#i think i remember Intense Yearning but that's about it

[cloudedangels]

Extended Leave ♡ Part 3 (18+)

📖Part One ■ Part Two📖

▪ Fem!Caleb x Fem!Reader ▪ AU ▪ 18+ ▪ minors pls do not interact ▪ part 3 of my Extended Leave series ▪︎ 3,486 words

Fem!Caleb watches you across the couch with a book she isn't reading. You pretend you’re not unraveling just being looked at. Later, there's sake, a booth, confessions that go too far—and when the buzz wears off and the ache settles in, you open her gift. Everything's unraveling more than either of you thought.

cw/tags: fem!Caleb, fem!reader, AU, pilot!caleb, childhood friends to this messy almost-love, slow burn, domestic intimacy, tension and tenderness, soft butch x soft femme, mutual pining, emotional repression, unspoken feelings, pining gone feral, watching/listening, voyeurism (non-explicit), soft dom!Caleb, sapphic romance, masturbation, mutual obsession, quiet intensity, sex toys, emotional intimacy, yearning, flirting, sapphic angst, drunk confessions trope, possessive energy, low-key yandere, jealousy, you might match Caleb's freak lowkey o.0

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The rest of the day passes in that slow, sticky, too-quiet way that makes time feel stuffy, like someone lined the minutes with cotton. Nothing happens, exactly. And somehow that makes everything worse.

You eat lunch together, but the easy banter from earlier has dissolved. Caleb makes miso-glazed tofu and a cold noodle salad, serves it without you asking.

“Remember to take a break, pips. You'll get a headache.”

You thank her, mumble a promise. When she smiles, the silence between you is delicate, like a curtain. Not thick enough to be distance, not light enough to be ignored.

You file reports on your laptop, half-reading, half-thinking. She lounges on the couch with a book you recognize from your own shelf. One of the old ones she used to tease you for liking. She doesn’t tease you now. She’s been turning the same page for fifteen minutes. You can tell, but the feeling in your throat is too thick to tease her.

Her playfulness from the morning has vanished. What’s left is something more subdued, more... careful. Measured.

It almost upsets you. Not because she’s cold, Caleb could never be cold. But because you can feel the shift in her posture. The restraint. Like she’s pulled back just enough to let you choose how close she gets.

Ball in your court. Reins in your hands. It should feel like control. It doesn’t.

You catch her watching you once, gaze flicking up from the book like she forgot herself for a second. She looks away too fast. Your chest tugs with a heat that isn’t quite shame and isn’t quite yearning. You don’t know what to do with it.

She still does her small things.

Your water glass never empties. Your tea is swapped out twice—steamed and sweetened just the way you like. When you leave the room, she folds the blanket you left on the chair and tucks your charger back into the outlet without comment.

It’s so sweet it makes your stomach ache.

You tell yourself not to think about last night. Or this morning. Your underwear. Her sweat glistened abs underneath you. The bag she told you she needed to be gone for you to open.

But you don’t even make it to dinner before the curiosity boils over.

You don't say anything as you get up from your dining room table, even when you see her glance up on your way to your bedroom. The pink gift bag is still on your dresser.

You stare at it for a while. As if it might vanish if you just wait long enough. As if not touching it might make this day go back to normal.

It doesn’t.

You pull it into your lap. It rustles softly. You open it.

Inside: pink tissue paper.

You unwrap it quietly, even though the quiet rustle is likely enough for her to hear you.

Then, revealed: A little blue vibrator, neat and tucked inside like a secret, a sweet egg in its nest.

And next to it rests a note. Folded once, handwriting familiar and annoyingly soft.

hi pips,

I hope I didn't make you feel bad for having needs.

you don’t have to be embarrassed just because I'm here.

hope this helps.

♡ caleb

Your ears burn. You fold it back up. You tuck everything deep in your drawer like you’re hiding a crime. Like she can hear it.

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes and groan, quietly.

She’s giving you space. Letting you choose. She’s being good. Giving any and every tool to accept or deny, when you hardly know what is being offered anyway.

This is how she does things: she tears everything down in just a moment, leaves, and returns, new walls, a locked door and the key to unlock it pressed to your palm.

It feels unbearable.

You take a breath and head back to the living room, your skin buzzing, your stomach full of butterflies, the quiet seeping into your pores. Caleb hasn't moved, but there's no telling if she even turned the page.

“Caleb, I feel cooped up. The house is stuffy today,” you blurt out, standing awkwardly next to the couch.

She dog ears her page, shutting the con closed in a quick, fluid motion. Then she's looking at you with those violet eyes, full attention and bottled care. It's the same look she always gives you, the one that says, ‘Whatever is wrong I will fix it, it doesn't matter what it takes.’

“Do you want me to take you somewhere, or are you gonna head out alone? I can drive. We can go somewhere with music. There's that place with the bar and the hot pot. The one worth the live music?”

You sigh a small relief at the concept of drink and noise. Maybe that's what you need to stop getting swallowed by the things stirring restlessly inside of you like a cyclone.

“Yeah, let's go there!” you try to sound less nervous than you are, but you're sure that you don't.

The drive is short, the radio in Caleb's truck fading into the car sounds. You sneak looks at her in your peripheral, abs and muscle tee, ponytail and focus. You're not sure if she's always looked like this to you. But the warmth in your belly says maybe you’ve been looking away too long.

She taps the steering wheel at red lights, leans into her elbow like she owns the truck and the night and whatever it is that’s starting to stir in your chest. When she glances over at you, just once, soft, careful, you don’t look away fast enough.

“You okay?” Her voice is gentle, but her eyes flicker with concern. Maybe she's reading too much into your silence. Maybe she always has. She's always read you, line by line until she can recite you back to yourself.

You nod. Then shake your head.

“Just... nervous.”

Her brow creases, “About what?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Swallow.

“Dunno. Being out. With you. Like this.”

Her lips twitch. It's not a smirk, not a smile. Just something caught between understanding and wanting.

“You’ve been out with me a hundred times, pips”

“Yeah,” you say, “but I was younger then.”

You don't say ‘and things were different.’

She has an expression you can't quite identify when she says, “I guess I've been gone a while, but I'm still your Caleb. You can relax with me, I promise.”

☆☆☆☆☆

The restaurant is the perfect kind of loud. The live band is playing something resembling math rock. The lead singer is a woman whose voice sounds constantly on the verge of tears. The lights are dim and the smell of the hot pot reminds you just how hungry you are. You relax into the atmosphere involuntarily, quietly thrilled to be outside the house.

You slide into the booth across from Caleb, who surveys the space with a half-interested glance, then looks back at you. You’ve only just sat down, but she’s already watching. Already checking for signs of unease, like it’s muscle memory.

The server brings water. You order sake. She just asks for tea.

“Not drinking?” you ask, and it comes out breezier than you feel.

Caleb shrugs. “Driving. Watching you. Figured I should keep my head clear.”

There’s that word again. Watching.

You should let it go. You don’t.

“Why’re you always watching me?” you ask, low and curious. Not accusing. Not quite.

Her eyes don’t flinch. She leans her elbows on the table, fingers interlaced.

“You’ve always needed someone to,” she says simply.

You look down, embarrassed and something else. Something too soft to name.

The server comes back, and you bury your face in the menu like it might shield you. Caleb orders for both of you, like she always used to. Like she never stopped remembering what you like. She asks the server to make the broth mild, the meat thin, the noodles chewy. She adds egg for you without asking.

When the sake comes, you drink too fast. Your cheeks bloom warm. It’s easier to talk when the table’s full of steam and clatter. Pour another shot into the little ceramic cup.

You lean back, cup in hand, and tilt your head just so. Watching her watch you.

“You think they think you’re my girlfriend?” you ask, nodding toward the band. Toward a table of strangers. Anywhere but her.

She doesn’t respond right away. She doesn’t smile either.

“I don’t care what they think,” she says finally.

You swirl the sake in the cup, sip, then gulp. Pour again.

“Do you care what I think?”

Now she looks up.

Her gaze holds steady. You have seen this same look a thousand times: quiet, dark, slow as a flood. It hits you like déjà vu.

“I’ve only ever cared what you think, y/n.”

You flush, but you don't say anything to that. You can't. Then food comes, and you thank the universe for rescuing you with an excuse to shut up. Even still the heat in your face doesn’t go away. It rolls low in your belly, buzzed and twirling. The sake is warm in your throat, loosening something that had been wound tight all day. You swallow another mouthful, laugh too loud at something the band says between songs. Caleb smiles, soft and patient. Looking at you like she won a prize but needs to stay humble.

You lean your cheek against your palm, elbow propped on the table. The edge of the table bites into your forearm, grounding. You look at her. Really look at her.

“You always do that,” you say, voice low. “Say something ridiculous and brave and then pretend it didn’t knock the air out of me.”

Caleb blinks, the smile faltering just enough to let a flicker of confusion, or maybe caution, show through. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you cut in. “That’s the worst part.”

You pour another shot. Your fingers are a little shaky now, not from nerves, just... too much everything.

“What if I told you I used to think about kissing you?” you ask suddenly, watching her over the rim of your little cup. “When we were kids. Like, all the time. On the bus. At sleepovers. When you fell asleep first. You’d drool and I’d still think about it.”

The table goes quiet between you. Not awkward this time. It's electric. Thrumming with something underneath the tight surface.

Caleb doesn’t look away. But her throat bobs with a swallow. Her fingers curl tight around her teacup.

“I’d say that I know,” she murmurs. “But I didn’t want to make you feel weird.”

You snort, a little bitter, a little unconvinced. “Too late for that.”

Her face twists a little, the tops of her ears red. She shoves beef into her mouth with her chopsticks, unable to look at you.

“Remember when we pretended to date?” You ask her, taking another sip of sake.

“Yeah, it got people to leave us alone.”

“You were so convincing it almost felt real. It was so silly. You'd hold my hand, and I'd walk around like a star in your varsity jacket. MVP's Girl. No one messed with me then, no more bullies… people still tried to flirt with you though,” you recall it all in a spilling of memory.

She laughs softly, like she doesn’t trust it.

“Yeah, until you gave them that fucking look. You're so lucky looks don't kill, you'd have been a serial killer on death row.”

That makes you laugh, and before you know it, words are tumbling out of your mouth, half-babble and half-confession.

“I watched you before you watched me, you know. I wanted you to myself. Selfish little mei mei, the greediest girl in the world. Everyone has always worshipped you. You're perfect. You always were. I'd call you whatever just to keep you in my orbit, Caleb. I didn't care.”

Caleb blinks at you, staring you in the face like you slapped her. The look only lasts a second before she shakes her head and looks down at her bowl.

“Pipsqueak, I think you're—”

And then it hits you. The room is spinning, the sounds submerged like you're underwater, the waves of nausea.

“Jie jie, I feel sick… Caleb, I mean… fuck…”

It's like she's next to you before you can even blink, sliding into the booth.

“Shhh, it's okay, baby, let's get you home, okay? I'll take care of you.” She waves the server over for a check, arm strong around you, pulling you into her chest.

You're too sick for the petname to sink into you the way it could. Should.

The time between being in the booth and in her car is a blur. Her right hand is on your thigh, she's moved the seat back. She has a hand gripping the wheel as she drives, eyes steel on the road. The short drive feels long.

☆☆☆☆☆

The apartment is dim and quiet when you get back, shadows long across the floor from the hallway light Caleb switches on with her elbow. She doesn’t let go of you—not fully. Even as she helps you out of your shoes and guides you toward the bedroom like she’s done it a hundred times.

Your head lolls against her shoulder, the nausea subsiding just enough to let the warmth of her body register again. She moves with purpose, with care, saying nothing, only humming under her breath like she’s trying to soothe a scared animal.

You catch a whiff of her shampoo—sweet green apple. Something about it makes your eyes sting. You’re too sick to say thank you, and too drunk to pretend you don’t want to cry. Caleb doesn’t ask anything of you. She just holds you a little tighter as she steers you gently down the hall.

“Almost there, pips, almost ready for landing.”

You breathe a short laugh through your nose.

“Dork.” You whisper-moan it, tucking your head into her.

After laying you down onto your sheets, She tucks you in all too quietly. Tender fingers and whispered devotion. Sweetness and warmth. She leaves for a second, returning with antacids, a couple cups of water, and a couple ibuprofen.

“Drink this and take these, it'll help, okay?”

You grumble an agreement into the pillow.

“Good girl.” She whispers brushing your hair back with the back of her hand.

“I'm gonna sleep on the couch tonight, okay?”

Your brow furrows, “Why?”

“Call for me if you feel too sick alone, or if you need me to comfort you, I promise I'll come. You deserve your whole bed tonight.”

She leaves you there and you roll over to take the medicine and drink water before falling asleep.

☆☆☆☆☆

You wake up a few hours later, groggy, and restless. Alcohol worn off, but face still too hot. You almost call for Caleb, but something deep inside of you is against it. ‘She's probably asleep. I feel fine…’

You lie there, eyes to the ceiling. You try to will yourself to sleep to no avail. After a too-long / too-short period, you get up. Walk over to your dresser.

The gift bag sits where you left it, buried haphazardly beneath t-shirts. You stare at it for a moment like a person staring down at a bomb, before you pull the blue toy out of the bag, stumbling back into your bed.

It feels almost too heavy in your palm. You think about it in Caleb's hands, picked for you.

You shift under the covers, thighs still warm from sleep, the faint hum of discomfort still curling in your gut. Not pain. Something else. A pressure. A question.

You hesitate, thumb brushing the soft silicone. The little button gives under your touch with a quiet click.

It whirs to life.

You flinch. The sound is barely audible under your comforter, but it still feels loud. Still feels like a secret shouted. You glance toward the door, half-expecting Caleb to be standing there.

She’s not.

Still, you press the toy to your lips first, like a dare. Like you’re trying to understand it through your mouth, not your skin. It tastes like nothing. But it still feels like her.

Your free hand slips beneath the blanket. The other follows, the toy trailing after. You press it against your stomach first. Then your inner thigh. Testing. Pretending.

Then closer.

The first touch makes you gasp—not because it’s too much, but because it’s not enough.

You’re more wound-up than you thought. You’ve been holding this thread taut since the moment you saw the note. Since the moment Caleb handed you the reins.

It’s slow at first. Press, release. Trace. Tease. You don’t want to rush. You don’t even want to come. Not really.

You want to feel something that makes this real. That makes you understand the shape of her attention. The way she sees you. The way she’s always seen you.

You let the vibrator rest against you. Not inside, just over your panties. You hum into your pillow.

Your hips rock once, almost involuntarily.

You think about her fingers brushing your hair back earlier. The back of her hand, soft at your cheek. The way she’d said good girl like it meant something. Like it had always been true.

Your breath shudders.

You slide the fabric aside.

The vibrator is slick now. So are you. You press it closer, let your legs fall apart.

A soft, unsteady moan slips out. Quieter than your breath, but heavy enough to feel sinful.

You’re not thinking anymore. Just moving.

The sound of the vibrator seems to fade behind the rushing pulse in your ears, behind the memory of her voice, the feeling of her arms steady around you in the booth, her jaw against your temple, her breath whispering ‘baby’, her body under yours this morning, her sweat-soaked body.

You bite your lip and tilt your hips, your whole body seeking something more. Something deeper.

The pressure builds too fast. Or maybe you’ve been on the edge for days. Weeks. Years. You’re not sure if you come with her name in your mouth, or just moan dedicated to the thought of her. But you come hard. And a moan escaping your lips.

And when it’s over, you don’t cry. You thought you would. It settles in you, warming through your skin.

You just lie there, heart beating so loud you think it might shake the ceiling. The toy is still humming, faint against your thigh.

You switch it off. And everything feels too quiet. You toss it into the drawer of your nightstand, too tired to move to the dresser again. Too tired to stay awake and sit with what you've just done. You give in to sleep, for real this time. The sheets still smell like Caleb's sleeping in them.

☆☆☆☆☆

Caleb never made it to the couch. Her head tilted back against the wall next to your door, outside your bedroom. Her knees were up, a pillow against her chest like a knight's shield.

“Just making sure she's okay,” she muttered to herself. A lie that didn’t even convince herself. She was waiting for you to call for her, to need her so that she could release her self-imposed restraint and control.

She sat there for an hour, maybe two, eyes closed. Not resting or sleeping, but not moving either. Then she heard you moving around. She sat up, waiting for you to call her name, even just once. ‘I'm giving her space, if I want her to want me she needs to think I'm giving her space…’

You didn't call out for her. Not like that. She heard you move around, the opening of your drawer…

Then the rustle of tissue paper.

Her breathing stilled, her hand a tighter fist next to her, knuckles pale, nails digging into her palms.

Then the sounds came. The low hum of vibration, your whimpers. They were more desperate than the night before in the shower, noisier. She debated getting up and going to the couch when she heard it, so quiet she could've imagined it.

“Caleb…”

You moaning her name. Her eyes screwed shut as tight as they could, with her hand flying over her mouth to stop the choked sound she almost made. When she heard her name a second time, barely audible and desperately whimpered, something in her ribs shifted. Her palm pressed harder over her mouth. The other hand… curled into the pillow, as she grew warm between her legs. Shaking.

She didn’t let herself come or let herself knock on the door.

She waited. Quiet until your room was too. Then she stood, quietly walking to the couch, laughing down with the pillow clutched tightly in her arms. Any hope for sleep was gone with the strength to pretend for much longer.

Tags 🏷: @chewbrry @grlpartdoll @jetterdonna @starryeyed-apple

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series lmk in comments or reblogs! (Must have age in bio)

[blood-mocha-latte]

what was i going on about

[honeyhaeya]

(🧸ྀི)🖇 ༘ ⋆"My Brother's Bestfriend"

' ╰┈ 'who would've thought you'd end up in a tangled mess with your brother's bestfriend?'

' .☘︎ ݁˖' '원우 x f!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Home (Seventeen) ♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT ! wonwoo being so whipped it's unfair, excessive cuteness & boyfriend material behavior, a little bit of yearning ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ nsfw warnings: oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, semi-public sex, reader doesn't get pregnant, heavy & passionate makeout sessions, straddling wonwoo’s lap, deep kissing, light grinding, soft!but still kind of desperate!wonwoo, possessive whispers, needy touches, some lip biting, breathy moans, heated tension but still very loving ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 11,809 ੈ♡ a/n: i'm never going to shut up about wonwoo fics. i love this one and yeah, it's my favorite now. i don't even know if i want to end it, so i made a part two cause i love this way too much. if you don't like it, DON'T READ>>>don't steal my happiness.

It was a Friday—a perfect day to go outside, breathe in the fresh air, and maybe even touch some grass. But Wonwoo? He was planted in his chair, fingers flying over his keyboard, eyes locked on his screen as he dove deeper into his game. Sunlight streamed through his window, but he barely noticed. His entire focus was on his mission.

Then, of course, his phone rang.

The sudden vibration made him flinch, just in time for his in-game character to take a fatal hit. A sigh slipped past his lips, long and resigned, as the screen dimmed to black. Game over.

Annoyed, he reached for his phone without checking the caller ID. "What."

"Hey, Wonwoo!" Mingyu's voice rang through, far too cheerful for his liking. "You remember that money you owe me?"

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I paid you back."

"Yeah, like, half. You still owe me ₩103,000."

Wonwoo scowled. "What do you want, Mingyu?"

"I'll cancel the debt if you pick up my sister from her hagwon."

Wonwoo blinked. He could practically see Mingyu's smug face through the phone. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. Think of it as a fair trade. You get out of debt, and I don't have to leave my photoshoot early. Win-win, right?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, glancing at the gaming laptop he had been saving up for. A hundred thousand won wasn't something he could just brush off. And really, what was so hard about picking someone up? He'd just drive there, wait, and drop her off. No big deal.

"Fine. Send me the details."

"Knew I could count on you!" Mingyu cackled before promptly hanging up.

Wonwoo stared at his phone, regretting everything.

Later that evening, Wonwoo pulled up in front of the hagwon (cram school), resting his arm on the window frame as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. The street was packed—students flooding out, parents calling names, engines revving. He ignored all of it, his attention on the notifications lighting up his screen.

A knock on the window pulled him out of his trance. He looked up.

There you were, bright-eyed and smiling. Mingyu's sister. You had the same features as him, Mingyu was handsome, there was no second guessing you'd be really pretty as well.

