the figure in the doorway that made your heart break.

Hongjoong stood just outside the threshold of your space, his head bowed, shoulders hunched with guilt and shame. He didn't enter, didn't cross into your sanctuary, just stood there like he was afraid he'd contaminate everything with his presence.

"Hongjoong," you said softly, and his head snapped up, hope and pain warring in his expression.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. I was—there's no excuse for what I said. How I treated you. I understand if you can't forgive me."

The raw anguish in his voice, the way he held himself apart like he didn't deserve to be in the same room as you, made tears spring to your eyes.

"So," Wooyoung said loudly, clearly trying to lighten the devastating mood, "was Sleeping Beauty awakened by true love's kiss?" He winked dramatically at Yunho, who rolled his eyes but looked fondly exasperated.

"This isn't the time, Wooyoung," Yunho said softly, though there was affection in his tone.

"There's always time for classic fairy tale references," Wooyoung replied stubbornly, but his usual sparkle was dimmed by the heavy emotions filling the room.

Mingi finally pulled back enough to look at your face, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "You're really staying? You're not leaving us?"

"I'm staying," you assured him, reaching up to cup his face with gentle hands. "I'm not going anywhere."

The relief that washed over his features was so profound it was almost painful to witness. He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing shakily.

"I can't lose you," he whispered. "I can't. You're everything."

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his voice, at the fear still lingering in all their faces, at Hongjoong's continued self-imposed exile in the doorway.

"Mingi," you said gently, stroking his cheek as he continued to hold you against his chest. "I need you to put me down so we can all talk about this properly."

"No," Mingi said immediately, his arms tightening around you. "Not letting go. Not ever."

"I'm not going anywhere," you assured him. "I'll stay right here, I promise. But we need to figure this out, all of us together."

Reluctantly, Mingi lowered you to the ground, but immediately wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on top of your head. Clearly, physical contact was non-negotiable.

The room fell into heavy silence, everyone looking between you and Hongjoong, who remained in the doorway like he was afraid to contaminate your space with his presence.

"Hongjoong," you said softly, and his head snapped up, hope and pain warring in his expression.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. What I said was unforgivable."

"It was hurtful," you agreed, and you saw him flinch. "But not unforgivable. We just... we need to figure out how to do better."

Hongjoong stepped into the room, his leader instincts warring with his guilt. "You're right. We do." His voice was steadier now, more like the pack leader they all knew. "I let my alpha override my judgment. That can't happen again."

"Well," Wooyoung announced, clapping his hands together to break the tension, "family meeting time! Should I take minutes? I feel like we should document this historic moment of emotional growth and communication."

"Wooyoung," Seonghwa said with fond exasperation.

"What? I'm being helpful! Very secretary-like. Very professional." Wooyoung mimed writing on an invisible notepad. "Meeting commenced at... chaos o'clock. Attendees include: six very stressed alphas, one relieved omega, and one alpha leader who temporarily forgot how words work."

Despite the heavy atmosphere, several of the members cracked small smiles at Wooyoung's antics.

"The issue," Hongjoong said, his leader voice returning as he processed the situation, "is that my alpha has been in overdrive since the mate bonds activated. Every perceived threat to you, every challenge to pack stability, triggers an instinctual response that overrides rational thought."

"So what do we do about it?" Yunho asked genuinely.

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, his analytical mind working through the problem. "I need better coping mechanisms. Ways to recognize when my alpha is taking over and step back before I say something destructive."

"That would be helpful," you said carefully, not wanting to attack but needing to be honest. "Because when you get like that, you stop seeing me as a person and start seeing me as... a problem to solve."

Hongjoong's jaw clenched, not with anger but with self-directed frustration. "You're not a problem. You're never a problem. You're..." He struggled for words. "You're everything good about this pack, and I keep trying to control that instead of just being grateful for it."

"What if our alphas are being stupid?" San asked, looking between you and Hongjoong.

"Then we take responsibility for it," Hongjoong said firmly, his leader voice carrying authority again. "We don't make excuses or blame biology. We own our mistakes and do better."

"Does this mean group hugs are mandatory?" Wooyoung asked hopefully. "Because I vote for mandatory group hugs. Very therapeutic. Much bonding."

"Wooyoung," you said with fond exasperation, "you can't solve everything with hugs."

"Have you tried?" he countered. "Because I haven't found a problem yet that couldn't be improved with the right application of physical affection and my natural charm."

"Your natural charm?" Yunho repeated with a snort. "Is that what we're calling your ability to annoy people into submission?"

"It's a gift," Wooyoung said with dignity. "Not everyone can be blessed with my level of irresistible personality."

The light banter was helping to ease some of the tension in the room, and you could feel the pack bonds settling into something more stable.

"The bottom line," Hongjoong said, taking control of the conversation again, "is that we need better communication. All of us. And I need to learn to step back when my instincts are overriding my common sense."

"I can help with that," Seonghwa offered. "Call you out when you're spiraling."

"We all can," Yeosang added. "Pack accountability."

Hongjoong nodded, accepting the input with the grace of a leader who knew when to listen to his team.

"Good," you said, then looked around the room. "Any questions? Concerns? Dramatic declarations?"

"I have a dramatic declaration!" Wooyoung raised his hand enthusiastically. "I dramatically declare that this has been the most emotionally exhausting evening of my life, and I demand compensatory cuddles from our omega."

"You can't demand cuddles," Yeosang pointed out. "That defeats the purpose of cuddles."

"Fine," Wooyoung said with a theatrical sigh. "I dramatically request voluntary cuddles, to be given at the omega's discretion and comfort level."

Despite everything, you found yourself smiling. "I think that can be arranged."

"But yes, Mingi gets first priority tonight. He's been through a lot."

"We all have," Jongho said quietly, and the truth of that statement settled over the room.

"Well," San said with a mischievous grin, "technically Mingi got to have sex with you and then take a nice medicated nap. So really, he's had the best evening out of all of us."

Mingi's arms tightened around you possessively. "That's not—it wasn't like that—"

"Oh please," Wooyoung interjected dramatically, throwing himself into the conversation. "It was my heroics and tales of IKEA adventures that got her to stay! I should have her all night as a reward for my superior charm and storytelling abilities."

"Your IKEA story?" Mingi scoffed. "I'm the one who—"

"Who what? Had a rut-induced breakdown?" Wooyoung shot back with a teasing grin. "Very romantic. Much wooing."

"That's it," Mingi growled playfully, releasing you suddenly to lunge at Wooyoung. "Come here, you dramatic little—"

Wooyoung shrieked with delighted laughter, darting around the small room as Mingi chased after him. "Help! I'm being attacked by a giant! This is what I get for being helpful!"

The other members watched with fond amusement as the two alphas engaged in their playful wrestling match, the tension in the room dissolving into something lighter and more familiar.

While everyone was distracted by the chaos, you quietly slipped away from the group and moved toward Hongjoong, who was still standing somewhat apart from the others. His eyes widened slightly as you approached, surprise and hope flickering across his features.

Without a word, you stepped into his space and nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his familiar sandalwood and ocean scent as you gently scented him. You felt him go completely still beneath your touch, as if he couldn't quite believe you were choosing to come to him.

"I love you," you whispered against his throat, the words barely audible but carrying all the forgiveness and affection you felt for your complicated pack leader.

Hongjoong stiffened for just a moment before his arms came up to wrap around you tightly, pulling you against his chest as if you were something precious he'd thought he'd lost forever. He buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent with shaky relief.

"I love you too," he whispered back, his voice rough with emotion. "So much. I'm so sorry, I love you so much it makes me stupid sometimes."

You felt him scenting you in return, his alpha finally settling into something peaceful as your combined scents created that perfect harmony that meant home, safety, love.

