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toruro · 2 years

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love you twice — j. wonwoo x reader — part one

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4

description: in which your extremely hot and sexy one night stand turns out to be your son’s teacher. naturally, chaos ensues, but you might just find love as your life continues to take an unexpected turn.

“so, you’re just going to pretend like you aren’t avoiding me?” wonwoo asks with a brow raised, pointing an accusing finger in your direction. heat flourishes at the tip of your ears as you turn away from his gaze. “i’m not avoiding you mr. jeon,” you mutter, suddenly realizing you’ve just been caught in his trap. he takes a step forward and you back up against the wall as he leans in so his lips are ghosting your ear. "really?" wonwoo murmurs, "because i think you're lying." you both stay like that for a few moments before coming to your senses. he steps away with a heavy breath. "i'm sorry. you can get going if you—" you aren't sure what possesses you in that moment but you just can't allow him to finish what he's saying, grabbing him by the collar and slamming your lips on his.

tags/warnings: sexual content (18+), first-grade-teacher!wonwoo, mother!reader, fluff, angst (light), reader is jun's cousin, dirty talk, sexual tension, tension in general lol, unedited

w/c: 6.7k

a/n: this thought came to mind like once and i just *had* to write it because oh my god???? i hope u like reading this as much as i liked writing it! please reblog and like if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to me c:

“Fuck, yeah,” the pretty man above you grunts into your shoulder as he fucks into you, the drag of his fat cock against your gummy walls having you writhe in pleasure under him. Your fingers reach up and claw at his back, and if the digging of your nails into his skin is hurting, his only response is another deep, guttural groan of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out when his thick tip is hitting that one spot which has your toes curling, throwing your head back into his mattress, weakly bringing your hips up to try and sync with his thrusts, encouraging him to go deeper, harder. “Right there—right—ah! There!”

He continues to batter his length into you after your pleas, muttering out words of praise—“good girl—fuck—holding me so tight, so good,” and the words are going through your ears and straight down to your hot, sopping core because holy hell this man is amazing at dirty talk.

You’re so fucked through that you can’t even remember how you ended up here—all you know is that you were finally left with a free night when your cousin offered to take care of Kei for the night when you expressed the need to have just a little time to yourself. The last thing that comes to your mind at the moment is how you were at a club and somehow managed to end up here, in the bed of an extremely attractive man who seems to know exactly what to do with his mouth, his hands, his dick.

It’s a passing thought that the shame will hit you eventually, but right now all you can think about is how long it’s been since you got laid and how you never, ever remember sex feeling this good. You aren’t sure if it’s just this guy that is amazing or if you’re just really needy and desperate but—oh fuck, he’s slamming into you so hard and there’s that pulse that rumbles deep inside of your core and it has you moaning loud. Okay so, it’s definitely the fact that he might be your best lay pretty much ever, and it has you squirming around as you babble, “‘m gonna cum—I—fuck, I’m cumming!”

The waves of hot, white pleasure hit you hard and it has tears welling up in your eyes as you feel him let out his own moan from the way you’re squeezing him so tight, the feeling of his warm cum filling up the condom as he thrusts into you a few last times. You two stay like that for a moment, his hands on either side of your head holding his body above yours, as you both inhale and exhale deeply trying to catch your spent breath.

After a minute, he’s pushing himself off of you and off the bed, pulling off the condom to throw it out without a word. You take this as your cue to get up and start picking up your clothes, squeaking a little as a dull ache resides in your legs. You catch him looking at you at the sound, and you swear there’s a hint of a smirk on his face, but in the dark of the room you can’t quite tell. As you lean down to slip on your panties, he finally speaks.

“You can use my shower, even if you don’t plan on staying.”

You glance up at him with a chuckle, saying, “You like keeping your one night stands over for breakfast? What a gentleman.” He rolls his, pulling on some pants as he does so.

“Is there something wrong with being hospitable to someone who looks like they can hardly walk?”

“I suppose not,” you hum, ignoring the flush of your cheeks at his sly comment. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to get home—I have someone waiting for me,” you explain, a small smile creeping its way onto your face as you think about Kei. He looks at you for a second, a confused and honestly slightly mortified expression donning his face. Your eyes widen as you realize what that must have sounded like, and you throw up your hands and shake your head. “I don’t mean it like that—I—fuck—I’m not cheating on anyone! I meant something else!”

He gives you a funny look, replying, “I’ll choose to trust you on that, for the sake of my own sanity. I wouldn’t want to know that I’m the cause of a failed marriage or something.”

You grumble as you pull on your shirt, checking your pockets and purse to see if there’s anything missing. “No failed marriages here,” you laugh, tone slightly bitter before you brush it off. “Anyways, you should choose to trust me because I am telling the truth,” you counter as he watches you make your way to the exit. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, since I probably won’t see you again.”

“Too bad,” he grins as you approach his apartment’s door, slipping on your shoes. “That was fun.”

You inwardly bite your cheek at his shamelessness, looking away. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, I guess,” you huff nonchalantly. “Anyways, thank you for this night. I kind of really needed this,” you admit, and then you’re slipping out of the door before he even has a chance to respond.

When you return to your apartment, you’re greeted by Jun at the door, lips somewhat in a grimace as you find Kei asleep in his arms. “Sorry, he kept saying he wanted to wait for you and he wouldn’t go to sleep so I tried to put on some show for him but then he fell asleep on my lap but I didn’t want to move until you came back,” he explains as he braces Kei under the arms so he can hand him over to you.

“Aw,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to your son's forehead as you look up at Jun. “Thank you so much for this, Jun, it really means a lot.”

He brings a hand up to the back of his neck and chuckles, waving his hand at you. “Don’t worry about it. I know you needed this,” he says, following you to your bedroom to help you set up the bed for Kei. “I got him to brush his teeth and all, so all that stuff is in set. Is there anything else you need help with?” he offers as you finish up tucking Kei into bed, walking out of the room as you shut off the lights.

“No, I think it’s okay,” you tell him honestly, leaning against the kitchen counter to catch up with Jun for a few minutes.

“Okay well, d’you have fun?” Jun asks, and he doesn’t give you the chance to respond before saying, “Seems like you did,” he snickers, pointing to your neck. Your hands fly up to your neck with wide eyes as you remember that your fuck buddy for the night was quite literally all over you.

“Whatever,” you respond with a roll of your eyes, “it’s just one night, and I swear I just needed to let loose a little.” You sigh deeply, and Jun sends you a look of sympathy.

“Everything alright?”

Your shoulders slump as rest your weight on the counter, leaning into Jun has he wraps a shoulder around your arm comfortingly. "It's just—ugh—Kei is starting first grade in two days and I just...I don't know how to feel."

"That makes sense," Jun agrees, "but it's good that he got into that school you'd been trying to get him into, right?"

"Yeah," you sigh again. "Fuck, that was really hard—I had to beg that principal to let him in 'cause they were full and it was a pain in the ass, but it is a really good school so I guess it makes sense." Jun hums in response, encouraging you to go on. "I guess it's just that I'm worried for him? It's only been me and him, you know, so I'm nervous. I know it's a good school, I just hope he's gonna be in good hands."

"Trust me, Kei is an amazing kid, so he'll be able to thrive anywhere. And if the school isn't up to your liking, you always have the option of transferring him out—after all, he's only in first grade so switching schools shouldn't be a problem," Jun explains to you, leaving your side to bring you a glass of water.

"Thank you," you say honestly as you gulp it down. “I think I needed that.”

“No problem. Is there anything else you want to talk about? You know I’m always open ears.”

You throw Jun a smile as you push yourself off the counter. “Yeah, I know, and I appreciate you for that, but honestly, all I need right now is to change into my pajamas and crash into the bed,” you tell him as he slips on his shoes at the doorway, picking up his backpack.

“Alright, alright. Let me know if you need any help or anything. I’m gonna get going now.”

“Thank you again,” you say as you open the door for him. Jun smiles and waves at you, bidding goodnight before he’s walking down the hallway and out of your sight. Once you close the door behind you, you waste no time getting into your bathroom and rinsing your body off, slipping into a much more comfortable set of clothes.

It's around ten minutes later when you're finally done with cleaning yourself and the room up one last time before crawling into the bed next to Kei. As you pull the covers over you both, you feel the exhaustion from the entire day fully engulf you, and before you know it, you're being thrown into a deep slumber.

The next day is Sunday and you spend each minute biting your nails and stressing over anything and everything. Kei’s going to be going to an actual school for the first time ever tomorrow and you can’t help but notice a buzzing instinct that something—just something—unexpected will happen. You can’t quite place your suspicions on something just yet, but the thoughts have you going crazy to the point where you have to call Jun in the night so he can calm you down.

“What if—what if—?” your frantic thoughts are cut off by Jun.

“Okay look I know you’re stressed but maybe you’re making this harder on yourself than it needs to be. You’ve thought of everything and like maybe 0.01% of the scenarios are actually even feasible, so trust me when I say nothing’s going to go wrong.

“But what if—”

“No what if’s!” Jun exclaims exasperatedly, “or else I’m going to come and take Kei to school myself tomorrow because god knows you’re not in the right mind right now.”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop!” you surrender in defeat, sighing as Kei comes up to you to show you a drawing he made. “I’m gonna get back to making dinner, Jun,” you say through the phone before squatting down.

“Okay, talk to you later. Try not to lose your mind,” Jun advises, causing you to chuckle as you hang hup, turning your full attention to your son.

“Hey Kei-Kei,” you say sweetly, patting his head as he looks down at the paper in his hands. “What’cha have there?” you ask curiously, scooching closer as he holds up the paper.

“It’s the new school, Mommy,” he explains, holding up a colored drawing of a school and a stick figure of you with an (adorably) abnormally large head holding the hand of a stick figure of him. “An’ there’s you an’ there’s me!”

Your heart swells as you stand up holding the paper, using a magnet to put it up on the fridge. “I love it Kei, you’re such a good artist!” you exclaim, swooping down to pick him up. “You excited for school tomorrow?”

“Yeah!”

“Your teacher’s name’s gonna be Mr. Jeon okay? That’s what the principal told me,” you tell him carefully, setting him down at his elevated seat at the dinner table. “Be nice to him okay? You need to respect teachers.”

“Yes Mommy,” Kei nods along enthusiastically as he watches you go to the kitchen and bring him some rice and curry.

“You remember the plan? I’ll drop you off but I don’t think I can stay long enough to go with you inside ‘cause I have work, okay?” Kei only half-mindedly nods his head as he dives into the food that you’ve set for him, but you don’t have the heart to blame him—after all, this is probably the fifth time you repeated this to him today. “I’ll be there right after school ends though,” you tell him, reminding yourself of the parent-teacher meeting Kei’s teacher had arranged to introduce himself to the parents.

“Okay,” Kei responds, his mouth stuffed with rice and curry smeared on his chin. He looks up at you innocently and you can’t help but giggle, his smile washing all your worries away.

As you clean up his face, you remind yourself of Jun’s words from earlier. Everything’s going to be okay.

And for the most part, everything is okay. In fact, everything’s going great, from Kei’s smooth drop off at his new school, to when you set foot on campus with five minutes to spare before the teacher meeting. There’s a big fat grin plastered on your face as you realize that maybe your hunch that something was going to go wrong was nothing more than that—just a hunch.

Now this is the part where you think you should have known better.

Once the final school bell rings, there are students rushing out of classrooms as you among a few other parents gather around the room that is 103, waiting to see your children and their teacher. As you all form in a line by the door, there’s a slightly older woman standing next to you wearing a kind smile.

“Are you here to see Mr. Jeon?” she asks you. Her warmth grows on you as you smile and nod.

“Yes! I assume you are too?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “I’ve been so excited! He’s a fairly young teacher, you know?”

“Is that so so,” you murmur, “my son is new to the school and all, so we aren’t really familiar with any of the teachers. Does Mr. Jeon have a good reputation?”

The lady shrugs. “I’ve heard he’s quite good with the kids, but I’d hope he was since he’s a first grade teacher…” she jokes. “I haven’t heard anything bad about him, if that’s what you’re asking. What I have heard though, is that he is quite nice to look at!”

You let out a small chuckle at that, amused by the idea of a man who has the parents of his students gossiping about his looks.

“Oh!” the lady exclaims, straightening her back. “Looks like they’re about to come!”

You peer over the shoulder of the father of another student in front of you, watching as the door opens slowly and a rush of Kei-sized children run out. Your smile brightens as your eyes land on your son, calling out his name so that he can run up to you and into your lifting arms. Picking him up, you have time to observe the obvious grin he has plastered on his face, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Hey Kei-Kei,” you say sweetly. “How was your first day of school?”

“It was so much fun Mommy! Mr. Jeon says he’s gonna talk to all of you,” he said, pointing at all the other adults greeting their kids.

“Yeah, that’s right!” you tell him, setting him down. You’re about to say something else before you hear a deep, familiar voice—it hardly takes you a second to realize who it is, and you freeze in your tracks. Your face grows pale as you brace yourself for what you’re about to see and hear—you’re lucky you’re standing in the back so he can’t see you and the million thoughts that are evidently running through your mind..

“Hello everyone, I’m glad you could make it today. I’m Jeon Wonwoo, and as you know, I’m your child’s teacher. I’m excited to start things off on a high note. You can have your child play on the playground during the meeting, since we still have our supervisors out to watch them."

Mr. Jeon. Jeon Wonwoo. Wonwoo. Him .

You should have known that your mother instincts were too accurate—the universe just had to throw you a curveball. You chew on your tongue for a moment figuring out how to handle this situation as you lean down closer to Kei, nodding to him when he looks over at you for permission to follow his newly-made friends to the playground. Taking a deep breath as you watch Kei skip away, you glance over at him , who luckily hasn’t seemed to notice you.

Straightening your back as all of the young kids happily follow each other outside, the hallway is finally only left with him and the parents. “Okay, you guys can come in, I’ve made room for you all to stand around the back since I doubt any of you will fit into your child’s chair,” Mr. Jeon jokes, and while most others laugh, there’s a pit of anxiety gnawing at your stomach that has you going stiff. He moves aside a little, making way for the parents to enter the classroom and greeting each one individually.

Suddenly your breath is caught in your throat and you glance around you, excusing yourself from the lady next to you so you can shuffle to the back of the line, pretending to look through something in your purse. You aren’t even sure what you’re trying to do, but all you know is that you just need a moment to collect yourself, your thoughts. Luck must not be on your side though, as before you know it, the last person in front of you has entered the classroom leaving you dead in your tracks and staring at Mr. Jeon , who’s eyes haven’t turned fully towards you yet.

Maybe this is your last chance to run , you think quickly, but you remind yourself that embarrassing or not, this is for Kei and you’d be damned to miss this meeting. That and the fact that maybe you’re just a little happy that you’re seeing this attractive man again and— no! You scold yourself, don’t think like that!

You shake yourself of such dirty, such inappropriate thoughts when you finally catch his eyes landing on you. That’s when you see it‚ the way his eyes widen slightly as he takes in your figure. He recognizes you, you’re sure of it. His hand is already reaching out to shake yours but it stops midway as you both take a moment to stare at each other before he’s quickly clearing his throat and looking away for a second.

