#range in front of windows

[filmmovement]

Pantry - Kitchen Example of a large transitional u-shaped porcelain tile, gray floor and vaulted ceiling kitchen pantry design with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, soapstone countertops, beige backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and black countertops

[ts4truth]

Photo of a large, eat-in transitional kitchen with a dark wood floor and shaker cabinets, gray cabinets, limestone countertops, a beige backsplash, mosaic tile, stainless steel appliances, and an island.

Espacio Arte Nimiku

[reopenfile]

Dining - Kitchen Eat-in kitchen - large transitional l-shaped dark wood floor eat-in kitchen idea with an integrated sink, shaker cabinets, gray cabinets, limestone countertops, beige backsplash, mosaic tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances and an island

[sketchshelter]

Dining Kitchen Large transitional l-shaped dark wood floor eat-in kitchen photo with shaker cabinets, gray cabinets, limestone countertops, beige backsplash, mosaic tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and an undermount sink

[louiseweird]

Philadelphia Pantry Kitchen Inspiration for a large transitional u-shaped porcelain tile, gray floor and vaulted ceiling kitchen pantry remodel with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, soapstone countertops, beige backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and black countertops

[kvetch19]

[spider-stark]

SAME SIN

pairing | frank castle x reader

summary | in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings | blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count | 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens. 

Sickness hit in a crushing wave. 

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip. 

Then there was stillness. 

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—] 

{—You or them?} 

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose him,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

[fazcinatingblog]

who sells stamps besides post offices

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

little comforts with the lads li’s

(a self-indulgent imagining of them with a neurodivergent MC)

✨ xavier & overstimulation

(not the sex kind, sorry. but probably that too) Xavier completely understands when you get overwhelmed by existing. he gets the same feeling sometimes. you develop a code for it eventually, a combination of eye contact and eyebrow-raising that signals to the other person that you need out, whether from a Hunter’s Association party or a grocery store with way too many people. back at home, you’ve created a haven together- eye masks and soft blankets for him, headphones and fidgets for you, whatever makes you feel peaceful and calmed. the ceiling lamp is absolutely not allowed- Xavier drapes the walls with soft spheres of light or swirls a firefly-glow of sparks along the bed in a warm canopy.

🎨 rafayel & hyperfixations/jumping hobbies

you might as well consider collecting hobbies a hobby in itself. crochet needles and yarn, jigsaw puzzles, a wood burning setup, a console and video games- whatever brings you joy, Rafayel is enthusiastically behind it. he doesn’t judge you for wanting to learn a new art style out of the blue- he’ll sign up for a pottery class with you and buy you pounds of clay. he loves your passion and enthusiasm and matches it with his own. he loves being creative with you, in whatever form it happens to take that day. plus, with the amount he spends on paint and canvas, he’s not about to judge you for getting boxes of new supplies for something. he’s hyping you up every time! even if it isn’t an interest he shares, he’s happy you’re happy.

🩺 zayne & health anxiety/ocd

no matter how many times you ask for it, Zayne is happy to give you reassurance. yes, that chicken was cooked all the way. you have a weird flutter in your chest? of course he'll listen to your heart. he listens to every symptom, every worry with unfailing patience. after all, he wants to be your protector, your safest place- this is just one way to be that for you. he never makes you feel irrational for your fears, just steadily helps you face them each and every time. he doesn't judge your compulsions, but he offers his expertise whenever you ask- he lets you take your temperature ten times a day but also explains the normal range and when to actually worry.

💭 sylus & overthinking

okay hear me out, this goes both ways: he helps ground you when you’re overthinking negatively but also supports you when you’re being enthusiastic about literally anything. he’s all in- if you have a favorite tv show he’s watching every episode and reading every analysis of it so you can discuss. he’s fully invested in your office drama, your gossip, your made-up stories about the bird family that lives outside your apartment window. but he also soothes you when you spiral into worry or fear. he happily goes through what-if scenarios with you, most of them ending in him spectacularly defeating anything that could ever threaten you. he makes it clear over and over again that you’re completely safe with him, physically and emotionally.

❤️‍🩹 caleb & insecurity

his life mission to make you feel adored. he makes a point of worshipping every part of you, especially anything you consider a "flaw". nothing is too much or too little- you're perfect exactly as you are. if he overhears you complaining about your thick thighs on a call with Tara, he's going to be buried in them later that night, pressing kisses to every inch. he loves working out and training with you. if you want to get healthier he's gladly cooking fresh ingredients into nutritious meals and helping you build up a fun fitness routine- but if there's even a hint of it being because you don't like the way you look in the mirror? he's going to benchpress twice your body weight in front of you just to prove he can. or better yet, he flings you over his shoulder easily and brings you to the bedroom to "work on your confidence".

[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

[rafeys-angel13]

only here for her

co-parenting with rafe who’s giving you mixed signals.

the doorbell rang at around 5:00pm, late.

you open the door to see rafe, stood there with his usual scowl clouding his face.

“hey” he mumbles. “sorry i’m late”

“she just finished eating her dinner.” you step to the side to let him in.

he spots maisie and crouches infront of her.

“hey, babygirl.” he murmurs and scoops her up with ease and held her on his hip, his hand pushing some hair out of her face.

“she’s been waiting for you all afternoon. she thought every car that drove by was you, she’s been running to the window to check if it was you.” you chuckle softly, rubbing maisie’s back.

“was my little girl getting impatient?” he smiles and kisses maisie’s head. maisie reaches out and smacks his face lightly, making you both laugh.

“god, she’s getting big. haven’t seen her in two weeks and she’s already grown so much.” he smiles softly.

“she misses you… she’s always asking for you…” you nod, trying to keep your voice from trembling.

he tares his eyes away from maisie’s face and looks at you with a serious expression.

“i’ll do better, i swear.” he nods, his grip on maisie tightening slightly. “i’m working on myself more…”

you nod even though you don’t believe him. he always says that, yet nothing ever changes.

“you’re such a good mom…” he says genuinely.

“thanks” you smile genuinely.

for a moment, it felt like there was no walls between you two. like things could be different between you. like you could actually work together.

but you remind yourself he’s not here for you. he’s only here for her. just her.

not you. not to rebuild the relationship you once had. to pick up your daughter and leave again.

as stupid as it sounds, you wish he came to see you— just for you. not for maisie.

“so… how’ve you been?” rafe asks out of the blue.

“um- yeah fine” you nod, instantly snapping out of your thoughts.

he nods and looks around the room, rocking maisie a little who lets out a big yawn.

“big yawn, baby…” he chuckles and nuzzles his nose against her soft hair.

he looks at his watch then sighs, looking over at you.

“i should get going”

“yeah, of course. it’s past her bedtime anyway” you nod and walk over to the front door, opening it and he follows you.

he holds maisie out and you take her into your arms. you hug her and give her a soft kiss on the cheek.

“bye, sweetheart… i’ll see you soon” you smile and hand her back to rafe.

he leans in for a hug himself. strange.

without thinking, you hug him back and he presses a kiss to your head.

what the hell is going on with him?

first he doesn’t even want to look at you, now he’s hugging and kissing you.

“stay safe, okay?” he murmurs as he pulls away, squeezing your arm gently.

“yeah… you too” you nod, still confused by his actions.

“okay, bye” he smiles and makes maisie wave before heading to the car.

you wave until he drives off and the shut the door.

you’ll never be able to figure that man out, that’s for sure.

-

- dividers by @saradika-graphics and @strangergraphics

- request a fic

[rin-may-1103]

Aspiring Escape Artist

(DCxDP) | Masterpost | Next

"Alright, Mr. Fenton," his newest social worker started, turning in her seat so she might actually get him to look at her. Danny continued looking out the window and up at the gigantic building they were parked in front of.

"This is your last chance before the system declares you unfit for foster homes and sends you off to juvie. And before you get all uppitty about it, know this is as much your fault as it is the system's."

Danny rolled his eyes, watching as shadows rushed past windows too tinted to actually see into. Another shadow darted past a lower one, dragging his eyes down and toward the door. The shadow was quickly followed by three more, one of them waving something over their head.

Allowing his hearing to spread out from its usual range, Danny listened as muffled shouts filled the air, quickly turning into clear words.

"GET THE MASK, GET THE MASK!"

"SHIT!" fallowed by a thump and the sound of a large piece of furniture tipping backward and landing.

"I GOT IT!" another voice cried.

"HEY, I HAd that, you little shit-"

Danny quickly pulled his hearing back, not wanting to listen anymore. He already knew he was going to hate it here.

"Now, Mr. Wayne has taken in a lot of kids and has been very gracious to open his home to you. Make no mistakes, young man. You will listen to what he tells you, and so help me, if you cause this man any trouble whatsoever, you will regret it. Stay in the car until I tell you you can get out. I need to go over your file with Mr. Wayne first."

She was acting like Danny was some delinquent picked up fresh from a gang fight. He was half tempted to act like it just to spite her, but bit his tongue and continued looking around the place.

The large garden surrounding the building was obviously well taken care of, the green hummed happily as the (what Danny's gathered) rare sunlight and clear sky.

His control over plants still needs work, but he's gotten good enough to connect to the green and get the general feelings. Like how the man who just walked out the front doors was greatly loved by the plants, which meant he was the one taking care of them.

"Are you even listening to me?" the lady huffed, unbuckling herself and shoving the car door open. She was already standing and greating the old man before Danny could respond.

"Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, was it? Hi, I'm Ms. Clance, I'm Danny's social worker. Is Mr. Wayne home?" she slammed the door shut and held her hand out for a handshake.