Behind you, Wooyoung's dramatic complaints about being "brutally attacked by a giant teddy bear" continued, but in this moment, wrapped in Hongjoong's arms, everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Next>>

Taglist: @paramedicnerd004 @ateezswonderland @sassy-snassy @frankielou02 @rosydipity @starz-choisanii @giiouis @vikc @mxnsxngie @woohwaholic @alexanaguma @nkryuki @multifandom301 @green-moon @uhh-awkward-rightt @phantomslutz @lostxxgirl @mdurir @m00njinnie @ramadiiiisme @yukichan67 @lcvejjoong @fumaluvr @addi-3 @aerixfixoff @cherrysainttt @thuyting @flambychan @herpoetryprincess @littlexbunni @vtyb23 @soobieboobiebaby @marsofeight @yungiswife @yunyunrin @aceshiho @desi2go @intowxnderland @btch8008s @rileylovescats @darkdayelixer @miniverse-zen @hartsablaze @h0rnyp0t @hartsablaze @yungiswife @giiouis @0-beemzy-0 @prettypeachprincesz @awkward-fucking-thing

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hellenhighwater · 3 months ago

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Okay, I'm in the research and resource-compilation stage of this Laika project. Dimensions on this are going to be specific enough that I will have to fully mock this up before I can start on the ceramic part of things (though I suppose I could work on Laika herself; we'll see). Rough dimensions on this are looking like probably 24 inches tall, 12-14 inches wide, and 6-8 inches deep.

The upper half of this piece would be relatively straightforwards, from a construction standpoint--layers of ceramic and glass to make a flickering star backdrop for Laika like the one I have in my living room clock of the world. I may do some kind of visible element of the rotating disc layer--maybe do a laser cut sheet of metal with engravings, or some kind of cloisonné with colored enamel illustrations? Doesn't really matter at this stage, that's decorative problems to be figured out later. Tech here: rotating motor, LED backlighting, and some laser cutting.

The bottom half of this is where things get thorny. Laika's capsule had a tiny, 6 inch window* that she presumably could see out of. I want to find a little silver porthole of approximately the correct size, and embed it in the front face, looking into the depths of the piece, where I'm thinking I will rig up a screen looping video footage of Laika herself (a bit limited, since there doesn't seem to be a lot of video of her; little of it in color and all of it the sort of resolution one would expect from 1957), ideally edited so it's sort of scaled like she's in the capsule. Then, screen brightness and venue light levels permitting, I think I want to try for a pepper's ghost effect, in the space between Laika and the porthole. If I can get the light levels to work, which will be tricky, I would have the pepper's ghost show a view of the earth from orbit--that wide, low, curved horizon, moving from light to day, almost like you're seeing a reflection of Laika's view, hovering transparently in front of her. This means I need to trawl the digital archives of various space programs for appropriate footage (thankfully they have TONS of free use video and photos, but there's an almost overwhelming amount to trawl through.)

I think I can get away with just using digital picture frames for my video displays, which may be easier than raspberry pi's. We'll see.

The very bottom would be the rolling reel for a tiny embedded music box, playable in the bottom corner. Details very rough still!

*at least according to my very preliminary research; books shall be arriving in the mail this week.

#i hope you guys like Process #bc this is gonna be one

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alohajix · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐞

Description: she said she wasn’t nervous. She said she'd never done this before. But then he walked in—and made her forget every lie she told herself. The Casting Tape — you only need to watch it once to come back for more.

Warnings: this one-shot includes explicit sexual content, including fingering, oral sex (M/F), face-fucking, rough grinding, dirty talk, praise kink, light choking, spanking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), and graphic language. Readers +18.

Words count: ~ 7K.

I understand you guys really enjoyed “First Time for Everything”. So here’s a new one-shot I've been working on for a while, featuring pornstar!harry once again.

please enjoyyy💕

*****

I almost didn’t walk through the door. It looked too normal from the outside—just a nondescript black building sandwiched between a vape shop and a custom auto wrap place. No sign. No logo. Just a metal door and a tiny keypad. I stood there for a full minute, staring at my reflection in the door’s narrow glass panel, wondering what the hell I was doing. My fingers fidgeted with the zipper on my hoodie as I debated bailing. But then I remembered rent. And how many hours I’d spent reading that post.

“Paid casting opportunity. Professional, safe, filmed. No pressure to continue. Just be yourself.”

So I buzzed in. A soft click, and I stepped inside. The air was cool, sterile, quiet. A short hallway led to a room that looked more like a YouTube set than anything porn-related—white walls, gray backdrop, soft box lights aimed at a plain black leather couch. A camera was already set up on a tripod, its little red light blinking lazily like it was waiting. There was no one else in the room, just a low table with a water bottle and a clipboard. I approached it like it might bite.

“Hey there,” a voice called from behind me—low, male, casual. “You can grab a seat. We’ll start in a second.”

I turned to find a guy with a headset leaning against the doorframe, sipping coffee. He looked more like someone who worked in tech support than adult film, and he barely glanced at me. That helped a little. I gave him a tight smile and sat down on the couch, tucking one leg under the other. The camera stared back at me. I wiped my sweaty palms on my denim skirt.

“You go by your real name or a stage name?” the voice asked.

I hesitated. “Stage name.”

He chuckled. “Smart. What should we call you?”

“…Lola.” I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t even know anyone named Lola.

“Cute,” he said. “Alright, Lola. We’re just gonna ask you a few questions. Keep your eyes on the camera, speak clearly, be yourself.”

I nodded once. The camera light turned solid red.

“Tell us how old you are and why you’re here.”

My voice came out a little too fast. “Twenty-two. I—uh—I heard about this through a friend of a friend. Thought it might be… interesting.”

“And have you done anything like this before?”

I forced a smile. “Not professionally.”

He chuckled again, friendly but disinterested. “Good answer. So—this is a soft casting. No pressure to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We just want to see how you come across on camera. If it feels natural, maybe we’ll try a short chemistry test.”

My stomach flipped. “Chemistry test?”

“With a partner,” he clarified. “Clothed or not. Touching or not. Totally up to you.”

I swallowed hard. “And who’s the partner?”

“Hey, man,” the guy said suddenly, glancing over my shoulder. “You mind stepping in for a quick test?”

I didn’t hear footsteps. I felt them. Slow. Heavy. Purposeful. And then I heard his voice.

“Yeah. I’ve got time.” I turned. And immediately forgot how to breathe.

He walked in wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair tucked under a gray beanie, tattooed arms on full display. Calm. Comfortable. Like he belonged here. And when his eyes met mine—green, curious, knowing—I had to look away before I gave something away.

I knew who he was. Everyone who’s ever dipped into amateur porn knew who he was. He wasn’t just a pornstar—he was the pornstar. The one known for making people cry in the best way possible. The one who ruined girls for normal guys. The one I may or may not have watched the night I sent my application in.

“Hi,” he said softly, voice like silk. “I’m Harry.” Of course he was.

I tried to remember how to smile. “Hi.”

He looked me over—slowly, respectfully, but definitely. His gaze dragged from my hoodie to my bare thighs, then up to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

“You okay to keep going?” he asked. “Or just here to talk?” His tone was soft. Patient.

I bit my lip. I should’ve said no. I should’ve kept it simple. But the way he was looking at me… “Let’s try,” I said quietly.

His mouth curled into a half-smile. “We’ll go slow.”

He sat beside me on the couch, leaving just enough space between us that it felt intentional. His thigh brushed mine every time I shifted, and I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose—but I hoped it was.

The camera was still rolling. “You nervous?” he asked, his voice low and almost amused.

“A little,” I admitted. “You’re not exactly a nobody.”

He smiled at that—soft, slow, like he was letting the compliment soak into his skin.

“Well, I’ve done a few of these,” he said, tilting his body slightly toward me. “So if you want to stop at any point, you say the word. We good on that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Safe word or something?”

“We can use red. If you want to pause, say yellow. But honestly? Just talk to me. I listen.”

God, that shouldn’t have made my stomach twist—but it did. His hand landed gently on my knee. Just a touch. Nothing dirty. But the weight of it made my heart skip.

“Can I touch you a little more?” he asked.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

He slid his hand up my thigh, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled around the bare skin just beneath the hem of my skirt. His pinky brushed the side of my underwear. He didn’t move further. He just… held me.