“H-hi,” he says, pursing his lips together after realizing he fucking stuttered. “Nice to meet you. You must be Kei’s mother?” he asks, avoiding the fat fucking elephant in the room. You shyly reach out and shake his hand, fruitlessly trying to ignore the memory of these very fingers being plunged knuckle deep inside of you less than two nights ago.

“Um, yeah, that’s me,” you reply quieter than you want, suddenly finding it unable to meet his gaze as the pads of his fingers brush against your skin. “Nice to meet you too. Kei’s been, um, excited to start school here,” you say louder as you try to avert your attention away from what you’re both thinking about, “so I hope you can make his time here a good one.” Mr. Jeon presses his lips into a smile and you want to bash your head into the wall at how sincere he looks.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, before raising a brow and pointing toward the room. You follow his direction and stand by the other parents who are lined up at the back of the classroom, Mr. Jeon following in behind you and making his way to the front of the classroom.

From there the meeting begins, and he goes over a small presentation over the daily activities of his class, classroom expectations, and such forth. You pay attention to the best of your ability, you really do, but sometimes you find your eyes drifting away from the projector screen and toward his arms that are on show with his short sleeve shirt, your mind trailing off to a place that it definitely shouldn’t. You catch yourself quickly though, mentally reprimanding yourself and turning your attention back to the presentation.

He finishes up the meeting with a list of his contacts and you quickly bring out your phone, along with others, to list down his email and phone number (only for the reason of Kei’s education, of course). “If you have any questions, you can ask me now. If not, you’re free to go!” There’s a series of “thank you’s” that echo through the room as some approach Mr. Jeon and others, like you, shuffle out of the classroom. You can’t lie, your steps are quick and you’re nearly running out of the room so fast that you don’t catch the way his eyes linger on your back as you exit.

“He said I’m a great artist! We did some coloring and he said my flower looked really nice.”

“Well he didn’t lie,” you tell your son as you pull up to the parking lot for your apartment complex. “You are a great artist, Kei,” you say as you get out of your seat and pull your work bag with you, then help Kei get out too. “Tell you what Kei-Kei—you want to go to a restaurant tonight?”

The way his smile is so bright and infectious when he’s nodding yes has you leaning down and squeezing him into a hug as you both make your way to your apartment. The rest of the evening is spent with you cleaning Kei up and finishing up your own work—now that Kei isn’t going to full day care, you’re going to have to go to work for half the day so you can pick him up, leaving more work for you in the evenings.

Tonight, you’re determined to finish up your work quickly so you can take yourself and Kei out to dinner at some burger joint as a celebration for his first day of school. By the time you’re home, Kei is exhausted and nearly falling asleep in your arms as you carry him up. Setting him down and tucking him into bed is the last thing you do before going to the living room and sinking down into your couch, sighing out of your own fatigue.

You’d think you don’t have enough energy to think about anything else, but once you’ve cleaned up and are trudging to crash onto your bed, those thoughts are creeping up your back.

Jeon Wonwoo.

You roll around under your sheets, pressing your face into the pillow as you mumble incoherent curses. It was only a one night stand, only a casual fuck, so why are you here still thinking about him? For fuck’s sake he’s Kei’s teacher! You just can’t be having such thoughts about him! Right?

So why are you squirming under the sheets thinking about that night—the way he made you feel things you never could even imagine feeling. “Fuck!” you mutter to yourself, slamming a pillow over your head. You huff lowly, rolling over in your bed, pressing your eyes shut as you hope that if you pretend that you’re asleep hard enough, your brain will actually lull your consciousness away. And for a moment, it works—you’re asleep within a few minutes.The only downside? You may or may not be dreaming about Jeon Wonwoo.

The rest of the week is, thankfully, slightly easier on your heart. You only really go to Kei’s school to pick him and thanks to the valet system in place, you often don’t even have to get out of the car, one of the older volunteer students always helping him into your car.

Kei seems to be having the time of his life as well, always coming back home with saying something along the lines of, “Mommy, today Mr. Jeon taught us this really cool thing…” or “Mommy, Rei and I made up this new game at recess…”—least to say, you’re enthralled that he’s having a good time, and you almost forget about how his teacher haunts your thoughts every night.

It’s Friday now and as promised, you stay behind after school today so you can watch Kei play with his friends for some time on the playground. You’re on your phone, scrolling through some work emails to mentally calculate just how much you’ll have to work tonight to ensure a relaxing weekend. You're in the midst of frowning when you see a shadow approach you from the corner of your vision, although you pay it no mind. At least, not until you hear his voice.

“Hey.” It’s deep and calm and has you thrown back into those thoughts that you've been so desperately trying to avoid. You’re hyper aware of his figure next to you, and the way that his shoulders, his arms, feel so large and protective next to you is driving you fucking crazy.

“Oh,” you murmur in surprise, turning to look at him. “Hi Mr. Jeon,” you greet awkwardly, keeping a bit of distance between you two as you slip your phone into your purse, “it’s nice to see you here.”

He nods. “The feeling’s mutual,” he tells you, and although you figure it’s just a formality, the way he says it with that small smile tugging at his lips has your stomach doing tumbles. “You can call me Wonwoo, by the way.”

“O-okay Wonwoo,” you reply nervously as the air between you thickens, as if you’re both egging each other on seeing who’s going to fold first. You clear your throat before speaking again, “How’s Kei doing in your class? Is there anything I can do at home to help him?”

“Not at all. He’s a good student,” Wonwoo—god, his name sounds so nice in your head—replies almost immediately. “He’s really good at drawing, I’ve noticed.” Wonwoo notices how your face lights up at that comment, the tension on your shoulder dropping slightly as you respond.

“Yeah, he loves to draw at home. I’ve been thinking of putting him in an art class or something where he can practice and stuff,” you explain, eyes flickering over at Kei who’s sliding down some slide with another boy.

“That would be nice,” Wonwoo agrees, and once again the silence returns.

“I should get going now,” you say after a few moments, pulling your phone out to pretend like you’re checking the time. “Kei-Kei!” you call out, and it only takes a few seconds before your son is bounding down the playground and up to you as you crouch down. “Hey buddy, it’s time to go,” you tell him.

“But I wanna play Mommy!”

“Kei-Kei, please? I have to work tonight and you’ve played for almost an hour now.”

He’s frowning deeply and you find yourself almost caving in, but before you do, Wonwoo is speaking. “Listen to your mom, Kei, okay?” His voice is stern yet gentle, and the way Kei’s face softens has relief coursing through your veins.

“Okay Mr. Jeon,” Kei agrees, taking your hand as you stand up. You look at Wonwoo with gratitude.

“Thank you for that,” you say quietly, slightly embarrassed. “We’ll get going now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wonwoo says casually, pushing his hands into his pocket and stepping back. You’re walking away as you say bye, Kei flashing a grin at Wonwoo as he waves him goodbye. “See you later,” Wonwoo calls out to you. “Hopefully,” he adds and you swear he chuckles when he here’s you choke in shock. You don’t look back out of the humiliation that your cheeks are burning, tugging Kei along as he goes on about the new game he’s made up with his friends.

Jeon Wonwoo might just be the death of you.

The first month of Kei’s school continues to go smoothly. You don’t come across Wonwoo much after that, although that may partly be due to you avoiding him. It’s not as if you dislike him, in fact, it’s quite the opposite—you think you might like him too much.

His face, his glasses, his smile—fuck—the way he’s so kind, so gentle—you can’t seem to find a single thing wrong with him. Everyday Kei comes home babbling a new happy story about Mr. Jeon and what he taught the class, or a new compliment he gave him, and you can’t help but fall for him simply through the words of your son.

It is a little embarrassing, if you’re being honest—having a crush on a man at your big age—but you just can’t help it.

As the month progresses, you find both yourself and Kei get used to things—he seems to enjoy going to school every morning and you enjoy the happy smiles he holds when he returns. Everything seems to fall into a perfect pattern, with nothing seeming to go wrong. Well…that is, at least, until this Friday.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” you exclaim, knuckles white as you grip the steering wheel, glancing at the time on your dashboard. Your last meeting ended up longer than you planned but you couldn’t leave, given it was with executives, and now you’re stuck in traffic as you’re already late to pick up Kei. “Ugh,” you groan out, trying to peer over the cars in front of you only to realize that you might be stuck here for a bit.

You’re slightly frantic trying to figure out what you’re going to do—any other day you would have called Jun and asked him to pick Kei up for you, but he’s on a trip with his friend so that isn’t an option right now. Chewing on your bottom lip, you glance at the unmoving traffic and pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts. You don’t think twice before hitting the contant labeled Mr. Jeon, letting out a sigh of relief when you hear the other end pick up your call.

“Hello, Mr. Jeon?” you say quickly when you hear some shuffling on the other side. “This is Kei’s mom.”

He says your name softly before asking, “Can I help you?”

“Hi, yes, I’m really sorry, but I think Kei might be waiting for me at the valet but I’m stuck in traffic and I—fuck—” you mutter when you need to slam the breaks hard. “—sorry for my language—I just don’t know how long it’ll take for me to pick him up and I don’t want him to wait for me too long so I was hoping that there was something you could do so he could wait in the office or something—anything really—just so he can wait somewhere safer while I come,” you blabber.

Wonwoo takes a few seconds to reply, and for a moment you think you might have spoken so quickly that he didn’t hear a single thing you said. “He can stay in my room, if that’s okay with you,” he finally says, and you blink a few times.

“I—really? Tha-that’s definitely okay with me, yeah. That would be amazing, thank you so much Mr. Je—Wonwoo. Thank you,” you ramble, shutting up quickly when you hear a soft chuckle from the other side.

“Yes really. Don’t worry about it, I usually stay in the class after school anyways. You said he’s in the valet?”

“Yes, he usually waits by the tree,” you tell him, and a silence can be heard from Wonwoo as he gets up from his seat. “Thank you again, I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“No problem,” he replies, and with that you hang up, leaning back in your seat as you feel you can finally relax now.

It takes you around another 25 minutes before you’re finally pulling up to the school's parking lot, quickly making your way through the familiar route to Kei’s classroom. Knocking on the door, you peer through the small glass window, insides growing warm and fuzzy at the scene of Kei happy drawing on a desk. It takes a few seconds but then there’s a hand on the knob, opening the door for you.

“Thank you so much,” you let out before you can even see all of Wownoo’s figure.

He laughs and holy hell is it one attractive laugh (since when did you start finding laughs attractive?!). “Stop saying thank you, please,” he groans jokingly. “I might just start feeling bad. Seriously, it’s no problem, I’m usually here for a while anyway and Kei is wonderful company.”

You purse your lips, tentatively stepping into the room as Wonwoo moves for you, arm brushing against yours as you approach Kei. “Hey Kei-Kei, you wanna go now?”

Kei turns to look at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “But Mr. Jeon said I could play outside if I wanted!” You turn your head to look at Wonwoo, raising a brow.

“Uh, since the supervisors are still out I said he could play in a bit since I didn’t know when you were going to come,” he explains, and your gaze softens, turning back to your son.

“Okay Kei-Kei, but only fifteen minutes, okay?” you tell him, helping him clean up as Kei makes his way out the door and towards the playground. After putting his stuff away, you pick up his bag and head in the same direction as Kei to follow him, pausing when you feel a hand on your wrist.

“You can stay here, you know?” Wonwoo tells you, a smirk playing at his lips. “I don’t bite.”

You plaster a sympathetic smile through your nervousness, hastily replying, “I know, I just—I’ve already bothered you today and I think I should just head off now.”

“You aren’t bothering me.”

“Okay well,” you counter as you make your way to the door, “what if I just really want to watch my son have fun?”

“You’re really good at this, you know?”

“Good at what?”

“So, you’re just going to pretend like you aren’t avoiding me?” Wonwoo asks with a brow raised, pointing an accusing finger in your direction. Heat flourishes at the tip of your ears as you turn away from his gaze.

“I'm not avoiding you Mr. Jeon,” you mutter, suddenly realizing you’ve just been caught in his trap. He takes a step forward and you back up against the wall as he leans in so his lips are ghosting your ear. "Really?" Wonwoo murmurs, "Because I think you're lying." You both stay like that for a few moments before coming to your senses. He steps away with a heavy breath. "I'm sorry. You can get going if you—"

You aren't sure what possesses you in that moment but you just can't allow him to finish what he's saying, grabbing him by the collar and slamming your lips on his. Wonwoo’s arms fly up to your face and cup your cheeks, immediately running his tongue along your lips. The familiar taste of his tongue sliding against yours is something that you thought you wouldn’t experience after that night, but having him with you, right now, like this is enough to have your mind racing—he’s so fucking addicting that you can’t even fathom how you went more than a day without him.

Wonwoo's grasp on your face has you tilting your face, noses brushing past each other as you deepen the kiss, your fingers lacing in his thick locks to hold him close. His lips move so effortlessly against yours you'd even go as far to say you two were dancing, as you stumble back into the wall. Wonwoo presses you against the surface and you let out a gasp as he leans down, kissing you so hard and passionately that it might just suck the air out of you.

And it probably does, considering when you finally pull away from each other you’re gasping for air both from just how long Wonwoo’s lips stayed connected to yours, along with how breathtakingly amazing of a kisser he is. He looks down at you with some sort of sparkling look in his eyes and it has you weak in the knees, gripping onto his hair tighter.

He lets out a low grunt at the action and holy fuck the sound is doing things to you but then you’re both reminded of where you are and what you’re doing and then Wonwoo is stepping back as you let go of him, putting some space between you two. His glasses are slightly foggy and he takes them off to rub the moisture away on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” You reach for his hand, cutting him off.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, somewhat bashful of your own actions as you look down, “We both did that so uh…don’t apologize.” Wonwoo looks up at you and then back down at your hand holding his, squeezing it comfortingly.

“Okay,” he says gently, reaching for his phone in his pocket. “Can I, uh, get your number? I only have it saved on the school phone…” he asks hopefully, looking up at you as he uses one hand to smooth his ruffled hair, the other holding up his phone in your direction.

Your lips are pressed into a tight smile as you try to hide your cheeky grin. “Of course,” you say maybe a little too quickly, punching in your digits and handing it back to him. A silence settles between you two, but it isn’t uncomfortable like before, no, it’s rather…warm now.

“I…” Wonwoo starts to admit, “…never thought I’d end up in a situation like this.” You giggle and nod your head in agreement. “But, um, I’d like to see where this goes.”