It really runs on the family huh, but your energy was a complete contrast. Where Mingyu was overbearing, you seemed naturally lighthearted.

Wonwoo unlocked the door, watching as you slipped inside. "Hey, thanks for picking me up! I could've taken the bus, but this is definitely an upgrade."

He put his phone down and shifted into drive. "Mingyu made me."

"Obviously." You laughed, buckling your seatbelt. "If it were up to you, you'd rather be home playing some game, right?"

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. "...Something like that."

You stretched out in the passenger seat, completely unfazed by his short responses. "Figures. My brother said you never leave your house unless it's life or death."

"He exaggerates. I go out when I need to."

"Mmm-hmm. Like now?"

"Like now."

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Unbelievable."

You both drove in silence for a bit, though it wasn't uncomfortable. You hummed softly to whatever song played on the radio, while Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, appreciating the fact that you weren't forcing conversation.

Then, after a few minutes, you turned to him. "So, what's the real reason Mingyu couldn't pick me up?"

"I told you. Photoshoot."

You raised a brow. "And you believe that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, then shrugged. "Not really, but it's not my problem."

You grinned. "Smart man."

He smirked slightly but didn't comment.

When you pulled up in front of your house, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with an easygoing smile. "Thanks again, Wonwoo. I owe you one."

"No, you don't. Mingyu does."

You laughed. "True. But still, I appreciate it."

Wonwoo just gave a small nod. "It's fine."

As you stepped out of the car, you waved. "See you around!"

He didn't respond, but after you disappeared into the house, he lingered for a second longer than necessary before finally driving off.

Maybe the day hadn't been a total waste after all.

A couple of days later, Mingyu called Wonwoo again, but this time it wasn't for any money or favor. Instead, he was inviting him over to his apartment for a casual hangout.

"Yo, you coming? I'm having a few friends over tonight, including Joshua, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Minghao. It's nothing special, just wanted to hang out."

Wonwoo was about to decline—he had a ton of work to do—but then Mingyu dropped the one detail that made him reconsider.

"Oh, and my sister will be here too. She's staying with me for the weekend, so I figured you could catch up with her."

Wonwoo didn't immediately respond. It wasn't the idea of seeing Mingyu's sister that stopped him—it was more the fact that he wasn't entirely sure how to act around you yet. The two of you hadn't really had a chance to talk much after that brief car ride. He had no idea what you'd be like outside of that moment, and Mingyu always had a way of making everything a little awkward when it came to his little sister.

"...Fine," Wonwoo finally relented, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll stop by."

When Wonwoo arrived at Mingyu's apartment, the atmosphere was relaxed. Joshua was already lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone, and a few other friends were scattered around, chatting. Mingyu was in the kitchen, preparing snacks—probably to feed his giant appetite. The usual loud energy that always accompanied Mingyu's presence was alive in the air.

But there was no sign of you.

Wonwoo made his way to the living room, greeting Joshua with a nod, but the silence between them was noticeable. Joshua shot him a playful glance, but before they could talk much more, Mingyu called out from the kitchen.

"Yo, Wonwoo! Help me with these drinks!"

Wonwoo reluctantly walked into the kitchen, but as soon as he stepped through the doorway, he froze.

There, standing at the counter, was you—completely at ease, casually chopping vegetables as if you'd been there the whole time. You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up in surprise.

"Oh, you're here!" you exclaimed with a smile, your hands still busy at the cutting board. "I didn't think you'd be the first one to show up."

Wonwoo blinked, a bit caught off guard. He hadn't expected to see you in the kitchen, especially not so comfortable.

"You're... here?" he said, unsure of how to react. "I thought you were... uh, I don't know... staying in your room or something."

You let out a small laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "I was, but then Mingyu didn't have enough snacks. He asked me to help out." You gestured to the plates you had already prepped, your movements smooth and confident, as though you'd done this a thousand times. "I figured you'd all be hungry."

Wonwoo was honestly impressed. The last time he saw you, you were cheerful and talkative, but he didn't expect this... domestic side of you. He felt a little out of place in the kitchen, but he didn't want to act awkward.

"I'm sure Mingyu can handle it," he replied, trying to mask his surprise with a nonchalant tone.

You smirked, clearly catching onto his tone. "Yeah, but I'm sure he'll make a mess of it. You know how he is." You shook your head, looking back at your brother as Mingyu popped his head around the corner, grinning.

"I heard that!" Mingyu called, sticking his tongue out before retreating back to the living room.

You chuckled at his antics before focusing back on the food you were preparing. "Anyway, I'm glad you made it. I figured we'd finally have some time to talk," you said, your voice light and welcoming, making it clear you weren't bothered by the sudden interruption.

Wonwoo nodded, still trying to shake off the initial surprise. "Yeah, I guess we never really got to chat much." He leaned against the kitchen counter, unsure of where to go from there.

"You're a bit of a man of few words, huh?" you asked with a teasing grin, raising an eyebrow as you slid the plate of veggies aside. "Mingyu always talks about how you're so quiet, but I didn't realize it was this bad."

Wonwoo gave you a half-smile, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I don't talk much unless I have to," he said, his usual dry tone creeping through.

You just laughed, the sound easy and warm, making him feel less self-conscious. "Well, I'll make sure to fill the silence then," you said cheerfully, as if you were on a mission to make him feel comfortable. "You're kind of a hard nut to crack, but I think I can manage."

The tension that had been there earlier started to melt away, and Wonwoo found himself talking a little more than he usually did. You asked him questions, talked about school, and even joked about how overprotective Mingyu could be at times. As the minutes passed, he realized how much easier it was to talk to you than he initially thought.

By the time he moved back into the living room with the snacks, there was no awkwardness between the two of you anymore. You had succeeded in doing what few could—making Wonwoo feel at ease.

A few days later, Wonwoo had stayed at Mingyu's apartment, slacking off on the sofa while playing some horror games on Mingyu's television.

"You're really bad at Identity V, Mingyu," Wonwoo teased, getting a little frustrated at how Mingyu had to be revived multiple times.

"Just switch the game already, this one's boring," Mingyu groaned, throwing the controller to the side.

Wonwoo just chuckled, not even pausing the game.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Mingyu groaned, dragging himself off the couch. "Ah, right. I forgot—my sister was dropping off some kimchi from Mom before she heads to cram school."

When you stepped inside, you flashed Mingyu a quick smile before handing him the containers. "Mom said to eat it while it's fresh."

Mingyu took them with a nod, already peeking inside. "Smells good." Then, without looking up, he asked, "You want me to drop you off at cram school?"

You shook your head. "Nah, I'll just take the bus. It's not that far."

Wonwoo, who had been watching from the couch, found himself unexpectedly... disappointed? He wasn't sure why, but he had kind of looked forward to talking to you again. You were easy to be around—bubbly, charming, and not at all fazed by his quiet nature. Not many people could handle his silence so effortlessly.

Mingyu, meanwhile, was still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "You sure? It's getting late."

"I'll be fine," you insisted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "It's just cram school, not a different planet."

Wonwoo hesitated for a second before speaking up. "Hey."

You turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He cleared his throat, feeling a little out of place but saying it anyway. "I can walk you."

You blinked, clearly surprised. "Oh? Why, so you can chat me up again?" you teased with a wink.

Mingyu snorted, looking between the two of you. "Since when do you offer to walk people places, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo shot him a look but didn't bother responding. Instead, he turned back to you, waiting for your answer.

You grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Alright, alright. But no awkward silences, got it?"

Wonwoo nodded, grabbing his jacket as he followed you out the door. Mingyu watched the two of you leave, shaking his head with a grin. "Well, that's new."

Mingyu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with growing amusement. Wonwoo wasn't the type to jump at social interactions, especially not when it came to people outside their usual circle. And yet, here he was, offering to walk you to hagwon like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mingyu's brows furrowed, suspicion creeping in.

No way. Does Wonwoo... like my sister?

The thought nearly made him laugh out loud. He knew Wonwoo well—too well, in fact. His best friend wasn't the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, let alone make some grand romantic gesture. But still, the way he lingered, the way his gaze flickered toward you, even the fact that he was putting in the effort to talk—something was definitely up.

Mingyu smirked, but he kept his mouth shut. For now.

"So," he drawled, pushing off the doorway, "you two gonna be alright?"

Wonwoo shot him a look, equal parts unimpressed and knowing. Meanwhile, you just rolled your eyes. "We'll survive, Gyu."

Mingyu chuckled. "Alright, alright. Have fun, lovebirds."

"Bye, Mingyu," you deadpanned, grabbing Wonwoo's wrist and tugging him down the hallway before your brother could say anything else. Wonwoo barely had time to process it before he was matching your pace, hands stuffed into his pockets.

The air between you was light, easy. You glanced up at him with a grin. "Didn't think I'd ever get you to walk me to hagwon. Kinda fun, huh?"

Wonwoo huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not what I expected to be doing today, that's for sure."

You nudged him lightly. "What, hanging out with me is that bad?"

He glanced at you—really looked this time. You were different from Mingyu's usual crowd. Where his friends were loud and chaotic, you had this effortless energy that didn't demand anything from him. You just... talked, and somehow, he found himself talking back. It was weird, but not in a bad way.

"You're different," you mused, tilting your head. "I mean, I knew you were quiet, but you're not as... closed off as I thought you'd be."

Wonwoo smirked slightly, gaze forward. "I'm still quiet."

"Mm, not with me," you pointed out, eyes twinkling. "Why's that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he wasn't sure how to say it. Instead, he settled for the truth, plain and simple. "I don't feel like I have to try so hard with you."

Your steps slowed just slightly, your expression softening. "Huh. That's kinda nice."

He exhaled a small chuckle. "Guess you're a special case."

"Ooo, so I'm special?" you teased.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he muttered, but the faint smile on his face gave him away.

The conversation drifted into easier topics, laughter and playful jabs exchanged as the hagwon came into view. Wonwoo still didn't know what exactly made him want to be around you, but he didn't mind figuring it out along the way.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Mingyu leaned against the window, watching the two of you disappear into the distance.

Yeah, something was definitely up.

And as your older brother, he was gonna keep an eye on it.

A few days after that walk, Wonwoo found himself running into you more often than he expected. At first, it was innocent enough—quick encounters while he was out running errands or grabbing coffee with Mingyu. But soon, those moments stretched longer, turning into something he actually started looking forward to.

It didn't help that teasing you had become his new favorite pastime.

You'd be minding your own business, walking down the hallway in Mingyu's apartment building, when suddenly, you'd sense a presence behind you. Turning around, you'd find Wonwoo leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Going somewhere, princess?"

The nickname never failed to make you flush, though you'd gotten better at rolling your eyes in response. Still, it was the way he said it—so effortlessly teasing—that made your stomach flip, like you were missing the punchline to some inside joke.

At first, you chalked it up to friendly chatter. But the more it happened, the harder it became to tell if he was just being playful or if there was something else beneath it.

Then came the café incident.

You were sitting with your friends, chatting about classes, when one of them suddenly perked up, nodding toward the entrance. "Hey, isn't that your boyfriend?"

You blinked in confusion, following their gaze—only for your breath to catch slightly when you saw Wonwoo stepping inside, exuding that quiet, effortless confidence he always carried.

"What? No way," you sputtered, your voice catching as you waved off the idea.

Your friends exchanged knowing looks. "Come on, we've seen you two together all the time lately," one of them pointed out. "And let's be real, you'd make a cute couple."

Your face went hot. "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Then why do you look so guilty?" Another friend smirked.

Before you could form a coherent response, Wonwoo approached the table, sliding into the seat next to you as if he belonged there. "What's all this talk about me?" he asked, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"Nothing!" You nearly choked on the word, sitting up straighter.

Your friends weren't buying it. "We were just saying how cute you two look together," one of them supplied, grinning mischievously.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, didn't even flinch. Instead, he leaned back lazily, his lips curving into that smirk that made your heart stutter. "Cute, huh?" he mused. Then, with a glance in your direction, he added, "She's already shy around me. You think she'd survive being my girlfriend?"

You gawked at him. "Wonwoo!"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you flustered so easily. "Relax," he murmured, leaning in slightly, just enough to send your brain into overdrive. "I'm just helping you out. You should be thanking me for making you so popular."

You shot him a glare, but your friends were eating it up, laughing as they nudged each other. "Honestly, you two are like an old married couple already."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, half-expecting the ground to swallow you whole. Meanwhile, Wonwoo looked way too pleased with himself, the playful glint in his eyes only growing stronger.

And from that day on, it only got worse.

Every time he ran into you, your friends' words echoed in your mind, making you hyperaware of every smirk, every lingering glance, every low chuckle. You weren't sure if it was all just a joke to him, but the real problem was—you were starting to hope it wasn't.

Because, teasing aside, there was something about the way he looked at you lately. Something softer, something unreadable. And that? That was the most confusing part of all.

Over the next few days, it became a pattern—these little run-ins, the teasing, the way Wonwoo always seemed to appear right when you thought you'd get a break from his smug remarks. If you were being honest, it was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like... something else.

Like right now.

You had just finished your class at the hagwon and were walking home when you heard footsteps behind you. At first, you didn't think much of it. But then—

"Hey, princess."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. Whipping around, you found Wonwoo standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too smug.

"Seriously?" you huffed. "Do you have a tracker on me or something?"

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. "Nah. Just good timing."

"Suspicious timing," you muttered under your breath.

He grinned. "What, you don't like seeing me?"

You opened your mouth, ready to give a snarky reply, but the words stuck in your throat. Because, truthfully, you did like seeing him. You liked how he always managed to sneak into your day, turning normal moments into something else—something charged with a kind of tension you weren't sure how to handle yet.

But you weren't about to admit that.

"Did you just happen to be in the area, or are you stalking me now?" you teased instead, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Wonwoo made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. "Hmm. I guess I should start charging for my services if I'm going to be your personal bodyguard."

You rolled your eyes. "Bodyguard? Please. What are you protecting me from? My own two feet?"

He smirked. "You almost tripped earlier. Maybe you do need me."

Your mouth opened, then closed. He had a point, but you weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of winning this round. Instead, you crossed your arms and shot him a playful glare.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And yet, here we are," he mused, his voice low, almost amused. "Walking home together. Again."

You faltered. There was something about the way he said it—like he was reminding you that these weren't just coincidences anymore. That maybe, just maybe, he was seeking you out just as much as you were looking forward to seeing him.

The thought made warmth creep up your neck.

The walk continued, the air between you shifting—still lighthearted, but tinged with something heavier, something unspoken. At some point, you felt the faintest brush of his hand against yours. It was barely anything, just a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt up your spine.

You glanced at him, half-expecting him to be smirking at your reaction, but instead, Wonwoo was looking ahead, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched between you for a beat too long.

"You're quieter than usual," you finally said, your voice softer now.

Wonwoo hummed, glancing at you. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "You."

Your breath hitched. You blinked, caught completely off guard by the casual way he said it—like it wasn't something that would send your heart into a tailspin.

He must've noticed your reaction because his lips twitched into something close to a smirk. "Surprised?"

You scoffed, desperate to regain some control over the conversation. "You say that like I should just expect it."

"Maybe you should," he said, voice smooth, teasing, but with a weight behind it that made your stomach flip.

And just like that, the game between you shifted. It wasn't just harmless teasing anymore. It was charged, loaded with something more than just playful.

You were in trouble.

And worse? You weren't sure you minded.

Wonwoo should've seen it coming.

He was halfway through his iced americano when Mingyu—who had been rambling about his fantasy basketball team for the past fifteen minutes—suddenly leaned forward with a serious look. The shift in his tone was so abrupt that Wonwoo nearly choked on his drink.

"Don't date my sister."

Wonwoo blinked. "...Huh?"

Mingyu crossed his arms, leveling him with a look that was rare for him—stern, like he wasn't just joking around. "I'm serious. I know how you are, Wonwoo."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "How am I?"

"You don't do relationships," Mingyu shot back. "You flirt, you have fun, and then—poof—you're gone."

"That's not true," Wonwoo muttered, looking away.

"Dude. Jiwoo? Jiekyo? Mijin?" Mingyu listed off names, counting on his fingers. "You get bored too easily. My sister's not just some girl you can play around with."

That one stung.

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. "You make me sound like some heartless asshole."

Mingyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not saying you're a bad guy. I know you, Wonwoo. You just... don't take these things seriously. And I don't want her getting hurt because she thinks you do."

Wonwoo didn't answer. He could argue—say that things were different this time, that maybe he didn't know why, but the usual rules didn't seem to apply whenever you were involved. But he also knew Mingyu had a point.

Did he even know what he was doing?

Mingyu must've taken his silence as agreement because he nodded, looking satisfied. "Good. I just wanted to clear that up."

And that should've been the end of it.

Except... you had other plans.

The problem was, you were very aware of Wonwoo's usual avoidance tactics. And yet, despite Mingyu's warning (which you totally overheard, thank you very much), you weren't about to back off. If anything, it made things more fun.

So, naturally, you decided to corner Wonwoo after one of his gym sessions.

You found him outside, sitting on a bench, scrolling through his phone like he wasn't sweating buckets from lifting weights for an hour.

"Hey," you greeted, plopping down beside him.

He glanced at you, then back at his phone. "Hey."

Silence.

You smirked. "You're avoiding me."

His thumb hovered over the screen. "No, I'm not."

"You so are." You leaned in, trying to peek at his phone. "What, are you texting my brother to report my suspicious activities?"

He sighed, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. "Your brother would kill me if he knew we were talking right now."

You tilted your head. "Funny, I don't see Mingyu around."

He shot you a flat look. "That's not the point."

"You're acting like he owns me or something," you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "What, are you scared of him?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "It's not about that—"

"Then what's it about?"

He paused.

You took the chance to scoot closer. "Let me guess," you hummed, tapping your chin dramatically. "You think you'll break my heart? That you'll flirt, we'll have fun, and then poof—you're gone?"

Wonwoo visibly stiffened.

Bingo.

You grinned. "What if I told you I like a little risk?"

He groaned. "Don't say stuff like that."

"Why? Is it making things harder for you?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you—like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him or if you actually meant it. And that's when you knew you had him.

"Relax, Wonwoo," you said, leaning back with a smug smile. "I just wanna grab coffee. Not a wedding ring."

He exhaled, shaking his head, but you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips. "You're impossible."

"And you are running out of excuses."

He stared at you for another beat before groaning, rubbing his face like you were the biggest headache of his life. Then—finally—he let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Fine," he muttered. "One coffee."

Your grin widened. "I knew you liked me."

"Shut up."

And just like that, the game was back on.

You should've known.

One coffee turned into another. Then into late-night calls. Then into hanging out at Wonwoo's apartment, always under the pretense of studying or just chilling.

Which was a huge lie. Because, really, what kind of studying involved Wonwoo's knee pressed against yours, his fingers grazing yours every few minutes, and him murmuring things in that low voice that made your brain short-circuit?

The worst part? He knew what he was doing.

And the proof?

Right now.

You were hanging out at his place after a long day, claiming his couch like it was yours while he sat beside you. Some dumb multiplayer game was on the screen, and you were so sure you were winning.

Until Wonwoo conveniently lost at the very last second.

"You're so bad at this," you teased, laughing as you nudged his arm.

Wonwoo, who had been sitting back lazily just seconds ago, suddenly leaned forward. "You made me lose on purpose."

You gasped dramatically. "How dare you accuse me—"

Before you could finish, he moved.

Fast.

One second you were playfully bickering, and the next? You were flat on your back, pressed against the couch, with Wonwoo hovering above you—his hands trapping you on either side of your head.

Your brain short-circuited.

"W-Wait—"

Wonwoo's knee nudged between your thighs, pressing down just enough to make you hyperaware of every single point of contact between you. The air shifted, playful teasing melting into something heavier.

Something that made your skin burn.

The way he looked at you—half-lidded eyes roaming over your face, his smirk growing as he took in your reaction—made your stomach twist into knots.

The corner of his lips curled. "What's wrong?"

Your throat was so dry. "You're—you're too close."

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Am I?"

And then—because this man had no mercy—he dipped even lower, his nose brushing against yours as he whispered against your lips,

"You started this."

A second later, his lips crashed onto yours.