“See? You’re already shaking a little,” he said, voice soft like a secret.

“I’m not,” I lied.

His thumb moved lazily across my thigh. “You are. That’s okay, though. Nervous is normal. But you look good nervous.”

I smirked despite myself. “Is that your line?”

“No,” he said, leaning in just a little. “That’s the truth.”

His other hand reached up, fingers playing with the zipper of my hoodie. He didn’t pull it down right away—he just watched my face.

“Can I?”

I nodded again. “Yeah.”

He tugged the zipper down, slow as hell. I didn’t wear a bra on purpose—I’d told myself it was about being comfortable, but I’d also known what kind of job this was. I’d wanted to feel like I was ready for it, even if I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. He pushed the hoodie off my shoulders, revealing my thin tank top underneath—white, ribbed, tight. My nipples were already hard beneath the fabric.

His eyes dropped for half a second. “Fuck.”

“What?” I teased.

“You’re hot.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “Didn’t expect that.”

I grinned. “You didn’t look me up before this?”

He leaned closer, lips near my ear. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Fuck. That got to me. I shifted in my seat, squeezing my thighs together, and his hand didn’t miss it.

“You get turned on easily, don’t you?” he murmured.

“Only when someone says shit like that.”

He chuckled, and it vibrated straight through me. “Alright then. Let’s see how much you can take before we even get your clothes off.”

He turned to face me fully, his hand now resting between my thighs, thumb pressing lightly at the crease where leg met hip. I was still covered, but it felt dangerously intimate.

“Look at me,” he said. I did.

His hand moved to my waist, sliding under the hem of my shirt. His palm was warm on my bare skin, fingertips grazing my ribcage, tracing just under the curve of my breast. His thumb brushed upward, catching the edge of my nipple through the fabric—and I gasped, barely holding still.

“Sensitive?” he asked, eyes still locked on mine. I nodded, biting my lip.

He pinched lightly—just enough to make me jerk—and then soothed the spot with his palm.

“You’re already breathing like you’ve been at this for an hour.”

“Maybe I just like the way you touch,” I whispered.

He grinned again. “Yeah?”

His other hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he leaned in. “I’m gonna kiss you now. Okay?”

I nodded. “Please.” And then he kissed me. Slow. Firm. One hand holding my jaw just right while the other teased under my shirt. His lips moved against mine like he had all the time in the world. He tasted like mint and something just a little bit sweet—god, it was unfair how good he was at this.

My mouth opened for him on instinct, tongue brushing his as he deepened the kiss. I whimpered before I meant to, and he smiled against my lips.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He pulled me onto his lap. I didn’t even realize I’d moved until I felt his thighs beneath mine, the stretch of my skirt riding up, the thick press of him already hard beneath me.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked, hand splayed on my lower back.

“Yes.”

“You wanna keep your clothes on for now?”

I nodded again. “Let me stay like this.”

He gave a slow, approving nod. “Smart girl.”

I started to grind—tentatively, testing—and he held me tighter.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands stayed on my waist, guiding me. My panties were soaked through already, and he hadn’t even touched me properly. His cock pressed up against my center through both layers, and the friction was delicious.

“Feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered. I nodded. “Good. Don’t stop.” I didn’t.

I rocked against him slowly, rhythmically, trying to match the pace of his hands, trying not to let my moans get too loud. But the fabric was slick, and I was clenching around nothing, desperate for more. He leaned up to kiss me again, slower this time, while grinding back into me with little thrusts of his hips.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “Using me to get yourself off. All clothed. So dirty, baby.”

God, baby—the way it rolled off his tongue nearly made me come.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” he said against my lips. “But not yet. Gotta take my time with you.”

I whimpered, hands clutching his shoulders. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it to be unforgettable.”

I didn’t mean to drop to my knees. It just happened. One second, I was straddling him, moaning into his mouth, and the next, I was slipping down between his legs, hands trailing over his thighs like they belonged there. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t say a word—just leaned back on the couch and watched me with that slow-burning smirk, his chest rising and falling like he already knew what I was going to do next.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice husky.

I nodded as I settled between his thighs, reaching for the waistband of his sweats. “You’ve been hard since I got here.”

His brow ticked up. “And you think that means you get to do something about it?”

I looked up at him, tilted my head innocently. “I know I do.”

He grinned. “Cocky.”

“I learned from the best,” I said, tugging his sweats down just enough to free him. And fuck.

I’d seen it before—on screens, in videos—but nothing prepared me for the way it looked up close. Thick, long, already leaking at the tip. Veins along the shaft. His entire body was unfair, but this? This was just cruel.

I wrapped my hand around him slowly.

“You gonna stare at it all day, or you gonna do something?” he teased.

I licked a long stripe from the base to the tip, just to shut him up. His breath caught.

“Mouth open,” he murmured. I obeyed, letting my tongue hang out as I stroked him slowly. He was heavy in my hand, warm and twitching, and when I finally took him into my mouth, I moaned like it was for me, not him.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, his head tipping back. “You’re better than half the girls I’ve filmed with.”

I pulled back just enough to say, “That supposed to make me feel special?”

He looked down at me with a grin. “It should.” Then he shifted his hips forward a little, his hand slipping into my hair. “Hold still,” he said. “Let me fuck your mouth a little.”

I whimpered, nodding as he gathered my hair in his fist and guided me back down. His thrusts were slow at first, controlled, testing. He pushed past my lips and onto my tongue, letting me feel every inch. I hollowed my cheeks around him, drool already sliding down my chin. The angle made my throat ache—but I didn’t care. He watched every second.

“That’s it,” he praised. “Look at me. Eyes up. Fuck—just like that.” I moaned around him, and he groaned in return, gripping my hair tighter. “You like this?” he asked. “Being used a little?”

I blinked up at him, spit trailing from my lip to the base of his cock. “Yes.”

“How filthy are you, baby?”

I swallowed him deeper before answering. “Wanna choke on it.”

He smirked, that filthy edge sharpening in his eyes. “Greedy girl.”

He held my jaw and started to fuck into my mouth harder, sloppier. My mascara was running—I could feel it—and my knees were going numb, but I didn’t care. Not when he was groaning and panting above me, thumb wiping spit from the corner of my mouth.

“Open wider,” he growled. “Let me all the way in.”

I did. He pushed in until the tip hit the back of my throat, and I gagged—but he didn’t stop. He stayed there for a second, watching the tears spill down my cheeks before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” I blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, lips puffy and slick. “You want me to come in your mouth?” he asked.

“No.” He raised a brow. “I want more than that.” He stared at me for a beat. Then he reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me gently to my feet.

“Take your clothes off.”

I hesitated, chest heaving. “All of them?”

“All of them,” he said softly. “Want to see what kind of mess I’ve made.”

I peeled off my hoodie first, even though it had already been unzipped. My tank top followed, sticky with sweat. Then my skirt. Then my panties—soaked, clinging to my thighs. His eyes drank me in.

“You’re soaked.”

“You made me like this.”

He stood up—slow, deliberate—and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then my neck, then lower, until he was kneeling in front of me.

“You ever squirt before?” he asked, voice low.

I swallowed hard. “No.”

He smirked. “Might today.” Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue across my inner thigh.

He didn’t go for my pussy right away. Instead, he kissed every inch around it—my thighs, the crease of my hip, the patch of skin just above my mound. His hands wrapped around my legs, holding me steady as he took his time. The anticipation had my stomach fluttering, my cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to be touched.

“Please,” I whispered, shifting.

He looked up at me from between my legs, his lips shiny with spit. “Yeah?”

I nodded, breath shaky. “I—I need—”

He slid one finger up my slit, slow as hell. “You need this?” he asked, teasing my clit with the lightest touch. “Or my mouth?”

“Both.”

He grinned. “Good answer.” Then he dove in.

His mouth latched around my clit like he’d missed it, like he owned it. His tongue flicked and sucked, alternating between slow pressure and fast strokes that made my legs tremble. I cried out, one hand gripping the back of the couch, the other tangled in his hair. He moaned against me when I tugged, and I felt it vibrate through my whole body.