The older man eyed her hand but otherwise ignored it, instead turning to look at Danny, who was still in the car. "That is correct, Ms. Clance. Master Wayne is in his study; he'll be down in a moment to discuss any last minute things you need to cover. Now, why don't we get Mr. fenton inside and aquanted with the others?"

"Hold on for just a moment," Ms. Clance cut in, sending Danny a nervous glance. Danny raised his brow, but continued to pretend he couldn't hear a word they were saying, 'waiting' for her signal to get out of the car.

The front door opened behind them, three heads popping out in an obvious attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. There was an older guy, maybe in his mid to late twenties, a blond girl, still in her teens, and a guy with eyebags. Though Danny's were definitely worse, he might have Tucker beat. which was worrying, because what could this guy possibly need to pull three all-nighters for?

"I would like to speak with Mr. Wayne before letting the kid settle in. No offence, but I want to make sure Mr. Wayne is serious in wanting to house the kid. We've already had three other families agree to take him on and then drop him in less than a month."

"I see," Mr. Pennyworth hummed, studying Danny with a sharp eye. Danny studied him back; he had good posture, and his graying hair was slicked back. He had a mustache but no other facial hair, so he obviously kept himself well-maintained. Jazz said people like that were more likely to be well-disciplined and lean toward being blunt and honest.

His stance didn't lean toward classic butler, though; it leaned toward fighting and alert. He had experience in the army or something then, which meant Danny would have to keep an eye on this guy. he probably was the one running the house when Mr. Wayne wasn't around. which meant he'd be the one watching Danny the most.

"I still believe the young man should come inside, master wayne doesn't go back on his word, and he'll unlikely do so now."

Ms. Clance warily glanced at Danny, then back at Mr. Pennyworth, a fake smile plastered on her face, before one of the three spying on the cut in," yeah! I want to meet the little guy!"

The door swung open, allowing even more people to crowd around and watch the scene in front of them.

"And you will," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to face the growing group. "Once I speak to Mr. Wayne. We have to go over a few things in Daniel's file before I can sign off on all of this."

"Like, what?" the blond one asked, her eyes meeting danny's as she skipped down the stairs. Danny could just tell she'd be down for all sorts of chaos. And he could also tell she'd be glued to his side until her interest died, which would take only clockwork knows how long.

Instinctively, Danny reached out and grabbed the door, just as someone tried opening it. Glancing up and to the side, Danny met gray eyes. It was the other girl he had spotted wandering the garden a few minutes before.

She stared at him for a moment before smiling and stepping back. 'You can come out,' she signed. Danny glanced back at Ms. Clance, then back to the girl before sighing and getting out.

Her eyes lit up once he closed the door and turned back to her.

"You know sign," she asked, her voice quiet but not obviously disused.

'absoltly not', danny signed just to be a little shit. Turning back, he stared at his social worker, who was watching them in confused frustration.

"Daniel, what did I say about staying in the car?" She looked ready to march over and smack him.

"I thought you decided I wasn't listening?" Danny pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car. If she wanted to waste time, then that was perfectly alright with him.

"Never mind," she huffed, turning back to the butler. (he had to be a butler; he looked just like the one at Sam's place or the one his parents employed when they had made that deal with the GIW. And the fact that he referred to Mr. Wayne as master wayne.)

"You never answered my question," Blondy cut in, smiling sweetly at the frustrated woman.

"Like the plethora of misdemeanors?" Danny asked, watching as everyone turned to look at him. (probably because he wasn't supposed to know what the question was, considering he was literally just in the car.) The gray-eyed girl had slowly made her way back to join the others, though she still looked happy for some reason.

"no," ms. Clance huffed, obviously starting to get overwhelmed for some reason. she needed to take a step back and breath, there was literally no reason for her to be this agitated.

"More like we need to go over how many times you snuck out, got seriously injured, seriously injured someone else, and sent your last foster parent to a mental facility."

"All classified as misdemeanors, so obviously not that bad," Danny waved off, rolling his eyes. "And Mr. Thompson deserved it."

"You drove that man insane!" she hissed, swatting a piece of her hair out of her face.

Danny blinked at her, tilting his head to the side in confusion, "He was already insane before I got there, though?" which was actually quite annoying. Danny's dealt with enough insane people at this point; he'd rather hug Vlad than deal with another one.

"He was not," Ms. Clance sniffed, trying to straighten herself out.

"he definitely was," Danny argued, pulling his backpack tighter against his back in annoyance. "The dude thought locking me in a room and feeding me white rice once a day was perfectly fine."

Danny ignored the sudden stilted silence at his words, choosing to instead focus on the man slowly making his way outside and over to them.

"Would you stop making things up already?" Ms. Clance huffed, "We've already gone over this. There wasn't a lock on your door, and there was plenty of food in the pantry."

Danny rolled his eyes, going back to studying the gray-eyed girl. The happy sparkle was gone, and she was making hand signals that the others around her were focused on. It wasn't a dialect of sign he knew, most likely a self-made code then.

"Don't need a lock to lock someone up," Danny grumbled, turning back to Ms. Clance, "and if that doesn't count as insane, then talking to the shadows on the wall and claiming to be immortal does. Do you know how many times that man tried jumping in front of cars or out of a window? Way too many. So yeah, he deserved to go to the mental institution, where he'll get some actual help."

"right," ms. clance waved off, turning to continue talking to Mr. pennyworth. danny cut in before she could, "so, do you guys make it a habit; lingering back and listening to conversations?"

The rest blinked, then turned to see who exactly he was talking to, their eyes following his as they finally spotted the man they were all waiting for.

"ah," mr. wayne chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "sorry, I didn't want to interup. it sounded important."

"Right," Danny huffed, glaring at the man. Honestly, all the eavesdropping and being loud as hell was turning out to be a regular thing based on the fact that no one else was acting like it wasn't.

Yeah, he was going to hate it here if that was true.

Next

[suliigwp]

Hiii, im sorry if there is any mistake english is not my first language. But I have a request? Or idea??

So kimi bringing reader to paddock for imolia but she is a classmate so no one knows they are dating. So it's just random times when the media and other drivers are wondering if kimi and reader are dating.

Thanks🫶

(Can I be 🦕 anon?)

CLASSMATE? YEAH RIGHT.

Kimi Antonelli x reader

SULI: Hi 🦕 Anon! Oh it's so exciting to have a named anon! Thank you for being here and for requesting a very cute scenario.

Warnings: texts, Twitter posts

The classroom buzzed with low energy. It was late in the day, and the teacher’s voice was beginning to blur into background noise. You were doodling in the margin of your notebook when the door creaked open and Kimi walked in, late as always, a soft nod to the professor as he slid into his seat near the back.

Nothing about him stood out—plain hoodie, notebook closed, no effort to catch up on what he missed. But when the teacher called for the end-of-class announcements, Kimi suddenly raised his hand.

Everyone turned.

The teacher blinked. “Yes, Kimi?”

He stood, stuffing one hand into his jacket pocket. “I have something.”

You raised your eyes, curious. Kimi didn’t talk much in class. Actually, Kimi didn’t talk much—period.

He cleared his throat. “The Imola Grand Prix is this weekend. I talked to my team. I got passes for everyone.”

Silence.

People looked around, unsure if he was joking.

Kimi gave a half-shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “If you want to come. Full paddock access. You’ll get to see the garages, meet the team. Everything is covered. Just let me know by tomorrow.”

“Wait—what?” someone whispered.

Another classmate laughed, “You serious, dude?”

Kimi nodded. “Yeah.”

The teacher looked stunned. “Kimi… are you saying the entire class is invited to Imola?"

“Yeah,” he said again, like he was offering snacks, not a world-class motorsport experience. “It’s a good track. You’ll like it.”

The room exploded with chatter.

“No way—”

“Do we get to meet Hamilton?”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“I don’t even like racing, but I’m going—”

You sat frozen in your seat. He hadn’t looked your way, hadn’t singled you out. Just kept his gaze steady toward the board.

But you knew what this really was.

Not a flex.

Not a PR stunt.

Not just for the class.

It was the only way he could invite you—without anyone asking why.

And when the bell rang, and people gathered around him in a mix of awe and excitement, he finally glanced at you, the smallest flick of his gaze, quiet and deliberate.

...

...

The bus hissed as it came to a stop just outside the security gates. Your classmates practically jumped out of their seats, crowding toward the front. Excitement buzzed in the air like electricity.

You glanced out the window.

There he was.

Kimi stood just past the gates, flanked by two Mercedes staff. His team polo was tucked neatly into black slacks, lanyard around his neck, hair messy like he hadn’t bothered with it much since morning warm-ups. He looked calm—quiet—but even from the bus, you could tell his gaze was scanning the vehicle.

Looking for someone.

He found you.

Just a flick of his eyes. Just a second. Then he looked away.

No one else seemed to notice.

When the doors opened, the class spilled out, voices overlapping.

“Holy crap, that’s really the paddock!”

“Is that Ferraris motorhome? It’s huge.”

“Wait—is that Charles Leclerc?!"

You stepped down, slower than the others, keeping your eyes shaded behind sunglasses. Kimi didn’t move, but his hand shifted slightly, thumb tapping once against his leg—a subtle tic you recognized.

“Welcome,” said the Mercedes rep, a woman in her thirties with a polite smile. “You’ve all been cleared for full access this weekend. Please stay together for the initial walkthrough.”