Soft but demanding, like he had been holding himself back for too long. His hands slipped down, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you impossibly close. The kiss was slow at first—just a gentle press of lips—but then Wonwoo tilted his head, deepening it, his mouth moving against yours with a languid, intoxicating rhythm.

You melted.

Your hands, which had been gripping onto his hoodie for dear life, moved on their own—one slipping into his hair, tugging slightly. The groan he let out against your lips sent a shockwave down your spine.

Wonwoo's hands moved lower, resting on your thighs before effortlessly pulling you up onto his lap.

The sudden shift made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. But before you could even think, his lips found yours again, this time more urgent, more needy.

And you?

You couldn't even pretend to fight it.

Because Wonwoo kissed like he meant it. Like he was making up for all the stolen glances, the teasing touches, the lingering tension that had built up between you for weeks.

And you let him.

Because, honestly?

You wanted it just as much.

From that night on, it was impossible to pretend you weren't completely wrapped around each other's fingers.

Sure, Mingyu didn't know yet, but Wonwoo made it really hard to act normal.

Like when he'd pick you up from hagwon (cram school) at night, leaning against his car like some effortlessly hot drama lead, hands in his pockets, waiting for you. And when you walked up, flustered and mumbling about how someone might see?

He'd just smirk and lean down, murmuring, "Let them."

Or when he'd help you study at the library but deliberately lean in too close—his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You're not focusing."

As if he was helping??

And the worst part? He loved seeing you flustered.

Like the time he casually pulled you into an empty library aisle, tilted your chin up, and kissed you right then and there.

"You keep getting distracted," he murmured against your lips, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And you?? You just stood there, clutching your book like your life depended on it.

But hey. What Mingyu doesn't know won't kill him, right?

...Right?

---

Honestly, you and Wonwoo had been too good at sneaking around.

The stolen kisses in empty library aisles. The late-night study sessions that turned into him pulling you onto his lap just to mess with you. The way he'd casually lean against his car outside your cram school, hands shoved into his hoodie, waiting like some effortlessly cool drama lead.

Y'all really thought you were slick.

Until one night.

You were saying your goodbyes outside your house, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the both of you. Wonwoo had driven you home like always, but this time, instead of the usual quick peck and see you later, he leaned in, his hands resting on your waist, his breath warm against your lips.

"You're so cute when you're nervous," he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, tilting his head just right so you felt it all the way down to your toes.

And that was the moment your soul left your body.

Because the second Wonwoo pulled away—both of you breathless, smiling like lovesick idiots—you heard it.

A slow. Dramatic. Clap.

You froze. Wonwoo froze.

And then—

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

Your blood ran cold.

You turned around so slowly you swore time slowed down.

And there, standing in front of the house, arms crossed, wearing the most betrayed expression you'd ever seen, was Kim Mingyu.

"Oh, shit," Wonwoo muttered under his breath.

"OH SHIT IS RIGHT, JEON WONWOO," Mingyu roared, stalking forward like an older brother about to ruin your entire existence.

You instinctively stepped in front of Wonwoo like that was gonna protect him from the absolute storm that was about to hit. "Mingyu, listen, before you freak out—"

"BEFORE I FREAK OUT???" Mingyu's voice cracked, eyes darting between you and Wonwoo. "YOU'RE KISSING MY BEST FRIEND ON OUR FRONT PORCH LIKE IT'S A K-DRAMA AND YOU WANT ME TO STAY CALM???"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at Wonwoo for help.

Wonwoo: 😬

You: 😭

Mingyu let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning to Wonwoo with the deadliest glare known to man.

"You. Follow me. NOW."

Wonwoo shot you a look—part this is it, I'm gonna die and part I regret nothing. And then he followed Mingyu inside like a man walking to his execution.

You just stood there, hands on your head, wondering if you should start preparing a eulogy.

Because one thing was certain.

Kim Mingyu was about to ruin your entire love life.

You had never paced so much in your entire life.

Standing outside your front door, you tried to listen in—tried being the keyword. But Mingyu's voice was booming from inside the house, and you could already tell from his tone that he was about to make Wonwoo regret all his life choices.

You pressed your ear against the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Oop. You winced. That was not a good start.

"Mingyu, calm down—" Wonwoo started, but Mingyu was having NONE of it.

"CALM DOWN? OH, SORRY, SHOULD I THROW YOU A PARTY INSTEAD? CONGRATS, YOU'RE DATING MY BABY SISTER??? BRO, I TRUSTED YOU!"

There was a pause. A deep sigh. Then:

"I told you to break up with her."

WHAT.

You slammed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"EXCUSE ME??"

Both of them turned to you like deer caught in headlights.

"YOU WHAT???" you yelled, pointing at Mingyu like he'd just confessed to murder.

Mingyu blinked at you like he just realized what he said. "Uh—wait. No, that's not what I—"

Wonwoo was dying. You could see it. He was looking between the two of you, lips pressed together, trying so hard not to laugh.

You turned to Wonwoo, still pointing at Mingyu. "DID YOU KNOW THIS?"

Wonwoo immediately held his hands up. "Nope. No idea. But honestly, this is the best plot twist I've ever witnessed."

"Mingyu," you hissed, grinning like an absolute menace. "Wonwoo's a great guy. Make him break up with me and I'll never talk to you again."

Mingyu let out the loudest groan, dragging his hands down his face. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. I meant—I don't know! I just didn't want you dating Wonwoo of all people!"

"Wow. Okay. Ouch," Wonwoo muttered, actually offended.

Mingyu whirled on him. "I'M SORRY, BUT DO YOU KNOW YOUR OWN HISTORY? YOU'RE A HEARTBREAKER, BRO. I'M NOT LETTING YOU BREAK MY SISTER'S HEART."

Wonwoo's face immediately darkened. "Mingyu," he said, voice low.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Because that tone? That was not Wonwoo the sarcastic asshole. That was Wonwoo the serious guy who doesn't mess around when it comes to things that matter.

Mingyu must've felt it too, because his whole demeanor changed.

"I'm not playing around with her," Wonwoo said, steady and clear. "I'm not screwing this up." His gaze flickered to you—soft, almost apologetic, like he hated that this conversation was happening in front of you.

"I like her," he continued, voice quieter now. "A lot. More than I probably should." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I get it. You're looking out for her. But Mingyu, you have to know—I wouldn't start something with her if I wasn't serious about it."

...

DEAD. SILENCE.

You held your breath, watching Mingyu's expression shift.

He looked at you. Then back at Wonwoo.

Then back at you.

And then—he sighed the biggest sigh of his life.

"Ugh. Fine." He dragged a hand through his hair, groaning. "Fine. If you two wanna make out and be disgusting, whatever. But," he said, suddenly deadly serious, "if you hurt her, Wonwoo, I swear on my life—"

"I know," Wonwoo cut in, smirking. "You'll kill me."

"No," Mingyu said. "I'll make you wish I did."

WELL.

You weren't sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

But at least you and Wonwoo weren't hiding anymore.

And the best part?

Mingyu would never find out just how much sneaking around you two had already done.

Mingyu had no idea what he had just unleashed.

Because the second he begrudgingly gave his approval, Wonwoo had decided on a new mission in life:

Make. You. Flustered.

And he was very good at it.

---

EXHIBIT A: THE COUCH INCIDENT

Mingyu was in the kitchen, completely unaware of what was happening in the living room.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a controller in hand, fully focused on the game—or at least, you were trying to be.

Wonwoo, on the other hand?

Oh, he was definitely not focused on the game.

He was watching you. Studying you like a predator stalking its prey.

And the moment you made a mistake in the game, he pounced.

"HAH—GOTCHA," he laughed, tackling you onto the couch.

You yelped, the controller flying out of your hands as Wonwoo pinned you down, his arms caging you in.

"W-Wonwoo—!" you stammered, wide-eyed.

"Cheaters don't deserve to win," he teased, leaning closer. His weight was warm, his cologne intoxicating, and his smirk was nothing short of sinful.

And just when you were about to absolutely combust, he dipped his head—

And kissed you.

Deep. Slow. Lingering.

Your hands fisted his hoodie, a helpless whimper slipping from your lips as he tilted his head, kissing you deeper.

His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something he'd wanted to do for so, so long.

And then—

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—"

MINGYU.

Mingyu. Was. Here.

You froze.

Wonwoo froze.

Mingyu's scream could have shattered glass.

"WONWOO, GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY SISTER RIGHT NOW."

But Wonwoo?

Wonwoo smirked.

And he didn't move.

Instead, he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss to your lips—just to spite Mingyu.

"OH MY GOD, YOU—YOU—"

You didn't even know who moved first—Wonwoo scrambling off you or Mingyu lunging at him like a wild animal.

All you knew was you were absolutely dying of embarrassment.

EXHIBIT B: THE STUDY SESSION FROM HELL

You should've known studying with Wonwoo was a terrible idea.

Not because he wasn't helpful—he was. Very helpful.

But his idea of helping you study was apparently making you flustered as hell.

You sat across from each other in the library, a pile of textbooks between you. Wonwoo was supposed to be quizzing you, but instead—

Instead, his foot nudged yours under the table.

You ignored it.

Then his foot slid up your calf.

Your breath hitched.

And when you finally looked up at him, the bastard was smirking.

"W-what?" you stammered, gripping your pen so tight you thought it would snap.

Wonwoo propped his chin on his hand, voice low and teasing.

"Nothing," he murmured. "Just wondering how long you can focus before I distract you."

Oh. Oh.

You gulped.

And then—you felt a shadow loom over you.

MINGYU.

Again. AGAIN.

His arms were crossed. His expression? A mix of pure disgust and betrayal.

"...Am I interrupting something?" he asked flatly.

You and Wonwoo both jumped apart like you'd been electrocuted.

"N-no!" you squeaked.

Mingyu's eyes narrowed.

"...Are you two seriously making out in the LIBRARY???"

Wonwoo, without missing a beat: "Wouldn't be the first time."

Mingyu died on the spot.

Mingyu was 100% sure he was living in his own personal hell.

Because every time he turned around, Wonwoo was doing something to make his little sister blush like crazy.

A hand on her waist. A whisper in her ear. A kiss on the cheek.

AND IT WAS DRIVING MINGYU INSANE.

He started setting rules.

"NO KISSING IN FRONT OF ME."

But then, Wonwoo would smirk and kiss you on the forehead instead.

"NO TOUCHING."

So Wonwoo would lace your fingers together behind his back, out of Mingyu's sight.

"NO SECRET GLANCES—OH MY GOD, I SAW THAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T SEE YOU TWO STARING AT EACH OTHER??? STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT NOW."

Wonwoo, grinning like a menace: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mingyu was this close to throwing himself off a cliff.

The moment Wonwoo got you alone in his apartment, there was no hesitation. The second the door clicked shut, his hands were already on you—warm, firm, desperate in a way that sent shivers up your spine. His fingers trailed along your waist, pulling you flush against him before he backed you up against the kitchen counter, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something dangerous—something hungry.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, voice low and rough, the heat of his breath fanning over your lips.

Before you could answer, his lips crashed onto yours, devouring, claiming, stealing every last ounce of air from your lungs. His hands roamed, fingers sliding down the curve of your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Your knees nearly buckled from the intensity, the sheer heat of it all, but Wonwoo held you firm, like he'd never let you go.

His lips trailed down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly until you whimpered—until he had you melting for him, hands gripping onto his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd fall apart.

"Wonwoo," you gasped when he suddenly hoisted you up onto the counter with ease, spreading your thighs so he could step between them, his hands sliding under your dress, fingers tracing the sensitive skin along the inside of your thighs.

You barely had time to react before he tilted your chin up with his fingers, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "Tell me to stop."

But you didn't. You couldn't. Instead, you pulled him in, kissing him with all the desperation you felt in your body.

He groaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and suddenly, the warmth of his hands was gone—but only so he could hook his fingers around your dress and unzip it, painfully slow.

The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist as Wonwoo's eyes darkened. His fingers traced down your bare skin, mapping out every inch of you, as if memorizing the way you shivered under his touch.

Then, in one swift motion, he lifted you off the counter with ease, his lips never leaving yours as he carried you through the apartment—straight to his neatly arranged bedroom.

You barely had time to take in your surroundings before Wonwoo pinned you onto the bed, hovering over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his eyes burning into yours.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he muttered against your lips before kissing you senseless— deep, slow, and thorough, like he was savoring every second.

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your collarbone, his hands exploring, teasing, making you squirm under his touch.

He was taking his time, driving you insane, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, teasing at the edge of your underwear, you let out a shaky breath.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded.

He smirked, dragging his lips back up to your ear. "Patience, princess."

But patience was the last thing on your mind when he finally, finally touched you.

The second his fingers slipped past the band of your underwear, featherlight but deliberate, you shivered beneath him. Wonwoo took his time, tracing along your soaked heat with the slightest pressure—just enough to make you tremble, but not enough to satisfy the aching need building in your core.

He was cruel like that.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low, deep, and intoxicating.

"Look at you..." he murmured, dragging a single finger down your slick folds before circling your entrance—just barely pushing in. "So wet already. Is this all for me?"

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

"Wonwoo, please—"

A sharp gasp left your lips when he suddenly pushed in one finger, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch before curling it just right, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you.

"Please what, baby?" His smirk was dangerous, his movements even more so as he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you, setting an excruciatingly slow rhythm that made you feel helplessly desperate.

Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking more, but Wonwoo only chuckled, his free hand pressing you down against the mattress.

"Needy little thing," he muttered before dipping down to kiss you again, swallowing every whimper, every broken moan as his fingers moved faster—deeper.

You were barely holding onto reality at this point. The heat, the pleasure, the way his voice sent shivers through your spine—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Then suddenly, he was gone.

You whined at the loss, blinking up at him in frustration, but Wonwoo only chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head—revealing his lean, toned body, his sharp jaw, his intense gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing he could see.

"Relax, baby," he whispered, crawling back over you, caging you in beneath him. "I'm not done with you yet."

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your chest, your stomach— his tongue and lips teasing, tasting, claiming every inch of your skin until you were gasping beneath him.

By the time he reached your soaked heat, you were already a mess—whimpering, squirming, aching for more.

And when he lowered his head between your thighs, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours just before his tongue flicked against your most sensitive spot—

You swore you saw stars.

The first stroke of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you, your fingers immediately tangling in his hair as he dragged the flat of his tongue along your soaked heat.

Wonwoo hummed at the taste, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still as he set a slow, torturous rhythm—kissing, licking, sucking—his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud before flicking against it in teasing little strokes that left you gasping for air.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to close around his head, but he only chuckled against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body.

"Already shaking, baby?" he murmured, lips brushing against your core, voice dripping with amusement and hunger. "Thought you wanted more?"

You barely had time to answer before his tongue plunged inside you, and that was it—your head fell back against the pillow, your back arching off the bed, your grip in his hair tightening as he ate you like he was starving.

Deep, slow strokes. Messy, wet kisses. His nose brushing against your clit just right.

It was filthy. It was heaven.

Wonwoo knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it so well it had you a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, your legs trembling as he took his sweet time ruining you.

The heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs twitching with every sinful movement of his mouth, until—

"Wonwoo—I'm—"

He didn't stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, one hand reaching up to lace his fingers with yours while the other pinned you down as you cried out, your orgasm crashing over you so hard your vision went white.

Your whole body tensed, shook, melted all at once as he licked you through it, riding out your high until you were twitching from oversensitivity.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips and chin glistening, looking up at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

"You taste so fucking good," he muttered, crawling back up, his body hot and solid against yours as he captured your lips in a messy, heated kiss—letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

And just when you thought you couldn't handle any more, you felt it.

The hard press of his cock against your thigh. Heavy. Hot. Desperate.

Wonwoo groaned against your lips, his hips grinding against you in slow, torturous drags.

"I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips, his voice wrecked with hunger, want, need.

He reached down, gripping himself, lining up against your still-throbbing heat—

"Tell me you want this."

His voice was gravelly, deep, wrecked, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

You exhaled, still dizzy, still trembling, but you knew exactly what you wanted.

"Wonwoo..." You cupped his face, brushing your lips against his, meeting his dark, burning gaze.

"I want you. All of you."

That was all he needed.

With a low, guttural groan, he pushed in—

The stretch of him had you gasping—a slow, deliberate push that filled you inch by inch, his cock dragging along your walls so deep, so hot that your nails dug into his shoulders.

Wonwoo groaned against your throat, his breath ragged as he stilled inside you for a moment—his fingers gripping your thighs tightly, almost trembling.

"Fuck—you're so tight, baby," he muttered, voice wrecked, strained, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he bottomed out.

The feeling was overwhelming. The stretch. The heat. The way his hips were pressed flush against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.

"You okay?" he whispered, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

You barely had time to answer before he rolled his hips, dragging himself out before pushing back in with a slow, deep thrust that had you moaning into his mouth.

And then he did it again. And again.

Slow. Deep. Hard.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you against him with every thrust, burying himself so deep you felt him everywhere.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, forehead pressed against yours as his pace quickened, the slow drag of his cock turning into harder, deeper strokes.

Your body arched beneath him, chasing the friction, your legs wrapping around his waist as you gasped, whimpered, moaned, nails raking down his back as he thrust into you harder.

The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, of breathless gasps, of desperate moans.

The pleasure built fast and hot, your body tightening around him, your thighs trembling as his movements turned desperate, hungry.

"Wonwoo—" you moaned his name, voice wrecked, needy, broken.

His pace stuttered at that—his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself deeper, faster, harder, hips snapping against yours in deep, punishing thrusts.

"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his hand slipping between your bodies, fingers pressing against your sensitive clit, rubbing tight, slow circles.

"Wonwoo—oh my god—"

The heat coiled tighter, your body tensing, trembling, shattering—

And then you were falling apart.

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body tightening around him as you cried out, gasping his name, trembling beneath him.

Wonwoo groaned, cursing under his breath, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, rougher as he chased his own high—until with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body shuddering as he came, moaning your name against your lips.

For a moment, the room was silent, heavy with heat, with breathless gasps, with the aftershocks of pleasure still running through both of you.

Then, slowly, he pulled out, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands still holding your body so close, so tight.

You were dazed, boneless, completely ruined.

And so was he.

Wonwoo chuckled, breathless, tucking your hair behind your ear as he smirked down at you.

"Think Mingyu's gonna kill me if he finds out?"

You groaned, shoving him playfully, but he only laughed, kissing you again, slower this time, softer.

"You're mine now, you know that, right?"

And with the way he was looking at you, you knew there was no going back.

The aftermath was warm, quiet, and dangerously comfortable. Wonwoo was still half on top of you, his body radiating heat, his breath slow and steady against your shoulder. His arm was firm around your waist, keeping you close, like he wasn't ready to let go.

"You good?" he murmured, his voice deep, low, still wrecked from what just happened.

You hummed, nuzzling closer, feeling the soft press of his lips against your forehead.

This was nice.

Too nice.

And then your phone vibrated.

Wonwoo groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Don't answer it."

But you had to. Because when you reached for it, Mingyu's name was staring back at you.

Shit.

You shot up so fast that Wonwoo barely had time to react before you were scrambling for your clothes, your heart pounding.

Wonwoo, still half-naked and looking so effortlessly wrecked, just lay there, watching you in pure amusement.

"Relax," he said, grinning like a menace. "He doesn't know you're here."

You shot him a glare, still clutching your phone like it was a ticking bomb.

"He will if I don't answer," you hissed, and before Wonwoo could make another smart remark, you swiped to pick up the call.

"Mingyu?"

"Where the hell are you?"

You froze. Shit.

Wonwoo was watching you closely now, eyes dark with amusement, but he didn't move—just propped himself up on one elbow, looking like sin itself.

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to sound normal. "I—I'm at the library."

Wonwoo bit his lip, shaking his head.

Liar.

"The library?" Mingyu sounded skeptical. "You never stay this late."

Think. Think.

"Uh, yeah, well—Wonwoo said he'd help me study," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

The silence on the other end was deafening.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

"Mingyu?" you tried again.

"You're with Wonwoo?"

Your stomach dropped.

Wonwoo, the absolute devil that he was, just grinned, running a hand through his messy hair like he wasn't literally in bed with you.

"You—" Mingyu let out a sharp exhale. "I swear to god, if that bastard tries anything—"

"Relax!" you cut in quickly, forcing out a laugh. "It's just studying."