“F-fuck,” I gasped. “Harry—”

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered between licks. “Could stay here all day.”

He pushed two fingers into me while his tongue kept working, curling them just right. My back arched off the couch, a moan ripping from my throat so loud I was sure the mic picked it up.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”

I was already on the edge, too fast, too intense—and he knew it.

“You close?” he asked, sliding his fingers faster, deeper, hitting every nerve ending I had.

I nodded, gasping. “Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—” He stopped. Pulled back. Fingers still inside me, but barely moving. I whimpered. “Why—”

“Cause I want you to come on my cock, not my tongue.”

“Fucking mean,” I whispered.

He smirked. “You like it.” I hated how right he was.

He stood and kicked off his sweats fully this time, leaving him completely naked—tall, lean, toned. Tattoos stretched across his chest, down his arms. His cock was heavy and thick, standing up proudly, still slick from my mouth. He grabbed a condom from the table behind him—but I stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t,” I said softly. His eyes locked on mine.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m clean. On the pill. I want to feel all of you.”

His jaw clenched. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”

He climbed back onto the couch, pulling me into his lap again. This time, we were both naked. Skin against skin. He lined himself up with one hand, the other gripping my waist.

“Take it slow,” he murmured. I did. I sank down on him inch by inch, gasping at the stretch, the burn, the way he filled me up so deep I thought I might break.

He kept eye contact the whole time. “Look at you,” he said. “Taking it so well.”

I whimpered when I bottomed out, thighs shaking.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “You weren’t made for this, were you?”

I moaned. “Maybe I was made for you.” That broke something in him.

His hands gripped my hips, and he started to move—slow thrusts upward that hit just right. I rocked against him, chasing friction, rolling my hips as he fucked up into me.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

“Harry.”

“Louder.”

“Harry.”

“Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” I gasped. “You’re so deep—fuck—it’s so good.” His hand came up to my throat, not squeezing, just holding.

“You’re gonna come like this?” he asked. “Like a needy little slut in my lap?”

I nodded frantically. “Yes—please, I need it—I need to come—”

“Then come.”

I shattered. The orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through me in pulses that left me crying out his name, clinging to him, hips still rocking even as I trembled. He held me through it, whispered praise into my ear.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “So fucking good for me.” But he wasn’t done. He flipped me over onto the couch, face-down, ass up. “Not finished with you yet,” he growled.

He slid back into me easily, grabbing my hips and fucking into me hard now—rough, deep, animalistic. My cheek pressed against the cushion, mouth open as he pounded into me.

“You want it rough?” he panted. “You want to feel how hard you made me?”

“Y-yes—fuck—yes—”

He slapped my ass, hard. “Say you love it.”

“I fucking love it.”

“Say who’s fucking you.”

“Harry—Harry’s fucking me—please don’t stop—”

He leaned over me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other holding my throat as he fucked me from behind. Skin slapping, breath ragged, everything filthy and perfect.

“Gonna come on you,” he groaned. “Wanna see you dripping.”

“Yes,” I begged. “Do it—please—come on me—”

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast before spilling hot all over my lower back and ass, groaning through gritted teeth. I lay there, trembling, dripping, wrecked. Breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He exhaled a long breath, letting it hang in the quiet between us. The only sound now was the soft hum of the camera still rolling. The red light blinked steadily, like it had witnessed every filthy, raw second of what just happened. Harry sat back, eyes scanning over me like he wasn’t sure if he was done yet—or just trying to memorize how I looked. Wrecked. Flushed. My hair a mess. My thighs still trembling.

“Stay there a sec,” he said, voice a little rougher than before.

I blinked up at him, cheek still pressed to the couch cushion, and nodded. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a warm towel. He didn’t rush—just knelt beside me, gently wiping me clean, taking his time like he actually cared. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just good at playing the part. But something about the way his fingers grazed my skin, soft and unhurried, made my chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, gaze flicking up to mine.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… that was a lot.”

A slow grin pulled at his mouth. “Good lot or bad lot?”

“Really good.”

He handed me the towel and stood up to grab water bottles. When he tossed one to me, I caught it with shaky hands.

“You looked like you’ve done that before,” he said, sitting down beside me again—close, but not touching.

“I haven’t,” I replied, twisting the cap off. “Not like that.”

He raised a brow. “You sure?”

I smiled. “Trust me. I’d remember if someone ever made me feel like that before.” He went quiet, watching me sip.

“You ever actually plan on watching the footage?” I looked at him. At the blinking red light still recording.

“I kind of want to,” I admitted.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll show you mine… if you come back and film another one.” I stared at him, half smiling, half stunned.

“You saying that to everyone who comes through here?”

“Nope.” He leaned in just slightly, voice lower. “Just the ones who moan my name like they mean it.”

I laughed, flushed, and shook my head. “You’re dangerous.”

He smirked. “Only on camera.” I didn’t believe that for a second. But I wanted to find out.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #pornstar!harry #masterlist

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cyberhughes · 1 month ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACK! #𝒋.𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒔

𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 summary... baking a cake isn’t as easy as it seems, but your boyfriend loves you far too much to care.

warnings swearing, that's it! wc 622

note HAPPY BIRTHDAY JACK i love this guy so much wow. this is super short cause im sick and want to die!! also do we like the layout of this post is it cute heh trying something new lmk if it looks like ass cheeks guys…ok time to get to celly reqs

“shit, shit, shit.”

flour decorated the kitchen counters, while the scent of burning cake filled the air.

you scrambled around the kitchen in search of the oven mitts before pulling out nothing more than pure disappointment out of the oven.

you had burnt the cake.

it was a box cake mix, it wasn’t as if you had made it all from scratch so the results left you in confusion. you carefully followed the steps written, yet your cake looked nothing like the one that decorated the front of the box.

glancing at the clock you decided that there was enough time to salvage the situation—but there really wasn’t.

you had sliced the top and sides off the cake that had burnt, leaving an…edible portion of the cake left.

you pouted as the pink buttercream that you had prepared beforehand started to melt as it made contact with the warm cake. you stared at the sad display of unevenly spread icing that was currently dripping.

“nothing some sprinkles can’t fix!”

ᯓᡣ𐭩

“y/n?” jack called as he found himself stepping into the seemingly empty apartment. all the lights had been turned off and the place had an unusual quiet to it.

as he flickered one of the lights on he spotted your sock-clad feet peeking underneath the curtains of the living room window.

he shook his head with a grin as he tip toed in your direction, the opaque curtains making you unaware of the figure that approached you.

he reached out, grabbing you through the curtain as you squealed with laughter while he tased your sides.

“happy birthday, jack!” you poked your head out, a yellow happy birthday hat decorating your head, with a matching blue one ready in hand.

“thank you pretty,” he pulled you out from the curtain into a tight hug, inhaling the scent of vanilla and flour on you.

“did a lot of baking?” he teased as he picked a sprinkle out of your hair, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. apparently you didn’t clean up as good as you thought.

you didn’t say anything as you led him to the kitchen, and sat him down on the barstools of the island as you headed to the fridge.

as your fingers made contact with the cold handles you couldn’t help but start laughing.

“okay…you can’t laugh at me though, jack.” you bit your lip to suppress the giggles as you watched his expression shift, eyebrows furrowed and a confused chuckle escaping.

“what?”

you pulled the cake out of the fridge and—wow, it looked uglier than you remembered.

his eyes widened and he rubbed a hand over his mouth in attempt to hide his amused smile.

“jack!”

“no! no, baby it looks so…so good!” he cracked mid sentence watching you set the cake down in front of him.

“it’s so fucking ugly.” you felt tears of laughter prickle your eyes.

he stood up from the chair, making his way to you and placing his hands on your cheeks, slightly squishing them together as your hands held his wrists.

“it’s perfect.” he gave a loving kiss to your lips.

one thing you loved about yours and jack’s relationship was that he was your best friend, always there to laugh by your side and never at you.

“i love you, happy birthday.” you smiled up at him and just as you went to give him another kiss he had just as quickly dipped his finger into the icing of the cake, painting your nose with the sugar.