Your professor clapped Kimi on the back. “Very generous of you, Antonelli. I imagine you’re the first student in school history to hand out paddock passes to their whole class.”

Kimi shrugged, voice low. “Better than doing a presentation.”

There were chuckles from the class, but a few people started whispering as eyes shifted to you.

As the group moved toward the paddock, Kimi stayed behind, just enough to walk near you but not beside you. When the rest of the class turned a corner, Kimi slowed.

He didn’t look at you—just spoke quietly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You?”

“Bit of a risk inviting everyone.”

“You did it to cover for me.”

You walked for a moment in silence before he added, voice quieter, “They’re already talking.”

“They always do. Don’t listen.”

You glanced at him. “Do you?”

Now he looked at you. Just briefly.

“Only to you.”

The moment passed. A photographer called his name. Kimi stepped forward again, already slipping back into the poised, untouchable driver everyone thought he was.

But he glanced back once, just to make sure you were still there.

...

The paddock was alive. Engineers rolled tires across the concrete, media crews weaved through with cameras, and somewhere in the background, the roar of an engine cracked through the sky like thunder.

Your class had been split into two smaller groups, each assigned a team liaison to walk them through the technical side of the weekend. You stuck with the group heading toward the Mercedes garage, but Kimi wasn’t there.

Not visibly, anyway.

“So this is where the cars are prepped before sessions,” said the engineer guiding you. “The driver debriefs happen over there, behind that glass. You probably won’t see Kimi right now—he’s in a strategy meeting with the engineers.”

You nodded along like the others, but you knew better.

He wasn’t in a meeting.

He was watching.

You felt it.

And you were right.

When the group stopped in front of a spare chassis and the engineer got pulled aside by a call, you wandered toward a cooler, supposedly reaching for water. The others were too busy snapping selfies to notice the door behind you crack open.

“Kimi,” you whispered without turning.

“Hi.” His voice was soft, lazy.

You turned, pretending to walk away, hand tightening around the water bottle. The moment had already been too close, too risky. Someone could’ve seen.

But you only made it two steps.

Grip.

Fingers closed gently around your wrist and tugged — not hard, but firm enough to stop you. You turned just as the door behind you opened wider, and Kimi pulled you in with practiced precision.

The door clicked shut.

The room wasn’t what you expected. Not the open garage floor, but a smaller prep room off to the side — dark, quiet, the kind of space people only passed through, not stayed in. A table with data sheets. A wall of monitors blinking gently.

And Kimi.

He stood in front of you now, a little breathless like he hadn’t fully thought this through, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes on you with that steady, unreadable look he always wore before a race.

“Kimi,” you whispered, glancing toward the door, “if anyone saw—”

“No one saw,” he cut in. “They’re all by the car.”

Silence fell between you. The kind that hummed with something more dangerous than noise.

He looked at you for a long second. “You looked like you were going to disappear.”

“I was. Because we said—”

“We said we’d be careful,” he murmured. “Not distant.”

You didn’t answer.

His hand found your wrist again — slower this time. Warmer. He ran his thumb across the inside of it, where your pulse beat a little too fast.

“I hate not being able to talk to you,” he muttered.

You let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “You invited the whole class.”

“Because I couldn’t invite just you,” he said again, this time quieter. “I wanted to.”

The words were so quiet they barely reached you. For a second, it was just your breathing and the dull buzz of electricity from the monitors.

Then he leaned forward, forehead brushing yours, voice nothing more than a whisper.

“You looked bored out there.”

You closed your eyes, just for a moment. Let yourself feel the soft press of his hoodie against your arm. The way he was still holding your wrist like it meant something.

“I wasn’t bored,” you whispered. “I was looking for you.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes on yours, and for a flicker of a second, his face softened as he smiled.

And then—

A knock at the main garage door. Loud. Startling.

Both of you jumped.

“Group’s moving!” a voice called.

You jolted upright, brushing your hands against your jeans, your heartbeat now racing. Kimi stepped back into the shadows.

“You go first,” he murmured. “I’ll wait a minute.”

You hesitated, then reached for the door handle.

Before you left, you turned back once more. “Kimi?”

“Yeah?”

You tried to smile, even as your heart pounded in your throat. “You’re worth getting in trouble for.”

His gaze softened — something small and real in the corner of his mouth.

“So are you.”

You slipped out, closing the door behind you, and jogged back to the group just as they were rounding the corner.

But your pulse was still racing, and your wrist still burned where he had touched you.

...

The post-session haze hadn’t worn off yet — Kimi’s race suit was half-zipped, chest rising and falling under his white shirt as he sat on the edge of the padded bench, sipping on electrolyte water. His hair was slightly damp from the helmet. The door creaked open and George strolled in, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

“Solid lap,” George offered, flopping into the seat across from him.

"Thanks."

George leaned back, glancing toward the tinted glass that looked out into the paddock below.

“You’ve got some fans today,” he said lightly.

Kimi didn’t look up. “Media?”

“Nope.” George grinned. “School group.”

That made Kimi glance up for a half-second.

George caught it.

“Didn’t know we were doing career day,” he teased, voice easy. “Or… was that your idea?”

Kimi’s face gave nothing away, but his grip on the bottle tightened just slightly. “Everyone got invited.”

“Everyone,” George echoed, feigning a thoughtful nod. “Right. Even that girl in flared jeans who keeps standing near the ropes by the garage? Real subtle.”

Kimi looked at him now, but his voice was calm. “Her name’s Y/N.”

George gave a lopsided smile, one eyebrow raised. “Of course you know who I'm talking about. Everyone was wearing jeans."

Kimi didn’t answer right away. Just turned back to the water bottle, rolling it between his palms.

“She likes the engineering side,” he said finally. “It made sense.”

George watched him for a moment, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Mate,” he said quietly, “I don’t care if she’s your girlfriend or your lab partner. But the way you were looking at her by the pit wall earlier…”

Kimi stiffened.

“…was not the way I looked at my lab partner.”

Silence.

George clapped him on the shoulder, playful again. “Just don’t get caught sneaking her into the sim. You’ll start a rumor faster than Toto can shut it down.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile.

George stood and headed for the shower, tossing the towel into the hamper. But just before he stepped out, he called back:

“She’s cute, by the way. Good taste.”

Kimi said nothing, but when the door clicked shut, he pulled out his phone.

...

...

Sunday Night

The Italian night was warm and buzzing, a light hum of engines still lingering in the air from earlier that day. Below, Imola had already begun winding down. Above, on the rooftop of the hotel where the team had booked rooms, the air was quieter.

You found Kimi sitting alone near the edge, his team jacket still on, his cap pulled low. His phone was face-down beside him, untouched.

He didn’t look up when you sat next to him.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at the dark sky with him. There was a slight breeze, tugging at your sleeves.

“They called it a ‘learning weekend,’” he muttered finally, voice flat.

You glanced over. His jaw was tight.

“I think that’s their way of saying it sucked without actually saying it sucked.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “It wasn’t a disaster.”

He huffed a short laugh, but it was dry. “P11. I missed points. I locked up twice. I made mistakes.”

“You’re eighteen,” you said gently.

“I’m not allowed to make rookie mistakes anymore,” he snapped. Then his tone softened. “Not here. Not in that car.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration radiating off him like heat.

You watched him for a moment, then leaned over and rested your head lightly on his shoulder. He tensed — not because of you, but because he was so used to being on all the time. Then, slowly, he let himself breathe.

“You know what?” you said after a pause. “I think you’re allowed one bad weekend.”

“One,” he repeated.

“Maybe two. But don’t push it,” you teased softly.

He finally looked down at you, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, but stayed close. “Also, how did we get away with it again? The whole class was here and literally no one clocked us.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow. “George asked.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yesterday. Said, ‘So, is there something going on with you and the girl with flared jeans?’ I said you were just ‘a classmate.’” He smirked. “Worked again.”

You snorted. “Unbelievable.”

He nudged your side. “You’re the one who bolted every time someone looked our way.”

“Maybe because your idea of being subtle is pulling me into a storage room.”

“...They didn’t catch us.”

You both laughed quietly, the kind that bubbled from relief and affection and the thrill of a secret well-kept.

Then you leaned your head back on his shoulder.

“You’re still my favorite driver,” you whispered.

Kimi didn’t say anything, but you felt the way his arm brushed against yours, his pinky finger barely grazing your hand like a silent thank you.

For now, that was enough.

[carnalcrows]

FIXER UPPER

summary: You weren’t supposed to fall for him. Not the mountain guide with a sharp tongue and rough hands. Not when your kingdom was unraveling, your brother was missing, and your heart was already cracked from too many years spent waiting behind closed gates. But then again—none of this was supposed to happen. The eternal winter. The betrayal. The truth hidden beneath ice and silence. Now the world is colder than it’s ever been, and the only way forward might be through the storm. And through him.

pairing: kristoff! toji fushiguro x anna! bottom male reader

content warnings: 18+, romance, angst, fluff, smut (oral + p in a), bottom male reader, slow burn, emotional repression, ice magic, betrayal, brief imprisonment, soft reindeer, sibling angst, rooftop kissing, snowman lore.

word count: 6.9k (nice)

best viewed in dark mode

The bells rang at dawn.

You were already awake, sitting half-dressed on the edge of your bed, staring at the same spot on the stone wall you’d memorised sometime around age twelve. The castle had started buzzing hours ago, and now the sound of carriages rolling through the gates echoed through the open window like thunder. For the first time in forever, Arendelle wasn’t quiet.

The kingdom was opening its doors.