“I like the sound of that,” you reply with a smile, and it's the truth—your stomach tumbles with a good feeling that things might just go your way.

a/n: hope u liked it! i'm super duper excited for this story and was literally kicking my feet writing this so you can expect a part 2 quite soon! in the meantime, please like, comment, and reblog! send me an ask or comment if you'd like to be tagged in part 2!

pt.2

#jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x you #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #📝 writing

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buckyandgeraltsupremacy · 9 months

Text

remus x shy!reader (part 4)

author: sj

warnings: fluff; angst for remus lol; reader is in hufflepuff; uses she/her pronouns; not edited

done with finals!! now battling the want to only read fics and not write, let me know if you want a confession from rem!!

masterlist

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 5

---

it was the day of the date and remus had been up since 4 am. he couldn't stop thinking about your date. however bad he hoped it would go, he didn't want your first date experience to be horrible. he wanted you to be treated how you deserve and to have a lovely time while also never ever wanting to see the fool again. and that is why he had woken up at 4 in the morning and couldn't stop the fight in his mind.

it was 11:30am and he was laying on the couch in the common room, one foot on the ground tapping constantly. the boys had decided to stay in this morning because james was worried they'd run into you and that sirius would end up embarrassing you and ruin your date.

"moony, if you don't stop tapping your foot, i'm going to lose my mind." sirius grunted, head in his hands covering his ears from the tapping noise.

"she should be done with her date now, right? its been 2 hours. why isn't she back yet?" remus asked.

"relax you love sick dog. your precious wife will be returned soon." sirius replied dramatically, rolling his eyes at how abserd this whole situation was. "if you had only confessed your love for her when you had the chance, she wouldn't be snogging another fella while you fumed the whole time." he added. remus shot upright on the couch with a wide eyed expression and a look of dread covering his features.

"here she comes!" peter shouted, holding the marauder's map in his hands, walking into the common room where the other boys were. all of their heads turned towards the portrait hole where it swung open and you stepped through.

you were excited to tell the boys all about it, but you weren't quite expecting them to all be staring at you when you got back.

"well, hi." you said, cheeks flushing more than they already were, glancing towards the floor to not meet their eyes. you sat down on the couch next to remus like normal, not sensing the tension in his body, only feeling their eyes on you.

"WELL??? i need all the details. spill your guts flea!" sirius cried across from you.

"it was okay! it wasn't bad! but it also wasn't great. like it was pleasant but it wasn't anything to write home about. is that good? like are you supposed to know if you want to marry him already?" you rambled, entire face flushing and not meeting their eyes.

"aw, hoppers. i'm sorry it didn't go well." james consoled you.

"what do you mean?" you asked, confused why he sounded sad for you.

"well, it didn't sound like there was any chemistry, that's important if you're gonna date someone." james explained.

"flea, i know it's your first date ever, but even i thought you'd know that." sirius shrugged. at the mention of it being your first date, you tensed and shot a look a remus, hurt that he spilled a secret to the boys. remus met your gaze with a look of panic.

"that wasn't me! i swear it! i didn't tell them!" he yelled.

"oh he didn't tell us, but the way you were acting before was kind of obvious and the fact that remus would've known that you were dating someone before you were part of our group and you certainly haven't since we've been friends because of remus' behavior." sirius explained, you relaxed and reached to touch remus' leg.

"sorry for thinking that you told them when you didn't ." you apologized and remus nodded back.

"its fine bun, i'm not hurt." he said, covering your hand with his.

"so hoppers, did you snog him?" sirius asked crudely. your cheeks flushed bright red.

"that is none of your business sirius! and a lady never kisses and tells!" you exclaim, avoiding all their eyes. "i told him that it would be best if we were friends, and he agreed. i don't think dating is for me, i just got so anxious before! and the thought of having to go on another date, just makes me nauseous." you say, leaning onto remus' shoulder and resting your head.

"thats okay, bun. you don't have to date if you don't want to." remus patted your thigh, his heart soaring that he won't have to go through this again. he knew he'd have to tell you that he liked you soon, the thought of you with someone else almost killed him.

"thanks rem." you mumbled back, sinking deeper into his side.

sirius observes this going on, looking to james and mouthing, 'are they fucking idiots??'

james simply rolled his eyes in response.

#remus lupin x reader fluff #remus x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus x reader fluff #marauders x reader #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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mischievousmoony · 2 months

Note

hello ! i saw that you were open for requests. could you do sick reader and james being the best bestfriend ever (and oblivious as hell) takes care of them? maybe they could be childhood friends so james doesn't realize that what he's doing in inherently romantic, like kissing reader's forehead to check their temp, giving his shoulder to them to lay on, sleeping in the same bed, and such.

AND even after reader is no longer sick, james still insist on spoon feeding them and acting like a helicopter mom.

- 🌱

what a lovely idea! thank you for the request <3 i love this because earlier this summer i had a nasty sinus infection for like 3 weeks :/ i wish i had a james potter then lol also i noticed you used they/them pronouns in ur req. im not sure if you wanted gn!reader, but i think it ended up being that way anyway. i didn't need to use pronouns, or even y/n, in this fic <3

𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎

⟢ james potter x reader ⊹ 1.4k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, no use of y/n, no magic

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It was only an hour ago that you told James over the phone not to worry about you.

Now, he stands in your bedroom, having let himself into your flat with the spare key that you that keep at his parents' house for emergencies— which he uses very often, but hardly for emergencies.

"James," you complain in a nasally voice, "I'm going to get you sick."

He plants his hands on his hips and looks at you scrutinizingly. It reminds you of Euphemia when she would scold you and James as children, and truthfully, when she sometimes scolds you these days.

"Nonsense, my immune system is built like a tank."

"James," you whine further.

He ignores you as he approaches your bedside, frowning as he takes in your sickly appearance. He gently brushes away the sweat-drenched hair from your forehead.

"My poor thing," he comments before bending down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You don't feel terribly warm, but you look flushed," James' wrist swivels to press the back of his hand to your cheek, "Do you feel hot?"

"A- a little," you croak, knowing full well that a raging blush is the real culprit behind your reddening face.

James' frown deepens as he dives into his next area of concern, "Have you been eating? You hardly had anything in your fridge."

"I have enough peanut butter and jelly to get me through an apocalypse. Why were you in my fridge?"

"I had to put away the groceries."

Your eyebrows draw together, "What groceries!?"

"I bought you groceries," he says nonchalantly.

"Why would you buy me groceries!?"

James is suddenly sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck, "It's not much. Mostly ingredients for the chicken soup I'm gonna make."

"Make? If you really must you could've just gotten a can of–"

"Eugh! I would never subject you to canned soup!"

You roll your eyes at his dramatics.

"That processed shit is just going to make you feel worse," he adds.

"Does Effie know she's created a monster?" you mumble to the ceiling.

James' chuckles, "Look, I'm already here, I've already bought the food. Just let me make you a nice soup and then I'll get out of here." James raises his hands in the air to indicate his surrender to compromise.

Your head hurts too much to continue an argument that you know you won't win, so you relent and wave him off to the kitchen.

Before James leaves you, "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything before I go?"

"I'm fine."

"You sound stuffy. Is there a lot of pressure? Do you like a hot or a cold compress?"

You wince as you imagine a cold compress, feeling like that would make your headache somehow feel sharper against your brain.

"Hot."

James smiles, happy that you're beginning to give into his care, and disappears from your sight.

He returns with a warm, damp cloth and a paper shopping bag stuffed under his arm. He starts unloading his haul onto your night table.

"I brought you the nice tissues, the ones with the lotion so that they don't irritate your nose. And are you taking medicine? I wasn't sure what your symptoms were or what you usually take so I got stuff for everything. I've got nasal sprays, decongestants, cough syrups— which I'm pretty sure you hate so I bought lozenges too."

You watch despairingly as he sets medicine after medicine down.

"I took paracetamol an hour ago," you inform him.

"That's it? You could at least use the nasal spray then. Here, let me–"

You place a hand over his that fiddles with the cap of the spray, "I've got it. Just go make your soup."

James looks up from the little white bottle, "Oh yeah, sure." But he hesitates before he goes, "You want a lozenge though?"

You yield to James' incessant efforts, figuring he would feel better if you let him do something for you. You hold out your hand to accept the lozenge but as soon as he sees you nod, he is already set on removing its waxy wrap and popping it in your mouth himself.

At last, he presses the warm, damp cloth gently over your closed eyes and retreats to your kitchen.

He reappears every so often to rewarm the cloth that's over your eyes, bring you cups of water or herbal tea, and make sure that you're still comfortable. He's offered to fluff your pillows five times.

The next time he enters your bedroom, he's finally carrying a bowl of steaming soup, one of your dishcloths a barrier between his hands and the hot porcelain.

You sit and hold out your hands to accept the bowl.

"Oh, it's far too hot for you to hold," James says, choosing to ignore the fact that he is doing just fine holding it himself.

He plants himself on the edge of your bed and starts blowing on a spoonful of the savory soup.

"You can't be serious," you mutter, sniffling.

"Just lean back and relax," James instructs, "let me take care of you."

James looks at you with the roundest, most doe-like eyes can can muster. Oh, those stupid big brown eyes— it's impossible to resist them.

You let James feed you what just might be the best soup you've ever tasted. Rich flavors dance on your tongue and you try not to let your eyes flutter closed in bliss, but the enjoyment is written across your face anyway. He refrains from teasing you, feeling too much pity for your being unwell to make any fun.

"Is this helping any?" James checks, blowing on another spoonful of broth.

You hum affirmatively, "It's really nice," you murmur, letting the warmth of the soup spread across your chest.

A prideful smile finds its way onto James' lips.

After he he scrapes the last bit of soup onto the spoon and brings it to your mouth, he places the empty bowl onto your night table. You realize that you still need to thank him and you share words of gratitude as you wring out your neck.

"You alright?"

"A bit stiff from being cooped up in bed," you roll out your shoulders.

"Well, you needed your rest," James says, studying you. "Here, scoot up."

You look at him curiously as he helps you scoot forward. When he starts settling in behind you, your eyes round.

"James!"

You've lost count of how many times you've uttered his name in scolding today. Your face flushes crimson and you count yourself lucky that he at least can't see it this time.

James shushes you, and your protests die in your throat when his hands apply a satisfying pressure to your neck.

He can't help but chuckle, nor can he help seek your approval, "Helping?"

"Uh-huh," you sigh, your eyes fluttering closed, and you feel James' body rumble with laughter against you.

The coming days play out similarly, and you've quickly ceased protesting against him. James attends to your every need and casually showers you in affection day after day.

He even insists on staying over some nights, which you do protest against, as he means to sleep on your couch which is not even long enough for him to lay flat. But you need not worry about that, because when night falls he ends up dozing off next to you in bed, where he intended to only stay until you fell asleep.

In the mornings, neither of you seem to mind waking up in each others arms.

Within a few days, your health improves, but this doesn't stop James from continuing to tend to you.

"I haven't run a fever in days!" you protest as James' lips still against your forehead for several seconds.

"You never know," James mumbles against your forehead before pulling away.

You huff as you meet his eyes on his retreat, "I'm not sick anymore, James."

"You still sniffle sometimes," he shrugs, turning to collect the empty bowl on your night table, which he fed you fresh stew out of for lunch this afternoon.

You chuckle at his antics, "It's just a lingering sniffle, it will probably clear up by tomorrow. Besides, I hardly need someone taking care of me for that."

James pulls his lips into a timid line, feeling quite sheepish. He hides his face as he turns to leave your room with the dirty dish.

He tsks as he formulates an excuse for himself, "Or it means that your illness is coming back for a second round. What kind of friend would I be if I don't make sure it's gone before I set you loose?"

James makes his way to the kitchen to wash your dishes, seemingly unaware that he might enjoy taking care of you a bit more than a friend would. Or maybe he’s simply embraced the comfort of being exactly where he wants to be.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

#james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter drabble #james potter oneshot #james potter fic #james potter one shot #fluff #james potter x gn!reader #marauders #marauders fluff #marauders fic #james potter #james potter fanfic #gn!reader #muggle au #🌱

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nian-7 · 1 year

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I have a request if thats okay for you! Take your timee!!

The reader gets stabbed in the chest And literally coughing blood and shit and dies and literally a minute later they are like "hi :3" (they literally have a shit eating smile as if they didnt just die a few minutes ago) while they are literally wasting tears for them and they just look at the reader still crying but looks like theyre about to slap the reader, the reason for them not dying just yet is because they literally have two lives and just used one for this (lets say crack if you will lol.) Ty!!

Includes: Jing yuan, Yanqing, Blade, Serval

Y anon </33

hello! this is a funny concept so please enjoy!

Serval, Jing Yuan, Yanqing x gn!reader

✧having two lives

✧crack, tw: blood, injuries

" It's gonna be alright, (name)- " She was kneeled beside your bleeding body in the snowy outskirts of Belobog. It had just been a short trip out and neither of you had expected to get attacked. You tried getting up as she forced you back to laying down. " Please, just lay down while we wait for the Silvermane Guards. " She had a sad look on her face as she spoke.

" I'll- " You coughed, making her flinch as she saw blood come out from your mouth. " I'll be- okay.. " Your breath was getting shallow as she helped you sit up to prevent you from choking on your own blood.

" Just rest, it'll be okay, yeah? They'll be here soon to take you to a doctor. " She assured, not wanting you to feel anxious or scared.

" You know.. " You started, looking over at her. " You really are a great girlfriend. " You gave a weak smile as you felt her squeeze your hand. She felt you go limp as she held you up, your hand no longer grabbing her own.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she stared at you, death had finally come to take you after you had bled out.

Your nose then scrunched up.

" Gross, what is that smell? " You opened your eyes, looking at Serval then back down at you. " Don't cry, I'm alive. " You smiled, her face was covered in disbelief.

" You- but you died? " She wiped a tear that was in her eye.

" Yeah but, I have two lives! Two! " You put up two fingers, much like a peace sign, and put it towards her. " I just used one so I have one more! " She sighed and hugged you tightly.

" ...Thank god. "

You found yourself being carried in the General's arms after you had been fatally wounded on a mission. You'd manage to get away even so, he feared you had little time left.

" I'm sure you will be alright, (name). " He looked down at you in his arms as he headed back towards the Luofu. " You must not worry. "

" Ah.. yeah, but it really hurts- Like really, really hurts. " You winced as you touched the wound on your abdomen.

" Refrain from touching it, I would not like for you to get an infection on top of such a fatal wound. " He had a stern yet caring look as he looked at you.

" Sorry, I just need to close my eyes for a bit.. " You felt your eyes fluttering closed as his eyes widened at you.

" (name), please try to keep your eyes open. We'll be th- " Your eyes had already closed, your body limp in his arms. Your weight now felt like dead weight as he stopped, looking down at your now lifeless form. " Ah.. " He needed to get you back as soon as he could, he shouldn't mourn you here.

You let out a sigh, your eyes opening once again.

" Sorry about that- Seems like I died though, huh? " You looked up at him. " I'm fine now, onwards! Back home! "

You heard him sigh as he started walking again. " You got me there. I truly believed you had died on me. It was not a pleasant feeling. I do have many questions for you alas, you should rest for now. "

" (name)! (name)! Don't fall asleep! " Yanqing sat beside you has you held your side. He had called for back up and a doctor but refused to leave you alone when you were like this. " You gotta stay awake, okay?! " His voice betrayed him as he talked to you, sadness was evident in it.

" Alright, alright.. I'm trying, " You let out a laugh. " I'll be fine, don't worry, okay? Just a little stab wound isn't going to get me. " You squeezed his hand gently.

