Hey. Can you write Worick as a boyfriend? I don't know if you write for him, but since you did one for Nicolas, I thought I'd ask.
Worick Arcangelo as Your Boyfriend (Headcanons)
Worick acts like your relationship isn’t that serious at first. He’ll flirt shamelessly, throw an arm around your shoulders, call you embarrassing pet names, and grin every time you get flustered.
He’s the type to wink at you from across the room just to see you roll your eyes.
But don’t let the teasing fool you.
The moment someone else starts flirting with you, his smile never leaves—it just gets a little sharper.
He’ll casually slip an arm around your waist, pull you against his side, and say with that signature grin,
“Sorry. She’s already taken.”
It’s effortless. Confident. Like there was never any doubt.
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Physical affection is his love language.
A hand resting on the small of your back.
Your fingers intertwined while you walk.
Random forehead kisses as he passes by.
Pulling you into his lap without saying a word.
He loves having some part of him touching you whenever you’re together.
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He calls you “beautiful,” “sweetheart,” “darling,” “angel”—sometimes so often that hearing your real name from him almost feels strange.
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Despite acting carefree, he’s incredibly observant.
He notices when your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
When you go quiet.
When your shoulders seem heavier than usual.
He won’t push, but he’ll sit beside you and quietly ask,
“Talk to me.”
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He’s protective without ever making you feel trapped.
If someone makes you uncomfortable, he’ll step between you before you even have to ask.
The joking disappears.
His voice gets calm.
“Stay behind me.”
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When he has money, he loves spoiling you.
Nice dinners.
Flowers.
Jewelry.
Anything that reminds him of you.
When he doesn’t?
He’ll still find a way to make the day feel special.
Late-night walks through Ergastulum.
Sharing cheap takeout.
Making you laugh until your stomach hurts.
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Worick smokes.
It’s a habit he’s had for years, and he’s honest enough not to promise he’ll quit if he knows he can’t keep that promise.
If you ever asked him to stop completely, he’d smile a little sadly before shaking his head.
“Wish I could tell you it’d be that easy, sweetheart.”
“…But I’d rather be honest with you.”
Even so, he always thinks about you first.
If he reaches for a cigarette while you’re sitting beside him, he’ll glance over and ask,
“Mind if I smoke?”
If the smell bothers you, he won’t argue or make a big deal out of it.
He’ll simply slip the cigarette back into the pack for later or head outside to smoke instead.
He’d rather stand on the balcony or outside the apartment than fill your shared space with smoke.
When he comes back inside, smelling faintly of tobacco, he’ll give you a crooked grin before wrapping his arms around you.
“Better?”
He may not be able to quit overnight…
But he’ll always make sure you’re comfortable.
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Home is different.
The moment the apartment door closes, the loud, teasing Worick softens.
He’ll drop onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh before patting the cushion beside him.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
He doesn’t even have to ask twice.
He absolutely loves cuddling in private.
On the couch.
In bed.
Lazy mornings where neither of you has any reason to get up.
He’ll wrap an arm around your waist, pull you against his chest, and absentmindedly rub slow circles along your back while pressing kisses into your hair.
He could stay like that for hours.
He’s happiest when you’re curled up against him.
Your head tucked beneath his chin.
Your legs tangled together.
One of his hands lazily playing with yours.
It’s one of the few moments where he looks completely relaxed.
But if you decide to hold him instead…
He melts.
Wrap your arms around him from behind while he’s making coffee.
Pull him into your chest after a long day.
Guide his head onto your shoulder while you’re sitting together.
For just a second…
He freezes.
Then the smallest smile appears.
One almost nobody else ever gets to see.
“…Well.”
“Guess I’m the spoiled one today.”
He’ll lean into you without another word.
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His favorite place is with his head resting in your lap.
If your fingers start combing through his hair, his eyes slowly close.
His breathing evens out.
He lets out the quietest sigh.
“…You’re dangerous.”
When you ask why, he smiles without opening his eyes.
“Because if you keep doing that…”
“…I’m never getting up.”
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There are nights when the weight of everything he’s lived through catches up to him.
Those nights are quiet.
No jokes or flirting.
He’ll simply walk over to you, rest his forehead against your shoulder, and stay there.
Not saying a word.
Just silently asking if you’ll hold him for a while.
And the second your arms wrap around him…
You feel his body relax.
Like he can finally breathe.
He’ll bury his face against your neck and quietly hold you tighter.
Not because he thinks you’ll leave—
But because, for the first time in a long time…
He feels safe.
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Arguments never last long.
He’s learned that pride isn’t worth losing someone he loves.
He’ll eventually sigh, rub the back of his neck, and mumble,
“Yeah… I was an idiot.”
Then he’ll open his arms.
“Come here.”
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If you’re sick, he pretends you’re being dramatic.
Right before handing you medicine, soup, a blanket, and making sure you’ve actually eaten.
He’ll complain the whole time.
“You’re impossible.”
Meanwhile, he’s checked your temperature three times in the last hour.
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More than anything…
Worick wants your relationship to be peaceful.
The outside world is cruel enough.
So when he’s with you, he wants laughter.
Comfort.
Late-night conversations.
Quiet mornings tangled up together.
And the reassurance that no matter what happens outside those walls…
The two of you always have a place to come home to.