Which meant… today, you were allowed to leave your room.

Your heart slammed in your chest. Not from nerves. From the need to move.

You shoved your boots on, didn’t bother with the rest of the ceremonial layers, and ducked out the servant passageway before anyone could stop you. The halls were alive with chatter — voices and footsteps and rustling silk. You slipped past them like smoke, taking the stairs two at a time until the front doors loomed in sight.

Sunlight poured in.

People. Real people. Vendors and nobles, and foreign visitors spilling across the courtyard. Colours you hadn’t seen in years. Laughter. Horses. The smell of cinnamon bread and too much perfume.

It was overwhelming.

It was perfect.

You grinned.

You were halfway through your first lap around the courtyard when someone found you.

“Your Highness—!”

You turned. One of the advisors. Maybe. You hadn’t really learned names outside the staff.

“We’ve been looking everywhere—”

“I was doing reconnaissance,” you said. “For security purposes. You know. Royal stuff.”

They frowned. “You’re supposed to be helping your brother prepare for the coronation.”

“I’m helping him by staying out of his way.”

“Please go inside.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

Back in the great hall, the atmosphere had shifted. Nanami stood tall in his regalia — gold-trimmed, stiff-shouldered, eyes so carefully blank you wanted to shake him. He looked like a statue. Not a man about to become king.

You approached the throne and leaned in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

He didn’t look at you. “Don’t be late.”

“That’s your way of saying thank you, right?”

Still nothing.

God, he was the worst at this.

You’d never been a fan of formalwear.

It itched. It clung in the wrong places. And every time you turned your head too fast, the collar threatened to cut off circulation. But apparently, this was the price of being royalty — buttoned cuffs and boots polished until they blinded your reflection.

Still, you had to admit: the ballroom looked beautiful.

Light poured in from the windows above. Music wound through the air, soft strings and brass layered under the quiet murmur of people trying not to seem impressed. The polished floor reflected everything — gold trim, blue velvet, the shine of new crowns.

And then there was him.

He was leaning casually near one of the refreshment tables, cup in hand, expression relaxed. Like this was all just a formality he didn’t need to pretend to care about. His eyes skimmed the room once, then found yours.

He smiled.

You turned too fast and almost knocked over a chair.

Somehow, you ended up near the dessert table.

Somehow, he ended up beside you.

“Not a fan of cake?” he asked, eyes flicking down to your still-empty plate.

You shrugged. “Trying to leave room for the fifth course. Which I’m assuming is just a bigger cake.”

He laughed. “Bold strategy. Let me know if it pays off.”

You glanced at him sideways. “And you are…?”

“Prince Geto of the Southern Isles,” he said, offering a small, mocking bow. “But you can call me Suguru.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And what brings a prince to our frozen little corner of the world?”

He took a sip from his glass. “Adventure. Opportunity. The chance to meet someone worth remembering.”

Oh.

Oh, he was good.

By the time the coronation began, you were absolutely not thinking straight.

Nanami stood tall as the crown was placed on his head— steady hands, steady voice, no hint of nerves. He looked like he belonged there. You stood beside him, a few respectful paces back, trying not to bounce on your heels like a child.

Geto was somewhere in the crowd.

You could feel it.

The crown settled. The hall applauded. Trumpets flared.

And just like that— the gates stayed open.

You found Suguru again that night.

Or maybe he found you.

Either way, the two of you ended up out on the terrace together — stars overhead, lanterns strung between columns, the city below glittering like frost on stone. You laughed more than you meant to. He listened like it mattered. And when the conversation shifted — when his hand brushed yours and didn’t pull away — something inside you softened.

“This is going to sound crazy,” you said, breath fogging in the air between you, “but… I think I was supposed to meet you.”

He smiled.

And that’s how, two hours later, you ended up back inside — cheeks flushed, hands clasped — announcing your engagement to a room full of stunned nobles.

Nanami’s face didn’t move.

But his voice was cold when he said, “You can’t marry someone you just met.”

Silence swept through the ballroom like a second frost. The music faltered, and dozens of gazes turned toward you — some scandalised, others pitying, and a few gleeful in that tight-lipped way only nobility knew how to be.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Nanami stepped down from the dais, movements precise, posture stiff. “You heard me. This is absurd.”

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, a flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “You weren’t even there. You didn’t talk to him. You haven’t talked to me in years.”

Nanami’s jaw flexed. “Because it wasn’t safe.”

“No,” you snapped. “Because it was easier. Easier to shut me out than deal with whatever you were hiding.”

His eyes flicked toward Geto — still standing at your side, calm and unreadable — then back to you. “You think this is love?”

“I think this is my choice.”

“I’m still the king.”

You took a step forward. “Then maybe act like it.”

The words hit something. You saw it in the way Nanami’s expression faltered — just for a breath, a flicker — and then hardened again.

“This conversation is over,” he said tightly. “The engagement is denied.”

And then the cold cracked through the room.

It started at his feet — a sudden spread of frost lacing across the polished floor, spidering out in sharp, fractal lines. A gasp rippled through the crowd as the temperature plummeted. Ice climbed the pillars. The chandelier groaned above.

You turned, heart hammering. “Nanami?”

He looked down at his hands. They were trembling. Pale steam curled from his fingers.

He whispered, “No—”

A guard moved. Nanami flinched. Another spike of ice burst from the floor and shattered the edge of the dais.

The ballroom erupted into chaos.

Guests scattered. Dresses rustled. Someone screamed. Nanami backed away from the growing ring of frost, breath shallow, panic blooming on his face for the first time in your life.

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

But you were already moving.

“Wait—Nanami, stop!”

He didn’t. He bolted.

You chased after him through the now-frozen gates, out into the courtyard. The snow hadn’t started yet, but the sky had turned the colour of ash.

“Nanami!” you called again, voice raw, but he didn’t look back. Not once.

And then he was gone.

Vanished through the outer gates, his footprints icing over behind him.

The guards hesitated. No one followed.

So you did.

You didn’t even stop to change. You just grabbed your cloak, shoved your way through the muttering nobles, and ducked into the stables. Saddle or not, you were riding out.

Because whatever had just happened—whatever Nanami had kept secret all these years—you were going to find him.

And for once, you were going to be the one who stayed.

You didn’t make it far on horseback before the storm started.

It came from the mountains—whipping winds and a wall of snow so sudden it nearly knocked you off your horse. By the time you reached the base of the pass, the cold had sunk its teeth into your bones, and the road ahead was nothing but white.

You pressed forward anyway.

You didn’t have a plan. Just a direction, and the stubborn need to see this through.

The kingdom was in trouble. Your brother was alone. And whether or not Nanami ever wanted to talk to you again, you weren’t about to let him freeze to death on some ice-covered cliff. Not after everything.

Not again.

The wind howled around you as you crested the next ridge. Snow clung to your lashes, blurred your vision, and soaked your cloak. You urged the horse onward until its hooves slipped on the path, and you had to dismount. The rest, you'd do on foot.

The ice under your boots groaned with every step.

You didn’t stop moving.

Until a voice broke through the storm.

“You’re gonna die if you keep walking like that.”

You whirled.

A man stood just ahead, leaning against a snow-dusted outcrop with his arms crossed. Tall. Broad. Scowl permanently carved into his face. His cloak was rough and patched, lined with fur, and his hair was dark and windswept, half-frozen at the tips.

Beside him stood a reindeer, calmly chewing on a mouthful of frost.

You blinked. “...Are you talking to me?”

“No,” the man said flatly. “I’m talking to the blizzard. Of course I’m talking to you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you always greet strangers with insults, or am I special?”

He shrugged. “You look like a royal idiot. You ride out alone in the middle of a storm, dressed like a ballroom extra, and you’re heading straight toward an avalanche zone.”

You scowled. “I’m looking for someone.”

“So are the wolves. Hope you’re faster.”

“Excuse me?”

He jerked his head toward the woods. “They’ve been following you since the ridge.”

You glanced over your shoulder. Nothing but trees.

He smirked. “You didn’t notice?”

Your stomach turned. “Who are you?”

“Toji,” he said. “Mountain runner. Ice harvester. Grumpy bastard. Take your pick.”

You stared. “...Right.”

Toji tilted his head. “And you?”

You hesitated. You should’ve lied. Said you were a traveller. A scholar. Anything else.

But you didn’t.

“Prince of Arendelle.”

Toji blinked. “Of course you are.”

“You’ve heard what happened?”

“Hard not to. Giant magical panic storm tends to make headlines.”

You exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up through your chest. “Look, I don’t have time to explain. I need to find my brother. He’s—he’s not well. And the longer he’s out here alone, the worse it’ll get.”

Toji’s gaze sharpened. “The king?”

You nodded. “He ran. I followed. I don’t care what anyone says—I’m not leaving him out here.”

Toji looked at you for a long moment, jaw working like he was chewing on the idea.

Then he said, “You’re coming with me.”

You blinked. “I am?”

He turned and started walking. “You’re gonna get yourself killed otherwise. I know these mountains. You don’t. So if you want to find your brother alive, stay close and keep your mouth shut.”

You opened your mouth.

He didn’t even look back. “Starting now.”

You snapped your mouth shut.

The reindeer—Megumi, apparently—gave you a judgmental side-eye as you followed. You wrapped your cloak tighter and trudged into the storm after them.

And, maybe for the first time that day, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

The path narrowed as you moved higher, trees closing in, branches heavy with ice. Wind tugged at your cloak, but you kept going, boots slipping now and then on the uneven trail. Toji didn’t slow for you—just walked ahead like the cold didn’t bother him at all.