" Just- stay awake! " He held your hand close to his chest as he looked at you. " You just gotta! " You gave a nod back as his eyes became glassy.

" Don't cry, Yanqing- " You coughed, going limp for a minute. Yanqings eyes started to water as he gently shook you.

" (name)?! " You let out a shaky breath a moment later, tears had started to come out of his eyes. He hugged you tightly.

" Yanqing! Not so tight! " You patted his back, signaling for him to loosen his grip.

" I'm just- just super happy you're okay! " He wiped the tears from his eyes. " Don't fall asleep again, okay? I'm going to stay right here and make sure you don't! "

" Alright, I promise.. " You smiled at the boy.

please do not repost any of my work without my permission, thank you for reading.

#x reader #fluff #nian-anon #gender neutral reader #yanqing x reader #yanqing #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #serval x reader #serval landau x reader #serval #serval landau #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail

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wannabehockeygf · 3 months

Text

Snow's Falling - Matthew Tkachuk

So... I did a thing, and I wrote an entire Tkachuk mini-fic instead of working on my other WIPS (sorry LOL) Word Count: 10k

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x fem! reader

Tags: Fluff, texting, self-discovery, don't know what else

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Notes: This takes place a few years back, when he was still on the flames (alberta girl by heart I couldn't bring myself to write about Florida), I'm gonna say it's around 2020-2021 (ignoring covid ofc). This was going to be smutty but I decided against it halfway through writing. (***) is kind of like a chapter/long time skip, (---) short time skip. AND LETS JUST IGNORE HIS BIRTHDAY IS ACTUALLY THE SECOND WEEK OF DECEMBER! THIS IS NOT PROOF READ! My eyes hurt so just lmk if something is wrong. Also it might be repetitive because this is basically just an idea dump lol.

ratthew grow that hair out again I’m begging

***

CALGARY, ALBERTA was the best city in Canada - to you, anyway. Close to every time someone said that you were wrong, you defended it with your entire heart and soul, as if your life depended on it. You knew that the negative forty winters would always be outshined by the sheer atmosphere of the city, the people, the everything.

This was your hometown, after all. And to you, absolutely nothing would have beaten it.

That was until a couple of weeks ago, a gloomy early November afternoon when the first snow of the year had just started falling, and you were laying down on your plush leather couch in your loft apartment. The dim light from the overcast sky filtered through the large glass windows, casting a soft, grayish hue over the room. The warmth from your latte radiated through the ceramic mug, the sensation slightly burning the tips of your fingers. You had your laptop propped on your lap as you reviewed a slideshow from your last lecture, the glow of the screen reflecting off your eyes. The soft hum of the city’s afternoon rush filled the room, a symphony of distant car engines and muffled conversations.

You momentarily turned your head to the large glass sliding door leading to your balcony, watching the snowflakes fall gently, each one a unique crystal dancing its way to the ground. Winter was here, and it wouldn’t be long before you would have to trade in your baseball caps and leggings for jeans and beanies. The thought of it brought a small, nostalgic smile to your face as you envisioned snow-covered streets and the festive lights that would soon adorn the city.

Your phone suddenly started ringing, snapping you out of the magical, snowy trance you were stuck in. The ringtone pierced the tranquil atmosphere, making you jump slightly. You reached for it, your nicely manicured nails clacking against the screen as you swiped right to accept the call. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” you asked, your eyes now focused on your laptop screen again, though your mind was still partially lost in the falling snow outside.

“Hey,” your boyfriend’s voice came through, clearly deflated and even slightly shaky, “Can we talk?”

You immediately sat up, propping up your back with a pillow as you put your latte on the coffee table. The warmth from the mug lingered on your fingertips. “Of course, what’s up?” you replied, concern whirling within you.

Your boyfriend sighed, a sound heavy with unspoken words. “I don’t even know how to say this, but… um, we need to break up.”

The words hit you like a blizzard, much like the one outside, but this one was much worse. You felt as if the ground beneath you had disappeared, leaving you to float in a surreal void. “Wait, what?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why? What happened?”

“I just… I don’t think this is working anymore,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while, and I think it’s best if we both move on.”

Your mind raced as you tried to process his words. You thought back to the times you’d shared together, the laughs, the arguments, the moments that had defined your relationship. It was as if the day you met on the University of Calgary campus a year ago was just yesterday, and it didn’t make sense. How had it come to this?

“Is there someone else?” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

“No, it’s not that,” he replied quickly. “It’s just… I’ve changed. We’ve changed. I think we’re both heading in different directions.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you blinked them back furiously, unwilling to let them fall. “But I love you,” you said, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he said softly. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

The line went silent for a moment, and all you could hear was your heart pounding in your ears, so hard it felt like it was about to explode out of your chest. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do, as you’d never felt pain like that before.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I really am. I hope we can still be friends.”

You knew those words were meant to comfort, but they only made the pain worse. “Yeah,” you said, forcing the word out. “Me too.”

You hung up the phone, your hands shaking. The laptop screen in front of you blurred as tears filled your eyes. You leaned back against the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as sobs wracked your body, completely and utterly. But the noise outside continued, oblivious to your personal storm.

Calgary wouldn’t stop moving, no matter what happened to you. ***

1 month later

Your thumb rolls against the lighter, the spark flaring up in the dim room as you ignite it, tipping a holly berry-scented candle toward the flame until the wick begins to blacken at the end. The warm, spicy scent fills the air, mingling with the cool night breeze wafting through the open window. The white duvet beneath you crinkles softly as you lean back into the plush comfort of your bed, picking up your phone to scroll mindlessly. The soft glow of the screen illuminates your face in the otherwise dark room, casting fleeting shadows as you swipe through various posts.

You come across an Instagram story from a girl you’d met in a campus library a few years back. The story is a screenshot of texts she had exchanged with her ‘number neighbour’—a person whose phone number differs by just one digit. The joke in her story is that her neighbor turned out to be a thirteen-year-old boy, but the concept intrigues you nonetheless.

Despite the nagging voice of reason, you press the messages app. Your thumbs work swiftly, typing your number but with the last digit counted up. The screen's light reflects in your eyes as you lean over to turn on your bedside lamp, casting a warm glow that lights the room halfway. You snap a selfie, making a thumbs-up gesture toward the camera, a half-smile tugging at your lips. You type out a jokey message along with it, and after a brief hesitation, you tap send. Nothing too bad could happen, right?

You: Happy birthday man, hope you had beers on the house! [insert selfie]

After sending the message, you throw your phone across the bed. It lands on the opposite corner with a soft thud. It's already eleven-thirty, and whoever your 'number neighbour' is, if they even respond, probably won’t do so until morning. You shut your eyes, the flickering candle casting dancing shadows on the walls. The room is filled with the comforting scent of holly berry, lulling you closer to sleep, even though you know you’ll have to put the candle out eventually. Exhaustion takes over, and you're seconds away from drifting off.

Until your phone pings.

You jolt awake at the sound, your heart skipping a beat. No way, right? You reach over to your phone, the screen lighting up the dim room. The notification icon indicates a new message, and with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, you unlock your phone to see what they said.

???: Haha thanks, didn’t know it was my birthday today!

Attached is a picture of the side of a man’s face, brown curls falling down his forehead glistening with sweat. You can see a gym behind him and a dimple on his cheek as he mirrors your thumbs-up, but nothing else besides half of a blue eye. The photo is taken from an upward angle where you notice he is wearing a muscle shirt, and lord, is he fit.

You: You’re at the gym this late?

???: Hell yeah. Best time, honestly. Knocks me right out when I get home.

You: Fair enough, guess we’re both night owls.

???: Guess so.

You let the text sit for a while, unsure how to respond, but to your surprise, another text comes through five minutes later.

???: So, who am I talking to?

You stare at the screen, debating whether to reveal your identity or keep the conversation anonymous for a bit longer. There's something intriguing about this mystery man, and a part of you wants to prolong the curiosity. You decide to play along.

You: Your number neighbour. Saw it on someone’s story. You’re not a thirteen-year-old boy, are you?

???: Last time I checked, no. Definitely not a thirteen-year-old boy.

You can't help but chuckle at his response. There’s something about this mystery conversation that feels oddly comforting, a small distraction from the heartbreak that still lingers. You decide to keep the banter going, finding solace in this unexpected connection.

You: Good to know. Would be weird if I was texting a middle schooler.

???: Agreed. So, can I get a name, number neighbour?

You bite your lip, contemplating his request. This playful anonymity has provided a small, thrilling escape from the heartbreak you are still nursing. But something about his confidence, and the hint of charm in his words, makes you want to take the plunge.

You: Maybe... It depends. Are you going to tell me yours first?

There is a pause, and you imagine him standing there in the gym, perhaps wiping sweat from his brow, considering how much to reveal. The anticipation is oddly exhilarating.

???: Fair enough. I'm Matt.

You: Just Matt?

Matt: Well, Matthew, but nobody calls me that unless I'm in trouble.

You chuckle softly, the sound breaking the stillness of your room.

You: Y/N

Matt: I like that name. Suits you.

Matt's reply brings a faint smile to your lips, a small flicker of warmth in the otherwise chilly aftermath of your recent breakup. Though you know you’re young and attractive, allowing yourself to flirt with this random stranger feels like a gift to help heal from the heartbreak.

You: What do you mean by that?

Matt: It’s pretty.

His words strike a chord, echoing a sentiment you haven't felt in a while — someone noticing you beyond the surface, beyond the pain you carry. It’s refreshing, and you find yourself drawn to the conversation more than you expected.

You: You think I’m pretty?

And then you wait for his reply. And wait. And then, wait even more, lying back on your bed, your phone lying beside you as your arms have turned limp, and stay there until your eyelids get too heavy for your own good. ---

The next morning, you wake up with a frown already imprinted on your face. It's probably a bad idea, but getting a bit of attention and then losing it is tough, especially considering your last message. You sit up, the bed frame creaking as you look out the window. It's already the second week of December, and all the roofs visible from your downtown apartment are coated in snow. The Christmas season is starting to kick in, the only thing you can look forward to – you love Christmas.

That night, while lounging around your apartment and revising for your final exams, your phone buzzes. You pounce on it, hoping it's mystery Matt.

Matt: Shit, sorry. Had to finish up last night and was working all day.

You glare at the screen. What a lame excuse, you think. He didn’t even answer your question, and now he's claiming he worked all day. You toss your phone aside, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It works for a bit, but an hour later, another text comes through.

Matt: Wyd?

You roll your eyes, still irritated by his earlier silence. But curiosity and a hint of loneliness get the better of you, and you decide to respond, albeit with a touch of sarcasm.

You: The glamorous life of a student. Studying. What about you?

Matt's response comes almost immediately, as if he's been eagerly waiting.

Matt: Ah, finals season, huh? Not jealous of that.

You sigh, feeling conflicted. You want the attention but are still annoyed by his lack of response. Despite that, you find yourself typing back.

You: Well, good thing it’s not you then.

Matt: I’m sorry?

You: Were you actually at work?

Matt: Yeah? Why would I lie about that?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to believe him, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the other part is wary. Right as you’re about to type a response, a text from Matt comes through, replying to your text from the previous night.

Matt: Is this about this?

You: Sure, but you don’t have to spare my feelings. Come on, just lay it on me. It’s not you, it’s…

Matt: I was going to say yes.

You stare at Matt's message, slightly shocked. Maybe he wasn't ignoring you after all. His response is straightforward, almost vulnerable in a way that makes you pause.

You: Oh. Sorry, I guess I’m just stressed. And maybe a little attention-starved.

Matt: Any reason for that?

You consider how much you want to reveal to Matt. Despite the initial frustration, his directness appeals to you. Maybe it's the honesty or the fact that he seems genuinely interested, unlike your recent ex who struggled with communication.

You: Just dealing with some personal stuff. It's been a rough couple of weeks.

Matt's response is immediate, with a tone of understanding.

Matt: I get that. Breakup?

You pause, surprised at his insight. It's as if he can read between the lines of your texts.

You: Yeah, actually. Sorry for being so standoffish earlier.

Matt: Haha, I’m a strong guy, I can take it. Also, sorry about the breakup. They suck.

Five minutes later, another message comes through.

Matt: Not trying to be weird, but how old are you?

You: 21. You?

Matt: 23. I was just asking because I was going to offer to help you with the attention-starved thing. If you’ll have me?

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to interpret Matt's offer. His straightforwardness is refreshing yet slightly intimidating. But something about his persistence intrigues you. After a brief pause, you decide to play along.

You: Hmm, are you suggesting you're good at providing attention?

Matt: I like to think so. At least, I try.

You can't help but smile at his response. There's a sincerity in his words that feels genuine, a stark contrast to your recent breakup.

You: What do you have in mind?

Matt: Well, I take from earlier that you like being complimented?

Your cheeks burn as his directness now feels endearing rather than abrupt. Despite your initial reservations, his straightforward approach is comforting. You decide to indulge him a bit.

You: Depends.

Matt: I think you have really nice eyes. Not much to go off of, so if I ask real nicely, will you send me more pictures of you?

You pause, considering Matt's request. His boldness is surprising and oddly appealing, especially given your recent emotional rollercoaster. You crave the distraction, the validation, and perhaps a connection that feels less complicated than your recent relationship.

You: Maybe. What do I get in return?

Matt: Compliments. And attention.

You: Wow, charming, aren’t you? Are you always this forward?

Matt: Only when I’m interested. And I’m definitely interested.

His words send a flutter through your chest, a mix of nerves and excitement. You find yourself smiling as you send him a picture of yourself at your birthday party from a few months ago, in a black bodycon dress and a tiara.

A few minutes pass before his response pops up, making your entire body heat up.

Matt: Permission to call you hot?

You laugh at his confidence. Matt's interest feels like a soothing balm for your wounded heart. The combination of his directness and warmth is intriguing, and a part of you wants to see where this could lead.

You: Permission granted.

Matt: You’re hot. Like, seriously. Wish I’d met you sooner.

You: You’re just trying to get into my pants, aren’t you?

Matt: Well, if you’d rather have a normal conversation with you, I will, gladly. But you wanted a distraction, right?

You: Maybe I do.

Matt: Then, how do you prefer to be distracted?

You: You might be on the right track.

Matt: Cool, I think I can handle that.

A few minutes pass before he texts again.

Matt: So… what are you wearing?

You: Seriously?

Matt: Haha, just kidding. Unless… you want to tell me?

You smirk at his cheekiness, feeling a playful spark ignite within you. The conversation has taken an unexpected turn, and the idea of engaging in a flirtatious exchange with Matt is both thrilling and liberating. You decide to play along.

You: Just a sweatshirt and flannel shorts. Nothing special, lol.

Matt: Doesn’t matter if it’s nothing special, bet you still look cute.

You: What about you?

Matt: Just sweatpants. Why? You wanna see?

You: Is there a problem with that?

Matt: Not at all. One sec.

A moment later, your phone buzzes with an incoming picture. You open it to see Matt standing in his bedroom, the camera angled to capture his athletic build. He’s shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, revealing his defined muscles. The dim lighting casts shadows that accentuate his physique. Once again, you don't see his face, but his curls are frizzy and unruly this time.