Wonwoo snorted.

Mingyu sighed. "I don't trust him."

"Gee, thanks, Gyu," Wonwoo said loudly, just to be annoying.

You glared at him, mouthing 'shut up' before turning back to the call. "I'll be home soon, okay?"

Mingyu grumbled something under his breath but eventually let you go.

The moment you hung up, you turned to Wonwoo, scowling.

"You were not helpful."

Wonwoo only smirked, sitting up, the sheets sliding down his torso, revealing even more of his very distracting body.

"Studying, huh?" he teased.

You threw a pillow at him.

"Shut up."

Sneaking around was thrilling.

Maybe it was the risk of getting caught, or maybe it was the way Wonwoo would sneak touches when no one was looking—his fingers grazing your waist, his lips brushing your ear just to whisper the most unnecessary things.

But Mingyu was getting suspicious.

And Wonwoo? He was making it worse on purpose.

Like now.

You were sitting across from Mingyu at a café, trying to act normal, when Wonwoo slid into the seat beside you—so close that your knees bumped under the table.

"Gyu," he greeted casually, stealing a fry from Mingyu's plate.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Wonwoo just shrugged, unfazed. "Saw you two and thought I'd join."

Liar.

You knew for a fact that he had been waiting outside the whole time, texting you the filthiest things under the table, just to watch you squirm.

Now, he was acting innocent.

And he was way too close.

So close that you could feel the heat of his thigh against yours, the brush of his fingers as he reached for another fry.

Mingyu was still watching him suspiciously.

And then Wonwoo did it.

His hand, sneaky as hell, slid under the table.

Onto your thigh.

You froze.

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers pressed against your bare skin, teasing, stroking, inching higher.

You shot him a warning look, trying not to choke on your drink.

He only smirked, looking way too entertained.

Mingyu, completely unaware, was rambling about something—basketball? A movie? You weren't even listening. Because Wonwoo was dragging his fingers along the hem of your skirt, toying with it, barely slipping underneath.

You squeezed your legs shut, but it only trapped his hand there.

His gaze flickered to yours, dark, teasing.

'Relax,' his eyes seemed to say. 'Unless you want him to notice.'

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt.

Mingyu frowned. "Why do you look weird?"

Shit.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I—I don't?"

Mingyu narrowed his eyes.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, just chuckled and leaned back, finally pulling his hand away.

"You should eat more, princess," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your entire face burned.

And Mingyu? Oblivious.

For now.

Your voice was barely a whisper, heart pounding as you felt Wonwoo's breath against your ear.

"That's what makes it fun," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

This was dangerous. Reckless, even. But you couldn't stop yourself.

It started as a simple study session. Wonwoo had picked you up after hagwon, claiming he'd "help" you with your assignments.

Total bullshit.

Because now?

You were pressed up against the library bookshelf, the dim glow of the emergency exit light barely illuminating the mischief in his eyes.

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed over your jaw, slow, calculated. "You're so easy to mess with, princess."

You swallowed, trying to act indifferent, but your body betrayed you.

Because his hands were already on your waist, sneaking under your oversized hoodie, fingertips grazing your skin, making you shiver.

"Wonwoo," you warned, voice wobbly. "Someone might see—"

He kissed you.

Cut you off completely, swallowing any argument you might've had. It was deep, consuming, with just enough desperation to make your knees buckle.

And he knew.

He gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the shelves. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively.

His lips traveled down to your neck, kissing, sucking—leaving marks in places only he would see.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, earning a low groan from him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured against your skin, his voice sending heat straight to your core.

And then, his hand slipped under your skirt.

You gasped, back arching as he dragged his fingers along your soaked panties, teasing.

"Already wet for me?" he whispered, grinning when you squirmed in his grip.

"Wonwoo," you hissed.

"Shh," he hushed, lips finding yours again, muffling your soft whimpers. "Unless you want someone to catch us."

Fuck.

This was so, so wrong.

But god, it felt too good to stop.

His fingers moved against you, slow, deliberate, applying just enough pressure to make you tremble.

And then—

"Hello? Is someone there?"

A voice.

Somewhere in the library.

You froze.

Wonwoo, however?

He didn't stop.

His fingers kept moving, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clothed heat.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded, voice barely a breath.

He just smirked.

The footsteps got closer.

Your heart pounded as Wonwoo kissed you again, swallowing your gasps as he slipped his fingers past the fabric, stroking your bare heat.

And then—

The footsteps faded.

Whoever it was, they were gone.

And you were falling apart in Wonwoo's arms.

He didn't stop until your body was trembling, until your head fell against his shoulder, until you were gripping onto his sweater like it was the only thing grounding you.

And then, finally, he pulled back.

He grinned, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His fingers—still wet from you—slid up your thigh, leaving a teasing trail.

"You were so loud, princess," he whispered against your ear. "I almost thought you wanted to get caught."

FUCK.

---

There were no fancy words, no grand declarations.

But when Wonwoo loved, he showed it in every little thing he did.

It was the way he kept your water bottle filled when you were too busy studying. The way he brought you warm meals when you forgot to eat. The way he let you borrow his headphones, knowing you liked his playlists better than yours.

Even now, as he sat in his gaming chair, his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your bare thigh, pulling you closer onto his lap.

"You're too busy for me," you pouted, resting your chin on his shoulder as he adjusted his headset.

Wonwoo smirked, clicking a button on his keyboard. "I just spent two hours helping you study, princess. What do you mean?"

You huffed, nuzzling into his neck. "I mean, you're always playing games or working. I miss you."

His fingers paused on the keyboard.

A moment later, he let out a sigh and removed his headset, turning to face you.

"You're clingy," he teased, but the way his hands slid up your arms, the way his thumb brushed your cheek, said otherwise.

"You like it," you shot back.

He chuckled, pulling you in for a soft kiss. It was lazy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world for you.

Maybe he did.

Because after that, he turned off his PC.

You blinked. "You're done?"

"Yeah." He stood, effortlessly carrying you to the bed. "I'd rather spend time with you."

Your heart melted.

"But your game—"

"It's just a game," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're more important."

Fuck.

That did things to you.

You clung to him tighter, burying your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Wonwoo wasn't the type to say 'I love you' a hundred times a day.

But he showed it. In the way he adjusted your blanket at night. In the way he massaged your shoulders after a long study session. In the way he never let you walk on the side of the road.

And in moments like this, where he'd drop everything just to hold you.

"You don't need anything but me, right?" he whispered against your hair, voice warm, teasing.

You smiled, pulling him closer.

"Right."

You were curled up on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie that—surprise, surprise—smelled like Wonwoo. The weight of your laptop sat in your lap, screen glowing with the absolute horror that was your unfinished assignment.

Two thousand words. Due tomorrow. You had written ten.

A dramatic sigh left your lips as you flopped onto the cushions, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life.

Wonwoo, who had been watching you from his desk, barely glanced up from his monitor. "You're sulking."

"You're ignoring me," you shot back, hugging a pillow.

"I'm working," he replied, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice. "And you should be too."

You groaned into the fabric. "I can't. I have no motivation."

Finally, he turned his chair around, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he studied you. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—fond amusement, exasperation, love, all tangled into one.

"You're acting like a baby," he murmured, but the way he got up and walked toward you said otherwise.

And then—before you could process it—he was lifting your legs and settling himself between them, pulling you into his lap with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?" you stammered, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

"You don't have to ask, princess," he said, voice soft, low, knowing. "I already know what you need."

Your breath hitched.

And then his lips were on your forehead—one slow, lingering kiss.

Then another on your cheek.

Then your temple.

Then your nose.

The kind of kisses that weren't just physical, but something deeper. Like he was pouring everything he felt into them without saying a single word.

Your heart felt like it would burst.

"W-Wonwoo," you whispered again, but this time, it came out softer, more delicate.

"Mm?" He hummed, resting his chin on top of your head.

You swallowed. "You're distracting me."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Good."

You wanted to be mad, but how could you be?

Especially when he wrapped his arms around you tighter, rocking you slightly, like he was trying to comfort you without even realizing it.

Like you were his whole world.

---

Wonwoo didn't like extravagant gestures.

But spoiling you? That was different.

He'd do anything to make your life easier.

Which is why, when you walked into your apartment after a long day, you stopped in your tracks at the sight of takeout containers neatly placed on the table.

Your favorite food. From your favorite restaurant.

And beside them—a brand new necklace, delicate and subtle, but undeniably expensive.

You blinked.

"Wonwoo?"

From the couch, he looked up from his book. "Yeah?"

You pointed at the table. "What is this?"

"Food," he deadpanned. "And a gift."

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You had a long day."

Your heart faltered.

You took a slow step forward, staring at him. "Wonwoo, I told you not to keep buying me things."

"And I told you to stop acting like you don't love it," he murmured, flipping a page.

You huffed, but your face was already burning. "That's not the point!"

"You're so spoiled, you know that?" he said, tilting his head. "If I don't do this, you sulk."

"I do not."

"You do," he smirked, and before you could argue, he was standing up, taking slow steps toward you.

Your breath caught.

"You like being taken care of," he murmured, stopping just inches away. "And I like taking care of you."

Fuck.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, and his hands slid up your arms, featherlight, teasing.

"Mm?"

"You're not being fair."

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

"Neither are you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And just like that, you melted.

Wonwoo wasn't a morning person.

But when he woke up to the empty space beside him, his eyes narrowed instantly.

You were supposed to be asleep in his arms, tangled in his sheets, where he could keep you safe and warm.

Instead—

He blinked blearily, pushing the covers off. The faint glow from your laptop illuminated your silhouette, hunched over at the desk.

"Baby?" His voice was gravelly, hoarse from sleep.

You turned, blinking at him. "Did I wake you?"

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering between you and the glowing screen.

He didn't say anything. Just stood up, walked over, and gently closed your laptop.

You gasped. "Wonwoo, I need to finish—"

"Later," he murmured, voice low, commanding. Not angry, not strict. Just firm.

You opened your mouth to protest, but then—he was lifting you effortlessly, carrying you back to bed.

"W-Wait—"

"Shh," he whispered, tucking you back under the sheets before crawling in beside you.

Then his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest, his lips grazing your shoulder.

"Come back to bed," he murmured.

You shivered. "But—"

"You can finish in the morning," he whispered, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. "Just stay with me right now."

And really, how could you say no to that?

"You're exhausted. Just sleep, princess."

The dull ache in your shoulders was killing you.

It had been a long-ass day, and all you wanted to do was collapse.

But your laptop blinked back at you, merciless and taunting, deadlines creeping closer.

Wonwoo watched you silently from across the room, arms crossed, brows furrowed. You could feel his stare, heavy and knowing.

"You need to sleep," he finally murmured.

You didn't even look at him. "I'll sleep after this."

A beat of silence.

Then—before you could react—arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?! Put me down—!"

"No." Deadpan. Unbothered.

And just like that, you were in bed.

He pressed you into the pillows, throwing the blanket over you like tucking in a child.

"W-Wait—"

"You're exhausted," he muttered, climbing in beside you. "Just sleep, princess."

You tried to fight it. You really did.

But then—his arms tightened around you, his lips ghosted over your forehead, and his warmth melted into your body.

And suddenly... your eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

Damn him.

"Give me your bag, princess."

College was draining you.

You had just finished a three-hour lecture, your brain barely functioning, your bag heavy as hell.

And then—there he was.

Waiting outside, tall and gorgeous in a black hoodie and sweats, hands in his pockets, eyes softening the second he saw you.

Wonwoo, your personal chauffeur.

You sighed in relief, grateful for his presence alone.

Until—he took one look at your slouched shoulders and frowned.

"Give me your bag."

You blinked. "Huh?"

He nodded at your shoulder. "Your bag. Give it."

You clutched it instinctively. "It's not that heavy—"

Wonwoo didn't even let you finish.

He gently pried it from your grip, slinging it over his own shoulder like it weighed nothing.

"Wonwoo—"

"You looked tired, princess," he murmured, taking your hand. "Let me take care of you."

Your heart skipped a beat.

...Yeah. You weren't arguing with that.

"Sit still, princess. Let me take care of you."

You sighed in bliss, eyes fluttering shut as Wonwoo's fingers worked through your damp hair, massaging your scalp.

God, he was good at this.

His touch was gentle, slow, firm—soothing every little knot of tension you didn't even know you had.

"You're going to fall asleep," he murmured, amused.

"Mm," you hummed, barely awake, tilting your head into his hands.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're so easy to please."

You smiled, eyes still closed. "Only when it's you."

Wonwoo paused.

And then—you felt his lips on your neck, slow and deliberate, his voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl.

"I like the way that sounds, princess."

Shit.

Suddenly, you weren't sleepy anymore.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess, or I'll take you right here."

Wonwoo knew what he was doing.

The man had zero shame when it came to making you blush, and he thrived off of it.

Which is why—when you were in the middle of a crowded restaurant, surrounded by people—he had the audacity to run his hands up your thighs under the table.

Your breath hitched.

"W-Wonwoo—"

He smirked, taking a casual sip of his drink. "Something wrong, princess?"

You shot him a glare, but your face was burning.

"I hate you," you muttered under your breath.

"Liar," he whispered back, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin.

You gulped, shifting in your seat. "We're in public."

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess," he murmured, voice deep, teasing. "Or I'll take you right here."

Your breath caught.

And the worst part? You knew he meant it.

"I missed you, princess."

The night was quiet, the air cool, the city lights glowing softly through the window.

Wonwoo had been away for a few days—a work trip, nothing major—but God, you had missed him.

And apparently—he had missed you too.

Because the second he got back, he grabbed you by the waist, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face in your neck.

"You good?" you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He didn't answer.

Just... held you.

Long. Deep. Like he was soaking in your warmth, grounding himself in your presence.

And then, after a few moments—he whispered against your skin, voice low, hoarse.

"I missed you, princess."

Your heart melted.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. "I missed you too."

His arms tightened around you.

"I know."

"Stay close to me, princess."

Crowds were overwhelming.

Wonwoo didn't care about them much—he was good at blending into the background, unbothered.

But you? You were a whole different story. One talk with a stranger, you'd be friends with them almost too immediately.

Which is why—his arm was always around your waist, keeping you pressed firmly against him.

"Wonwoo, I can walk by myself, you know," you teased, looking up at him.

He just hummed, pulling you closer. "I know."

You rolled your eyes, but secretly?

You loved it.

Because as long as he was there, holding you like this, you never had to worry.

Not about getting lost.

Not about anything.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

a/n: aeya here ! BELATED HAPPY VALENTINE'S EVERYONE ! i hoped y'all like this because if you did, i already have the part two ready. it's march, and i hope this fanfiction will make up for the long stop i've been. i'm back to being a stranger ig, but hey, count this as a celebration for my 500+ followers. i love yall sm please never stop expressing yourselves from supporting me. also, I PROMISE i will eventually get to y'alls reqs because i love yall too much mwuahhh

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Can I request a scenario with Malleus encouraging f!reader touching his horns now that one of them is broken after seeing she's sad/hesitant about it but she used to do it a lot before? ♡♡♡Thank you love your blog♡♡♡

Malleus Draconia:

You had never hated Malleus.

You had never been afraid of him.

You were scared for him, scared that he would never see past his anguish, that the concept of losing someone dear to him would blind him to the reality of what he’s done. You felt like an intruder in this battle, watching those who grew up alongside him, who served him dutifully and who were fueled by the desperation to save him from himself, stand their ground best they could until a victor could be announced.

The partial loss of his horn was a sacrifice that had to be made, if it was either that or his life, your preference was clear. But the loss of his magic was a heavy hit, as was the emotional fallout from all the very upset students who had fallen under his sleeping spell. You can’t say you were mad, just exhausted, and endlessly relieved that in the end his family could stay together, no matter how each individual had changed over the course of this journey.

Malleus was hesitant to approach you, perhaps remembering that your dream consisted of a yearning to be by his side, yet he couldn’t give you the full attention he wanted while monitoring everyone else’s dreams. He had left you with just a copy of himself, which was why he was determined to seek you out in the waking world. You had greeted him with a smile, as strained as it might be, and he found himself wondering how you felt about him now. Worrying was a more accurate descriptor, but if he allowed himself to think on it too long, he would never find it in him to approach you.

He does notice when the conversation begins that your eyes drift to his horns, specifically the broken one that had brought an end to this unfortunate situation. You had always had a fondness for his horns, admiring them quietly in class when you could, and Malleus could never forget the look of awe (and mild embarrassment) when he had asked if you wanted to touch them. He knew humans were generally curious about such things and since you had been polite enough to not just grab at them like they were decorations, he figured you’d take him up on his offer.

“Would you like to touch them?” His tone is mildly playful and you’re brought back to several long months ago when he had first asked, the question making your face warm the same way it had before.

“I… It won’t hurt, would it?” You didn’t know the biology of his horns, or if there were nerve endings or something else that might cause discomfort.

Malleus just shook his head in response, leaning down to allow you access, praying that you would do it. Did you see him differently now? Was the broken horn a signifier that something else inside him was broken? He was afraid of the permanent damage he had done to your relationship, to you, and there would never be enough apologies to offer to truly make up for it. He just hoped you understood him, what it meant to touch a dragon’s horns, and that you were willing to see a future that involved you intertwined.

 Your hands are as gentle as they were the first time, and the many times after where he allowed you to touch him, fingers slowly tracing along the hardened surface of his horns. You don’t avoid the jagged areas where it’s broken off, familiarizing yourself with each bump and point until you finally pulled your hands away. You had felt his intense gaze on you the entire time, finally allowing your eyes to meet.

You gave him a smile, a genuine one, and while the path of forgiveness might be long, Malleus knew you’d walk alongside him until the very end.  

[clairerosetarot]

PICK A PIC: Your Future Spouses Favorite Part/Feature of You 18+ 💦

Hey guysss this was the most requested reading in my inbox, so here y’all go! :)) Also I forgot to add the cards I pulled and I forgot what they were after writing lmao pls bear wit me y’all. Anyways remember if it doesn’t apply let it fly 🪽 as this is a general and not personal reading.

Pile 1 🍒 Your future spouse is drawn to your confident and radiant energy! They love the way you carry yourself—there's something magnetic about your presence. The card reveals that they adore your sensuality and the way you move with grace. 💃💫 It’s your inner charm and the way you make them feel alive that is irresistible. They’ll always be enchanted by your vibe. Maybe you aren’t like this ow but trust- you will be when you become their wife🫣😂 🥺

You have what i’m hearing is like a celebrity vibe, and they can’t believe you- their so called celebrity crush😂 is giving them all this attention. When they imagine you, they can’t help but picture the feeling of your body against theirs—your hips swaying with confidence as you move towards them, the delicate touch of your fingertips tracing over their skin. ( they also love to watch you ride🎠🐎🤭) Every move you make, every flick of your hair, only adds to the overwhelming pull they feel. They love how every glance from you makes them feel like they’re the only one in the room, and they can’t stop thinking about the chemistry between you two. There’s no denying it: your presence is magnetic, and they can’t get enough of how effortlessly you captivate them. The way you make them feel so alive with just your presence leaves them hungering for more, always ready to experience the electric connection between you two, again and again. 💋🔥

Pile 2 🍉 In this pile, the card hints that your future spouse is captivated by your playful spirit. They love your smile and the way you laugh, which lights up any room. 😏😊 It's the little moments, like the twinkle in your eyes or the way you tease them with a wink. Your playful energy is something they find truly irresistible, keeping them coming back for more.

Your future spouse is absolutely entranced by the playful, yet deeply seductive energy you bring. There’s something about the way you smile, the way your lips curl into that flirty expression, that sends a rush of desire through them. 🤤 It’s not just your physical beauty that they adore, but the way you tease them with your playful energy, making every moment feel charged with sexual tension. I’m getting that this pile’s dynamic is very grumpy x sunshine were they are more stoic and reserved and you are this lovely ball of of sunshine awww. 🌈🥰 Your smile, your laugh, the way you make everything feel lighthearted and fun, drives them wild because they know there’s a much deeper, more passionate side to you that they can’t wait to experience. It’s almost like you’re a puzzle to them—beautiful, mysterious, and always keeping them wanting more. The way you catch their eye and hold that gaze, that slight smirk on your face, it’s like you’re daring them to take things further. And they just might take the bait everytime 🤭.