He glanced over his shoulder once. “You always this quiet?”

You huffed. “You told me not to talk.”

“That was before I realised silence makes you look more lost.”

You squinted at his back. “Do you always insult people you’re helping?”

“Only when they dress like they’ve never stepped outside the castle.”

You bit your tongue.

Megumi snorted beside you, smug and unbothered.

By nightfall, the wind had calmed, but the temperature dropped lower. Your fingers were stiff, and your legs ached from walking. Toji eventually pointed out a hollow beneath a rocky ledge, shielded from the worst of the wind.

“We’ll camp here.”

You looked around. “You… do this often?”

Toji raised an eyebrow. “Sleep under a rock with strangers? Not really.”

You didn’t reply. You just sank down on the cold-packed ground, pulling your knees to your chest. Snowflakes caught in your hair and melted against your temple.

Toji dropped a small bundle beside you—blankets, rough wool, but warm.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

He sat a few feet away, unbothered by the cold, arms folded behind his head like it was a summer evening. You watched him in the firelight, the way his breath curled in the air, the lines around his mouth softening when he closed his eyes.

“So…” you said finally. “What’s your deal?”

He cracked an eye open. “My deal?”

“You live up here. Alone. With a reindeer.”

Megumi snorted.

Toji smirked. “The reindeer’s better company than most people.”

You waited.

He didn’t elaborate.

You sighed and leaned your head back against the stone. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“About what?”

“The magic. My brother. The storm.”

Toji shrugged. “Seen worse.” You blinked. “Worse than an eternal winter?”

“I once saw a bear take out an entire logging camp because someone stepped on her cub’s tail.”

“…Okay. Fair.”

He glanced at you again, something quieter in his expression. “But yeah. I’ve seen what fear does to people. Your brother’s scared. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

Your throat tightened. “I know.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Snow fell in slow, lazy spirals, and for the first time in days, you let yourself rest.

Even if only for a little while.

You woke to the soft crunch of snow and something… off. A rhythm. Humming, maybe. Low and meandering, like someone trying to keep themselves company and doing a poor job of staying in tune.

Toji was already up, crouched near what was left of the fire, blade in hand as he shaved slivers of ice off a frozen log. His eyes flicked toward the trees.

“You hear that?” he asked without looking up.

You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your face. “What is that?”

“Annoying,” Toji muttered. “And getting closer.”

The humming grew louder, now accompanied by the unmistakable sound of boots crunching through snow. Then a voice, conversational and way too chipper for the setting: “—No, you’re going the wrong way. I told you, the tree with the weird bend is a landmark. Not a sign of poor navigation—hi!”

A figure came stumbling through the trees, wrapped in layers of mismatched winter gear, cheeks flushed from the cold, curly pink scarf bouncing with every step. His smile was bright, genuine, and completely out of place in the frozen wild.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, hands on his knees. “I was starting to think I imagined the campfire.”

Toji straightened slowly. “Who the hell are you?”

The guy grinned, unbothered. “Yuuji. Just a guy. I hike. I talk to myself. Occasionally rescue royals from hypothermia. You know. Standard Tuesday stuff.”

You blinked at him. “...Are you alone?”

“Nope.” He pointed behind him. “Got a reindeer that left me about twenty minutes ago and a snowman I built that tried to stage a coup. So technically? Yes.”

You stared.

He held up his hands. “Okay, maybe not a coup. He just... rolled away. Emotionally.”

Toji exhaled through his nose. “You’re insane.”

“I get that a lot.”

You stood slowly, eyes narrowing. “You said you saw a fire?”

Yuuji nodded. “Last night. Came looking this morning. I’ve been up the trail before—if you’re headed toward the summit, you’re gonna want to take the eastern fork. The West is avalanche territory. I mean, unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

You exchanged a glance with Toji.

The man had just wandered in out of nowhere with a goofy smile and more scarves than sense, and somehow, he knew the trails better than either of you.

“…You’ve been to the palace?” you asked.

Yuuji perked up. “Oh yeah. Big, spooky, lots of sharp angles. Saw it last week. Thought it was haunted. Still might be.”

Toji didn’t look convinced. “And you just… want to help?”

Yuuji shrugged. “I mean, not help help. I’m not trying to get stabbed or anything. But I can walk and point dramatically. Pretty good at both.”

There was a long pause.

You tried not to smile. “You really built a snowman that ran away?”

“Yeah,” Yuuji sighed. “He was my best work. Had little stick arms and everything.”

Toji muttered, “We don’t have time for this.”

You turned to Yuuji. “We’ll take the east trail. If you’re heading that way—”

“Lead the way,” he grinned, already turning on his heel. “Just don’t blame me if the snowman finds us. He holds grudges.”

You pulled your cloak tighter, fell into step beside him, and tried very hard not to laugh when Toji muttered under his breath, “We’re gonna regret this.”

You probably would. But at least it wouldn’t be boring.

The east trail started narrow, tucked between cliffs that rose like jagged teeth on either side, the snow pressed hard into the ground by wind and weight. It was quiet up here—quieter than you expected, the kind of quiet that made your breath feel loud.

Yuuji didn’t seem to notice. He filled the silence easily, narrating your path with cheerful commentary as he stomped ahead, occasionally pointing out “dangerous icicles” that were barely within reach or snowdrifts that, in his words, “definitely looked haunted.”

Toji mostly ignored him, trudging on with the patience of someone long used to tuning people out.

You walked in the middle.

It wasn’t the worst place to be.

Eventually, the trees opened up to a small ridge, the trail flattening out just long enough for you to catch your breath. You pushed your hood back, letting the chill air bite at your ears, and glanced out over the valley below.

That’s when you saw it.

Rising in the distance like a jagged shard of glass—sharp, towering, almost impossibly symmetrical. The palace. Nanami’s palace. Iced over in blue and white and silver, pulsing faintly in the dim winter light like it had a heartbeat.

You stopped.

Toji followed your gaze. “That it?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Yuuji shaded his eyes with one hand. “He really went full dramatic recluse, huh?”

Toji glanced at you. “You sure about this?”

You swallowed. The frost still clung to your ribs, a weight that hadn’t quite gone away since the courtyard. “I have to talk to him.”

Toji didn’t ask why. He just adjusted the strap on his shoulder and started walking again.

The closer you got, the more the wind picked up. Not wild, but purposeful—like it was watching. Judging. Snow whipped around your ankles, and the air buzzed faintly with something you couldn’t name. Magic, maybe. Or fear.

The gates of the palace loomed ahead, carved from solid ice, clear and seamless like water frozen mid-fall. You reached out a hand. The cold stung, but it didn’t bite. The doors parted with a whisper.

Inside, the air was still. Heavy.

Every sound echoed.

You stepped forward, your boots clinking faintly on the slick floor. Toji stayed a pace behind, his presence solid at your back. Yuuji stayed outside, saying something about “respecting magical sibling privacy” and “keeping an eye on the snowman situation.”

You didn’t even make it halfway down the corridor before you saw him.

Nanami stood at the far end of the hall, framed by a window that stretched to the ceiling, frost spidering out from his bare hands.

He didn’t turn. But he spoke.

“You shouldn’t have come.” You took a breath. “And yet here I am.” He finally looked at you.

His face was pale, tired, drawn tight with something between guilt and exhaustion. His coat—one of his favourites—was rimmed in frost, heavy with snow. His eyes, always so precise, looked almost… haunted.

“You’re not safe here.”

“I’m not safe out there either.” His hands curled at his sides. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “But you’re still my brother. That’s not changing.” Something flickered behind his expression. Not soft. Not sharp. Just… uncertain.

You took another step forward.

“Let me help.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t move away, but he didn’t reach for you either. His hands stayed clenched, trembling faintly at his sides. The ice beneath your feet groaned with every word, subtle cracks threading outward like a heartbeat gone wrong.

“I’ve already done enough damage,” he said, voice flat. “The longer I stay near anyone, the worse it gets.”

“You think I care?” Your voice cracked with the cold, or maybe it cracked from something deeper. “You think I haven’t already lost enough time with you? You shut me out for years, and I—I let it happen. Because I thought maybe you needed space, or maybe I just didn’t matter enough.”

His shoulders flinched. That got to him. You stepped forward.

“You’re not dangerous,” you said. “You’re scared. You’ve always been scared.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” he snapped. “If everything you touched broke, if people looked at you and saw a curse instead of a king?”

The words echoed in the chamber, sharp and cold and final.

You took another step. “I don’t see a curse.”

He laughed, bitter and small. “Then you’re the only one.”

The wind picked up again, swirling between the columns, a current of snowflakes lifting off the floor like dust. You didn’t stop. You closed the space until you were barely a foot away and said, softer now:

“I’m still here.”

Nanami looked down at you.

For a second, you saw it—the boy he used to be. The brother who used to sneak you pastries in the dead of night, who read aloud from ledgers just to make the words sound pretty, who built snowmen with you in the courtyard before anyone cared who was watching.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he whispered. “You don’t have to,” you said. “You just have to come home.” The room went quiet again. And then the wind stopped.

You didn’t realise you’d been holding your breath until Nanami’s shoulders dropped, the tension bleeding out of him like something broken finally unclenching.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

 “I know.”

And for the first time in forever, he pulled you into his arms. It wasn’t warm. Not yet. But it was real.

And it was enough.

You didn’t know how long you stood there—his arms stiff around you at first, then slowly loosening, settling into something almost like comfort. The palace seemed to sigh with you, the magic in the air softening, the cold retreating from your skin just enough to feel your fingers again.