You don’t respond for a while, simply ogling the photo.

Matt: Cat got your tongue?

You: No.

You start typing an explanation, an excuse, maybe even a confession that you definitely saved that photo, but he beats you.

Matt: Your turn.

You: You want my face or my body?

Matt: Whatever you’re comfortable with, I can work with.

With a deep breath, you angle your phone upwards, hiking up your shorts so the curve of your hip is visible. Your oversized sweater shows nothing, but above are your lips, curved in a small smile, with the frame cutting off right before your nose. The city lights are visible behind you in the window. You snap a photo and quickly send it.

Matt's response is immediate, a single word that makes your pulse quicken.

Matt: Damn.

You feel a surge of satisfaction mixed with nerves. It's exhilarating, this dance of teasing and flirtation, each message building upon the last. You are both exploring new territory, testing boundaries, and reveling in the mutual attraction.

You: Like what you see?

Matt: Very much so. But I want to see more.

Your heart races at his boldness. There's no denying the chemistry between you, the electric tension crackling through the phone screen. You hesitate for a moment, your mind racing with possibilities. Finally, you decide to indulge in the moment, letting go of the hurt from your recent breakup and embracing this new, exciting connection.

You lie down on your bed, holding the phone above you as you pull down your shorts until the waistband is around your hips. You roll up your sweater, exposing part of your torso, and your legs are mostly visible as well, cutting off at your feet. Your fingers tremble slightly as you snap another photo, the dim lighting in your room casting a soft glow over your skin. With a mix of nerves and excitement, you hit send before you can overthink it.

Matt: Fuck. You're stunning.

His response sends a thrill down your spine, a rush of validation and desire mingling with the lingering ache of your recent breakup. Yet, with Matt, it feels different — liberating, even empowering. But, you decide to tease him.

You: Wow, cold. My face isn’t even in that.

Matt: You’re right. Let me see that pretty face.

You decide to give him what he wants. You take another photo, this time showing your face but still with an element of playfulness. You angle the camera to capture a side profile, your sweater slightly off your shoulder, revealing a hint of skin. The soft lighting accentuates your features, and you smile subtly before hitting send.

Matt's reply is almost immediate.

Matt: Beautiful. Seriously. How far do you live from Calgary?

You: I’m in Calgary, actually. Why?

Matt: Me too. And I want you to come over.

You freeze, Matt’s proposition hanging in the air like a charged current. The idea of meeting him in person, after this electrifying exchange, both thrills and intimidates you. It’s a leap into the unknown, a step away from the safe cocoon of your apartment.

You: I don’t even know what you look like. Kind of weird, don’t you think?

Matt: Fair enough, I’ll hold off for now. I gotta bolt now though, early morning tomorrow.

You feel a mix of relief and disappointment at Matt's response. Part of you is grateful for the pause, giving you time to process everything that has just happened. The other part, however, is buzzing with anticipation, wondering what could happen next between you two.

You: Early morning plans? What do you have going on?

Matt: Just work stuff. I’ll text you later, okay?

You: Sure. Good luck with it.

Matt: Thanks. It was fun.

You stare at your phone screen, heart still pounding. Matt’s presence lingers in your room, his image imprinted in your mind. You can’t deny the chemistry, the attraction that crackles between you, but you decide not to respond. You have to keep him on his toes somehow, right? ***

One week later

The floors are sticky, even with your already wet boots from the snow outside against them as you walk into the bar. Some classic country music blasts as cowboy hats are tipped, giant belt buckles are moving, and beers are drunk. Many beers are drunk.

You shove your way through the sea of dancing bodies towards the bar, spotting a single empty worn-out barstool which you happily slide into. This specific bar has line dancing every weekend, but this Friday is their annual Christmas hoedown, which is basically just a fancy name for ‘get drunk in some maybe holiday themed western clothing and dance.’

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of beer, sweat, and a hint of pine from the Christmas decorations strewn about. The bar is a hive of activity, the kind that can either drown out your sorrows or amplify them, depending on your mood. Tonight, you're here for a distraction, and although you're alone, it's a way to escape the emotional rollercoaster that has been your life for the past few weeks.

Sliding onto the barstool, you wave at the bartender, a burly man with a Santa hat perched on his head. "Whiskey sour, please," you call out over the music. He nods and gets to work, mixing your drink with practiced ease.

As you wait, you can't help but scan the room, your eyes landing on groups of people laughing, talking, and dancing. It's comforting in a way, seeing others immersed in their own worlds, each person a small part of the larger tapestry of life. You sip your drink, the sharp tang of whiskey and lemon cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

"Hey there, mind if I join you?" a voice interrupts your musings. You turn to see a man with a friendly smile and an impressively large cowboy hat standing next to you, vaguely recognizing him, but not enough to put your finger on it.

You look the man up and down, not hesitating for long before replying, “You gonna buy me a drink?”

The man chuckles, tipping his hat back slightly to reveal a pair of twinkling blue eyes. "I guess I can manage that," he says with a grin. "What’ll it be?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised at how easily you slip into the flirtation. "Whiskey sour."

He signals to the bartender, catching his attention immediately. “Another whiskey sour for the lady, and a beer for me.” As you wait, you take in his appearance more closely. He's tall, with broad shoulders and a rugged charm that fits perfectly in the country bar setting.

Soon enough, your drinks arrive, and as the handsome cowboy slides the drink towards you, you're already distracted by the hockey game on the TV. The Oilers are on tonight, and although you're a Calgary native, the Flames never really struck you like Edmonton did.

The cowboy seems to notice your distraction, glancing up at the screen to see what caught your attention. "Hockey fan?" he asks, leaning a bit closer to you, his voice cutting through the loud country music.

You nod, taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, what about you?” you ask as the cowboy takes a seat beside you.

Handsome Cowboy leans his elbow on the counter, bringing his beer to his lips before meeting your eyes. "You could say I dabble," he offers.

You cock your head, confused but deciding to trudge on. “You got a name?”

The man’s eyes widen as he glances away for a moment, only coming back to meet your gaze with less confidence than he initially had. “Chucky. The name’s Chucky.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking another sip of your drink as you study the man once again. “Chucky? Like that possessed doll?”

Chucky chuckles at your remark, a deep, throaty sound that sends a flutter through your stomach, “Sure, you could say that,” he replies, tapping his fingers on the bar, “Hopefully not as creepy though.”

“Not creepy,” you start, looking back up at the TV, “Just not really my type.”

Chucky clutches his chest dramatically as he laughs, “Ouch, you wound me,” he says before gesturing to the TV, “Well, what if I told you my type isn’t a girl who’s an Oilers fan?”

You purse your lips, turning back to Chucky and crossing your arms. “What’s your type, then?” you question.

"I like a woman who enjoys being spoiled," Chucky says, his voice growing huskier. "Someone who loves the feel of strong hands on her body, who appreciates a man who knows how to treat her right."

You roll your eyes. “What a charmer,” you offer, although you’re stuck staring at him, your heart skipping a beat at his boldness. This conversation is moving fast, yet you find yourself unable to look away. "And you think you're that man?" you ask, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

Chucky leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "I know I am," he whispers, the confidence in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "But that's something you'll have to discover for yourself."

He pulls away slightly, his crooked teeth formed into a knowing smile as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. A flush creeps up your neck, your heartbeat quickening. The thrill of the exchange, the hint of danger in his confidence—it's a potent mix, drawing you in despite your better judgment. “How do I find out?” you breathe, your voice shaky.

Chucky's eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans back slightly, taking a slow sip of his beer before responding. The noise of the bar fades into the background as his gaze locks onto yours, his expression serious yet playful. “Oh, so I am your type?”

"I didn't say that," you reply with a smirk, keeping your tone light despite the heat rising in your cheeks. "But you seem awfully sure of yourself."

Chucky's smile widens, his eyes never leaving yours as he leans back against the bar, his posture relaxed yet undeniably confident. "I've been around long enough to know what I want," he admits, his voice low and gravelly. "And I know how to make sure a pretty girl like you enjoys herself."

Your breath hitches at his words, your heart continuing its erratic rhythm as you look into his eyes. Weirdly enough, you sort of feel a little guilty for replacing the mystery man on your phone, but that doesn’t even begin to overpower the strong attraction you feel for the man in front of you. “Can I take you up on that?” you ask.

Chucky's grin widens, clearly pleased with your response. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "Oh, sweetheart, you've already taken me up on it by sitting here with me." His gaze flickers with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, more intense as if he knows exactly the effect he's having on you.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing as you meet his intense gaze. The noise of the bar seems to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of charged anticipation. Chucky reaches out, his hand brushing against yours on the bar top. His touch is electric, sending a jolt of awareness through you. “What d’ya say we dance?”

Your eyes widen as you look at his hand on top of yours, calloused fingertips brushing gentle circles. “I’m not really a good dancer,” you admit, your voice small.

Chucky chuckles softly, his thumb still lightly tracing patterns on the back of your hand. "Don't worry about that, darlin'. Ain't nobody here judging your dancing skills tonight." He leans closer, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Just relax and let me lead."

You think it's weird he's talking like that even though his accent is city-like, but before you can protest or agree, he slides off the barstool with an easy grace, extending his hand towards you. The invitation hangs between you, laden with unspoken promises and the allure of something new and exciting. You hesitate for only a moment, then place your hand in his, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip.

As he leads you onto the dance floor, the crowd seems to part effortlessly, creating a small pocket of space just for the two of you. The music shifts to a slower tempo, a country ballad that echoes through the dimly lit bar. Chucky pulls you close, his other hand settling firmly at the small of your back, guiding you in gentle sways to the rhythm of the song. Despite your initial hesitation, you soon fall into sync with him, allowing yourself to be swept away by the rhythm and the warmth of his presence.

The other dancers around you blur into the background as you focus on Chucky's steady gaze, his blue eyes holding a magnetic intensity that sends a thrill through you. With each sway and turn, the space between you seems to shrink, the attraction between you palpable in the air.

As the song draws to a close, Chucky doesn't release you. Instead, he holds you even closer, his cheek brushing against yours as he whispers softly in your ear. "You're a natural," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You catch your breath at Chucky's whispered compliment, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you at his closeness. His breath against your ear sends a tingling sensation down your spine, and you can't deny the thrill of being held so intimately by this charming stranger. "Thank you," you manage to murmur back, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the dim lighting and the pulsing music around you, it feels as if there are only the two of you in that moment, cocooned in your own private world.

Chucky's hand remains at the small of your back, his touch reassuring yet tinged with a subtle electricity that seems to ignite every nerve ending in your body. His presence is magnetic, drawing you closer with each passing second, and you find yourself unable to look away from his captivating blue eyes.

"I could dance with you all night," Chucky admits, his voice low and husky. He's about to say something else, only to suddenly stop and reach into the back pocket of his worn-out jeans, pulling out his buzzing phone while keeping an arm snaked around your waist. “Sorry, doll, I’ve gotta take this.”

Before you can protest or even get a word out, he has disappeared into the crowd, and your body is suddenly at a loss for his touch. You stand there for a moment, slightly dazed by Chucky's abrupt departure. The lingering warmth of his touch, his hand on your back, and the intoxicating thrill of the dance still pulse through you, leaving you with a mix of confusion and anticipation.

As you scan the crowded bar, you catch glimpses of familiar faces and strangers alike, each lost in their own conversations and revelries. The music continues to throb in the background, a steady rhythm that seems to echo the beat of your racing heart.

Time passes painfully slow as you wait, and wait, and wait.

Until he doesn’t come back. *** Another week later... It's two days before Christmas, Christmas Eve Eve as you and your family lovingly call it, and you find yourself alone. The cityscape outside your window is already cloaked in a soft blanket of snow, the streetlights casting a golden glow on the flakes as they drift lazily to the ground. It's already eight pm, a time when you'd typically not be alone. However, last year your loved ones decided to take a leap of faith and move an hour out of Calgary, so regular visits aren't really a thing anymore. But you're planning to make the drive out tomorrow and spend the night for Christmas.

You stand in your apartment, the sticky bits on the bottom of your fuzzy socks squeaking against the shiny hardwood floor as you look around the living area. You haven't told anybody yet, but you're moving as soon as your semester ends, transferring to Toronto where you'll finish school and hopefully live a new, better life. Although you love Calgary, lately everything around you radiates hurt. Boxes are strewn around, a messy scrawl in Sharpie on them identifying items from various rooms. The living room, once a cozy haven, now feels like a cardboard maze, each box a reminder of your impending departure.

With a sigh, you open the cabinet above your fridge, taking out a half-empty bottle of rosé that you bought earlier that week. It's a cheap, screw-top bottle, but admittedly you needed it to get you through all the stress of your exams. Now that they're over, you can finish it without worrying about waking up hungover. The bottle feels cool in your hand, a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil.

You take a wine glass out of a different cabinet and twist the cap once before your phone suddenly buzzes. You grab it, wondering who could be texting you at this time.

Matt: Hey, can I call you?

Your heart skips a beat as you read Matt's message. You've been talking to him non-stop, whether that just be texting, or calling, or sexting - every waking moment, besides when he had his weird work stints, you were talking to him. You hesitate for a moment, glancing around your half-packed apartment, the wine glass in your hand a stark reminder of your current solitude.

You: Sure, give me a sec.

Quickly setting the bottle of rosé and the glass on the counter, you walk over to the couch and settle in. You take a moment to steady your nerves, then press the call button when his name pops up on the screen.

The phone rings only once before he picks up. "Hey," Matt's voice comes through, warm and familiar.

"Hey," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. "What are you up to?"

Your eyes dart to the kitchen island where the bottle of wine is waiting, and then around at the chaotic mess of the room before responding, "Nothing in particular. You?"

Matt's chuckle comes through the line, a warm, comforting sound that makes you smile despite the mess around you. "Just chilling. Wanted to check up on you. Need any compliments yet?"

You chuckle softly, feeling warmth spread through you at his playful tone. "Maybe a few wouldn't hurt," you reply, leaning back into the couch and tucking your legs beneath you. "It's been a crazy week."

Matt's voice softens, taking on a teasing tone. "Well, I could start by saying that I still can't get over how gorgeous you looked in that photo you sent me. And if you're half as funny and smart in person as you are over text, then I'm in real trouble."

He pauses, and you hear a slight hum come from him. "Crazy good or crazy bad?" he continues, this time his voice carrying genuine concern.

"A bit of both," you admit, glancing around at the half-packed boxes. "Exams are over, but I'm in the middle of packing up my life. Moving to Toronto next semester."

There's a pause on the other end, and you wonder if you've shared too much too soon. "Wow, that's a big change," Matt finally says. "Why Toronto?"

You sigh, the weight of the decision pressing on you. "I just need a fresh start. Calgary's been... difficult lately. Too many memories, too much heartache. I think a change of scenery will do me good."

"I get that," Matt says softly. "Um, speaking of that, I was gonna ask whereabouts in Calgary you are?"

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. "I live near downtown, not too far from the river. Why?"