“do you want me to smash that whole cake on your face?” you deadpanned

“no ma’am, i’m sorry.” he said with a cheesy grin as you watched his hand reach for the cake again.

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes fanfic #jack hughes fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nj devils #new jersey devils #jh86

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super-lovely-star · 11 months ago

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🧸Cozy-fying Your Space: Middle Edition🧸

Put up glow in the dark stars or other shapes on the wall and ceiling— one time I found glow in the dark Lisa Frank puppies at the thrift!

Room sprays or scented candles or wax melts in a scent that soothes you can make a big difference!

Find a cool lamp, like a shaped night-light or a lava lamp or even an LED neon wall hanging to give the room a nice atmosphere.

Hang up one of those mini hammocks to keep your plushie friends in. Especially good if you have too many to fit on your bed.

Put up artwork on the wall that you or your friends made. Not only does it make the room pretty, but it’s very personal!

If you have the space, set up a pile of pillows or a beanbag chair to chill out on.

Use Command hooks to hang your favorite clothes on the wall. This adds texture to the room, and you can easily swap it out for a different article of clothing!

Cover your headboard, dresser, or other furniture with STICKERS!

Print out posters of your favorite franchises and tape them up to your walls (or ceiling!)

Display your collectable toys! Ironically, this is helpful if you are private about your regression, because it makes it look like the only reason why you have the toys is because you collect them.

If that’s not your thing, you can also get cute fabric storage boxes to stash your toys and gear in.

Finally, get cute memos, put your favorite quotes or affirmations on them, and hang them on your walls!

Your room will look super pretty!

#nostalgia #sfw middle regression #middle regression #sfw agere #agere blog #sfw agedre #age regression #agedre #agere #sfw age regression #agere textpost #list #room decor #room inspo

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orbitevents · 5 months ago

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Event planning company Oman

As a focused and aspirational MSME, we work hard to provide "value for money" services and goods. Professionals that have established themselves in their respective industry segments lead each division. At Orbit, we have made a sincere effort to learn about our valued clients' requirements and desires, provide them with innovative and unique ideas without sacrificing our mission, and provide them with unmatched, high-quality services and goods.

https://www.orbit-events.com/

#event consulting company oman #event planning company oman #corporate event planning oman #event management company oman #city amphitheatre oman #display light box in oman #led signage oman

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rafedarling · 10 months ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

pairing: actor!rafe cameron x actress!reader summary: in which you and rafe doing an interview with vogue to talk about yours and rafe life after the wedding warning: english is not my native language. fluff au: should i make this into a series?. any discussion can be send through my ask box, and please feel free to send in anything. taglist

like, reblog and comment are much appreciated 🥹

The morning sunlight poured through the large bay windows of your shared apartment, bathing everything in a soft golden hue. You and Rafe were sitting at the kitchen island, sipping coffee from your favorite mugs, your legs intertwined under the table. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the scent of the sanwiches Rafe had made—a weekend ritual that had quickly become a cherished tradition.

It had been a few months since your wedding, and you were both still getting used to the idea of being husband and wife. Life was a beautiful blur of shared moments, spontaneous adventures, and an underlying sense of contentment that neither of you had ever experienced before. The demands of your acting careers were ever-present, but you had found a way to balance work with the joys of newlywed life.

Just as you were about to suggest taking a walk in the nearby park, Rafe's phone buzzed on the counter. He reached for it, his brows furrowing slightly as he read the notification.

"Who is it?" you asked, curious.

"It's our publicist," Rafe replied, a hint of surprise in his voice. "We’ve been invited to do a feature for Vogue—they want us to answer the most asked questions about us on Google."

Your eyes widened in excitement. "Vogue? That's incredible! What kind of questions are they talking about?"

Rafe scrolled through the email. "You know, the usual stuff—how we met, what it's like working together, and… other more personal things."

You leaned closer, your interest piqued. "Personal? Like what?"

He glanced at you with a knowing smile. "Like when we’re planning to start a family."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Of course, everyone wants to know about that. Do you want to do it?"

Rafe set his phone down and looked at you with that warm, affectionate gaze that always made your heart skip a beat. "Only if you’re up for it. It could be fun, and it might give people a little glimpse of what our life is really like."

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. "Let’s do it. It’ll be nice to share our story."

Rafe leaned over to kiss your forehead. "Then it’s settled. We’ll show them how it’s done."

The day had finally arrived. The anticipation had built up over the past week, and now you were both standing in the grand lobby of Vogue's headquarters, waiting to be escorted to the set. Rafe had his arm draped casually around your shoulders, a habit that never failed to make you feel grounded, no matter how big the moment was.

The Vogue team was nothing short of welcoming. As you walked through the sleek corridors, you were introduced to various crew members, each of them greeting you with smiles and words of encouragement. Finally, you were led into a spacious studio, where the set was arranged to resemble a chic living room—plush couches, tasteful decor, and a soft, ambient light that made everything feel warm and intimate.

You and Rafe were guided to a couch in the center of the set, the Vogue logo subtly displayed in the background. Cameras were positioned at different angles, and a few crew members buzzed around, making final adjustments.

The interviewer, a poised woman in her early forties with an air of elegance, approached you with a welcoming smile. "It’s such a pleasure to have you both here," she said, shaking your hand and then Rafe’s. "We’ve been looking forward to this interview. I’m sure your fans are eager to hear what you have to say."

You returned her smile, feeling a flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. "We’re excited too. It’s an honor to be here."

Rafe nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we’ve been looking forward to this. It’s always nice to get a chance to share a bit more of ourselves."

The interviewer took her seat across from you, a small stack of cards in her lap. She glanced at the cameras, waiting for the signal to start. As the red lights on the cameras flicked on, she turned her attention back to you with a friendly smile.

"Alright, let’s dive right in," she began. "The first question is one that comes up a lot: How did you two meet? And what was your first impression of each other?"

You exchanged a glance with Rafe, and he gave you an encouraging nod, signaling you to start.

You smiled as you began to recount the story. "We met on the set of a film we were both working on. It was a pretty intense project, and we spent a lot of time together during those early days. My first impression of Rafe was that he was incredibly focused and professional. But he also had this playful side that made everyone around him feel comfortable."

Rafe chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I remember thinking you were one of the most talented people I’d ever worked with. But what really stood out was how kind and genuine you were. You made it easy to connect, and I think that’s what laid the foundation for our friendship."

The interviewer nodded, clearly charmed by your answers. "That’s wonderful. So, how did that friendship evolve into a romantic relationship?"

Rafe took the lead on this one, his tone reflecting the warmth of the memory. "It wasn’t something that happened overnight. We became really good friends first, and as we spent more time together—both on and off set—we started to realize there was something more there. It was a natural progression, and before we knew it, we were dating."

You added with a smile, "We both knew we didn’t want to rush anything. We took our time, and I think that’s why our relationship is so strong now. We built it on a solid foundation of trust and respect."

The interviewer leaned in slightly, clearly captivated by your story. "That’s such a healthy approach. It’s clear that your relationship is built on strong principles. Speaking of which, how do you manage to balance your personal life with your busy careers, especially when you’re both in the spotlight?"

Rafe’s hand found yours on the couch, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he answered. "It’s definitely a challenge, but we make it work by prioritizing each other. No matter how busy things get, we always find time to connect. Whether it’s a quick phone call during a break or planning a weekend getaway, we make sure we’re not just coexisting, but actually spending quality time together."

You nodded in agreement. "And we’ve also learned to communicate really well. We’re honest with each other about our needs and boundaries. If one of us is feeling overwhelmed, we talk about it and find a solution together. It’s all about being a team."

The interviewer smiled, clearly impressed by your approach. "It sounds like you’ve both put a lot of thought into how to maintain a healthy relationship in the public eye. Another question that’s often asked is about your experiences working together on screen. What’s it like to transition from your real-life relationship to playing characters on set?"