Pile 3 🍓 Here, the cards show they’re entranced by your touch. Whether it’s a soft caress or a lingering hand, your future spouse loves how you make them feel with even the smallest physical gestures. 🫶💋 They can’t get enough of your affection and feel completely connected when you touch them. It’s a bond that feels intimate, electric, and oh so sensual.

You trace along their body, exploring, teasing, and sending their senses into overdrive, leaves them yearning for more. They love the warmth of your skin against theirs, the way your bodies connect and create sparks with every touch. The intensity of your touch speaks volumes to them, making them feel things they’ve never felt before, as if you’re unlocking a new layer of desire that they didn’t even know existed. The simple act of your hands on their body drives them wild, and they can’t wait to feel that connection every time you’re close. They fantasize about feeling you trace your hands over them, each touch sending shivers down their spine and igniting a passion that only you can stir. Your touch makes them feel like they belong to you, that the bond between you two is deeper and more intimate than anything they’ve ever known. ❤️‍🔥🥺

They think about how your touch makes them feel so alive, how you can communicate everything without saying a word. Your hands on their body have the power to make them feel things they’ve never felt before, and they can’t wait to be touched by you again. They love the way you know just how to touch them, whether it’s with a light, teasing caress or a more possessive grip that leaves them breathless. Your touch brings them closer to you, and with every moment, they crave the feeling of your hands all over them, and theirs all over you. P.S. I’m also getting that they love your hair, maybe you have a lot, and it’s really curly and big or you just take good care of it with a luxurious routine, whatever it is - its got them hooked. 😂

Pile 4 🍰 In this pile, the cards reveals your future spouse’s deep admiration for your lips. They’re completely entranced by the way your lips move when you speak or smile, and they often find themselves daydreaming about your kisses. 😘💋 Whether it’s a gentle peck or a passionate embrace, or even more 😏 your lips are their favorite feature—an irresistible invitation they can’t resist.

Your future spouse is utterly captivated by your lips. There’s something so magnetic about the way your lips move, the way they curve into that smile or part slightly when you speak. Every time they look at your lips, they feel an overwhelming urge to kiss you, to feel the softness of your lips against theirs. They fantasize about your kisses—how they start slow and tender, exploring, before escalating into something deeper, more urgent. I’m also getting that after a long day at work all they can think about is you using those lips to get them off🫣🍭. The feeling of your lips on theirs is something they can’t get enough of, each kiss sending waves of desire through their entire body. Can somebody say oral fixation?!?! LOL.

[fizz-pop-thwip]

I struggle thinking about non consensual human experimentation as a whole, but what happened to Bucky really it does just make me sick.

To start, think of how his stomach dropped when he fell from the train, the fucking fear knowing you're dead. You have 2 seconds and then your dead, this is it.

Then you wake up to 1) being alive, horrifically unaware of the 70 years of hell ahead of you and 2) your arm being not only surgically removed but replaced with a metal arm, a foreign body, a parasite. You fight because what else are you ment to do? But you fall unconscious again.

You wake up to days and days of torment and torture and slowly loose hope that it will ever end, that you'll ever be saved. He didn't know that Steve was dead, how long did he yearn for Steve to find him? How mad did he get? Did he punch the wall, did he scream? Did they have to sedate him because of just how psychotic that made him? How fucking manic he would go?

How long till he lost all feeling, all emotion and hope?

When they started putting him in the chair, did he scream and cry? Did he beg for anything else? Any thing, anything, fucking anything. Did he beg for death? Did he feel himself slowly lose all of his memory, did he sob when he first couldn't picture Steve's face, or when he could remember the most important person in the world, but not a name or a background or a face, not a crumb.

The first time he's put in cryo freeze, does he remember his reflection? Seconds before he fell unconscious, never knowing how long it would be before he woke up again. Did he wake up, begging to just be put back in, the closest fate to death he could ever achieve? The closest thing to mercy? Does he catch himself falling asleep at night and wake up in tears, not even sure if it's been 20 minutes of 20 years.

Did his crys for help fall on the shiney leather shoes of scientists who showed no emotion, did he question if he was even human to begin with? Surely a human would be treated with even a fraction of care. No one treated like this was born from a mother, no one treated like this was ever looked at with maternal love.

He stopped feeling like a person, he didn't even remember he was a person. When things seeped though it just hurt, they hurt him, it made it worse. So he stopped it, he wouldn't let himself. It was impossible to live. He had no coping mechanisms, no outlet, he would show any signs of struggle and be hurt for showing humanity. He had to be what they wanted.

Even after he was broken in, no crying anymore. No begging for mercy. Did he spend his nights awake, just TRYING to remember what he forgot, FEELING the missing spots in his mind? Did he hold that metal arm close because he can't even remember how he got it anymore, all he knows is it makes his shoulders ache.

He was completely and utterly trapped, the more he suppressed, even the minor shards he remembered, the more mania he would experience.

Even once he's free, how do you come back from that, even if it was just a mental thing, the physical, real DAMAGE to his brain was enough to make him never heal again. Bucky is a walking fucking miracle and maybe THE survivor.

He is going to have memory problems, severly. He is going to have intense PTSD flashbacks, total hallucination level, breakdowns. Seriously, this level of trauma is NEVER leaving him, not fully. Phantom pains, endless nightmares, coping mechanisms that don't make sense but comfort him none the less.

He's going to have periods of times where he can't even stand being touched, not Steve, not anyone. Weeks where he can't shower or move out of a space his brain has deemed safe for fear of being hurt. Scratches at the seam between his flesh and the metal of arm, wanting it off, wanting it away from him. Again does it necessarily make sense logically? NO!! but does he feel it 100%? Yes!!

He gets better, his bad periods get less intense, more far in between but they never fully go away. As fuckimg depressing as it is, hydra made a permanent mark on his psyche. It's FUCKED.

Gods strongest soldier is Bucky Barnes.

[arkaiveofurown]

him as a boyfriend

Pairings: Sabo x Reader, Ace x Reader, Law x Reader

Word Count: ~2-3k per character

tags: fluff, established relationship

my masterlist here ♡

Sabo

Sabo leaned back against the wall of the ship, his arms crossed as you sat nearby, chatting with a crewmate. You could hear their voices, but they were just background noise as your mind wandered to Sabo. He caught you glancing at him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You alright?” he asked, always attuned to your moods, even without asking directly.

You nodded. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“About what?” he pressed, though the tone in his voice was soft, knowing not to push too much.

“I don’t know… just feels weird sometimes, you know? Being out here… so free.”

Sabo’s smile widened. “You should be. You’re free to do whatever you want. No one can control you, not now.”

You hesitated, remembering how different things were when you’d first met him, when he’d been bound by so many rules and expectations. “I just… never knew what it felt like to have this much freedom. You know, no one telling me what to do.”

Sabo nodded, his eyes intense as he looked at you. “I get that. Growing up with people telling me what to do, who to be… I never want that for you. You get to decide who you are. I’ll always support you, no matter what path you choose.”

His voice was steady, but you could tell that there was a deep yearning in him. A yearning to see you be exactly who you were, free from the shackles that once held him back.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who encourages you to be yourself, to live freely, because he understands how hard it is to be controlled.

——

You were talking with a few other crewmates about a recent accomplishment—a small victory that felt like a huge step forward for the Revolutionary Army. As you spoke, Sabo appeared from behind, standing silently by your side.

“I’m glad to see you getting the recognition you deserve,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with pride. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight.

You smiled at him, grateful for his steady presence. “It was a team effort,” you said modestly.

“No, it was your effort,” Sabo said firmly, turning toward you with a serious expression. “I’m proud of you. You’ve come so far, and I don’t think you even realize how much you’re capable of.”

He didn’t need to say more—his tone said everything. He never bragged about his own feats, but when it came to your accomplishments, he had no problem shouting from the rooftops. He wasn’t just proud of what you’d done; he was proud of who you were.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who always praises your achievements, no matter how big or small, because he knows you deserve to be recognized.

——

You had just gotten off the phone with a friend, your voice light and upbeat. When you hung up, you turned to Sabo, who was already watching you with a fond smile.

“You really don’t hang up on me like you do with everyone else,” you commented.

He gave a small laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t make me want to rush it. I like hearing you talk. I like… just being there with you. Even over the phone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You usually hang up on people as soon as they start talking about business.”

Sabo smirked. “Yeah, but with you, it’s different. I don’t mind hearing your voice. Even if you’re just rambling about something silly, it’s the best part of my day.”

There was a quiet sincerity in his words that made your heart warm. Sabo didn’t just love you because of your strengths; he loved the little things, like your voice, your thoughts, the way you saw the world.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who will never rush you off the phone, because he loves hearing you speak, no matter what you have to say.

——

You hadn’t been expecting to see Sabo for a while—he was off on a mission with the Revolutionary Army, and the last time you spoke, he had been vague about when he’d return. But one day, as you were sitting alone in your room, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps outside.

The door swung open, and there he was, looking like he hadn’t been gone for months instead of just a few weeks. His eyes scanned the room and landed on you instantly. “I knew it was you.”

You blinked. “What do you mean? I’m not wearing anything special.”

He grinned, walking in with that unmistakable swagger. “You think I can’t recognize you from a mile away? You’re wearing the same bracelet you always wear on your left wrist. I’ve memorized every little thing about you.”

You blinked again, surprised. “You really do pay attention, huh?”

“Of course I do,” he said, sitting beside you, the same soft smile playing on his lips. “How could I not? You’re my priority. Every little detail about you matters.”

It wasn’t just that he could pick out the smallest things—it was the way he made you feel so seen, so important.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the kind of guy who remembers every detail about you. Even if you’re in disguise or afar, he’ll still know it’s you, because he has memorized everything about the way you move, speak, and even what you wear.

——

No matter how tough things got, how dangerous their missions were, Sabo always made sure to smile at you in the most gentle, reassuring way. It was as if his smile alone could calm you even when the world felt chaotic.

One night, after a particularly intense argument with some of the crew over the next mission, you were walking alone on the deck, your mind spinning with frustration. You didn’t hear him approach until his shadow fell over you.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, a contrast to the loud voices that had filled the ship earlier. He stepped closer, offering you that signature, gentle smile.

“I know you’re upset,” he began, speaking with a calm confidence. “But I want you to know that you’ve got every right to be frustrated. You just have to believe that things will work out.”

You didn’t say anything, simply looking up at him, drawn to the warmth in his eyes. It was like everything else around you faded, and you were left with just his smile—soft, reassuring, and always present, no matter what.

Sabo’s hand found yours, a small gesture but one that spoke volumes. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.”

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who offers you that gentle smile in the hardest moments, the kind of smile that reminds you that, no matter what, he’s there for you.

——

You had heard rumors that Sabo would be returning soon, but you didn’t know exactly when. So, when you walked out onto the deck one morning and saw him standing there, his familiar blue coat fluttering in the wind, your heart skipped a beat.

He turned as he heard your footsteps, his eyes lighting up when he spotted you. A soft smile spread across his face as he took a step toward you, reaching for the vivre card tucked in his pocket, something that always made you feel safe—because it wasn’t just a card. It was his promise.

“I’m home,” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

You laughed, shaking your head, a rush of emotions flooding you. “You don’t even know how badly I missed you.”

Sabo’s smile didn’t fade as he stepped closer, pulling you into his arms. As he held you, you could feel the warmth of his embrace, the quiet reassurance in the way he touched you. “I missed you more than you know,” he murmured into your hair. “And you don’t have to worry, I’m always coming back to you. I keep your vivre card with me, so I know where you are, and I’ll always make sure you’re safe. No matter what happens, I’ll find you. It’s not even a question.”

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief as you wrapped your arms around him. No matter how many missions took him away from you, Sabo always made sure you knew that you were his priority. The distance, the battles—it didn’t matter. As long as he had your vivre card, he would always know where you were, and he’d always come back to you.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who keeps your vivre card close to his heart, making sure that your safety is his number one priority. No matter the distance or danger, he will always go to you.

——

The evening was calm. You and Sabo found a quiet place to sit, and despite everything happening in the world, for once, everything was perfect.

He leaned back, his legs stretched out in front of him, and glanced over at you. You caught him staring and smirked. “What is it?”

His eyes softened, the playful smirk from earlier now gone. “Just thinking. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like you.”

You gave him a side-eye. “Sabo, you don’t have to say that to be sweet.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean it. There’s no one else for me. I don’t care where this revolution takes us or what happens next—I just know that I’m not leaving you behind. You’re my future. And nothing’s going to change that.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. He was usually quiet, but when it came to matters of the heart, Sabo’s words always felt like a promise.

Sabo as a boyfriend is the one who makes a vow to stay with you, no matter the storm or the fire—the one who gives you a future in his heart.

——

Ace

“Ace,” you groaned, “why are you talking like that?”

He grinned down at you, chin propped on his hand, doing a terrible impression of a rich old noble. “My dearest, I do declare, the sun hath risen and so must we—lest the eggs be cold and the pirates be rowdy.”

You shoved a pillow in his face.

“I’m serious!” he said, muffled. “We mustn’t disappoint our crewmates, for they are in need of our stunning presence at breakfast!”

“Are you high on sea salt already?”

Ace burst out laughing, collapsing half on top of you. “Come on, that was a good one!”

You grumbled something into your pillow.

He poked your cheek. “Admit it. You smiled.”

You didn’t respond.

“You snorted. I heard it.”

“Did not.”

“I’m hilarious.”

And somehow, despite wanting sleep more than life itself, you were already laughing. Because it was impossible not to when he was like this—ridiculous and grinning and entirely too pleased with himself.

Ace as a boyfriend is the kind of idiot who performs a full comedy sketch at 6 a.m. just to hear you laugh before breakfast.

——

You were halfway through lunch when Ace stabbed the last piece of grilled fish off his plate. It was his favorite—the one Thatch made with extra spice, seared just right. He stared at it for a full second.

Then, silently, he slid it onto your plate.

You blinked. “…You’re giving that to me?”

He made a face like he was in deep spiritual agony. “Please appreciate the sacrifice.”

You snorted. “You sure?”

“No.” He shoved his chopsticks down dramatically. “But I love you, and this is how I prove it.”

“You could also say the words.”

“I just gave you my favorite food, what more do you want from me?!”

Ace as a boyfriend is the guy who eats like a wild animal—but still gives you the last bite like it’s the highest form of love. He won’t say it in big romantic speeches, but in the way he gives up his favorite things for you, you’ll always know where his heart is.

——

“So I was telling Haruta about your left hook,” Ace said, loud enough that the entire galley could hear. “Thing’s got range. Like a whole sea king’s tail!”

You groaned into your rice bowl. “Can you not brag about my punches to everyone?”

“Why not? It’s hot!”

Around you, crewmates started laughing. You heard Izo mutter, “Here he goes again,” while Jozu sighed into his drink.

Ace leaned across the table, grinning proudly. “You’re amazing. I just want people to know.”

“And if I want to lay low?”

“You started dating me. We passed ‘low-key’ like fifty ports ago.”

Ace as a boyfriend is someone who can’t shut up about you—and doesn’t want to. He’ll shout your name across the ocean if he thinks you did something cool. Even when it’s embarrassing, even when it’s loud, he’ll make sure the world knows he’s proud of you.

——

“You punched someone because they called me ‘dead weight’?!”

Ace looked totally unrepentant, knuckles scuffed and a grin spreading across his face. “They’re lucky I didn’t melt their boots to their ankles.”

“Ace, we’re not supposed to start fights over words!”

“Oh, right,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder as if nothing was wrong. “Next time, I’ll just accidentally sneeze and set their hair on fire.”

You glared at him.

“I love you,” he said simply, voice softening for just a second.

“And?”

“And no one gets to talk like that about the person who means everything to me.”

He paused, a flicker of something deeper flashing across his face. “I don’t like leaving people behind. Not when they matter. And you… you matter.” His eyes were fiery, but this time, the fire wasn’t about rage. It was about loyalty. “If someone tries to hurt you—if they try to put you down—I won’t back off. I won’t run away. You’re not alone in this, and I’m not gonna let anyone forget that.”

You tried to hold firm. You really did. But his arm tightened, heat rolling off his skin, and that stupid grin cracked your resolve right in two.

Ace as a boyfriend is the kind of man who defends your name like it’s the flag of his ship. He doesn’t just protect you—he honors you. Even your reputation is something sacred to him.

——

It was a quiet evening—rare. The sea was calm, the crew mellow, and Ace had convinced you to lie on the deck with him, watching the stars between drifting clouds.

You leaned into his chest, the slow thump of his heart grounding you.

“Y’know what I love about you?” he asked, voice surprisingly soft.

You smiled against his shirt. “My devastating charm?”

He chuckled. “That you’re just you. Doesn’t matter where you came from. Doesn’t matter who your family is or what you’ve done. You’re here. With me. That’s enough.”

You tilted your head to look up at him.

He met your eyes. No teasing. No grin. Just Ace—raw and honest.

“I’ve seen too many people judged for where they come from,” he said. “That’s never gonna be you. Not with me.”

Ace as a boyfriend is someone who loves you because of your soul, not your story. He doesn’t care who you were before, or what the world said about you—he sees who you are now.

——

That night, the sea turned colder. Not dangerous—but enough to make the whole crew bundle up. You curled tighter in your jacket, shivering despite yourself.

Then a warm hand slid into yours.

Ace tugged you close, resting your head against his chest as a soft wave of heat spilled from him—gentle, steady, safe.

He kissed the top of your head. “Better?”

“Mmm. You’re warm.”

He smirked. “That’s what I’m here for.”

You stayed like that, pressed to his heartbeat, the wind howling around you while his fire wrapped you up from the inside out.

Ace as a boyfriend is your shield against every cold night and every colder thought. When the world gets harsh, he wraps you in warmth—literal and emotional. With one touch, he melts away the chill.

——

The Moby Dick was quiet—rarest thing in the world. After a long battle and a long celebration, everyone had finally passed out. Ace had dragged you to the highest part of the deck, where the moon cut the sea into silver, and the stars looked close enough to catch.

He lay back with his arms behind his head. You curled into his side without needing to ask.

It was peaceful. And for once, Ace wasn’t running his mouth or teasing. He just watched the sky.

Then, out of nowhere, he said it. Low. Real.

“I never thought I’d get this.”

You glanced up. “Get what?”

He looked down at you like you were something sacred.

“This. You. Us. A crew that feels like home. A person who makes me want to stay.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going—like if he didn’t say it now, it might burn a hole in his chest.

“I used to think I wasn’t supposed to be here. That the world didn’t want me in it. But you…” He swallowed. “You make me feel like I matter. Like I’m me—not Roger’s kid, not a Whitebeard commander. Just Ace. Just yours.”

You didn’t speak. You just held him, fingers tangling in his hair, while his arms pulled you in like he never planned to let go.

The ocean moved quietly around you, the stars above, the fire in his chest, and that look in his eyes like he’d found his place at last.

Ace as a boyfriend is the one who finds his home in you—and makes damn sure you feel like you’ve got one in him, too.

——

Law

You were humming again.

Not a real song—just something you made up, wandering around the Polar Tang with a broom in hand, sweeping while swaying slightly to your own rhythm. It had no melody. No structure. Just something light and stupid and undeniably you.

From behind, you heard it.

A low, familiar “Tch.”

You turned, grinning. “Something to say, Captain?”

Law stood at the door to the observation room, arms crossed, expression carefully flat.

“You’re off-key.”

“Rude.”

“You’re sweeping the same spot for ten minutes.”

“Multitasking,” you said cheerfully, spinning the broom.

He exhaled slowly, as if your entire existence was testing his patience.

But he didn’t walk away.

You cocked your head. “You don’t actually hate it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say I liked it.”

“You haven’t moved.”

“…I was watching to make sure you didn’t fall on your face again.”

You grinned. “So you were watching.”

His lips twitched—barely—and he looked away, ears a little pink. “Tch.”

You stepped closer, broom tapping his foot. “You like my humming.”

He didn’t answer.

You bumped your shoulder into his. “You think it’s cute.”

He closed his eyes for a second, muttering something under his breath, then finally said, “It’s tolerable.”

You laughed. “That’s a huge compliment coming from you.”