Toji waited just inside the archway, arms crossed but gaze steady. He hadn’t interrupted, hadn’t moved. He just stood there like he’d always been meant to stand behind you.

Nanami pulled back, looking down at his hands like he didn’t recognise them. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You gave a half-smile. “You think I came this far just to see your good side?”

His laugh was short but real, and that was a victory all its own.

He looked past you then, toward Toji. “You brought backup.”

“More like he dragged me here,” you said. “I didn’t exactly come equipped for ice climbing and wolf evasion.”

Nanami’s brow furrowed. “Wolves?”

“Don’t worry,” Toji said. “I scared them off.”

“With what?” Nanami asked, incredulous.

“Toji,” you said, deadpan, “is the wolf.”

Nanami blinked. “That… makes sense.”

Before you could say more, heavy footsteps echoed from the entrance.

“Hey!” Yuuji’s voice rang down the corridor, a little out of breath. “Sorry to ruin the mood, but we’ve got company!” You turned fast. “What kind of company?”

Yuuji skidded into view, cheeks red from running. “The angry kind. A couple of guards, and—uh—Geto.”

Your stomach dropped. Nanami’s face darkened. “What is he doing here?” You didn’t have an answer.

Toji was already moving, hand on his blade, expression sharp. “They followed you.” You shook your head. “No. I—I didn’t tell anyone—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Toji said. “They’re here now.” Nanami stepped forward, a flicker of frost lacing the floor beneath his feet again. “They want me gone. If they take me, they’ll imprison me—or worse.”

“Then we don’t let them.” Yuuji nodded. “I’ll hold the front door!” You stared. “You’re not armed.”

“I have enthusiasm!” Toji sighed. “He’s going to die.”

“Not if we stop this before it starts,” you said. Nanami’s hand touched your shoulder. “You shouldn’t be in the middle of this.” You met his eyes. “I’ve always been in the middle of this. I just finally decided to stand still.”

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t have to.

—

The front of the palace looked different when you returned to it—sharper, somehow. The wind had picked up again, curling along the pillars like it was bracing for a fight. Snow clung to the arches in delicate spirals, and the air felt charged, brittle.

Geto stood in the open just beyond the gate, dressed in the same polished coat he’d worn to the coronation. He looked almost out of place surrounded by frost—too smooth, too warm. His eyes flicked upward when he spotted you.

“You came all this way for him,” he said, voice casual, but not quite smiling. “How romantic.”

Toji stepped forward before you could. “Cut the shit. What do you want?”

Geto tilted his head. “What everyone wants. Order. Stability. A kingdom that isn’t gripped by magic and fear.” Nanami stepped into view behind you.

Geto didn’t flinch. “And the monster makes his entrance.”

You could feel Nanami tense beside you. Toji moved subtly closer, like he could anchor the space between all of you before it cracked.

“I’m not your enemy,” Nanami said, low.

“Tell that to the frostbite victims,” Geto replied, cold.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “We can fix it. Nanami’s not a threat. He never was.” Geto’s gaze slid to you, then measured, quiet. “You’re in love with an idea. You always were.”

You felt that one in your ribs.

Toji’s voice was a growl. “You’re wasting our time.”

“Funny,” Geto said, and stepped forward, hand twitching toward something under his coat. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

And then the air snapped. Nanami moved.

So did Toji.

A crack of ice shot across the ground, fast and sudden, catching Geto mid-step. He slipped, barely, but it was enough. Toji closed the distance with a snarl, hand around Geto’s collar, blade flashing in the light.

But Geto didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t fight back.

He just smiled.

“Arendelle deserves better than chaos,” he said. “You’ll see.”

Toji knocked him out with the hilt of his blade.

It was over in seconds.

You stood in the snow, breathing hard, heart pounding, staring down at the man you’d once imagined yourself marrying—and felt nothing but relief.

Not grief.

Not anger.

Just… release.

Nanami’s hand found your shoulder again. “Thank you.”

You turned. “You’re the one who saved us.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But you came for me first.”

You didn’t say anything to that.

You didn’t have to.

—

You left Geto in the snow, unconscious and disarmed, his breath fogging faintly against the pale light. Toji bound his hands with a cord from his pack, tight and deliberate, then turned to you.

“We need to move,” he said. “This won’t be the last of it.”

He was right.

You didn’t ask how he knew. You could feel it too—the heaviness in the air, the way the wind shifted. Something bigger was coming. And you hadn’t seen Gojo since the coronation.

That alone should’ve told you everything.

You took the southern ridge back toward the lowlands, hoping to circle the storm’s edge before it reached the valley. Yuuji caught up just past the ice falls, cheeks red, voice hoarse but chipper.

“I think I lost a boot,” he panted. “But I saved the snowman!”

Megumi made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

You slowed as you reached the next crest. Down below, the castle rose dark against the horizon, snow curling off the battlements like breath. Fires burned low in the city. The gates were sealed.

Toji frowned. “That’s not good.”

You stared. “What is?”

He pointed. Near the outer wall, rows of torches lined the square. Uniformed guards stood at attention, flanked by banners you didn’t recognise—crest designs subtly altered, new emblems sewn in gold thread.

At the centre of it all stood Gojo Satoru.

He wore white trimmed in silver, the old king’s seal draped around his shoulders like a shroud. His expression was unreadable from this distance, but you could see how the guards looked at him—like a man they already believed in.

Your stomach sank.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you whispered.

Nanami’s breath was steady beside you, but his hands had curled into fists again. “He moved fast.”

“He’s been planning this,” Toji said. “He was waiting.” Yuuji looked between you all, confused. “Wait—who is that?”

You answered without thinking. “The king’s advisor.”

“Former advisor,” Nanami corrected quietly. And then, like he felt you watching, Gojo looked up. His eyes met yours across the snow-covered distance, and for the briefest moment, he smiled.

It wasn’t friendly.

You backed away from the ridge. “We need to get inside,” you said. “Now.”

Toji nodded once, sharp. “I’ll find a way.” He was already moving when your hand caught his arm.

He paused. “I mean it,” you said. “Be careful.” He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all day.

And then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. Just for a second. Just enough.

Then he was gone.

You watched him disappear into the trees. The sky overhead began to darken again. And you had a feeling that this wasn’t the end.

It was just the beginning.

The courtyard gates were already open when you reached them.

You weren’t sure if that made it easier or worse. The guards didn’t stop you—just looked past you, like their orders hadn’t included you. Like, maybe someone wanted you to walk straight in.

Inside, the square had transformed. Banners had been torn down and replaced with clean lines, crisp crests you didn’t recognise. Silver instead of gold. White instead of blue. Everywhere you looked, Gojo’s version of the kingdom had already begun to take shape.

He stood at the steps of the palace, hands clasped behind his back, posture regal.

You used to think he was handsome in that distant, untouchable way. The kind of man who knew he was smarter than the room and enjoyed pretending otherwise. But now, standing in front of him, all you saw was a crown he hadn’t earned.

He smiled as you approached.

“You made it,” he said, like this was a party. “And here I was, starting to think you got lost.”

“I should’ve known it was you.”

Gojo gave a soft laugh. “You were always too trusting. It’s cute. Naive. A little exhausting.” Your hands clenched at your sides. “You were our advisor.”

He tilted his head. “You say that like I didn’t advise. I tried. Really. But when the throne is handed to a walking disaster and a prince who believes in fairy tales, someone has to keep the kingdom standing.”

“You mean under your rule.” He smiled wider. “Exactly.” 

Nanami stepped forward beside you.

Gojo’s smile faltered.

“I thought you’d run,” he said. “That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” Nanami didn’t answer. He just lifted one hand, palm out.

The wind shifted.

The torches flickered.

Frost spread beneath his feet—and this time, it moved with control. Precise. Elegant. The guards backed up instinctively, unsure.

Gojo raised his chin. “You really think you can scare me now?”

“No,” Nanami said, calm. “I think you already are.”

Gojo reached for something beneath his coat.

He never got the chance.

Toji hit him like a storm.

No warning. Just a blur of motion, steel flashing in the light, Gojo’s body hitting the ground with a grunt. Toji’s foot came down hard on Gojo’s arm, pinning him, blade poised just above his throat.

Gojo hissed. “You—”

“Me,” Toji said flatly. “The guy who didn’t betray the crown.”

Around you, the guards froze.

And then Yuuji burst into the square with a triumphant yell, waving a flag he had absolutely not been given permission to wave, riding Megumi bareback like a child on holiday.

“Victory or whatever!” he shouted.

The silence that followed was… surreal.

And then someone in the crowd laughed.

Nanami stepped forward.

“This ends now,” he said. “No more fear. No more hiding.”

The guards looked at each other, uncertain.

Then, slowly, one by one—they lowered their weapons.

Gojo didn’t speak again.

He was taken to the dungeons that night.

And Arendelle began to thaw.

It didn’t happen all at once—the thaw. The snow melted slowly, retreating in ribbons from the rooftops, slipping from the edges of shutters and gutters and castle spires like a long-held breath finally let go. The sky brightened day by day. Light found its way into corners that hadn’t seen it in weeks.

People came out of their homes again. Windows opened. Children screamed in delight at the sudden return of puddles.

Nanami didn’t take the throne immediately. He stepped back from it, quietly, without ceremony. Said he needed time to learn how to rule without fear. Without shutting people out. Without shutting you out.

You believed him.