You couldn’t help but laugh at the question, remembering some of the challenges and fun you’d had while filming together. "It’s definitely interesting! On one hand, there’s a comfort level that comes from knowing each other so well. But on the other hand, we have to remind ourselves to stay in character and not let our real-life dynamic interfere with the story we’re telling."

Rafe grinned, clearly enjoying the topic. "Yeah, it’s funny because sometimes we’ll have a scene where our characters are arguing, and it’s hard not to laugh because we’re not actually mad at each other. But we’re both professionals, so we make it work. Plus, it’s nice to have someone you trust completely when you’re in front of the camera."

The interviewer laughed along with you, clearly enjoying the lighthearted banter. "It sounds like you’ve found a good balance between work and play. Now, here’s a question that I think everyone is dying to know: When are you two planning to start a family?"

A brief silence settled over the room as the question hung in the air. You felt Rafe’s hand tighten slightly around yours, and you met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you.

Rafe was the first to speak, his voice steady and thoughtful. "We’ve definitely talked about it," he began, turning his attention back to the interviewer. "Starting a family is something we both want, but right now, we’re just enjoying being newlyweds. We’re in no rush—we want to take our time and make sure we’re ready for that next step."

You nodded, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. "It’s a big decision, and we want to make sure we’re in the right place, both emotionally and professionally. We’re focusing on our relationship and our careers for now, and when the time is right, we’ll know."

The interviewer smiled warmly, clearly touched by your sincerity. "That’s a very thoughtful approach. It’s clear that you two are very much in sync and that you have a strong foundation to build on when the time comes."

As the interview drew to a close, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—favorite vacation spots, hobbies you enjoyed together, and your shared love of cooking. The mood in the room was relaxed, the conversation flowing easily as you and Rafe shared more glimpses into your life together.

Finally, the interviewer wrapped things up with a closing remark. "It’s been an absolute pleasure talking with you both today. Your fans are going to love getting this inside look at your relationship. Thank you for being so open and honest."

You smiled, genuinely appreciative of the opportunity to share your story. "Thank you for having us. It’s been a lot of fun."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his hand still intertwined with yours. "Yeah, we’ve really enjoyed it. It’s nice to be able to show people a bit more of who we are."

As the cameras stopped rolling and the crew began to pack up, you felt a sense of accomplishment. The interview had gone even better than you’d hoped, and you couldn’t wait to see the final result. But more than that, you were grateful for the chance to reflect on your journey with Rafe—how far you’d come as a couple, and how much further you were still excited to go.

After the interview, you and Rafe were led to another part of the studio for a photoshoot. The photographer directed you through a series of poses, capturing the easy intimacy between you. Rafe’s arm was constantly around you, pulling you close, and you found yourself laughing more often than not, his playful remarks easing any lingering nerves.

During a break, as the crew adjusted the lighting, you and Rafe sat together on a loveseat, scrolling through your phones and chatting about the day’s events.

“This has been fun,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s nice to be able to share a bit of our story with the world.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head. “Yeah, it’s been a good day. And I’m glad we got to do it together. I can’t imagine doing this kind of thing with anyone else.”

You smiled, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Neither can I.”

As you continued to sit there, a comfortable silence settling between you, you couldn’t help but reflect on how far you had come as a couple. From co-stars to best friends, and now husband and wife—it had been a journey full of ups and downs, but it had only strengthened your bond.

That evening, back at home, you and Rafe decided to unwind with a quiet dinner together. The table was set with candles, and the soft hum of jazz played in the background. You talked about everything and nothing, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

After dinner, you curled up on the couch together, scrolling through social media and watching as the first clips of your interview started to surface online. Fans were already commenting on how in love you both seemed, how genuine your connection was.

You paused the video when the question about kids came up again. “Do you think people will ever stop asking us about this?” you asked, half-joking.

Rafe chuckled, pulling you closer. “Probably not. But I don’t mind. It means people care about us and our future. And honestly, I’m excited about it too—when the time comes.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with love. “Me too. But for now, I’m happy with just us.”

He smiled, his eyes reflecting the same warmth you felt. “Me too.”

You snuggled closer, feeling contentment wash over you. The future was a vast, unknown expanse, but with Rafe by your side, you knew it would be filled with love, laughter, and countless more memories to treasure.

As the night wore on, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, wrapped in Rafe’s arms, secure in the knowledge that whatever came next—whether it was starting a family or continuing to chase your dreams together—you were ready to face it together.

And that was all that mattered.

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instantexhibitions · 9 months ago

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Brighten Up Your Booth: Stand Out with Light Boxes!

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certaimromance · 4 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 The Love Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: When you and Spencer have no one to spend Valentine's Day with, the idea of watching movies together can save, at least, the night.

Words: 4,4k.

Warnings & Tags: this works as a standalone one-shot but also is a prequel to a series. two idiots obviously in love. fluff. painter!reader who was a cat. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Happy Valentine's Day (belated) to all💝✨ I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into the past amidst the chaos of the line that follows my series.

Valentine’s Day had a way of making the world feel like a glittery, rose-scented battlefield for the lonely. Everywhere you turned, there were smiling couples wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering sweet nothings as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Heart-shaped balloons swayed lazily in the wind outside storefronts, red and pink ribbons draped over every available surface like a relentless invasion of affection. Cafés played catchy love songs on repeat, each chorus drilling into your skull, a painful reminder that the day belonged to those who had someone to share it with.

The worst part? The flowers. Gorgeous arrangements of deep red roses, soft pink peonies, and delicate white lilies, displayed in neat little buckets with tiny price tags that felt like a cruel joke. You could have them, sure, if you were willing to stand in an endless supermarket line, clutching your own bouquet like a pathetic consolation prize, enduring the cashier’s judging glance as they scanned the barcode. The same went for the chocolates. Expensive, gold-wrapped, promising indulgence and romance, except, in your case, the only romance involved was between you and your impulse to stress-eat.

But despite the bitterness that curled inside your chest, you didn’t hate love. If anything, you craved it, even if you pretended not to. Romance movie marathons were a blessing, an escape into a world where grand gestures and heartfelt confessions always led to a happy ending. You’d curl up under a blanket, eyes glued to the screen, soaking in every lingering touch, every whispered “I love you,” letting it fill your chest with warmth. And yet, no matter how deeply you immersed yourself, the magic always faded when the screen cut to black. The credits would roll, white letters against a dark void, and you’d be left staring at your own reflection in the blank screen, heart aching with a longing that never quite disappeared: the relentless, unshakable desire to live the love you only ever watched from afar.

All the February fourteens you remember were like this: lonely, with chocolate and romance movies.

Wait. This time was different.

This time, however, you were no longer alone, but accompanied by Spencer Reid. The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the soft glow of a few scattered candles and the flickering light of the television, which cast shadows on the walls of your apartment. He was sitting next to you, leaning against the edge of the couch with his usual distracted air, his long limbs stretched out on the cushions, but his mind was clearly miles away from yours. He was not fully present, his attention wavering between the screen and the incredibly large world inside his own head. His leg brushed against yours with a nonchalance that only made it more noticeable; the slight warmth of his touch made you feel it every time it happened. You still tried not to notice, to pretend it was nothing, but there was something magnetic about the way he moved, as if the world around you tilted a little every time he was near.

Your hand brushed over his from time to time as you took chocolates from the heart-shaped box you shared and had gotten on sale at the supermarket. You could feel the coolness of his skin under your fingers, his touch lingering too long, as if he, too, was aware of the connection in the simplest of gestures. But Spencer, ever observant and living in his own head, didn't seem to care. He barely glanced at you, too absorbed in the ridiculousness of the movie to register the subtle moments between the two of you. With his mind constantly buzzing, analyzing even the most mundane things, it was almost as if his body knew more than his brain, his closeness a silent declaration that he was comfortable with you in a way he didn't seem to be with anyone else.