He didn’t deny it. And when you resumed humming on your way down the hall, he stayed in the doorway a little longer—watching, listening, lips tugged in the faintest smile.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who secretly enjoys the little things about you—your bad humming, your quirks, your mess. He’ll roll his eyes and pretend it’s a nuisance, but deep down, he loves it more than he’ll ever admit.

——

“You skipped breakfast.”

His voice was calm, but the sharpness in it told you this wasn’t a casual observation.

You looked up from the mess table, caught mid-bite of an energy bar. “It’s fine, I wasn’t really—”

“Hungry? That’s not the point.”

Law sat across from you, setting a small tray down in front of you—your favorite warm soup, and a few cuts of fruit you were sure he’d stolen from the kitchen himself.

“You need proper food,” he said, tapping the tray. “You haven’t been sleeping well either.”

You blinked. “Are you tracking my habits or something?”

He didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

You stared.

He stared back.

“…You’re serious.”

“I’m a doctor,” he said smoothly, then paused. “And your boyfriend. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

You lowered your gaze to the soup, feeling your face heat as you quietly picked up the spoon. You didn’t need to say thank you—he already knew. This was his version of care: watching, remembering, fixing.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who will monitor your health better than any physician. He’ll prioritize your safety and well-being over anything else—even if you don’t realize you need it.

——

You were lounging in his office, legs up on the couch, half-dozing while he scribbled something at his desk. The scratching of his pen was the only sound—until it abruptly stopped.

“You know what’s insane?” Law said suddenly, eyes still on the page.

You blinked, looking up. “Hm?”

He didn’t even wait for you to answer. “That episode of Sora, Warrior of the Sea—the one where Germa 66 attacks the Vega Kingdom? Stealth Black phases through an entire wall of seastone-infused armor plating. It’s not physically possible, but they don’t explain it. Not once.”

You sat up a little, blinking. “…Wait, what?”

“And people always forget, but that was the first time Stealth Black used that mid-air cloak burst move. You can actually trace the evolution of it across three issues after that. See, the author was setting it up early, but everyone thinks it just came out of nowhere.”

He finally looked at you then—and froze.

You were just staring at him, mouth slightly open.

“What,” he said flatly, though his ears were already turning pink.

You blinked slowly. “Are you fanboying right now?”

Law narrowed his eyes. “It’s a narrative analysis.”

You grinned. “Law, you’re gushing.”

“I’m discussing the mechanics of a fictional battlefield maneuver,” he corrected, straightening his notes. “It has strategic value.”

“You just quoted a comic from memory.”

He muttered something under his breath and picked up his pen again, clearly trying to move on.

But you weren’t done.

“You like Stealth Black the most, don’t you?”

He didn’t look at you. “…No comment.”

“Is it because he’s broody and wears black?”

Still no eye contact. “Coincidence.”

“You’re blushing.”

He dropped his head into his hand with a groan. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You scooted over, nudging his arm. “No, I like this side of you. The soft, nerdy one who thinks cloaking technology is cool.”

“…It is cool.”

You laughed, and he glanced at you from under his bangs, the faintest smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who’ll accidentally let you see the dorky fanboy underneath the surgeon’s coat—and once he does, he’ll let you in on every secret obsession, because your love makes it safe to be exactly who he is.

——

Law wasn’t the type to loudly declare his feelings, nor was he one to give extravagant displays of affection. Instead, it was in the smallest gestures that you could see how much he cared. It was the way he always made sure you had a spot beside him during the quieter moments on the ship, how he’d prepare your favorite tea if you were feeling down, or how he’d bring you the rarest fruits from islands the crew visited—those little things that made all the difference.

One evening, as you sat on the deck, lost in thought, Law approached with a plate of sliced fruit.

“You’ve been distracted all day,” he remarked, handing it to you without fanfare. “Eat something. It’ll help.”

You looked up at him, taken aback by the thoughtfulness. “How did you know I was hungry?”

“I didn’t,” he said with a small smirk. “But I know you tend to forget to eat when you’re deep in thought.”

You chuckled softly and took the fruit, finding the quiet care in his actions oddly comforting. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was his way of showing affection.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of person who shows his love through small, practical gestures. He’s not loud about it, but every action he takes is meant to make your life a little easier, a little happier.

——

You’d seen Law in battle. You’d seen him command a crew, outwit warlords, hold his own against legends. But now, he was sitting beside you in his quarters, the lamplight warm on his skin as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

He didn’t look at you—he rarely did when he was being vulnerable—but he moved carefully, letting the fabric fall away to reveal the tattoos you’d traced only in glimpses.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “What?”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Touch them. If you want.”

It felt sacred—like he was letting you in to a place no one else got to see. You reached out, fingers brushing the inky black letters spelling out DEATH, the swirl of symbols running down his arms. Your fingers traced the contours of old scars and fresh tension.

“These aren’t just marks,” he said, eyes closed. “They’re everything I’ve survived. Everything I carry.”

You leaned in, brushing a kiss to the side of his throat. “And you let me carry them too.”

He nodded.

Law as a boyfriend is the one who lets you see every part of him—not just his body, but the weight behind the ink, the past he rarely speaks of. He trusts you enough to let you close, even to the pieces that hurt.

——

It was one of those rare quiet nights—no battle, no storm, no urgent detours. Just you and Law curled up on the couch in his quarters, a thin blanket over your legs, and a book you weren’t really reading anymore resting on your chest.

You glanced at him as he scribbled notes in the margin of a medical journal, brow furrowed, concentration absolute. Even now, with ink on his fingers and the room barely lit, he was so composed it was unfair.

“Law.”

He hummed, not looking up.

“Why do you love me?”

He paused mid-sentence.

You watched him blink once, then close the book without marking his page. When he finally looked at you, his expression wasn’t confused—it was serious, almost pained. Like the question itself tugged something loose inside his chest.

“Is that something you’re doubting?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. I just… wondered.”

He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was gathering his thoughts carefully.

“I don’t love you because of your strength, or because you’re clever, or kind, or good with people. All of those things are true,” he said quietly. “But if you lost them all tomorrow, I’d still feel the same.”

You felt your breath catch.

Law leaned back, watching your face like he was daring you to disagree. “I love you just because. No reason. No conditions. Just… you.”

You sat in stunned silence for a beat. Then, slowly, you reached for his hand.

He didn’t move away.

You rested your head against his shoulder, and he let out a breath, threading his fingers through yours.

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who doesn’t love you for what you give or do—he loves you just because. He doesn’t need a reason. You, in all your pieces, are more than enough.

——

You didn’t hear the door open at first—just the sound of his boots, slow and steady down the hall. The crew had said the mission might take days. Maybe weeks. You’d told yourself not to wait up.

But here you were anyway. Curled up on the couch in his quarters, half-asleep with a book pressed to your chest.

He stopped in the doorway, pausing like he always did when he first laid eyes on you after being gone too long.

“…I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your head lifted immediately. “Law.”

He walked in without another word, coat sliding off his shoulders, footsteps silent. He looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, blood still staining the edge of his sleeve. But his gaze was only on you.

You stood. “You’re hurt.”

“Already stitched.”

“You should rest—”

“I needed to see you first.”

You blinked as he reached you. His hand came up, cupping the back of your head like he was grounding himself. Forehead to yours, breath soft against your skin.

“I thought about you every moment I was gone,” he said. “Not because I was afraid of dying. But because the thought of not coming back to you…” He trailed off, voice lower now. Rougher.

Your fingers slid into the hem of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him, alive and whole and here.

“I don’t care how far I go,” he murmured, “how much blood I shed. I’ll always come back.”

“You promise?”

He looked at you then—really looked. Not just with his eyes, but with everything he’d never been able to say out loud until now.

“I live for you.”

Law as a boyfriend is the kind of man who never forgets to come back home to you. He lives for you.

[sleepy-fiction]

Gold Ring.

-sebastian solace x reader

2k words

syn: he was a married man, yet he forgets when he's with you.

tgs: fluff, sfw (read a/n), sappy, feel-good, comfort, genderless reader

A/N: guys NO hate to Zerum at all. I just liked the idea of sebastian having a wife but learning true love and self worth from you. This fic is fluff sfw, but there are very mild dirty descriptions used sometimes. MDNI

Predator eyes loom through the darkened abyss. Sweaty, slobbering, hungry for a quench. He can't fight it. He knew you before you met him. He's seen the way you huddle to yourself, the way you persisted in this hell, the way you crawl to him whenever you're scared. How you count down the floors until you can rest-- on him.

He was the first once to make a move.

You bargained to sleep in his little room, yet you laid rest so far away from him. He didn't understand the flithy, possessiveness that growled in his hungry belly. It sent a pissed shiver from the tops of his head that rattled down to his tail.

He remembers the flinch you made at the sight.

He knows that he shouldn't, but fuck he wanted you closer then. No, he wants you closer, all the time.

He never knew romance until he pulled you over to him, the way he wrapped his tail around you like a snake. The way he blew it off with his typical banter, but God help him, the way he remembers your sleeping form carrying a smile throughout your dreams. Content- about him.

Times with his wife were never like this. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such intense desire. He's kissed, held, and he's lpved on and received. It remembers how the saying goes. If you love them, then you'd let him go. He went without a fuss here, content with the idea of his wife enjoying their freedom. But God knows, the idea of you, some inmate who waltzed into his life, leaving? No, it couldn't happen.

It was the pining that eventually sold his fate.

The yearning.

He'd find rocks the colors of your eyes to collect, most likely debris scattered from all the grubby inmates swarming the place just so he could keep something of yours nearby. Whenever he heard the echoing sounds of footsteps, the crawling through his vents, he perfectly memorized your sound yet still found his heart beating in hope even when he knew it couldn't be you.

He had grown overly accustomed to your dynamic. How you acted in playful defiance but respected him and his boundaries so much. He's never met an expendable quite like you, one not pushy- touchy- or downright evil. Even in a group setting, as you sometimes venture into a teams. You're always batting those pretty little eyes at him, saying thank you and apologizing on their behalf.

You're overly aware of him. Scanning his face, always checking for his contentment.

It was cute. You were discreet like a mouse.

For some reason, you had some staring problem. Always gazing with those eyes. So full of admiration for the brutish monster he had become. Those glances certainly didn't help him. You had to be some freak to like someone like him the way he is now. What about him could ever be attractive?

Don't think he doesn't notice the way you fidget in embarrassment whenever he tucks his hair behind his ears.

You get all shy when he gets close. You get shy whenever he escalates your banter- albeit painfully teasing you- but still-- it affects you.

He affects you.

That's a sensation that makes him question his self worth, and your character.

If someone as good as you finds him lovely. Then is he really? Could he really be...

His three blue hands.

Could they ever be loveable again?

It's that question that finally makes all the symptoms that has been building over the months of you being here finally click.

God he's.

He's falling in love with you.

He swallows thick, unable to read the document before his eyes.

Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum

His heart races in his chest, his snaggle teeth gnawing against his lip, his eyes shutting impossibly shut. His hands fidget together, and the feeling of cold metal against (what used to be) his ring finger, and guilt swells in his belly.

He's in love with you. When all this time he was working hard to return to her.

He's in love with you. He heart yearns to leave with you and Painter.

He's in love with you. He doesn't feel the same about his wife. His identity is crumbling before his very soul, and it's terrifying.

His only anchor had been his wife the entire time.

His grip goes vice over his wedding ring. A ringing hiss, and a weeping cry flees his meekly throat.

He had a decent life. A woman who loved him.

But if this feeling he's feeling right now for you is love, then...

He shakes his head, his left hand slapping over his mouth, his right still coddling the ring on his smaller hand.

He can't.

He can't think that way.

In no magical universe will he ever get to have you. You'll leave here, he can see it now. It reflects in your eyes, it's this during gleam that no other expendable has.

He'll be left here to rot.

He needs to accept that and not get--

"Sebastian?"

His blood runs cold, his body jolting upright with a fury.

Fuck. He didn't even hear you enter.

A flashlight clicks, shinning at his belly.

He sees you.

You, who always calls his name so softly. So tenderly, full of respect and admiration. You who makes him feel like a person again. You who remembers things about him, you who points lights at his belly because you remember what hurts him.

He can't stop the tear that rolls out.

"Oh no," your voice dips heartbreaking soft as you set the flashlight down, "What's wrong, Sebastian?" You approach him slowly pausing in front of him with your palms up, asking with your body, with your eyes if you could touch him.

He laughs at you. The sound croaks in bittersweetness.

He leans down to your hands, resting his face in your palms. You're so warm, it makes his heart flutter. "It looks you've caught me at a bad time," he says sing-songly.

Your eyes are full of understanding, the way you smile. "Seems so," you say, brimming to see he was okay. You're giving him space, he hates how he begins to yearn.

He can't help it when you're like this.

Sebastian strains.

"Everyone needs to cry sometimes, especially in this place. I cry, too. A lot." You whisper.

But you're still smiling.

God.

He hates you.

He giggles. The sound is so out of character, so school-girlishly giddy. "Fuck," he grimaces as he burries his cheeks into your palm. He knows he cannot physically blush anymore, but he still feels the shame.

He's turning soft.

Soft for such an airhead.

He swallows nervously, looking up to peer into your eyes. You're admiring him again. Your shifty pupils drag up and down his features again and again and again like a broken record. Holding your lips agape, and sucking in swallow breathes, as if the faintest movement from every breathing too intensely would disrupt the view.

He can't take it.

His hands shoot out for you, one on your hip, the other around your waist, the final caressing your back. You squeak as he pulls you completely into him, your feet rising from the floor. You rest your head dazily on his shoulder, as he slithers onto the dark, farther away from your abandoned light.

When you finally stopped moving, you could feel a wall behind Sebastian, as you straddled a leg on each side of his tail, your knees against the floor.

"Sebastian? I can't see you," you whine.

"You don't need to look at me..." He hushes.

Your hands find his cheeks, they're all warmed up from you.

"I need to," you lean in closer, rubbing your nose against his nostril slits. His breath shudders.

"Pull it," He whispers.

You already know as you reach and pull his antenna. A dim warm light illuminates his face, and you smile contently.

Your hands parade through his hair, tucking the strands of his hair back away from his face on both sides; the way you've seen him do many times before.

You've forced him to admit it now.

He's something worth gawking at.

Even like this.

Embarrassment is a surprisingly delicious taste for his belly.

You slide back in his arms, as his hands lean back and fall to his side. All except for his right, which cups a healthy amount of your hip to keep you steady on his tail.

Now it's his turn to admire you.

"Hmm, pretty thing," He mumbles. His smaller hand reaches up your body, his gold ring flashing in the eyes of both of you.

He tenses.

You notice. Your hands rest on his shoulders as you lean in closer to him.

"Sebastian." You blink, empathy driving your veins.

He already knows.

"I used to have a wife. Long before... This happened to me," He whispers it to the air.

Now it's your turn to feel a deep pang in your heart. You know you shouldn't say it, but the words burst out, "Did you love her?"

You watch as a strained smile pulls at him, "N-Not... Not as much as..." He swallows abruptly, "yuh... Y-You."

It all clicks for you.

He's sad over guilt?

You giggle-- and it's almost as painfully giddy as the one he let out before. But it's not enough as thr giggle turns into a laugh. The sound is bright and refreshing to his ears, like rays of forlorn sunshine kissing him. He can't help the way his ears twitch in pure glee.

He'll drink up this sound forever.

"Little cheater," you giggle into his skin as you kiss his cheeks.

He's deeply affected by this! It's not funny!

"Hey." He can't seem to reprimand you, though. "Bastard," He hushes.

You break away finally. And before you could lean in to plant more kisses, his free hands are on you again. Trailing up your body, up your chest (with him seeming to slow down a bit for that part), then to your shoulders, to roll down to your lovely hands. Lovely hands that he moves to place on his meaty chest.

"Come here," he finally commands, and it's like your knees go weak. The two of you meet in the middle, your lips melting into one another like starved animals. The way you nip and howl in between fervent friction-- friction unknown tp you both since entering this hell hole.

His kisses are filled with longing, desire, full of shivers, full of breathy moans. Sensations that send waves of shivers down to the tips of his tail.

You pull apart to suck on his bottom lip, and with a grunt, Sebastian's mouth cracks open obediently. His large tongue rolls out of his mouth and deep into yours. It's stuffiness enough to make you choke if he wasn't so careful- and if the feeling wasn't so erotic.

Your little alien.

You caress his face all over, your fingertips finding his twitching ears. You pull apart with a hearty smack of the lips, a thin trail of saliva rolling out from you from his large tongue. He picks it up before it could fall to your chin, a satisfied hum from him.

You kiss his round jaw, thumbs caressing circles into his under eyes.

"I love you," Sebastian kisses it into your skin.

"I love you too," you sigh wholeheartedly. You lean in and kiss his tiny third eye, and he hums sing-songly.

Your arms slide around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his jaw, relaxing your body deep into him with a sigh.

You two were so peaceful. You barely noticed the sagging lethal drowsiness in your veins. You haven't slept in... Haven't slept in....

Snorrreeeee...

Sebastian laughs at you. You fell right asleep, just like that? His tail wraps around you like a snake, as his kisses make themselves known to your forehead.

"Goodnight, expendable..." He snickers.

And the gold ring slips from his finger.

To have a future with the benefit of you being there, it's more than just a dream come true.

You accepted him.

He can accept himself, too.

[81pastrys]

Alone Time

Summary— Mila wants a sibling but leaves no room for said sibling to be made

Warnings— smut ; soft sex ; pregnancy

A/N—I have 13 more in the works 🙂‍↕️

Oscar One Shots

Divider @bernardsbendystraws

Request— Heyy, I remember you saying you wanted more Oscar requests so here’s my idea/request. Do you think you could do Oscar and his wife trying to have some alone time 😏 but their daughter (or kid in general) keeps cockblocking them? And they have to resort to sending their kid to a grandparents or friends house for the night so they can actually be alone?

Oscar and his wife were trying for a second baby, but anytime they would start, little Mila would come in and interrupt them.

The first time was justifiable, there was a thunderstorm and she ran in scared. She was only 2, so the loud thunder probably scared her awake. They put her in the middle of them and she fell asleep, not waking up again until morning.

The second time was reasonable, maybe. She was showing signs of a slight sickness and Oscar could not pry her away, even though he promised his wife that they would go at it once she was in bed. Mila ended up in said bed with them and they just sighed.

The third time was absolutely unnecessary. To keep the toddler happy, they agreed she could sleep with them. No reasoning, just a tantrum at the idea they wouldn’t let her sleep with them in their bed.

Not that they had to have sex every night, but with Mila begging for a sibling and them never being able to get alone for 5 minutes to try, it got frustrating.

So, they planned a getaway and brought her to stay with her aunts and Mimi in Australia, while they went on a date and relaxed in a hotel room. Peace and fucking quiet finally.

“Hopefully one night will be enough?” She joked with him, pouring a glass of wine. “I love Mila so much, but she just never lets up.” She sighed.

“I love her too, but she is in that clingy stage huh?” Oscar agreed. Why were they even talking? They should both be naked by now. “We got a hotel and all we’re doing is complaining about our toddler.” Oscar laughed.

She scoffed and sipped her wine. “Well, if she wants a sibling, we better get to it.” She teased. She set the glass down and they got undressed hastily. Now they were desperate to finally have the alone time they yearned for.

There wasn’t much foreplay involved, considering they wanted to get straight to the point. Oscar sunk into her wet walls and they simultaneously moaned at the feeling. “I missed this.” Oscar whispered on her lips.

“Me too, now put a baby in me.” She whispered back. He smiled with her and began thrusting slowly. They enjoyed the dynamic of slow sex rather than rough sex.

The feeling of every vein, every inch, every thrust- it was perfect. They timed the trip within a fertile window so it would most likely work the way they wanted it to. “I can’t wait to see your pregnant belly again, you’re so beautiful.” He groaned. His hips stuttered at the thought of her pregnant again.

She moaned and he sped up his thrusts, both of them enjoying the steady pleasure. “Right there Osc.” She moaned when he angled perfectly at her g-spot, making her mind dizzy. He continued thrusting steadily into her and she finished first.

Her back arched and her legs shook with the intensity as he continued. He slowed to a pace he knew he could finish with and thrusted as deep as he could to spill all of his cum into her.

He stayed interlocked with her as they calmed down, making sure the one time would do the trick. She played with his hair as he laid on her chest. They cleaned up the mess made and went to sleep, cuddling each other without a toddler in between them.