There's a brief pause on Matt's end, and you can almost hear him thinking. "You free right now?"

Your pulse quickens at Matt's unexpected question. The idea of meeting him in person, after all the teasing texts and late-night conversations, is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "Yeah, I am, why?" you say, wanting to get a little more information out of him.

"Well," he starts, and you hear rustling on his end, "As much as I enjoy this anonymous text-flirting thing we've got going on, I would love to see you in person."

You furrow your eyebrows, wondering if this is going where you think it is. "And… do what?" you ask, deciding to be straightforward with him. "Like, hook up?"

"No!" Matt says quickly, almost panicked. "I-I mean, if you want to, I wouldn't mind," he concedes, his tone softer. "But I had something else in mind."

Your curiosity is piqued, and you lean forward slightly, eager to hear what Matt has in mind. "Oh? And what might that be?" you ask, a smile tugging at your lips.

Matt's voice softens, taking on a tone that is both sincere and slightly hesitant. "You got ice skates?"

You blink in surprise at Matt's question, the unexpected turn catching you off guard. Ice skates? You haven't been ice skating in ages, not since you were a kid. But there's something oddly charming about Matt's suggestion, a whimsical twist in contrast to the flirtatious banter you've shared so far.

"Uh, yeah, I think I have a pair somewhere," you reply, scanning your cluttered apartment mentally to remember where they might be buried. "Why do you ask?"

Matt's voice is shaky, almost nervous as he responds, "Well, I don't know how to convince you that I won't kill you, but I know a nice outdoor rink on the west side."

You find yourself grinning ear-to-ear, even though the concern of him maybe kidnapping you is in the back of your head. "Are you asking me on a date?" you say, your tone giddy from the smile that won't seem to fade off your face.

Matt chuckles nervously on the other end of the line, his voice slightly muffled as if he were pacing or moving around. "Yeah, I guess I am," he admits, his tone laced with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "I mean, if you're up for it. Just thought it'd be nice to actually meet in person, you know?"

Your heart flutters at Matt's sincerity, the nervous edge in his voice endearing rather than off-putting. Despite the initial shock of his unexpected request, you find yourself warming to the idea of meeting him face-to-face. "Okay," you agree, "But I'm sharing my location with everyone in my immediate family, just in case you kidnap me."

Matt lets out a nervous huff of air. "And that's completely understandable!" he says, his voice cracking slightly. "I mean, who am I, really? I could totally be…" He trails off, and you hear a thud. "Fuck, you're kidding, aren't you?"

You chuckle softly at Matt's flustered response, finding his nervousness strangely endearing. "Relax, Matt," you reassure him, amusement evident in your voice. "I'm just messing with you. I trust you enough to meet up."

There's a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a relieved sigh from Matt. "Okay, good," he replies, his voice steadier now. "I promise I'm not a serial killer or anything. Just a guy who wants to take you ice skating." He pauses, seeming to debate something. "I can… pick you up if you want?"

You hesitate for a moment, weighing the offer in your mind. It's a bold move, letting him pick you up, especially since you haven't even seen his face yet. But something about Matt's voice, his nervous excitement mixed with genuine sincerity, makes you feel oddly reassured.

"Sure," you reply, trying to sound nonchalant despite the flutter of anticipation in your chest. "I'll send you my address."

After exchanging a few more logistical details and promising to text when you're ready, you end the call with Matt. Sitting back on your couch, you stare at your phone for a moment, the reality of what you've just agreed to sinking in. Meeting Matt in person feels like a leap into the unknown, a step away from the safe confines of text messages and phone calls.

With a mix of excitement and nerves, you head to your bedroom to find your ice skates. As you rummage through your closet, you can't help but smile at the thought of what the evening might bring. Ice skating under the stars with Matt—whether it turns out to be magical or not, it's definitely going to be memorable.

Finding your skates buried under a pile of old clothes, you pull them out and place them by the door. You quickly freshen up, change into something warmer, and glance at yourself in the mirror, wondering what Matt will think when he finally sees you in person. Your reflection shows a mix of anticipation and nervousness, your cheeks slightly flushed with the excitement of the evening ahead.

After a deep breath to steady your nerves, you grab your coat and keys and send a quick text to Matt that you're ready. By the time you hear a knock on your door later that evening, you're both nervous and eager. Opening the door, you're greeted by a man. A man with broad shoulders, frizzy brown curls, and dark blue eyes. A man that you've definitely met before.

You look up at him, your eyes wide. “Chucky?” you drawl out, your tone unsure.

Chucky/Matt (?) stands there in the doorway, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The realization slowly dawns on you – Matt is Chucky, the charming cowboy from the bar, the man who whisked you onto the dance floor and left you literally aching for his touch.

Matt shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, his sheepish grin faltering slightly. "Hey," he finally says, his voice a mixture of nerves and apology. "Surprise?"

You blink, trying to process the revelation. "You're Matt?" you ask, the realization sinking in. "You're Chucky?"

Matt nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, look, I probably should’ve been upfront,” he starts, leaning against your doorframe, “But when I saw you at the bar, I couldn’t help keeping the whole mystery thing going.”

You nod slowly, your mind racing with a mix of emotions. Part of you feels a bit betrayed by the secrecy, but another part can't deny the attraction and connection you've felt with Matt, both as Chucky and as himself. "I guess I understand," you say finally, your voice softening. "But why the cowboy persona?"

Matt chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know, I guess I thought it added to the charm," he admits, looking somewhat sheepish. "Plus, it was fun to see where it would lead. Clearly, it led to this." He glances away for a moment, out towards the hallway before meeting your gaze again.

You furrow your brow as you stare at the man before you. Chucky was still a weird name to you, and Matt looked so much more casual than Chucky, even though they’re the same person—dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants with a warm winter coat on top. His curls stick out of the beanie he's wearing which reads ‘Calgary Flames Hockey Club’.

Matt gives you a nervous smile, clearly awaiting your reaction as you stare at the Calgary Flames logo on his beanie, then back at his face. It's surreal to see the man who swept you off your feet as Chucky now standing before you in casual attire, looking more like a regular guy than the charming cowboy from the bar. The pieces of the puzzle are falling into place, but there's still a lingering sense of disbelief.

"You're Matthew Tkachuk," you say slowly, more as a statement of realization than a question.

Matt raises his eyebrows, then nods. “Is that a bad thing?” he questions.

It isn’t, but you're in complete shock. "You're Matthew Tkachuk," you repeat, this time with a hint of disbelief and curiosity. "The hockey player?"

Matt nods again, his expression holding a hint of skepticism. “Yes? And, yeah, the reason why I left that night is because my agent needed to talk contract stuff with me.”

You take a step back, your mind racing. Matthew Tkachuk, the star winger for the Calgary Flames, stands before you, in the flesh, looking every bit like a regular guy out of his hockey gear. The realization sends a flurry of thoughts through your head—how could this be happening?

“There’s no way… I didn’t recognize you,” you murmur, looking up at him wide-eyed, “Didn’t I literally rave about the Oilers to you too?” You continue ranting, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Holy shit, how much did I embarrass myself in front of a professional athlete?”

Matt cocks his head, “Embarrass yourself? Trust me, you’re doing just fine,” he starts, studying your face intently, “Can you promise me something, though?”

Matt's gentle reassurance and the warmth in his eyes help ease some of your embarrassment, though the shock of discovering his true identity still lingers. You take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

"What is it?" you ask cautiously, curious about what Matt could possibly want from you now.

He smiles softly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Treat me like a normal guy? Let’s just have fun tonight. I’m not Matthew Tkachuk, hockey player, or Chucky, sexy cowboy, I’m just… Matt.”

You nod slowly, still processing the surreal turn of events. "Okay, Matt," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Let's just have fun tonight."

Matt's smile widens, his relief palpable. "Great," he says warmly, stepping closer to you. "Ice skating under the stars, just two regular people enjoying each other's company." ---

The outdoor rink is serene when you arrive, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the overhead lights. The ice shimmers under the illumination, casting a magical reflection. As you lace up your skates, Matt's touch is gentle and reassuring as he helps adjust them. The crisp night air fills your lungs with each breath, carrying the scent of pine and fresh snow.

Once on the ice, Matt moves with effortless grace, gliding backward with a practiced ease that makes it look like he's dancing on the frozen surface. His beckoning smile is both inviting and encouraging, urging you to join him.

You laugh nervously, feeling the unfamiliar wobble beneath your feet as you find your balance. "I haven't done this in years," you admit, a mix of excitement and apprehension making your voice tremble slightly. Matt's grin widens as he skates closer, his eyes sparkling with a playful light. "Don't worry, I've got you," he assures you, holding out a steady hand. "Just take it slow and enjoy the glide."

You tentatively take Matt's hand, the warmth of his palm a comforting contrast to the chill in the air. His guidance is steady, and soon, you begin to relax into the rhythm of skating. The cold air brushes against your cheeks, crisp and invigorating, carrying the faint scent of winter and the promise of a memorable night.

Under the canopy of stars, the night feels almost enchanted. The soft swish of skates on ice echoes around you, blending harmoniously with the quiet whispers of the winter breeze. Matt leads you in gentle circles, his movements smooth and fluid, occasionally pulling you closer for a playful spin or to steady you whenever you stumble.

As you skate, you find yourself holding both of his hands, his touch both firm and gentle as he guides you backward. His gaze never leaves yours, creating an unspoken connection that makes you feel both vulnerable and safe. Matt pulls you gently into a spin, his hand firm and steady at your waist. For a moment, the world around you blurs, leaving only the sensation of movement and the comforting warmth of Matt's touch. The night air feels crisp against your cheeks, heightening your senses and adding to the enchantment of the moment.

"See? You've got the hang of it," Matt says with a grin, bringing you to a stop in the center of the rink. "You're a natural."

You laugh, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Thanks to your expert coaching," you reply, teasing him lightly. "I never expected my evening to turn out like this. I mean, I was ready to drink half a bottle of wine on my own."

Matt chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Neither did I," he admits, his tone earnest. "But I'm glad it did. It's nice to just... be myself for a change."

You nod in understanding, appreciating the vulnerability he shows in sharing that sentiment. "I can imagine," you say softly, leaning into him. "So, what's it like being a professional hockey player?"

Matt shrugs, his expression thoughtful. "It's a lot of pressure sometimes," he confesses. "But I love what I do. Hockey's been my passion since I was a kid."

“I get it,” you reply, your hands at the nape of his neck toying with the few stray curls, “Just keep being yourself, okay?”

Matt nods, and for a moment, all you can hear is his uneven breathing, the cool air making it visible. He swallows hard, not offering anything else as he just… looks at you. No words needed, just that look in his eyes, and you were set, although, you still probed him. “What is it?” you say, softly.

"I've been thinking about kissing you," Matt admits, his eyes still very much locked on yours, although they flicker to your mouth for a second. "I want to see if your lips are as soft as they look in your pictures."

Your heart skips a beat at Matt's confession, his words sending a rush of warmth through you. His gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. The quiet hum of the night around you seems to fade into the background, leaving only the anticipation of what could happen next.

"You do?" you reply softly, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of kissing him. Despite the unexpected turn of events and Matt's celebrity status, there is an undeniable chemistry between you, a connection that has been building throughout the evening.

Matt nods slowly, his expression earnest yet tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "If you're okay with it, of course."

A smile plays at your lips as you lean closer to him, closing the gap between you. "I think I'd like that," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without another word, Matt gently cups your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly tender. His lips meet yours in a soft, hesitant kiss, testing the waters. The sensation of his lips against yours sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a spark of desire that seems to pulse between you.

The kiss deepens as you respond eagerly, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. Matt pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace as the world around you fades into the background.

Only when you feel a cool, wetness on your nose do you pull away, keeping Matt close and looking up to see that it had started snowing. The snowflakes float gently down around you, casting a magical aura over the quiet rink. Matt's arms remain around you, his gaze soft as he brushes a snowflake from your nose with a gentle smile.

"It's snowing," you murmur, feeling the cool touch of the flakes against your cheeks. The winter scene adds to the enchantment of the moment, making it feel like something out of a romantic movie.

Matt chuckles softly, his breath forming a small cloud in the chilly air. "Perfect timing," he replies, his voice low and warm. "It's like nature's way of adding a touch of magic to tonight."

You can't help but smile back at him, feeling a rush of warmth despite the cold around you. The kiss has deepened your connection, and now, standing in Matt's arms with snow falling around you, it feels like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

As the snow continues to fall gently around you, Matt holds you close, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. The quiet intimacy of the moment is punctuated only by the soft rustling of snowflakes and the distant hum of the city beyond the rink. Time seems to stand still as you look up at him, his eyes reflecting the warmth and affection he feels.

"You know," Matt says softly, brushing a stray snowflake from your cheek, "I didn't expect tonight to turn out like this, but I'm really glad it did."

You smile up at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for the unexpected connection you have found. "Me too," you reply honestly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "It's been... surprisingly wonderful."

Matt nods, his gaze lingering on your face. "I'm glad I got the chance to meet you," he admits, his voice tinged with sincerity. "Even if it started off a bit... unconventional."

You chuckle softly, remembering your initial encounter with "Chucky" at the bar, and the whole number neighbour gag. "Unconventional is one way to put it," you agree, your tone light. "But it definitely made for an interesting story."

Matt grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes. "A story I hope we can continue," he says, his fingers tracing patterns on your lower back. "Maybe without the mystery personas next time."

You lean into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his hands against your skin. "I'd like that," you reply softly, feeling a sense of comfort and ease in his presence. "No more secrets, just... us."

"Us," Matt repeats, his voice almost a whisper as he leans in closer. "I like the sound of that."

The snowfall around you intensifies slightly, creating a picturesque backdrop for the moment. You find yourself lost in Matt's eyes, the world around you fading away as he gently brushes his lips against yours once more. This time, the kiss is filled with a quiet tenderness, a silent promise of things yet to come.

When you finally pull away, a contented smile plays on your lips. Matt rests his forehead against yours, his arms still around you as if he never wants to let go.

“Us and the snow falling.” ***

EPILOGUE

You never ended up leaving Calgary. After your relationship grew with Matthew as the flowers grew in the spring, you found your love in the city again, not just with him, but with yourself, too.

Eventually, Matthew got traded, to Florida of all places, and the first thing he did was ask you to come with him. At first, you were unsure - you didn’t want to leave your hometown. So, you guys tried long distance for a bit, just until you found your footing in creating your own small business, and eventually moved there with him. Miami brought a new chapter in your life, one that you wanted in the first place, but this time around, you were secure in yourself and your relationship.

And that’s how you found yourself right by the glass at Amerant Bank Arena. It was game seven of the Stanley Cup Final where your, now husband, Matthew, would play against your childhood team for the biggest honour in his sport. Gently, you held up your baby girl, adorning sound-isolating headphones, and of course, a tiny Tkachuk jersey against the glass as Matthew skated over during warmups. He leaned in close to the glass, pressing a gloved hand against it as he mouthed, "I love you" to both of you. Your daughter giggled, her eyes wide with excitement as she watched her dad, scruffy playoff beard and all, skate effortlessly on the ice. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a swell of pride and love for the man who had become not just your husband but your partner in every sense of the word.