The movie on the screen was the kind of clichéd romance that made you cringe on a regular day. The kind where the couple was destined for each other from the moment they met, their chemistry so palpable it felt as though the universe itself was conspiring to bring them together. The dialogue was saccharine, the plot as predictable as a heartbeat, but you couldn’t help it; you loved every moment. The grand, sweeping gestures. The whispered confessions. The inevitable kiss in the rain. You had chosen it precisely because you knew how much Spencer would question everything from the nonsense in the dialogue to the false number of minutes the characters claimed they could travel from one part of the world to another.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful as he absently reached for another piece of chocolate, “it’s statistically improbable that two people, just by chance, would fall in love in such a perfect, linear way.” He paused, glancing at you briefly with a look that was almost apologetic for ruining the mood. “I mean, the chances of all those factors aligning—timing, location, emotional availability—it’s…it’s not as simple as it seems.”

You tilted your head slightly, listening intently as he spoke, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He had always been the one to find patterns, to dissect everything until there was no mystery left. But you weren’t in the mood for logic right now. Not tonight.

Before you knew it, the question slipped out, unexpectedly blunt in the stillness of the room.

“Have you ever been in love?”

The words lingered between you, weighty in a way that surprised even you. You hadn’t meant to ask it like that—so direct, so raw—but now that it was out, you couldn’t take it back. It felt as though the question held something more than just curiosity. It felt like a delicate invitation into a part of Spencer you weren’t sure you had a right to see.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered back to the TV screen, his eyes unfocused as though the question had thrown him off guard. There was a pause, a shift in the air, a subtle change in the way he sat. His posture stiffened just enough that you wondered if you’d crossed some invisible line, if you’d pushed him somewhere he wasn’t ready to go.

Finally, he shifted, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I thought I was closer…But saying it out loud makes it sound kind of stupid, considering I never even got to kiss her.”

The words hung between you, fragile and unguarded, their presence stretching the silence like a thin thread threatening to snap. You could feel the weight of his hesitation, the quiet vulnerability in the way he avoided your gaze, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to fidget. It was as if he was standing at the edge of something, testing the waters before taking a plunge, unsure if he could share a truth that had settled deep inside him. Even after two years, two months, and ten seconds since the first words you exchanged in the hallway, even after all the late-night conversations, the shared laughter, the comfortable silences, and all the times the two of you acted as if your apartments were just one. If he bothered to calculate, he had spent more time with you than he had spent sleeping soundly in years. And yet, despite all of it—the familiarity, the trust, the way he let you curl up on his couch as if it were your own—he still hesitated, like he was afraid that if he told the whole story of his tragedy, there'd be no going back.

“I think you can love someone without kissing them.” The honest tone of your voice and the way you didn't laugh at him or look at him with pity surprised him.

Spencer glanced at you then, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even if you’ve never seen them?”

“Oh,” you whispered, your mind trying to catch up. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected him to go there. “Never? Never?”

He chuckled lightly, but it wasn’t the usual, lighthearted sound. It was dry, tinged with something that made you want to reach out and pull him closer. “Yeah. That’s usually the reaction I get.” His tone was self-deprecating, a little uncomfortable.

You shook your head quickly, trying to right the atmosphere, to assure him that you weren’t dismissing his feelings. “It’s not that I think it’s foolish,” you said, the words tumbling out before you even fully processed them. “I just think you’re the kind of person who needs constant reassurance. Like a hug, a kiss, or even just a touch or a smile to remind you everything’s okay. That’s how you like to be loved. So it’s hard to imagine you loving someone without all of that.”

A moment of silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, until you could almost feel the weight of his gaze on you. You turned your head, just enough to catch his eyes, and found him still looking undisturbed, as if frozen in place. But there was something in his eyes, something soft, almost vulnerable: curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper, a fleeting glimpse of a side he wasn’t used to showing. It didn’t last long, though. It couldn’t. Because if there was one thing he wasn’t accustomed to, it was being the subject of such focused attention. He had spent his life observing, and studying the little details of those around him, recognizing habits, memorizing routines, and quietly cataloging every nuance. It was his skill, his way of moving through the world. He was always the watcher, the one who gathered knowledge and surprised others with what he knew. But now, as your eyes met his, it was as though the roles had reversed, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to handle being the one under the microscope.

Then, as if he wants to flip the conversation entirely, his tone turns curious. “And you? Have you ever been in love?”

The question catches you off guard, the sudden shift in the air surprising you more than you’d care to admit.

“No,” you say, your answer quick, almost instinctive.

His eyebrows lift, and the surprise is clear in his expression, a small wrinkle forming between his brows as if he’s trying to process your words.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” you say, pointing at him, half-amused, half-defensive. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging,” he insists, rubbing the back of his neck, the familiar nervous gesture betraying his discomfort. “I just…didn’t expect that answer.”

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, trying to find a way to make the silence feel less loaded. “Yeah, well. Neither did I. I used to think that by this age, I’d have it all figured out. Love, relationships, the whole thing.” You pause, your gaze drifting to the flickering TV screen before adding dryly, “But love is a tricky subject. Kind of like my finances.”

Spencer’s eyes flicker with something like amusement, but it quickly turns into that familiar glint of curiosity, the one that always makes you feel like you’re on the receiving end of an interrogation. You brace yourself, almost expecting him to start spewing facts about some obscure subject. And he doesn’t disappoint.

“Well,” he says, his voice taking on a tone that’s both analytical and oddly comforting, “there are studies that show people are more likely to find love later in life than they think.” He pauses for a moment, clearly enjoying this little fact-dropping session. “In fact, statistically speaking, people in their 30s and 40s have a higher success rate in finding lasting relationships than those in their 20s. It’s because they’ve had more time to understand themselves, their needs, and what they want out of a partner. It’s not about rushing into something, it’s about finding someone who fits, someone who…gets you.”

You blink, the ease with which Spencer switches into research mode never failing to surprise you. You knew he could recite statistics and facts with ease, but hearing him speak about love in such an objective, factual manner felt…oddly reassuring. The gentle, even tone of his voice made the whole thing seem less daunting, less like a puzzle that needed to be solved, and more like something you could take time with.

“No one gets me except my cat and you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. It’s a light joke, but there’s truth in it, at least partly. “I adopted my cat, and you live next door. You don’t really have a choice; you have to talk to me.”

“No,” he says, almost like he’s contemplating the weight of his own words. “It’s not like that.”

You blink, feeling an odd, almost electric shift in the air between you. Something in his tone is different, softer, more vulnerable. The casual banter, the easy comfort you’d grown accustomed to, suddenly feels far away, as if the room had expanded and narrowed all at once. You weren’t sure what had changed, but you felt it, felt him, in a way you hadn’t before.

Your heart picks up a rhythm that’s a little too fast, but you don’t look away, not this time. You study him, trying to decipher the change, the subtle change in the atmosphere. Was it just you, or was he feeling it too?

“It’s not just because I live next door,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper but clear enough that you can hear the rawness in it. He’s looking at you now, eyes soft, his gaze not shy but steady, like he’s inviting you into a space only the two of you occupy. “I think it’s because you make it easy. To be around you. To talk to you. I don’t have to try so hard with you.”

The words settle between you, heavy and unspoken, filling the space in ways that neither of you expected. You open your mouth to respond, to deflect with another joke or lighthearted comment, but something in you pauses. The atmosphere has shifted, and the words feel too thin, too trivial to layer over what’s hanging between you.

There’s a small silence that follows, the kind that feels comfortable in a way you can’t quite explain, but also a little unsettling, like you’ve accidentally wandered into a territory neither of you are sure how to navigate. Spencer doesn’t break eye contact. His presence feels different, more present now, as if he’s allowing himself to be seen in a way he never has before. It’s raw, but not fragile. Honest, but not vulnerable in the way you’d expect.

You chuckle, trying to break the tension, but it comes out as a soft snort. “Congratulations. You’ve just been promoted to vice president of the ‘people who tolerate me’ club.”

He hums thoughtfully, the quiet sound of it warm and easy. “I don’t think it’s about tolerating you. I think it’s about understanding you.”

His words, simple as they are, land with more weight than you expected. They’re not teasing. Not a casual remark. He’s being serious, and that sincerity makes something shift in you, just slightly, in a way that catches you off guard.