They picked up Mila the next day and she was super excited to see them again even if it was just 24 hours. Oscar had a good laugh when his wife ended up pregnant again. “You think it’s a boy?” Oscar asked. She wasn’t even close to knowing.

“I don’t know, maybe ask your sisters.” She replied jokingly. They told Mila she was going to be a big sister and she was in shock.

“Mama has baby?” She asked. They nodded and Mila touched her belly. “Small baby.” She mumbled and kissed the skin gently.

Word Count: 667

Big sister Mila, I’m melting

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia

[ruesol]

Nanami implicitly reassures you when you find it hard to open up to him.

Notes: gn reader, self indulgent fluffy comfort.

“You don’t need to know my favorite coffee order, Kento,” you say as you kneel down to tie your shoelaces but your boyfriend’s grasp on your arm stops you. Nanami places your drink in your hand and kisses your forehead before bending down himself.

“I could’ve done that.” You giggle at Nanami’s determination to service you and push your post-work tension away. Your eyes catch the little wiry strands of white that sprout from his scalp and you run your fingers through his hair. “Why did you go out of your way to go to my favorite cafe? It’s on the other side of town,” you whine. “Now you’re all exhausted and on your knees.”

Nanami groans as he stands up, and you giggle when his knees crack, prompting him to throw you a glare before adjusting your beanie. “How was your day?”

“So, so. What about you?” you ask as you begin walking down the street.

“So, so? Tell me more. I didn’t come all the way here for you to stay silent,” your boyfriend reprimands as he follows up behind you.

“Come on, Ken. You can’t possibly be interested in what I did at work today.” Your laugh may sound boisterous, but if one listened closely, they’d know it was pained. Like you yearned for something you could never ask for out loud.

“I’m in love with you, therefore, I’m interested in everything you do. Even if it involves watching two ants walk in circles,” he says as he puts your free hand in his coat’s pocket. You raise your brows at him and then look away.

With a flushed face, and formerly swiped back hair now messily strewn on his forehead, Nanami grasps your hand tighter in his grip. “You get cold easily.”

“You noticed that?”

“I’ve noticed many things about you.”

You scoff, trying not to choke on your drink. Your past partners haven’t been the most…altruistic in nature. Usually, it was you bending backwards for them, trying to keep them happy so they wouldn’t get bored. Passion dwindles till there’s nothing but physical need.

And when that’s gone, there’s nothing but wishful thinking left. Something that leads the other person heading in another direction, perhaps to another lover who they can repeat the same cycle with.

“Yeah? Like what?” you joke, giving Nanami a sip of your drink to warm him up as well.

He grimaces at the taste, much too stark to his usual order, but he doesn’t say anything rude to you. Nor does he condescendingly comment on your peculiar taste in the songs you like to hum.

“You silently mouth words when you’re reading something in a loud place. Makes you concentrate better.”

Your face burns at the thought of him keeping an eye on even the crevices of your personality. How it shines through when you think you’re in your own world. “Sh-shut up. I think you just need an excuse to look at my lips.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you playfully chide as you look away from him, the sight of your boyfriend’s gaze much too intense for you to handle.

“You also grind your teeth when you’re tense. It even happens when you’re asleep,” Nanami diligently recounts. You already know this because he has offered you to meet his dentist many times, and had offered to help you out after doing research of his own.

“You like being kissed on your back, wrist, and the area below your ears.” The man answers like he’s giving an exam he had been preparing for his entire life. Much too sure and proud of himself for remembering his answers. “That’s my favorite fact about you.”

“Of course it is,” you chortle out.

Nanami stops in his tracks and pulls you back when you walk further. He grabs your face in both his hands and leans down, ice-cold-nose to another ice-cold nose. Your eyes can’t look anywhere but into his, and you melt when you see his gaze steadily become half-lidded.

And then you blurt it out.

“Why do you care so much?” Your pride couldn’t bring yourself to say the words ‘about me.’

“Because I want to. I love you and I’m your partner.”

“That’s so silly,” you whisper, lips almost brushing his when he leans down. Translation: love will wither. Respect lingers.

“Let me in. I want you, and I promise to set myself on fire if I ever make you feel like you’re not important.”

You chuckle at his promise and softly press your lips to his to seal the deal.

He knows you don’t want to talk about your past yet. Your relationship is still a little fresh, tender from the sudden confessions, still waiting to strengthen with the foundation of time. But he knows you’ll come around, especially now that he’s made you aware that he plans to stay longer than the near future.

[loganficsonly]

the cure

worst!logan x f!reader, 1.3k SUMMARY: logan thinks about his relationship with you, and with a past like his, he doesn't take things for granted. WARNINGS/TAGS: SMUT—minors do not interact!!!, pre-established relationship and consent, reader is younger (maybe mid-late 20s) but who isn't younger than logan?, somnophilia, slight angst, dirty talk, body worship?, emotions, mainly written in logan's pov AUTHOR'S NOTE: i appreciate every reblog, follow, reply, what have you—thank you so much for letting me know you enjoyed my fic! <3

The dull noise of construction wakes him up in the morning. That’s New York City for you.

At first he thinks that he’s late for work. The sounds of a pile driver hammering into the ground, the to-and-fro of cranes and thuds of materials remind him of the place he’s supposed to go to for money—because of course it doesn’t matter that you’re torn and spat out into this universe from another and saved the timeline from the threat of non-existence.

You still gotta pay rent.

But the warmth next to him makes him remember. His eyes, opened with alertness, soften at the sight of you. Under the sheets, asleep, though you’ve moved slightly to get closer to him. As if he were some kind of magnetic rock and you’re the one with a metal skeleton. 

That’s right, he’s taken the day off today. And so did you. A small lift in his lips at the memory of how you excitedly told him you got a day off to match his. 

“Can we spend it together?” you asked gingerly, as if you needed to.

As if you hadn’t shared his bed in the last six months.

His lashes flutter as he blinks, drinking in the sight of you lying next to him. The blanket rustles as he moves to his side, an arm moving over you, fingers gently brushing hair out of your face.

When Wade introduced you to him not long into his life on a new Earth, he could feel the old grinding of gears kicking into motion. Endlessly slow and grating after being on a standstill for god knows how long, but he felt it nonetheless. You spurred a dangerous something in him that sat motionless in the bottom of his blackened heart. 

You became an object of held-back affection.

It remained that way for a long time: pining, yearning, longing from afar. He was a wounded animal nursing old scars—you would always approach with caution, and he would mostly allow you, but never too close. The relationship felt like a dance. A little shy, careful not to push too far. You on your tip-toes, him with tense hands.

Somewhere along the way, neither of you could take that anymore. 

A cord snaps, and when he finally let you in, it was with the intensity of the sun. You surrendered willingly, welcoming the way he traps you—his hands down the curve of your spine and bottom, words whispered into your ear (“This is what you do to me, darling”), the marks he leaves all over your skin. 

He made you his in one night. Hasn’t stopped doing so, and it’s been six months. 

Where he first claimed you with passion and pleasure, you claim him with a rising tide. Yes, he knows he's been ensnared since day one, but your presence floods him little by little. The meals you cook for him every now and then. The smell of your favorite detergent. How he’d catch you humming absentmindedly in the shower.

He’s drowning in you and he still wants more.

And he hasn’t always freely admitted it. His past wouldn’t let him, clinging onto his limbs like chains of heated tar. A slave to shame.

He isn’t supposed to be here. How could someone like him be allowed this? Be given a pretty young thing to share his bed with, who coos comforting words and runs her fingers through his hair when he wakes from a bad dream, who is kind and patient, who’s seen the shattered pieces and still wants to be with him?

Voices in his head derided: animal, coward, murderer. You don’t deserve her—

You are always the one who chases those thoughts away. Even these days, when they resurface in smaller, less harmful ways, you dutifully stamp each little doubt dead.

The hand drifts to your cheek, thumb slowly stroking your skin, careful to not wake you up as hazel eyes continue to watch you. Your breathing is slow and even, fast asleep.

How did he get so fucking lucky? An angel in his bed, wearing his old T-shirt.

A familiar need rises in him at the sight of your slightly parted lips. His thumb moves to brush against the plush of it, admiring them, the touch warming the blood in his veins.

You were so good for him last night.

Hot memories flash in his mind’s eye, the replayed scenes making his body react. How you moaned against his shoulder as he was on top of you, wanting and failing to keep quiet. How he made you forget about keeping quiet. The slight shade of pink your ass took after a spanking while he took you from behind. God, that view of your naked back, an empty canvas for his mouth to paint with dark marks.

And then there was the thing you said right before you fell asleep—the agreement you had with him, the words that gave him permission to take you again come morning, whether you’re awake or otherwise.

He huffs, feeling the discomfort of his own arousal.

You murmur, perhaps from the slight jostle of the bed as he shifts to tower atop you. Maybe it’s the morning, the warmth of sleep still enveloping your bodies, the fact that you let him do this that loosens his lips as they kiss your jaw, then neck, then collarbone. 

“What’d I do to deserve you, sweetheart?” 

His voice low as hands snake up your shirt, exposing your stomach, then your breasts. He swallows at the sight of the hickeys littering your chest and ribs—he enjoyed leaving them, but seeing them the next day is something else.

Delight as he smells arousal pooling between your legs, finger teasing your naked core—smart girl, letting him take what he needs easily. His hot mouth is on a hardened nipple, sucking needily, on his elbow holding him up, his other hand busying itself between your legs. A small noise escapes you that makes him shiver.

“Sweet thing,” he rasps, “let me take care of you.”

And he does. 

Slipping out of slumber, you find yourself moaning, voice husky from sleep, eyelids fluttering to find him between your legs as he busies himself in worship. Your chest heaves, breath getting heavier as dream and reality begins to merge. Your hand moves to his hair and he groans—not realizing he’s been craving for you to touch him.

“Logan…”

There it is, the sound of his salvation. His name is a plea on your lips, mounting higher and turning into a drawn out whine when he makes you come on his tongue, thighs tensing at the sides of his head. He doesn’t stop, lapping at you, large calloused hands caressing shaky legs and the fat of your hips. 

“Taste so good f’me, honey,” he growls, mouth still affixed to your core. “Gonna make you feel so good, ‘kay?”

You come a second time with a high-pitched mewl not too long after, this time with two fingers curled inside you. 

When he finally sinks his inches in, cock stretching your walls, he watches your face. He always does. This time, your eyes meet his, slightly groggy, but pupils dilated—an unmistakable desire for him. One that he mirrors in hazel eyes gone dark.

Bottoming out in you, he groans, hand gripping your hip. 

“So fucking tight. Made for me, huh?”

You pant, clenching around him at the sound of his voice.

This. This is what heals his hurt.

Each drag and slam of his length inside you, a balm to the scars. 

“Ngh—ah—”

Your sweet sounds of pleasure chases the voices in his head away, as if they never existed in the first place, as if there was ever only you.

“You have any idea how goddamn beautiful you are like this?” Lips against your ear, body crowding yours, feeling his breath as he pounds into you harder. 

“Ah, Logan, please…”

Your voice calling his name in a breathless exhale is a drug that makes him feel alive again. Makes him want to live again.

Truth be told, you never needed to beg. He’d give you anything you ask for. 

[sanjisblackasswife]

𝕊𝕖𝕩 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞 (Geto and Gojo)

Ft. Geto and Gojo (Separate)

Blk!Fem Reader in Mind

CW: TWT LINKS,Not just SEX, but making love, kissing, touching, oral, established relationships, Gojo is warning of himself, Dom(?)Reader

Bad Summary: My opinion, I try not to include any FANON versions of them either. I want them both bad what can I say.

Gojo

It’s hesitant yet, intense.

A man like Gojo isn’t an easy person to be vulnerable with, but Satoru is different .

He makes light jokes to mask his internal feelings.

“Touchy, huh? You must have wanted me soooo bad.”

However your touches on his arms make his breath Hasen.

He’s a flirt, but somehow you managed to catch him at his quietest when you rub your fingers against his undercut, kissing his earlobe so gently and light he almost thought he had on infinity.

Satoru doesn’t have sex consistently. He can’t even remember the last time he had a moment of pleasure like this, so he’s eager, but catches himself not able to move the way he wants since his body betrays him every-time you land your lips on his.

Sex with Satoru is unbearable in the best way. Probably a night you’ll never forget, due to his ability of being talented in every aspect you can think of. His tongue knows exactly where to land. He has a slight obsession over your little clit as well. Soft and cold pink lips capturing it to suckle. If you mask your own moans for a second you can hear his moans of approval and smacks against your lower lips to taste more of you.

His noises are pornographic. Shameless as he pushes your knees to hit your chest while his huge warm hands to cup under your ass and use his thumbs to spread your lips apart and push his mouth further inside you.

He has an oral fixation only you (and candy) can accommodate so sex with him can be relentless. He doesn’t apologize for it either, regardless of the “M’sorry, baby.” He tend to mutter against your panting mouth once you’ve came twice.

Sex with Satoru is needy and close. Satoru has an additive personality. If he likes something he wears it out completely. He doesn’t know when to quit. Overstimulating himself and you in the process, without a care in the world, because he always gets what he wants. And if you’re what he wants. He’s going to keep you under him until he can’t anymore. It’s all about you for him right now and he needs you to know that while he’s speaking to you in your ear

Sex with Satoru is funny. Once he gets comfortable enough he uses his slick mouth not just to make you cum, but you make you giggle and blush . A few jokes about how much of a mess he made on your new sheets because you tasted too good. How your tits shake so cutely when you’re orgasming. He is just so vulgar.

He praises you. Almost to the point you want to tell him to shut the fuck up but you can’t get yourself to do so because that moment where he moans out your name when you clench down on him, sounds like music to your ears. It’s rasped and dragged out. He is so loud you can barely hear the bed creaking below you both.

His eye contact is intense. Satoru can’t stop himself from looking at you, and he doesn’t wanna creep you out by saying look at me so he keeps his eyes on your mouth and eyes until you realize what he is non verbally asking for while he is on top and inside you.

His slow kisses are what gets you yearning for more. The way how silky slick and smooth his tongue collides with yours, make you whimper every once in a while, and the beautiful noises go straight to his dick (un)fortunately.

Sex with him ends with you both in the bath giggling and smacking on something sweet while he hand feeds you. You feel a few kisses on your forehead and a couple “Felt so good.” Under his breath. Hes stroking your ego without even realizing it.

Sex ends with you holding him. It kind of occurs when he places you on the bed (naked) and fake yawns to lay all over your body, saying he’s your blanket for the night.

You could complain but why would you? He looked finally at peace laid in between you breast.

Geto

Sex with Suguru is memorable and exciting.

He is so careful with his touches, he tends to laugh when you scoff to rush him to move faster, but it’s all apart of his plan to break you down (lovingly ofc)

Foreplay with Suguru isn’t just that night. It’s in the morning when he kisses you slow and caresses your ass against the kitchen counter before he heads out

It’s in the afternoon when he sends you post workout pictures with his pants DANGEROUSLY low to his hips.

It’s that evening when he cooks for you with sweats and his hair down just how you like. Licking his lips as you taste test the food he made on his finger.

Sex with Suguru is full of embarrassment. The man is very big. His cocky smirk looking down at you while he pinches your nipples. Pointing out how hard they’ve gotten after just kissing them.

Sex with Suguru is, overwhelming, his natural scent is intoxicating, his silky hair dragging all over your torso while he licks you down from your neck to your clit makes your spine shiver. He always manages to savor and take his time with you. Fingering you with straight eye contact and words of affirmation of how well you’re behaving for him before he sucks on your pussy.

Suguru knows what he’s doing, he knows what makes you needy, irritable, and even more horny to his liking and silly you, don’t even have a clue(?).

His whole body is so surprisingly soft and yet hard. His chest so squeezable that when you take the chance to actually suck his nipple he lets out the prettiest noise you ever heard. Who knew he was so sensitive there?

Sex with Suguru is messy. The spit, sweat, and cum sprayed all over your both. You don’t even bat an eye after he cums inside you just to go back down on you to taste himself between your legs. All you’re doing is admiring how pretty he is. Cheeks pink, eyes low lidded. You bite your lips when he catches you staring and winks at you while he holds your legs back

Kisses kisses and more kisses. All you need to do in the bed with Suguru is lay back, moan his name, and kiss him. Even if you’re breathless he will be the one to take the wind away from your lungs if needed be.

Sex with Suguru is reassuring.He doesn’t allow you to ever feel anything, but loved and secured that he only and ever wants you. Not just in sex, but his life. His purple eyes stare you lovingly when you cum for him. You’re the most beautiful being in the world and he’ll remind you of it every chance he gets.

Sex with Suguru is so teasing. Allowing all that pressure build up just for him to stop and wonder his attention to another part of your body. About to cum on his finger? Can’t. He wants to suck on your breast. About to cum on his dick? Well now he wants to slow down and give you a kiss knowing he can just do both. Little do you know he’s edging himself more than you.

After sex with Suguru is like a slip of the switch. Brushing ur hair back and telling you to match his breathing style to calm down.

“There you go baby just like that breathe in and out..good girl.”

After Sex with Suguru leads to more pleasure for you. He just can’t quit. He isn’t sorry for it either. Just lay on your belly and let him do what he calls “cleaning you up.

After sex with him is like being turned into a princess. A carry to the toilet while he wipes your face with a cool damp towel. You don’t need to lift a finger and if you don’t tell him no already he’d wipe your ass for you.

After a shared shower He holds you in bed while giving your back a small rub. You feels so safe in his large arms. Hearing his heart beat in your ear was its own white noise that lead you to fall asleep. And you can, because he isn’t going anywhere in the morning.

[ka1rin]

“I need you, meine liebe.”

michael kaiser x fem!reader

m-dni! - mutual m*sturbation / phone s*x / uncensored words.

Michael Kaiser, your loving, caring boyfriend who feels like a dream come true. He spoils you with everything you could ever want: Birkin bags in every color, plushies so soft they feel like clouds, bouquets of your favorite flowers delivered just because, and even surprises that leave you speechless.

He knows all your favorite things , the little quirks that make you happy. He remembers how your eyes light up at limited-edition collectibles or how your heart melts at handwritten notes hidden in unexpected places.

But there’s one thing he rarely gives you, no matter how much you crave it. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t.

Kaiser is a busy man — an athlete with a demanding schedule. There are nights when he gets home so late that you’re already fast asleep, and days when he has to travel to faraway places for games. Despite this, he never fails to make you happy, even during the rough patches in your relationship.

Whether it’s a heartfelt call, thoughtful gifts, or handwritten letters, he always finds a way to remind you how much he cares. But there’s one need that can’t be fulfilled through calls, gifts, or letters alone.

While Kaiser was far away — in Japan, specifically, for a few months training for an important tournament he still found time to call you. His voice, warm and familiar, filled the lonely silence of your room as you answered, the time difference making it either early morning or late at night for one of you.

"Hey," he said, his tone soft but tinged with a certain breathiness. You could tell he was exhausted, likely from his intense games.

"Micha, why’d you call?" you asked, curious. You were certain it was late in Japan. "You must be tired from playing. I saw your game against Manshine. You were amazing, as always."

A low, tired chuckle came through the receiver. "Mhm, thank you, liebe," he replied, his voice unsteady, as though he was preoccupied with something.

"It’s late there, Micha. You should sleep," you said gently, concern softening your tone.

"Y-yeah, it is. I—" He paused, and you could hear his uneven breathing, the sound oddly labored. You frowned slightly, your thoughts running wild with worry.

And then, a strained whimper slipped from him, one that made your stomach twist in confusion.

"Micha? Are you okay?"

He groaned softly; the noise unmistakably needy. "I miss y-you so fuuucking badly," he finally confessed, his words shaky and raw.

The line went quiet for a beat, except for his faint whines and sharp intakes of breath. That’s when you realized—this wasn’t just about being tired. He was yearning for you, aching in a way that distance couldn’t ease. You could almost picture him, running a hand through his messy hair, his lips parted as he wrestled with his longing for you.

"Micha, what are you doing?" you asked, your voice now laced with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"Thinking about you," he admitted, his tone dropping into something deeper, a little rougher. "It’s so hard not to, liebe. I need you so much right now."

That’s when it hit you — he needed you so badly, and you needed him just as much.