The game was intense, and, admittedly, you wouldn’t really mind if the Oilers had won, but it was all eyes on Matthew and the Panthers as they gave it their all.

Pandemonium erupted in the arena as the final buzzer sounded, and the Panthers had won. Players flooded onto the ice, celebrating their hard-earned victory. Amidst the sea of cheers and applause afterward, the families were let onto the ice, and Matthew made his way to where you stood, his eyes shining with happiness and disbelief.

He embraced you tightly, lifting your daughter into his arms as he kissed both of you, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude. "We did it," he whispered.

You smiled up at him, tears of joy in your eyes. "You did it," you corrected gently, knowing how much this moment meant to him and to your family. Because this was it. He was it.

#matthew tkachuk #calgary flames #florida panthers #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk fic #nhl x reader #mt19

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

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the 'I like you' couple is soo cute 💖💗💓❤️ but now we need to know! 🥺 does jungkook find a nickname for her? does he really think about it? does he try out a few before deciding which one he likes? or does she does or likes something random or particular and he gets the nickname from teasing her? or he just has a light bulb moment on a random moment? lol, I love them, can't get enough!!

A/N: Masterlist

"Baaaaaby-kookoo-love-of-my-life-" you whine, and he squints his eyes as he walks into his bedroom where you're laying on your back. "My tummy hurts." You complain, and he sits down on the edge of his bed next to you to take of his socks.

"...okay?" He wonders, and you kick him with your foot a little.

"Make it better." You demand, and he chuckles.

"How?" He wonders, and you scoff.

"The fuck do I know!" You huff. "Like, I don't know, talk to it? Maybe it'll get intimidated if you're all angry with it." You offer as a solution, and to your surprise, he turns around and points an accusing finger at your lower stomach.

"You better stop fucking hurting right now because I want to go sleep and God knows my spoiled princess won't shut up until you're quiet.!" He threatens at your body, before he turns around and closes the opened window before turning off the lights as he crawls into bed next to you.

It's quiet for a moment, until you speak.

"I'm both mildly turned on and offended right now." You say, and he snorts a laugh, hand patting over the blankets to find yours to hold in the dark. "Spoiled princess? Really?" You scoff.

"You are one." He defends himself.

"I mean, a princess? Hell fucking yes, and you better start carrying me around as one from now on, prince charming!" You laugh, and he rolls his eyes in the dark.

"You're spoiled enough." He says, closing his eyes.

"So?" You ask, before a slap is heard.

And its quiet.

For a good moment.

"Did you just slap my ass?!" You yell out, sitting up, and he laughs whole heartedly.

"Was it? I couldn't tell." He laughs.

"Oh so you just blindly aimed to smack me and ACCIDENTALLY hit my ass? Fucking lying piece of shit, you knew exactly what you-"

"Do I need to spank you again, or are you gonna be a good girl and sleep?" He asks. "You've got work at 6 am, and I need to be up at 5:30." He reminds you, and you suddenly fall back into the pillows, scooting closer, closer, until you're full on clinging onto him.

"...jungkookie..?" You ask quietly, awfully shy. He hums a reply. "Can you say it again?" You ask.

"You have work tomorrow-"

"Nooo, that part before that? Like, I did what you said so I'm aaaaaa~?" You draw out the last syllable, wiggling your toes as you wait, and he suddenly chuckles.

"Good Girl." He says, and you squeal to yourself, cuddling up to him.

It's the first time he's ever really comfortable saying things like that- and maybe it's the way you've gotten closer by now, not only emotionally. Yesterday he'd been so lost in kissing you that he didn't even notice you getting so riled up on his lap- and it left him both excited and terrified.

And these days, he's been trying out some petnames for you here and there to see what would stick.

Babe or baby are cute when you say it, but they feel way too boring to him. They're too basic, nothing special, and it just doesn't feel right.

Until you're out at a shopping center, randomly spending a day at the mall together when you spot something in a kid's store window. "Oh- did you know I always wanted to be a princess for Halloween?" You say, spooning up some icecream from your cup. "But my dad never bought me the costume, and we never went trick-or-treat-ing." You pout, making Jungkook smile as he tucks in a strand of hair that had escaped your messy bun on your head.

"Well, you're a princess to me now, no need for a costume." He shrugs. "And I even buy you candy, so you don't have to knock on stranger's doors either." He jokes, and you look up at him at that, pulling him down by the neckline of his shirt to peck his lips. "Huh?" He wonders, and you just smile.

"You're just so dreamy." You sigh dramatically. "Your flirting is getting a bit out of hand though. Makes me feel all fluffy and horny." You boldly admit, making him laugh as he shakes his head, taking your empty cup from you to throw it away in a bin nearby. "Ah, such a prince charming!" You giggle, and he takes your hand In his at that, kissing the back of it for a second.

Successfully making you blush for the first time since he's met you.

And he's starting to really enjoy making you flustered.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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rene-darling · 1 year

Text

THEY- treat your wounds

Just a reminder I do more fandoms than just genshin lol

...Judar...hakuryuu...sinbad...

Judar

Judar never really minded the fact that he couldn't use healing spells

In his words "why would someone as strong as me need healing spells pft-"

But oh God was he eating up his words right about now

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me earlier what if this thing gets... infected?!?" "...judar. It's not like you could help very much"

He knew this he knew he couldn't help with healing spells- he's known this for a long time but- why is it only now that he regrets not trying harder?

He's trying, he's trying so hard to heal you the look of defeat on his face is not a sight you see often sighing, you moved over to judar a little "judar..calm down, we can't go back yet. Just- give me my bag I have some first aid in it.."

Without saying a word he grabs your bag and hands you what he thinks is the first aid kit that you're talking about you take out some things that you're gonna use to clean your wound but soon you run into trouble- see your wound is on your back and as you shift to try to clean it a sharp jolt of pain hits

You let out a small groan but continued as there wasn't anything else you could do but perceiver

Judar watched as sweat drilled from your head as you tried to shift your position to see the tear God..he couldn't handle looking at you like this but he was clueless as to what he should do...

"Just...just- give me that" it surprised you a bit when Judar snatched the cloth from your hand "come here.." he gently? lowered your head to lay on his lap so you were laying on your stomach

Judar has been given punishments for acting out by al thamen plenty of times so he's watched as servants cleaned his wounds before so he's trying with all his might to replicate that

"Just..just tell me if it hurts..or- if I'm doing something wrong.." this was very unlike your judar in every scenario you had imagined him laughing at your injuries but treating them and reassuring you- oh wow

"..maybe I should get injured more often so I can see this side of you eh?-" in response, he didn't say anything but instead pressed a little too hard on your wound which was followed by an array of apologies from you

This- this felt nice contrary to the aching wound on your back, being gently touched by judar as he tried his best to softly clean your wound and apply some medicine was somehow almost soothing

"Thanks..judar " "mh"

hakuryuu

He's more worried about your wound than you- he looks like he's gonna cry-

You spoke too soon he did start crying and like a baby at that

It almost seemed like he was the hurt one

You end up comforting him...

He's crying almost sobbing "hey, haku...dont cry my dear its fine " he's just a mumbling crying whining mess "b-but...you, I, h-...how?" he's just a little crying mess in a puddle of his own tears

You hug him close ignoring any pain from the wound but when he tries hugging you back you let out a slight groan and he realizes what an idiot he's being, I mean your the ones who's hurt what the hell is he doing right now!!

He starts to stop crying still sniffling but it's better than before "c-...come here" he gently helps you lay down as he grabs bandages from his bag

"i-if you feel, any discomfort...tell me, okay?" his voice is small and you hear a small gasp when he gets a good view of your injury "y/n..." he whispers under his breath not sure how he could comfort you...

You can feel his hands shake as he cleans your wounds the little trembles of his body as worry overcomes him "don't worry my dear haku..."

"how...how could I not" you can hear his voice breaking as he quietly sobs once more

Sinbad

He's worried so so worried

The second he hears that your injured he rushes to your side and hold your hand

He's also mad, not at you but himself he should've been there to protect you!

"y/n...how did this...what happend...i-" it seems that for once even so bad is at a loss for words

He brings the best doctors in the nation no the world to come treat you, he holds your hand as they treat you his heart stops everytime your grip gets tighter indicating that your hurting "i-its gonna be...fine, fine...dont worry" it seems the reassure me is meant for himself more then it is for you

After the doctors leave he traces the area around your wound careful not to touch it...sinbad isn't the most caring person in the world and you've never seen him look so...afraid

"y/n...please next time tell me if your hurt, if you need help. Please " it's almost as if he's begging you more then asking

His voice breaks at the end of his sentence as you look at him and nod...you might not do what he says but at least you reassure him

#judar #judal #magi judal #magi the kingdom of magic #magi the labyrinth of magic #magi the adventures of sinbad #sinbad #Magi men #magi judar #hakuryuu #x reader

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acourtofmarvels · 1 year

Text

Surprise - Cassian

Warnings: none really, cute fluff. mentions of sex n stuff lol

Word count: 694

"Does it hurt?" I asked sheepishly. I felt so guilty. And a little bit proud of myself, but don't tell Cassian that.

He groaned in response. I could tell he was trying not to blow up on me. I hit him pretty hard.

"I'm sorry, baby." I sat beside him on the bed. I took the ice from his hand and held it onto his head myself. "At least you don't have a concussion."

"At least we know training is working. You got me good." He tried to smile at me but only winced in the process.

"You startled me! I wasn't expecting anyone to be at the house." And I smashed a bottle of wine over his head. It wasn't a small bottle either.

Rhys told me they were gonna be gone all day and most likely wouldn't get back tomorrow. Rhys always informs me when they are on their way home, then I can expect Cassian to come and see me.

"I expect a blowjob after this." Even in pain he's horny and inappropriate. I honestly shouldn't be surprised he said that.

Cassian was... unexpected for me. This thing between us happened one night and never stopped. At some point it was just a fling, then we said we were exclusive. Next thing I know we're all in and dating.

Our relationship never should have happened. We had a one night stand on a drunken holiday. And the next morning we slept with each other again. Cassian never did relationships. He was a go with the flow kind of guy and always said he never had the time for it.

I was just wanting sex. No strings and the kind that made your legs weak afterwards. Cassian exceeded expectations. We've been friends for so long now and I've heard from other girls I know whom he's slept with, that he's great in bed. Don't tell him this cause it will just boost his massive ego, but he's the best I've ever had.

"I feel like I should get an award for my marvelously teaching. I think I taught you too well." He groaned and layed back on the bed, taking the ice with him. "Cauldron boil me, I can't believe you got the drop on me like that. You're lucky I love you, babe. If any other person had done this to me-"

"You love me?" I blurt out, my eyes wide.

Cassian halts mid-sentence. He looked genuinely confused as if he had no clue what I just questioned. But he said it. I heard it loud and clear. I think my heart nearly stopped beating when he said it. He said he loved me.

"You just said it." I was fighting the urge to smile. Cause what if he didn't mean it? What if the hit had really messed him up. Oh shit did I rattle his brain with that wine bottle?

"I..." He cleared his throat, slowly bringing the ice down from his head to look at me. "Well, damn. I guess I did."

My heart is racing. He didn't deny it, yet.

"D-did you mean it?" I had to ask. I would give him the way out if he needed it. This was serious for us. I mean, we didn't even want to be in a relationship at first, let alone fall in love.

A small smile crept up on his face. When he nods I feel immediately relieved. I moved over beside him, running my fingers through his hair like I always did. "Say it again." The words nearly came out as a beg.

He moaned and ran a hand down his face. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't make me say it again. It's bad enough that I said it first. That's never happened before." His arrogant tone deserved a slap on the arm from me. But then I couldn't help but climb onto his lap and attack his face with kisses. His body shakes under mine from laughing.

"On a scale from one to ten how badly does your head really hurt? Because I don't know if you know this about me but, emotional intimacy really turns me on. And you just told me you loved me, and I sure as hell am completely head over heels in love with you. And I think we should have sex right now."

His gaze on me darkens, his hands grip my hips firmly. "Suddenly I feel a whole lot better."

inspired by The Score by Elle Kennedy

Acotar Masterlist

#cassian #cassian x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic #cassian fanfic #cassian fanfiction #cassian imagine #azriel #cassian fluff #cassian acosf #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf

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maespri · 2 months

Text

danaganronpa 2 characters ranked by how painful their death was (and why)

yeah i'm doing this again but for danganronpa 2, what else is new. welcome! gonna talk about some of the anatomical science behind the deaths in dr2 and use that knowledge to rank how painful certain deaths would be.

spoilers ahead, and trigger warning! this post is going to go into detail about death. it's going to get descriptive and gory. if you'd rather not read about it, please keep scrolling!

everything under the cut, because this is going to be long, warning you now!

as usual, some backstory: i have a special interest in anatomy & physiology. i find it very fascinating to study stuff like this, which has led me to making my third post of this caliber! with all that said, i'm not an expert, and these are just my personal opinions- if i do get something wrong, please correct me! now let's get to ranking!

this ranking only covers traditionally "human" deaths (aka, mechamaru is not covered, because he's a robot).

quick glossary:

arteries: carry blood from the heart to other parts of the body. veins: carry blood from other parts of the body back to the heart. hypoxia: inadequate oxygen supply. exsanguination: death caused by bleeding out. hypovolemic: loss of fluid in the body, often referring to blood or water. shock: life-threatening condition where the body does not have enough blood circulating through it. asphyxiation: deprivation of oxygen which can result in unconsciousness and/or death. aspiration: when something you swallow "goes down the wrong way" and enters your airway or lungs. TBI: traumatic brain injury. immolation: death by burning.

the tier list:

OUCH!!! (most painful):

nagito komaeda: this is the longest analysis in this ranking for what i hope is good reason. to say i was horrified when i came across his body would be an understatement- it's brutal.

for starters, he slices up his legs quite badly. this is instantly going to cause bleeding, albeit not yet life-threatening. if it were, he would have had to slice his femoral arteries. i'll blame the fact that he doesn't on his luckiness. at worst, his legs are hurting and burning like hell. that + blood loss is making him dizzy/light-headed. but the fact that nagito is lying down is actually helping him stay alive, as doing so helps your blood pressure. i'd imagine the adrenaline is going to start pumping for him now as his body fights to keep itself from passing out/bleeding out; adrenaline may cause him to be in less pain as he's setting everything up to stab his hand, but he'll definitely be getting dizzier from pain + losing blood.

speaking of, let's move on to him stabbing his hand.

i first just want to point out that the amount of willpower + sheer strength he would need to do this is astronomical. it is not easy to lay flat on your back and slam your hand down onto something hard enough to go straight through. and doing all of that while your limbs are tied up and you're bleeding profusely out of your legs? it's absurd; i'd verge on saying it's impossible, actually, but i'll suspend my disbelief lol.