You spent the next few days in the palace, helping repair what you could—broken windows, damaged halls, frostbitten crops that needed replanting. Yuuji became a local legend. The snowman reappeared and promptly fell apart again. And Toji…

Toji stayed.

Not because he had to. But because, when it was all over, when the guards laid down their arms and the flags were restored, he looked at you and didn’t say goodbye.

Instead, he said, “You owe me a drink.”

You said, “You saved the kingdom.”

He shrugged. “I’ll settle for the drink.”

And then he smiled.

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the low burn of the fireplace and the silver spill of moonlight through the frosted windowpanes. You’d slipped away from the feast hours ago. The crown still felt too heavy on your brother’s head. The castle, too full of laughter that didn’t quite reach your chest. But Toji had found you anyway—of course, he had.

He didn’t say much when he closed the door behind him, just watched you for a long moment from across the room. You met his eyes, said nothing, and held out your hand.

He took it without hesitation.

When he kissed you, it was softer than you expected. Slow. Like a man who’d thought about this more times than he’d admit and didn’t want to get it wrong. You let yourself lean into him, your fingers tangling in the back of his shirt, your breath catching when he deepened it—when he backed you into the windowsill and kissed you like you were something worth losing a war over.

Your hands slid beneath his coat, feeling heat and scar tissue and steady strength. His mouth never left yours for long, just long enough to murmur your name against your skin, to breathe out a curse when you pulled at the layers of his shirt, when your fingers dragged along his spine and felt him shudder.

The fire crackled behind you. His palm found your waist, then your ribs, then higher, fingers splayed like he was trying to memorise you by feel alone. When you gasped into his mouth, he pulled back, just enough to look at you.

“You sure?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed.

The rest was slow. Clothes slipped away one piece at a time, each fold of fabric kissed away like a promise. He traced his hands down your chest like he’d waited his whole life to do it—like you were the only beautiful thing left in the world. You felt him everywhere: the drag of his lips down your throat, the press of his palms against your hips, the way he whispered your name like it meant something sacred.

You weren’t cold anymore.

He laid you down carefully—no rush, no weight you didn’t want. Just heat. Just skin. The brush of his mouth over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest, his breath warm and ragged when you arched into him, gasped his name, trembled beneath his hands. He was gentle, but thorough, moving like a man who didn’t need to ask what you wanted—he already knew. He gave it slowly, completely, one kiss, one stroke, one breath at a time.

When he finally entered you, it stole what little breath you had left.

It wasn’t pain. Not with him. It was weight and heat and fullness, your body adjusting to him like you’d been made for this, for him. His hand found yours and didn’t let go. His mouth never strayed far from your throat, murmuring soft praises and curses that blurred together as he moved—slow at first, then deeper, drawn into you with every gasp that escaped your lips.

You moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again, fingers clutching at his back, the slow, grinding rhythm of him inside you building into something bright and unbearable. He hit a spot that made your vision blur, your legs tighten around his hips.

“There?” he breathed.

You could only nod.

He groaned, deep in his chest, and began to move with more purpose, each thrust sending sparks down your spine. The pleasure coiled in your belly, tighter and tighter, like a thread pulled taut. You could feel him unravelling too—his movements growing rougher, his voice rasping your name like a prayer, his grip tightening around your waist like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

When you came, it ripped through you like fire, all warmth and shuddering release, your whole body arching into his. He followed you moments later, a muffled curse into your skin, hips stuttering as he spilled into you, burying his face in the curve of your neck like he’d break if he let go.

You held him there.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

Eventually, he shifted just enough to look at you, eyes dark and full of something you didn’t have a name for.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

You smiled, fingers brushing through his hair. “Good. Because I’d just come looking for you.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. Softer.

And in the silence that followed, in the cooling warmth of tangled limbs and moonlight, you fell asleep with his heartbeat steady beneath your hand.

The spring that followed was the softest Arendelle had ever seen.

Snowmelt shimmered on the cobblestones, pooling into gutters and gardens alike. Wildflowers broke through the frost like they’d been waiting for permission. Birds returned to the palace towers. The market reopened in full colour, with banners strung from every window and laughter that finally sounded real again.

Your brother ruled with a quieter hand now. Firmer in some ways, softer in others. He smiled more. Trusted more. Sometimes he let you sit in on council meetings and didn’t scold you for making faces behind the baroness from the western fjord. That felt like progress.

Gojo’s name faded into the background of the castle, mentioned only in whispers. The cell he occupied stayed locked. Empty, most days. No one talked about how the key had gone missing.

You didn’t ask.

Geto was never seen again. Some said he vanished over the mountains. Others said he drowned. You knew better than to assume anything with him.

Yuuji still came by the palace every week, usually tracking in mud or snow or some combination of both, and the snowman—rebuilt, reshaped, reimagined—never strayed far from his side. He talked to it like it answered. You never asked if it did.

Nanami asked you once, what you planned to do now that peace had returned.

You said you weren’t sure. That you might stay. That you might leave.

But you knew the truth before the words even finished forming.

Because Toji was waiting at the garden wall, arms folded, sun cutting across the sharp line of his jaw, looking at you like he always did—like you were something steady. Something real.

You walked down the steps without hurrying.

He met you halfway.

“I’m supposed to be meeting with a trade envoy,” you said.

Toji hummed. “You’re late.”

“I was busy being important.”

“Mm.” His mouth tilted in a smirk. “Wanna be less important for a while?”

You stepped into his arms like you’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

He kissed you there, beneath the arching vines and bloom-heavy branches, with the whole kingdom breathing easy for once. It was slow and certain. And when you leaned into him, fingers curling into the back of his coat, it felt like more than enough.

You stayed there until the light dipped lower, until the shadows stretched long across the courtyard and the sky turned gold behind the mountains.

Peace, it seemed, was a quiet thing.

But it was yours.

And this time, it was going to last.

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[scorpiosbite]

the first time drew saw actress!reader.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── when drew was forced by madelyn to come watch this new show with her and the rest of the cast he didn’t expect to have his heart captured by the mesmerising woman on the screen.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in 2023 during the filming of obx 4 which is when game of thrones started airing in my timeline also actress!reader is anywhere between 19-22 years old.

drew was sprawled across the couch in his hotel room, aimlessly scrolling. after a long day of filming under the hot and heavy sun of morocco, he had no intention of doing anything that required effort. his plan was to simply scroll until his eyes got heavy and he knocked out, but knowing his insomnia that wouldn’t be until the early hours of the morning.

glancing at the time displayed on his phone ten pm it read, he let out a heavy sigh, though his body ached with exhaustion, his mind would not shut off. but before he could put down his phone and try to force himself to sleep, a knock sounded on the door “yeah?”

“drew! its maddie.”

“maddie?” he spoke softly, what’s she doing up at this time. usually she was asleep the moment she got back to the hotel. “come in, its open.”

she came tumbling through the door, coming to a stop in front of the couch where he laid. drew couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched her. “what’s up?”

“drew! you gotta come watch this new show with us!” her hands were placed on her hips as she looked down at him.

drew sighed, a noise of exhaustion. “i can’t be fucked getting up, cline.” her face scrunched up, ready to dispute him.

“drew you have to! the last episode of season one just came out and i watched the first episode when it aired and it was so good that i stopped watching so that we could binge it all when the season finished!”

recognition sparked on his face. “wait is this game of thrones? i remember you saying how good the first episode was, like two months ago.”

madelyn’s face grew excited at the fact that he remembered. “yeah! please please, you have to come watch it, jd, bailey, chase, laci, rudy and austin are already in my room waiting.”

drew mulled over the idea for a moment. either he could rot in his room until his call time tomorrow or hang out with his friends and possibly watch a good show, if maddie’s high praise was anything to go by.

“yeah, alright let’s go.” he stood up from the couch, stretching his arms and grabbing his phone to follow maddie, who was already halfway out the door, unable to wait any longer.

when they arrived at her room, the first episode was already lined up on the screen, the hbo logo blaring in the dark room. drew greeted everyone and then took a seat on the spare love seat by the window. “you guys get forced too?” he questioned.

“yup.” jd breathed out. “nah i’ve been wanting to watch this, i remember hearing about it when they started filming, it’s supposed to be like super graphic and vulgar.” madison commented. “shit, really? i know nothing about this show, other than the fact that cline can’t shut up about it.” austin added. chuckles sounded across the room, and madelyn yelled from the kitchen where the popcorn she was making turned in the microwave. “y’all are about to thank me!”

drew simply sat in silence, with the amount maddie was praising this show, his skepticism grew, no way this show was that good. someone pressed play as soon as madelyn was seated, he didn’t see who. the intro song of the show blasted through the room and drew settled back into his seat.

“yo, pass me the popcorn?” chase rolled up the bag and chucked it across the room from where he was sat, drew caught it with ease.

he couldn’t lie, the show was good, fifteen minutes in and he was hooked. and just when he thought that it couldn’t get better, you came on the screen.

“holy fuck who is that?” jd’s voice rang out, but drew felt as though his voice came from somewhere far away. he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. “she’s beautiful right?” madelyn sighed out. mummers of agreement sounded from the people sitting in the room. “her name’s y/n y/l/n.”

“y/n” drew repeated to himself softly, almost as he was testing the feel of your name in his mouth. rolling the syllables on his tongue, in that moment he decided that no other word would ever compare to the way your name felt on his lips.

dressed in a flowing dress with daring cuts exposing your seemingly soft skin, he wondered what would it feel like if he ran his palms along the smooth expansion. your hair sliver, long and loose to play visenya targaryen, the last targaryen, the daughter of rhaegar targaryen and elia martell. drew felt as though no one had ever looked more stunning in the history of the world.