You sink back into the couch, your mind slowing down to catch up with the unexpected shift in your thoughts. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding back, how much you’d been avoiding, until you said it aloud. “Understanding is a rare thing,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him, but you know he hears you.

“It is,” he agrees softly, almost like he’s mulling over your words, letting them settle in the space between you. “That’s why, when you find it, you hold onto it.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s still looking at the screen, but his gaze is distant, lost in thought, like his mind is somewhere else entirely. The flicker of the TV casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the gentle furrow in his brow, and for the first time, you realize how much you’ve been paying attention to him without meaning to.

The space between you feels comfortable in a way that’s new, more intimate than you thought it could be. The quiet stretches, wrapping itself around you both like a blanket, and you realize how much you’re here, in this moment, with him. It’s strange—peaceful, even—like time has slowed down and all that matters is this tiny bubble of calm you’re both in.

Without thinking, your body shifts slightly, leaning into him, your head dipping just enough to rest against his shoulder. It’s not something you plan, just instinct, like your body already knows what it needs before your mind catches up. Spencer tenses, a quick intake of breath, but then the tension melts, and he exhales softly, the air between you warmer. His sweater is soft against your cheek, faintly smelling of books and coffee, a quiet comfort that sinks deep into your bones.

He doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he does something so small, so careful, that you almost miss it. He turns his head just enough that his cheek brushes against the top of your hair, as if making sure you’re okay, but without disturbing the delicate space you’ve found. The contact is so light, so gentle, that it almost doesn’t feel real, but it settles in your chest like a secret, a silent promise.

A few minutes passed, maybe more. You weren’t sure anymore. The movie played on, the soft glow of the screen casting shifting patterns on the walls, but neither of you were paying attention. The warmth of the room, the steadiness of Spencer’s breathing, the gentle pressure of his shoulder beneath you—it was all lulling you into a hazy, dreamlike state, where time felt like it had slowed just for the two of you.

Spencer’s hand moved then, hesitating only briefly before he let it rest—gentle, careful—on the back of your head. His fingers barely grazed your hair, but the touch was grounding, a silent reassurance that you were welcome here, that you weren’t imposing, that this, whatever this was, was okay.

“You okay?” He murmured, his voice so low it barely disturbed the quiet.

You nod slowly, your eyes still closed, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “I’m just…comfortable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel him watching you, quietly studying the way your breath has slowed, how you’ve settled, how the weight of the day has melted away from you. You’re not sure how you know it, but you do. You can feel him there, his attention soft, and thoughtful.

A small sigh escapes you, a quiet expression of contentment. His thumb brushes over your hair, the touch light but lingering, so tender it feels like something private, something shared only between the two of you. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes something warm unfurl in your chest, the kind of warmth that stays with you.

And just as sleep began to pull you under, in that delicate space between waking and dreaming, you heard it.

So quiet.

So soft.

Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“You’re not as hard to love as you think.”

If you were fully awake, maybe you would’ve stiffened, maybe you would’ve asked him to repeat it, maybe you would’ve tried to decipher the meaning behind his words. But you weren’t awake.

Spencer hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how long the two of you had been sitting there in complete silence. The soft, almost imperceptible hum of the television played movies he didn’t even register anymore, their sounds blending into the background as though they were no longer a part of the world. His attention was entirely consumed by the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the quiet rhythm of your presence against his, steady and soothing. Your warmth had become a part of him, so natural.

He hadn’t intended to just watch you sleep. But there was something about the peacefulness of it, the way your face softened in sleep, the little sighs escaping you every so often, that made him forget about the passage of time. His gaze lingered on you, not in an intrusive way, but with a quiet kind of reverence, as if he were trying to commit the moment to memory. The soft glow of the TV reflected on your features, casting gentle shadows and highlighting the small details of your face that always seemed to captivate him. Like the way your eyelashes fluttered even in sleep, or how your lips parted just slightly.

The steady beat of his heart, the subtle pulse of his chest, seemed to synchronize with the silence that wrapped around him, blending together like a soft, unspoken lullaby. He let himself be carried by its rhythm, a rare, peaceful kind of quiet he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for until now. How precious it was to just be here, with you, with nothing to investigate, nothing to analyze, nothing to figure out. No puzzles to solve, no complex patterns to unravel. For the first time in what felt like forever, he could just be, and he didn’t want it to end. Never had a night off from work felt more necessary, more perfect, than this one.

His fingers twitched absentmindedly, brushing against the fabric of your sleeve as though needing to reassure himself that you were still here, that you were real. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, or why he was so fixated on you in this moment, but it felt safe. His body was heavy with the weight of it, content and grounded.

Hours passed, unnoticed.

It was only when the sharp sound of his cellphone pierced the stillness that he snapped out of his trance, blinking in surprise. The ringtone, abrupt and insistent, felt jarring against the soft cocoon of silence that had enveloped everything.

He glanced at his phone, his mind still hazy, still wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. His eyes immediately flickered to you, still nestled comfortably against him, breathing steady and slow, unaware of the world outside.

The phone kept ringing, louder now, demanding attention.

With one hand, he pressed the phone to his ear, the other reaching out to adjust your position ever so gently. He wanted to make sure you were still comfortable, still blissfully lost in sleep, without waking you.

“Reid! Are you hurt?” Penelope’s voice burst through the speaker in his ear, sharp with concern.

“Uh…no?” He murmured, his voice thick with sleep, barely audible. It was more of a question than an answer, the words slow and unsteady, betraying how distracted he was.

“No?” she repeated, her tone morphing into something a little more teasing. She huffed loudly, her curiosity piqued. “Then why aren’t you here right now?”

“Where exactly?” Spencer asked, his voice a little groggy, still half lost in the fog of sleep.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Oh.”

He frowned, lifting his head slightly to look down at you. His thoughts were tangled, the confusion thick in his chest. “Oh?” he repeated.

“Oh.”

His brow furrowed further. “Why so many ‘oh’s?”

“You’re thirty minutes late,” she said, the realization in her tone quickly morphing into something suspiciously close to delight. “You sound confused but…happy. You, Dr. Spencer Reid, who is never late for anything, are sitting somewhere, all content and cozy, completely forgetting the concept of time on the day after Valentine’s Day.” Another pause, and then, with a sudden squeal of excitement, she practically shouted, “You celebrated Valentine’s Day!”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, the words surprising him in a way he wasn’t quite ready for. “Not like that,” he said quickly, almost too quickly, his voice rushed, as if trying to distance himself from the thought. But even as he said it, there was something about the way his voice faltered, something that made him unsure. He couldn’t help it, his eyes drifted back to you.

“Oh, you totally did!” She gasped. “You adorable, lovestruck genius, you did it! You let someone in! This is huge!”

His eyes darted to the clock on the wall then, his heart stalling for a moment as his gaze lingered on the time. Thirty minutes late. The realization hit him like a wave, and he felt his pulse quicken. This has never happened to him before.

“My alarm didn’t sound,” he muttered, almost to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t figure out how he had missed it.

Garcia scoffed. “Your alarm didn’t sound?”

He could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

“Think of a better excuse for Hotch on your way here,” she said, the teasing evident in her voice. “And save all the details of your lovely night for me. I need to hear about your real-life romance.”

Romance? His chest tightened at the word. No, this wasn’t like that. This was…just friendship.

Spencer exhaled sharply, glancing down at you once more. His chest tightened as he took in the sight of you, still sleeping soundly in his arms, your features relaxed. There was a part of him that wanted to wake you, to say something, anything, but he couldn’t bear to disturb this rare moment. He longed to leave you something, maybe breakfast or a note, before he rushed out the door.

He sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. “Tell Hotch I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard.

Penelope’s voice hummed knowingly through the phone. “Okay, lover boy,” she teased.

He hung up before she could say anything else, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

And then, all at once, the realization hit him.

He had spent the whole night watching you sleep. Not even the sunlight creeping through the edges of his poorly closed curtains or the distant ringing of his alarm clock had been able to pull him away from you. From this.

Oh, that’s when he knew.

He was in love. Deeply. Madly. In love.

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