"P-please, keep talking, meine Liebe. I need to hear your voice sooo fucking badly," he said, his voice dripping with desperation.

A shiver ran down your spine at the raw longing in his tone. You felt the heat pooling between your thighs, and your breath hitched. You needed to be touched — so badly it almost hurt.

Your hand instinctively started to trail downward, crawling its way to your wet core, seeking the relief you craved.

"M-Micha... mhm— I miss you too, my love," you whispered, your voice trembling as your hand worked its way lower. You couldn’t help yourself, touching where you needed it most.

Through the phone, you could hear his soft, breathy moans, and it sent a jolt of heat through you. Fuck, it turned you on so badly.

"F-fuck… I wish it was your hand stroking me right now, r-rather than mine," Kaiser groaned, his voice breaking with desperation. "S-shit—"

Your breath hitched as he turned on his camera, the screen filling with the sight of his toned chest glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, his head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Oh fuck, you thought, biting your lip. He looked so unbearably hot.

The sound of his labored breathing spurred you on, and your hand moved faster, drawing louder, needier moans from your lips.

Then, with a shaky hand, Kaiser switched the camera to the back view. Your eyes widened as the screen revealed his large, throbbing cock, his hand moving up and down its length in perfect rhythm. The pretty rose tattoo on his wrist flexed with every stroke, making the sight even more intoxicating.

"M-Micha, I'm so close... Fuck!" you moan, your voice trembling as the heat in your core builds to an unbearable peak. Your body arches instinctively, each wave of pleasure pulling you closer to the edge. The tension coils tighter and tighter, your breaths coming in short, desperate pants as you feel your release rapidly approaching.

"I-I'm so close too, baby-oh, shit!" he groaned, voice thick with desperation. His hand worked faster, the slick glide of his strokes emphasizing his urgency. Pre-cum glistened at his tip, dripping steadily as his cock twitched, every pulse a telltale sign of how close he was. His breathing grew ragged, each gasp and moan echoing the intensity building between you.

Then, suddenly, a wave of pleasure crashes over both of you, leaving you breathless. "Micha!" you cry out, your voice mixing with his. "Y/N-fuck!" he groans, his head tipping back as his body trembles. Your pussy clenches as your release washes over you, a creamy white liquid spilling out and dripping down.

On the screen, you see his cock twitching, thick spurts of cum spilling from his tip, coating his hand as he continues to stroke himself slowly, riding out his high.

"F-fuck... I really missed you, Micha," you murmur, your voice soft but still shaky.

"Mhm—I miss you even more, liebe," he replies, his tone low and possessive.

"'l’ll make sure to fuck you real badly when I get home. I promise" His words send another wave of heat coursing through your body, making you ache for him even more.

he better keep his promise ;)

(note: I did not proofread this)

[tacticalprincess]

ok ok but imagine being simon’s gf and könig just being so infatuated with u :( he likes you so so much, believes you deserve better than simon and just pines after you ^_^

very im on fire of him

könig’s never been one to be discreet about his feelings, especially toward you. he doesn’t owe simon anything, much less loyalty. his crush has become an inside joke amongst the crew, has gotten dirty looks thrown at him by simon too many times to count for being just slightly too touchy to be friendly, too intense in his yearning. tuning in intently whenever you talk, doing small favors for you whenever he gets the chance, asks after you when you’re gone. too close for comfort, oughta get himself in trouble, simon says.

its hard to ignore a stare that burns a hole in the side of your head, weighted like a caress on all the exposed parts of your body. könig gets some sort of satisfaction out of watching you squirm under his intense gaze, eyes trained on you most of the time he’s around, because at least he makes you feel something. he wishes to sliver underneath your skin and infiltrate your thoughts just as you’ve done to him, sending his emotions into haywire just by way of existing. smiling at him so brightly, extending a fraction of the warmth and kindness that comes naturally to you, craves it when he’s alone at night. your boyfriend can’t blame him.

simon’s weird, quiet teammate, helplessly infatuated with you, his too cute, too sweet, too soft girlfriend. could only dream of experiencing the parts of you that are exclusively for simon — wonders how someone like you even ended up with a man like him. looking far too out of place under his tattooed arm, bottom lip tucked between pearly teeth bashfully while he chats to the group of guys in typical boyish manner. the occasional ducks of his head to kiss your forehead when he remembers you’re there is not enough attention showed to such a pretty, doting thing like you, in könig’s humble opinion. it’s not even that he believes he’s better than him, but a selfish part of him would rather you end up in his calloused hands than anyone elses. his mind strays the longer he observes you, imagines all the ways he’d treat you better, take care of you like you deserve. would’ve probably already proposed to you by now given the chance. you might seem happy enough, but that doesn’t stop him from searching for cracks in the polished porcelain. always waiting for a spot to slip in.

he finally gets you alone one night, finds you where you wandered off into price’s basement to fetch more beer. coming behind you to grab the case from your delicate hands like lifting a feather off the ground.

“boyfriend not here to do this for you?”

after you regain your composure from the startle, you scoff, peering up at könig through your lashes. “just thought i’d do something nice for him.”

“sweet. does he always allow you to do a man’s job?” sarcasm bites at his words.

“allow me—?”

“do you think he even noticed your absence, maus?” he presses a bit harder, his face holding the same indifference it always does under his mask, tone flat around his accent. “as i did?”

his eyes search yours for a second, looking for any sign of reciprocation for his feelings, and somehow you can tell he knows you don’t know how to respond. as a show of mercy, he steps to the side to let you squeeze past his frame and up the stairs leading back inside the house, heavy footsteps following slowly behind. he watches as you so easily slip back into simon’s side, how his arm finds its home around your shoulders without effort. concern knits your boyfriend’s eyebrows together as he leans down to peck your lips, never breaking eye contact with könig over your shoulder, a petty display of ownership. he watches.

[goreandbunnies]

❝ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛!𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺

Inspired by @sweetlandspos ‘s fanart ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Dealer!Sukuna who locks the door the second he walks in his bedroom. He doesn’t want anyone to interrupt. He finally got you to himself, he’s not letting anyone ruin this moment. 

The only sources of light in his bedroom come from red lava lamps and his computer screen playing softer music in the background. Much better than the noise downstairs. 

You don’t really care about it at the moment. Because once the door is locked and you’re alone with the devil, his mouth crashes on yours again. You kiss him back - hard and just as passionately. You wish he had a shirt on still to have something to hold onto instead of his bare skin, but on the other hand, you’re getting addicted to feeling his warmth. 

You swallow his moans, drunk on the feeling of seeing him responding to every single touch. You grow bolder, burying your hands in his pink hair, tugging at the strands. Your body reacts to his, to his voice, the way his black painted nails leave scratches on your ass.  

Dealer!Sukuna who brings you over to his bed and settles down with you in his lap, straddling him. He keeps kissing you like you’re his oxygen. He feels like a fever dream - his mouth, his hands, his bare skin - he’s on fire and the fact that it’s you who makes him like this only turns you on even more. 

You can barely catch your breath, he keeps coming back for more, his hands roaming your body gently, as if he’s afraid you’d break in his hands. You won’t. You’d much rather melt in a puddle at his feet. 

Dealer!Sukuna is still hard as a rock, desperate to bury himself inside you. But he doesn’t want to rush. No, he’s planning on keeping you in his bed all night. Or at least he’s hoping to. 

Soon enough, your top is on the floor, followed by your bra. Someone knocks on the door. You and Sukuna ignore it. His big hands cover your breasts, fondling them as his thumb brushes over your nipples, causing you to shake uncontrollably. 

Your back arches slightly, you’re hanging onto his shoulders. He takes this as a hint and lowers his face to take one of your nipples in his mouth. 

“Sukuna…” you moan his name repeatedly, like an unholy prayer. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be with him. But being here with him is the first thing to make you feel in control, alive. For the first time, you know the void inside you will be filled, the loneliness crushed into smithereens, replaced with Sukuna’s intensity and warmth. 

Someone is still banging at the door, so he decides to bite down on your nipple, earning a loud cry from you. His mouth travels to your other nipple and does the same, sharp teeth digging into the tender flesh. You cry out again, unable to be silent. Eventually, the knocking stops, you glance down at Sukuna who’s gloating, the side of his face pressed against your chest. 

Dealer!Sukuna fucking adores it. He knows you’re too good for him, out of his league. Yet you chose to be here with him. You’re moaning his name. He’s the one making you feel this good. And he has no intention to stop there. His mouth captures one of your nipples again. 

Once he’s satisfied, at least for now, he lets go of your nipple with a pop, but he isn’t done with you yet, his lips kiss their way up back to yours, stealing your breath away once more. 

“Let me taste you again, y/n,” he breathes against your mouth. You look at him, a little surprised. His gaze softens ever so slightly. “Please, I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” his brows furrow slightly, you didn’t know he’d be like that with you. Gentle, sweet… yearning. 

You lean in and place kisses on the side of his neck, taunting him a little since he’s so graciously giving you the upper hand. His fingers find the zipper of your skirt but you tap his hand away and shake your head. 

“Leave it on,” you’re panting already. You haven’t even given him the green light but you remember how his mouth felt on your wet folds. You don’t want him to hold back. 

“Look at you, princess,” he purrs as he tosses you on the bed, understanding your silent plea. “I have such a bad influence on you already,” his hands reach out under your skirt and yank off your panties - he puts them in his jeans’ pocket. 

“Nah, I could never be that perverted,” you tease back, feigning innocence. Which drives Dealer!Sukuna wild. 

His face is buried against your pussy before you even realize it. He laps up the mess he caused, loudly, sucking on your clit so hard it hurts so damn good. You grab his hair with both hands, grinding against his face, chasing your orgasm. You want it badly. You want him even more. 

You’re getting closer and closer to the edge, your body tensing up, knowing it’s about to shatter into a million pieces, all thanks to him. 

“Kuna- god… I’m so close, please…” you beg, climax building up and almost within reach-

Dealer!Sukuna who grabs both of your wrists and pulls your hands to your sides, pinning them to the bed as he looks up at you. His mouth glistens with your arousal. Your hips are still grinding, against nothing since he’s sitting up and getting on top of you. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, unbuttons his pants again with the other. 

Dealer!Sukuna who wanted to take his time ends up in a hurry to be inside you. Hearing your moans and cries almost drove him to the edge without having to touch himself. At this point, he’s convinced you’re some kind of siren sent to seduce him and drive him crazy. 

“You’re on birth control, yeah?” He pants, sliding his pants and boxers off. You can barely see how big he is - but you feel it once he positions himself on top of you, his hard length resting on your lower belly between your bodies. “Cause I need to feel you cum on my cock, baby,” he presses his forehead to yours and you nod. Of course you do. 

You’re on birth control. And somehow, you trust him. 

Dealer!Sukuna who fucking whimpers against your neck when he slides inside you for the first time with ease. He’s like a teenager again. It feels a first time though. He’s never been stupid enough not to wear protection with the other girls. And right now? He’s feeling everything. 

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he grunts, taking his sweet time, moving his hips at the slowest pace to feel you entirely. It’s taking him everything not to pound in and out of you. He doesn’t want to scare you away. 

You’ve never felt this way either. He’s too much and not enough at the same time. He’s everywhere, inside and out, placing kisses and biting your shoulder while maintaining his torturous pace. Frustrated and desperate, you struggle to free your hands.

“Let me touch you,” you beg, torn between the pleasure and the frustration. 

He accepts, letting go of your wrists, allowing you to place your hands on his muscular back. 

“Leave marks on me, princess. Draw blood if you want to,” he says, out of breath before devouring your mouth and eventually giving you exactly what you want. 

His hips pick up the pace until you’re forced to dig your nails into his back, your legs wrapped around him tightly. Your cheeks are burning, even more so when he licks your neck, his pink hair tickling your face. 

“How the fuck do you smell so good?” He asks but you know he’s not expecting any other answer but more moaning from you. 

At this point, your throat is sore from the animalistic noises he gets out of you. You’re about to climax and lose your mind at the same time when he changes positions, sitting back, while keeping you on the bed, ankles over his shoulders. That way, he’s able to see all of you come undone. 

“Alright, baby,” he reaches down where the both of you connect and places his thumb on your clit while he’s still pounding in and out of you, the sound of his hips against you filling the room. “You can cum now, and don’t you fucking dare be quiet about it,” his finger starts rubbing and it doesn’t take you ten seconds to eventually do as you’re told. 

When the climax hits you - it’s hard. A brutal tidal wave. And loud, just as he wanted. Your entire body comes alive in a wave of warmth and pleasure like never before. That doesn’t make him stop though, he only slows down, letting you enjoy the orgasm but keeps building the next one. You’re overstimulated and panting, still on cloud nine - but he’s not done. 

Dealer!Sukuna suddenly pulls out and flips you over on the bed, sliding a pillow under your stomach for support, keeping your legs pressed together. You wonder what he’s about to do, but you don’t expect him to bite your butt cheek - making you shriek and laugh - and the next second, he’s back on top of you. 

He slides back inside you in one swift thrust, you grip the black sheets tightly and close your eyes, lost in the feeling again. His hand caresses your back until it ends up at the back of your neck. Without a word, you understand what he’s asking. Propping yourself up and arching your back, you give him full access to your neck. His hand grips your throat, and he definitely feels how much you like it from the way you’re squeezing him.

Dealer!Sukuna doesn’t stop. Not until you cum two more times, screaming and crying from the intensity of it all, squirting all over his cock and strong thighs. He flips you over again, needing to see you when he gets to his climax. Your makeup is ruined, your cheeks stained with tears but he looks down at you with desire still. 

Dealer!Sukuna who realizes he’s never going to get enough of this view. Nothing else will ever top the sight of you under him, overstimulated and writhing. He presses his chest against yours, your bodies sticky with sweat. 

“I can’t- fuck, I can’t pull out, baby,” he pants, cupping your face before he whimpers into your neck. 

“Then don’t,” you reply, equally out of breath. You know it’s stupid, but right now you’d rather pull all of your teeth out than make him stop. Especially when you feel him swelling up inside you, moaning your name like it’s his personal mantra. 

Dealer!Sukuna who sees stars when he finally cums inside you, the high of it unlike any other drug he has ever tried before. Neither of you fully understand why, not that it matters much, but something shifted within the both of you that night. A feeling you’ve been longing for eventually bloomed in that bedroom.

He collapses on the bed next to you, catching his breath, an arm around you still. He keeps gazing at you, frowning slightly. 

Dealer!Sukuna who takes care of you once he’s able to walk and think properly again. He helps you clean up, gives you one of his t-shirts and lets you raid his mini fridge for snacks and drinks. You share them with him when you both go back to bed. He’s never done that, let someone in. But with you? It feels natural, he wants more for the first time. 

You two chat until your lips and eyes are dry, about anything and everything. You feel seen, heard. Even when he leaves the bed and goes to the window for a smoke, you stick close to him. He does that thing again, blowing smoke in your mouth and you swear you’ll never smoke directly from a joint - only from him. Both of you smile at the other, feeling like you’re sharing a secret. 

Later, he turns off the music but leaves the lamps on. You’re glad. You don’t like sleeping in the dark either. He settles on the bed and you pat your thighs, inviting him to lay his head there. He’s hesitant at first but ends up with his head in your lap and his arms around your legs.

Dealer!Sukuna never got the chance to experience genuine affection, aside from his twin brother. He always kept people at bay, too scared of being abandoned and hurt again, he made sure to become the bad guy to keep the fake people away. 

Dealer!Sukuna sighs deeply as your fingers plays with his hair, gently caressing and brushing through the pink fluff. His arms wrap a little tighter around your legs. You feel it and your heart tightens as well. 

Dealer!Sukuna who falls asleep with his head in your lap as you rub his back and neck tenderly. 

You don’t fall asleep with him just yet. You wait, taking in the sight of him so peaceful in the red light of his lava lamps. You keep playing with his hair until you hear him snoring softly. Only then, you manage to lie down next to him, making sure not to wake him up.

You’re unsure about your feelings for him but you know that leaving him in the morning will be the most difficult choice you’ll ever make. 

♡ Taglist : @gojoscumslut @bohooitsme @call-memissbrightside @yuujispinkhair @seellove @s3ns4ti0n4l @libertyinnit @krispywhisperswhispers @nynxtea @sterzin @emoedgylord @keepghostly @miazzzma @madamechrissy @monster-effer @raynehmms @katestrophes @waterfal-ling @sunasgf1 @kassfunk19 @zeunys @love-me-satoru @mima0127 @xlilycoco @straows ♡

Dividers by @cafekitsune and @firefly-graphics

Copyright © goreandbunnies 2024-2025, all rights reserved, do not repost, use or plagiarize

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I think the key to writing Viktor is remembering that we the audience see far more of him than any character in the show does. Including Jayce. "Emotional and super sensitive but very guarded" is the way Harry Lloyd described it, and I think that sums it up very well. The way you show that in a visual medium is by letting the audience see things that no one else does.

Viktor isn't shy or meek at all, but everything intense about him is so contained. He has an expressive face and big big feelings (like, canonically he comes to the conclusion that his problem is having too many goddamn feelings) but we get to see far more of that than he shows to anyone in his life. Seriously, go back and look at the blocking in his scenes and how often we can see his face when no one else in the scene can. Outwardly he can appear confident, calm, earnest, passionate, wryly funny--at least until he gets too sick to hide his exhaustion and pain. Meanwhile anything that might express a vulnerability, a need, is tucked away where no one can see it.

All those sneaky glances and yearning looks thrown at Jayce? Jayce doesn't see them. Usually there is no one else there either. All his interactions with the Hexcore--the frustration, fear, reckless determination; the apprehension and then triumph of running on the dock? He's alone. Crying over Sky, curled up in a ball on the floor? Alone. Everything in the astral plane--the open curiosity and wonder, the casual physical closeness with Sky's and Vander's astral bodies, the despair after Jayce rejects him? Alone. Astral Sky isn't real; she's a figment made up either by the Hexcore or by his own brain (I think either interpretation works) to make him feel less alone. I 100% believe that no one whose mind he looks into is allowed to look back at him, up until the few moments at the end where he allows Jayce to see him.

When he's angry--and he does get angry--it's a cold, still anger. Contained. He glares and his tone gets sharp but he doesn't so much as raise his voice. He doesn't shout or use big gestures. The one time we see something that might be considered an outburst (when he slams his fist on the desk and scatters his notes in frustration at trying to understand the Hexcore), he is (1) desperate and scared, (2) very clearly angry at himself, and (3) once again, alone.

A bit of a tangent but I think it fits here: this extends to his physicality with his mobility aids too. I realized that the reason "Viktor whacks people with his cane" always bumps me in fics is not just that Viktor isn't casually mean like that--although he's not. It's that when it comes to habitual, everyday movements, he never uses his cane or crutch for anything other than support. He doesn't gesture with it or use it to grab things or stick it out to stop a door from closing. (Which makes the rare instances when he does use it for something other than support really stand out.) It's not like he's hiding it, but he doesn't do anything to draw extra attention to it. He lets it fade into the background as much as possible, for as long as he's able to. Contained. It's a very specific physicality that I think says a lot about how he's trying to be perceived.

And like, to me, lover of wordless longing and isolated/self-isolating characters (which could mean nothing) all this is fucking catnip for fic material, because prose gives you such easy access to a character's interiority, and then you get to watch them hide things from other characters and deny things to themselves. (Love a character being confidently wrong in the privacy of their own head.)

When I'm writing a new pairing I am often trying to figure out, like, what's the tension? The tension on the relationship can be subtle, but if a smut scene is not popping off for me I often find it's because I haven't correctly identified the tension, or I've released it too early. Sometimes the tension is societal or interpersonal, but often (for me) it's internal. The main thing holding the characters back from uncomplicated enjoyment of each other is themselves, their own traumas or fears or insecurities.

I think something clicked for me with Medicinal where I was like, oh, the dynamic I like for them is when their natural state is to stick together like magnets, and they are constantly having to pull themselves back. Viktor doesn't shy away from Jayce's touch or his attention; he craves it and is constantly having to take that firehose of yearning and reel it back in, because he thinks Jayce doesn't feel the same way. Contain it. Yeah man that's the good shit.

P.S. I would be remiss if I didn't include the god tier example of the kind of Viktor POV I'm always striving toward, Uncover Him by spqr.