“drew? you all good man?” someone asked, he didn’t know who, he couldn’t hear or think of anything beyond you and the performance you were giving. “i think starkey’s got a crush.” rudy sang out, and the rest laughed. but drew couldn’t care less, too busy watching you.

they watched two more episodes and as the third episode came to an end drew finally broke out of his trance. while the rest occasionally made comments during the show drew could not tear himself away from the screen, afraid that if he looked away he would miss you.

“i gotta hand it to you, cline, i’m hooked. that shit was amazing!” carlacia grinned. “i fucking told you guys!” she retorted back. “but aside from that, starkey? what did you think?” she smirked at him.

“yeah, that was good.” drew’s body tingling “that’s it? just good? you don’t wanna talk about the moon eyes you were making every time visenya came on screen?” drew cheeks tinged pink. “yeah, she’s pretty.” “aye, shot your shot man, she’s so fine.” madison teased.

as drew made his way back to his room he looked at the time, two am, damn he didn’t even realise time had passed that quick. sliding into his bed after taking a quick shower, he couldn’t help himself but run a quick search of you on google. “fuck.” the soft curse slipping from his lips, just when he thought you couldn’t get hotter, he saw pictures of you, not in costume, naturally a brunette, he was so fucked. fuck it, he quickly searched up your name on instagram.

you were laying in bed scrolling through instagram when a notification popped up.

drewstarkey started following you. follow back?

first one, do you like it? if you do i’ll keep writing. reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated.

[gghostwriter]

How Three Became One

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 3 Summary: In the aftermath of your failed make-up anniversary dinner, the third person in the relationship reaches out to you Trope: Angst w.c: 1.6k a/n: There is JJ slander in this (doing it for the plot and to hurt you all, like how I hurt myself in writing this.) I’m mostly writing follow ups now of my one shots and this is part of a part three series, i swear once i get all these follow ups done I’m going to hibernate for a bit to focus on my crime series. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The somber air inside the coffee shop threatens to stifle your already critical heart. Its’ clear window clouded from the cold. Dull shades of gray creeping from every corner of the room, draining life as it went, no matter the strain of each lighted lamp on the tables.

Your fingers pulled the sleeves lower, wanting to cover any sliver of skin, trying to fight off the chill, as if it doesn’t come from within. Why did you agree to this, you wondered for the nth time, what good would confronting your nemesis, the root of the problem—Spencer’s Achilles heel, bring?

Comfort? 

Not at all.

The truth? 

Maybe.

Closure?

Closure from what exactly?

The failed relationship still stuck in limbo, dreadfully waiting for its free fall or flight from the precipice it’s balancing on?

Spencer had given you space, an act you weren’t sure to be grateful for. Yes, it spoke about his gentleman sensibilities and respect to not hound you to talk but on the other hand, his presence in reminding you how much he cared was sorely missed. Couldn’t he have at least left you one voicemail, voice pleading and coated with sadness, to repeat over and over again? Or a singular flower tucked to your doorstep, wilting slowly each day for your eyes to lay on?

You wanted nothing but you wanted something.

It was a conundrum.

Late into the night, when the phone rang and when your steps hastened against the wooden floor, you almost wished it was him. Eyes unfocused, the name unregistered, you surely wished it was him, instead of Her. 

Her voice, blended with a slight static, was hesitant and soft as if she had encountered a wounded animal in need of her saving, tore through the paper-thin shield you’ve built around your bleeding, bruised heart. 

You wanted to lash out, to be quiet, and to agree to anything she asked for—anything to end the call immediately, but when she suggested to meet in this quaint hidden coffee shop, describing it’s freshly brewed coffee and tasteful pastries, a sob rose and lodged itself in your throat.

It was your spot.

A secret place in your neighborhood you discovered and happily shared with Spencer.

This once vibrant store, the backdrop of so many rose-tinted memories, turned ordinary—tainted with the truth that it was no longer just yours and his. It was also Hers. 

“Hi,” JJ softly greeted, occupying the seat in front of you. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Clearing your throat, the shred of what little courage you mustered leaving your body. “Yeah, uh, hi.”

Her blue eyes documented the lemon ginger tea in front of you, cooled and untouched. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”

“Fine, been doing good,” the darkness under your dull eyes painted a different picture, something that registered as her feminine shoulders drooped.

Lips pressed tightly together, she shifted in her leather worn bench, allowing the silence to further the divide between you both—the two female protagonists featured in Spencer Reid’s story.

“You don’t have to lie—”

“Right. A profiler, as if I could ever forget.”

“—Spence also isn’t doing well—”

You flinched, the sound of his name uttered out loud feeling like a thousand pounds dropping on your chest.

“—and just know that I’m here for the both of you, to clear up any misunderstandings. Let me help, ask me anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s why we’re here after all.”

Your eyes examined how her golden hair fell perfectly around her, creating a halo of perfection you have never felt once before. You were always the kid who worked hard to seem put together—a stack of paper stick achievements built to hide how ordinary you turned out to be. A woman made of dismantled almosts. 

“Can you tell me—” clearing your throat “—about you and him. Anything, as team members, friends, your first date—just anything I need to know. He’d always quickly summarize the context of you as his best friend, defender, confidant. Never letting anything beyond that.”

She nodded with a slight smile on her lips. “He’s always been a little brother. I, like everyone else in the team, wanted to protect and guide him. Joining the BAU at such a young age and enduring hardships that come with it—the kidnapping, the Dilaudid, his parent’s involvement in a cold case, losing Maeve, and prison—is too much for anybody to bear all on their own. We’ve always been close, being exposed to the darkness that comes with our job will do that for you but I’ve never seen him like that with you. He was so light and happy, almost as if the younger version of Spence came back to life—” she laughed before the brightness wiped away from her face. “—and now, like this with you, he looks afraid, like he might lose it all, lose you. I’ve seen him sad when we weren’t able to save Maeve but this time, this sadness that comes from the thought of you leaving, seems too deep to come out from. I’m afraid that he won’t make it and for that, I feel responsible.” 

The deep red nail polish on your fingers were leaving chipped specks all over the white table, like blood on a pure white snow. The cage around your devotion and love threatens to topple down, releasing you from indecision. It seemed unfair to persecute a man of Spencer’s caliber for his past and for your fear of never being enough. 

A shadow of a smile peeked from behind your curtain of self-preservation. Maybe all could be salvaged with a deep talk between one another and a schedule to a therapist—solo and couple. You loved him strongly enough to tackle those doubts and reverently wish to see the relationship through, forever if time allowed it to.

But the small voice in the back of your head echoed above the chimes of change and courage, it’s deep tone trying to pull you back to stagnancy and reality. What did she mean by that? Why would she feel that way?

“Responsible?” you whispered, heart beating loudly against your chest. Its’ sound parroting on your ear. “Why would you feel responsible?” 

“During the last case, being held at gun point—” the bewilderment in your eyes causing her to gasp. “—he never told you, did he?” 

The anticipation, anger, and dread enveloped you, as if you were about to combust at the drop off a hat. If you looked down to any piece of you, you’d think you were doused with gasoline and a small flicker of fire started at the tips of your shoes. “Tell me what? JJ, tell me what?”

She took a deep breath, trying to delay the inevitable truth. “During that time, the unsub wanted us to admit, confess a secret no one knew and wanted nobody to know and I—”

You raised your hands, trembling from realization, to unsuccessfully block the truth from spilling into the world. You didn’t want to hear it—needed to never hear it. “Stop. Please, stop.” 

Droplets of sadness mixed with the specs of chipped nail polish on the table, your tears creating tracks on your ashen cheeks. This was enough to break you—the shaky mirage of your strong self was nowhere to be found as sobs freely escaped from the depths of your ribs. 

You came here, filled with indecision which turned into hope before rapidly decaying to death.

The final nail in the coffin.

“You’re married, JJ. You have kids, how could—” you pressed your fingers tightly to your lips, nails digging into the soft flesh. “—I guess I always knew, huh. I may not be a profiler but my woman intuition has never steered me wrong. Not even once.”

She hung her head, the locks of halo you once considered pure and perfect shrouded around her like a thick veil of shame.

“So what now? What about Will and I? Does he even know?”

Her watery blue eyes, pleading with yours. “No, nothing changes. I love Will and my kids and it’s just a secret I want to take to my grave.”

A vicious hollow laugh bled out of you. “Are you even inlove with him? Your husband?” 

The lack of response was very telling. Her love for her chosen partner was shallow compared to the other. You briefly wondered if there was no kids in the picture, would she have even stayed? 

The thought was dashed repeatedly in your head. It wasn’t your problem to speculate. Mind made up, you refuse to be part of this convoluted love story any longer.

“That’s cruel of you. I wouldn’t even wish that on my worst enemy,” you slowly gathered your things and any strength that could take you home. The only place you’d allow yourself to unravel. “I think, I should go.”

“But—”

You mustered a small smile. “Thank you for being honest, JJ. I wish you the best with all of this. Tell Spencer, I’m sorry and please take care of him for me, will you?”

Quickly turning away from the mess that shredded your love life into bits no longer salvageable, the dull shades of gray once crawling from every corner of the store followed your trail. 

Another dismantled almost to add to your ever growing collection.

The colorful world you and Spencer built with the thought of forever turned to ash. 

Burnt from the truth.

The remains charred to multitudes of gray that signified the end. 

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