so, admittedly, i kind of lost my mind analyzing nagito's hand injury, because. i can't come to a conclusive answer about how painful it'd be for him. here's why:

my immediate thought was that this would hurt horribly, for obvious reasons. i thought nagito might actually might have something really interesting going for him when it came to this injury, which is that he somehow managed to avoid severing any tendons or nerves in his hand. i attributed that to his luckiness, once again. the reason i thought he didn't sever any nerves/tendons is because he throws the monokuma stuffed animal pretty far away from himself after sustaining the injury.

but then i remembered that if he did put a knife through his palm, paralysis would only occur distal to (above) the injury- aka, he'd only lose feeling in the area above his palm. therefore, you could argue he did actually sever his nerves and tendons. he just threw more with his arm, and that's why it worked.

but then i was like... throwing something that far away from yourself while you are lying down and your other arm is tied up would practically be impossible without utilizing a lot of power in your entire hand. not to mention- nagito should be feeling pretty weak, dizzy, and light-headed by now, considering the injuries to his legs- all factors that would make it even more difficult to do any of that.

so... there are basically two options here. A) nagito lost any feeling in his hand after the knife impaled it. he would have felt a blinding pain for a moment, and then total numbness. he somehow managed to throw the stuffed animal despite all of that. or B) the knife miraculously managed to avoid hitting any nerves/tendons, allowing nagito to throw the stuffed animal anyway. his hand would hurt horribly. it'd feel like a hot iron pressing on his palm. but this option is, simply put, egregiously inaccurate anatomically.

so... here's what should have happened when nagito injured his hand:

some form of hand/finger paralysis. your right hand has three major nerves running into it; to grossly simplify it, you've got the radial nerve (running across the top of your arm/hand) and the ulnar and median nerves (running on the underside of your arm/hand). nagito's injury, straight through the middle of the palm, should have, at the very least, severed his ulnar and median nerves. the radial nerve tends to stray more toward the right side of your hand on the right hand, so if he missed it by a few millimeters/centimeters, i could understand that- but as for the other two? yeah, he'd have to get insanely lucky to have missed them. it's. weird.

but even if the blade did miss these nerves, they could not have missed the tendons/bones/blood vessels/etc. in his hand, so that's just insane.

so basically: it either hurt really badly or it didn't hurt at all. before i lose my mind over this even further, let's just move on to him impaling his abdomen.

the angle in the game makes it a little hard for me to discern where exactly was punctured, but it looks like it hit his stomach, potentially part of his small intestine, his left kidney, and without a doubt, his abdominal aorta. if the poison had not killed nagito, the impalement to his abdominal aorta + all the other damage would have almost instantly killed him. we're talking within seconds. given that nagito is presumably dead when the spear impales him because of the poison, obviously he wouldn't have felt any pain- but if he were... um. i don't think i have to explain that that would hurt like a motherfucker.

so let's move on to the last aspect of his death- poison.

death by poisoning is actually grossly misunderstood by many different types of media, because most poisons rarely kill within seconds. even cyanide, which is considered one of the most dangerous poisons in the world, takes 3-5 minutes to result in death. so how do i think this worked for nagito?

well, there are a lot of variables that tie into this. how long it takes to die from poison depends on three main factors- the dosage, the type of poison, and the size of your body. the poison in dr2 is made-up, which makes my life a lot more difficult. i don't think we know the exact amount of time between everyone throwing the fire grenades and finding nagito's body, but it's gotta be at least a few minutes, which gives nagito some time.

i guessed he may have used phenol (very hazardous poison that can rapidly cause death), or perhaps hydrogen sulfide (can result in unconsciousness after a few mere breaths)- but using phenol or hydrogen sulfide would almost certainly leave a trace on nagito, such as irritation to his eyes or skin in general.

so my guess is cyanide. it’s most potent when injected intravenously, but it's second-most potent form is gaseous. with a high enough amount, it could probably kill him within a few minutes.

death by cyanide is incredibly painful. cyanide actually kills you by causing cell hypoxia- aka, your cells can't use oxygen, which makes them die. you'll feel like you're suffocating. your entire body will start to feel like it's burning due to acidosis (cells releasing lactic acid as they are damaged). your muscles will contract and you'll have one final burst of adrenaline throughout the entire body before actually dying. often victims of cyanide poisoning may slip in and out of consciousness- the fact that nagito doesn't makes me believe he used an incredibly high dosage of the poison.

so... yeah. definitely the most painful death in my opinion.

official cause of death: poisoning, resulting in cell hypoxia.

YOWZA! (very painful):

ibuki mioda: ibuki (my favorite character in DR2, so sad!) is strangled to death with a rope.

let's talk about how strangulation actually leads to death. it starts with the cerebral arteries. your brain receives oxygen-rich blood from the heart through these, the internal carotid arteries (which bifurcate, or divide, into the common carotid arteries), and through the vertebral arteries. these arteries ultimately come together to form the circle of willis, providing blood and nutrients for all parts of your brain.

when blood becomes deoxygenated (which happens naturally as it flows through the body), it is sent back to the heart. from your brain, this blood travels through your jugular veins, which are situated on either side of your neck.

when you are strangled, it puts pressure on these veins. this extreme pressure prevents proper bloodflow from the brain and ultimately results in hypoxia- this is what causes you to pass out before you actually die. the pressure on the windpipe also causes intense pain and makes it impossible to breathe, preventing the rest of your blood from getting the oxygen it needs.

within thirty seconds to a minute, ibuki would have fallen unconscious, but she wouldn't have been dead yet. mikan would have had to continue strangling her until her body became fully and truly oxygen-less (which may have taken another 2-5 minutes), at which point ibuki would actually be dead.

while all of this is happening, her body would have quickly kicked into panic mode. i know ibuki had despair disease which made her incredibly gullible and willing to do anything, but if i'm remembering correctly, we don't hear anything about mikan asking ibuki if she can strangle her... which makes me think this truly was a surprise attack on the girl.

in which case, ibuki would have been struggling and panicking the entire time mikan was strangling her. not to mention, in a lot of pain. eventually she'd become light-headed enough to pass out, but until then, her throat would literally be getting crushed by a rope.

overall, not a fun way to go out. very long and painful.

official cause of death: asphyxiation.

gundham tanaka: gundham is killed by a stampede of animals.

the most common cause of death in stampedes is asphyxiation; destruction of the thorax or upper body damages... literally everything in that area, most notably the heart, lungs, and major blood vessels/arteries. bones break in there and splinter. you can't breathe. it'd be blinding pain.

not to mention all the rest of the body that gets stepped on. literally all of your bones have the potential to be broken from the force exerted onto them. all of your blood vessels and arteries everywhere else are also going to be crushed and burst. your nerves? absolutely destroyed.

ultimately, gundham gets thrown in the air, lands (which probably hurt even more, and potentially damaged his back in some way), and has one final breath to smile at his hamsters before he dies.

the fact that he's able to smile before he actually dies is literally crazy, because this would be an insanely painful death. i mean- just imagine breaking all of your bones and not being able to breathe. you probably don't even wanna picture it.

official cause of death: hard to pinpoint exactly, but likely traumatic asphyxia and irreparable damage to internal structures and organs.

aughhh (painful):

impostor byakuya togami: the impostor dies from getting impaled multiple times in the abdomen by a metal skewer. looking at the monokuma file tells us he was impaled three times in the neck and around 5 times in the lower abdomen.

right off the bat, being impaled directly in the throat would result in a broken windpipe, esophagus, and potentially part of the carotid artery, making it impossible to breathe + causing hemorrhaging. he would literally be choking on his own blood. it also looks like teruteru manages to hit him directly where his subclavian artery would be, and we all know that any sort of hit to an artery is immediately going to cause some pretty huge problems.

on his abdomen, the area where his abdominal aorta would be is also highlighted as having been stabbed multiple times, as well as the area around it. two hits to two major arteries in quick succession... he's probably not going to be alive for longer than a few seconds.

those seconds are going to be excruciatingly painful, but the reason he isn't higher up is because of exactly that- it's a few seconds. all things considered, this is a relatively quick death.

official cause of death: exsanguination.

peko pekoyama: similar to the imposter, peko is stabbed to death. the first stab is to her back; quickly after, she is swarmed by the others, who stab her as well.

i don’t have much to say besides that the initial stab to her back is obviously going to hurt, unless the knife manages to land in her spinal cord, in which case, sensation could be cut off above the point of injury. but that’s just wild conjecture.

obviously, being stabbed to death is going to hurt. being stabbed to death by a swarm of minions? going to hurt even more. fortunately peko would likely not survive long enough to feel every single injury. the chances of her surviving past the first few stabs are low, due to the fact that A) she’s likely to be hit in an artery or vital organ rather early on which will lead to a faster death, and B) even if she somehow isn’t, blood loss in general is going to cause her to die.

when the body loses too much blood, it goes into a state of shock. without enough blood, nutrients, and oxygen flowing to the vital organs, the body quickly begins to shut down. i’d imagine peko lost blood at a more rapid rate than one usually would due to the sheer amount of stab wounds that would have been on her body, so… peko probably died after less than a minute.

overall… yeah, painful!

official cause of death: hypovolemic shock leading to exsanguination.

nekomaru nidai: nekomaru has a bazooka fired at his abdomen <- absolutely insane sentence??? ok anyway.

so… first of all, there is no shot in hell he’d be surviving that beyond maybe a minute or two. the damage that would cause to countless organs in his abdomen (his stomach, kidneys, intestines, pancreas, to name a few) plus the collateral of shrapnel presumably flying around (hitting his heart and lungs) would immediately be irreparable and fatal. he’d immediately go into shock and then just bleed to death.

you tend to feel far less pain when you go into shock as your brain tries to protect itself from trauma. but i won’t deny that because of nekomaru’s more muscular build, his body would be stronger and healthier and therefore fight harder to keep itself alive. it would probably take longer for these processes to kick into gear and actually spread across the entire body. so what i’m trying to say is- yeah, he’d be in blinding pain for a little, then likely feel numbness, then die.

official cause of death: shock, irreparable damage to abdominal organs.

owie (painful, but not as painful as others):

hiyoko saionji: hiyoko’s throat is slit by mikan. there are a few variables that changed the way i viewed how exactly this killed hiyoko, but the main one was time. mikan would have had to kill hiyoko in a way that would be short and efficient because she had a limited amount of time.

in order to die quickly from a wound like this, the carotid artery, the jugular vein, and/or the trachea would need to be cut. you have one of each of the mentioned on either side of your neck, and your airway is more in the "center" of your neck. (fun fact: the pulse you can feel on either side of your neck is the carotid artery!)

given mikan's anatomical knowledge + the way hiyoko's body looks (she only has blood trailing down off the left side of her neck), i would guess mikan likely cut the carotid artery and jugular vein on the left side of hiyoko's neck. i would guess she also cut hiyoko's airway in some way as well, as doing so would definitely kill hiyoko even faster.

all of the above would cause hiyoko to aspirate (sending blood down her windpipe), choke on her own blood, and begin bleeding profusely. death would occur within a couple of seconds from blood loss and asphyxiation alone.

this would hurt seriously bad. your neck is an incredibly sensitive area of the body. hiyoko would be terrified and in pain the entire time she bleeds to death. which is. so sad. but like i said- luckily, it would probably be over pretty quickly, within a few seconds.

cause of death: hypovolemic shock leading to exsanguination.

uncertain (i'm not sure!):

mikan tsumiki: mikan earns the only entry in the 'uncertain' category, because i was flabbergasted when i watched her execution.

um... being blasted into space... i can't say i'd really know what that might feel like? i can go check for you guys???

the most i can say for this is that mikan would asphyxiate from the lack of oxygen in space. she'd go unconscious within fifteen seconds. within three minutes, she would be dead.

so... official cause of death: brain hypoxia.

*EDIT: so i totally misunderstood mikan’s death. this wonderful person made this post talking about it and i added on with my own thoughts! check that out instead if you wanna hear a better explanation about mikan’s death.

so quick (too fast to really be painful):

chiaki nanami: chiaki is crushed with a tetris cube. she falls into this category because such a death would result in a very brief flash of blinding pain, then nothingness. the mere force exerted from the tetris block to the top of her head might actually kill her before she even has time to register pain in the rest of her body. and if the brain is damaged in such a manner... yeah it's all over.

official cause of death: could be a TBI, could just be having your entire body literally get crushed.

mahiru koizumi: mahiru is struck on the top of the head. her file very specifically clarifies that she dies instantly and did not feel any pain. so how exactly would you painlessly kill someone with one strike to the head?

well, for starters, it would have to be one hell of a swing. it's difficult, but not impossible, to hit someone's brain in a way that would immediately kill them.

think of the brain like a television; if you half-unplug it, the screen may glitch, and it may start cutting out, but it's still displaying whatever show you've put on. that's what happens if you injure your brain, but are otherwise still alive. but if you fully unplug it in one full motion, it just cuts out. black screen. that's what happened to mahiru's brain; it just unplugged.

when peko hit mahiru's brain, she likely damaged some sort of vital structure in a way that caused mahiru to go unconscious, but maybe not die. some sort of brain bleed may have started, which then caused mahiru to actually die, as her skull would swell and stop being able to function.

this makes more sense to me. like, i know monokuma says it's "instant," but... i really think mahiru was just unconscious, and then maybe a few seconds to a minute later, she was actually dead.

either way- official cause of death: TBI.

teruteru hanamura: teruteru gets put into a volcano full of lava <- once again absolutely insane sentence??? help? anyway.

you might be wondering why the hell he's in 'so quick,' but it's because he'd be dead in seconds. lava penetrates your skin, starts boiling you alive, swells your airway shut, etc. it's over in seconds dude. even if it weren't, he'd pass out from the shock within seconds at the very least. he may have felt a flash of blinding pain for a moment before darkness, but. that's that.

official cause of death: immolation.

...and that's it!

if you for god knows what reason read all this, thank you so much! anatomy is truly a passion of mine.

questions, comments, concerns (of which i'm sure there are many)- i'm an open book. i'm not a professional by any means, but i am insane. bye!

#danganronpa spoilers #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2 #nagito komaeda #ibuki mioda #gundham tanaka #byakuya togami #peko pekoyama #nekomaru nidai #hiyoko saionji #mikan tsumiki #chiaki nanami #mahiru koizumi #teruteru hanamura #favs #vees danganronpa meta

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the-dixon-effect · 1 year

Text

Evergreen

A/N: this is actually my first ever fic from a request lol. you can find the request here, thanks so much anon :)

A/N: this might just be my favourite yet 😍

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: out on a run, the pair is attacked by a herd of walkers and gets injured fighting them off. holed up in a bunker in the woods, feelings are confessed under less-than-peaceful circumstances.

words: 2.9k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: a little gore (it's a twd fic, come on), language

As you wrapped your arms tightly around Daryl's waist and rested your head on the length of his shoulders, he took this as an impression to speed up and the bike quickly disappeared from the sight of the watchtower. Instead of the usual back-by-nightfall runs you were accustomed to, Rick had decided to send the two of you off on a recon mission searching around the outskirts of a nearby town. The plan was to spend the night in an old apartment building, clearly indicated on the map you were provided with. If the aim was to bring back a stock of useful supplies, you would have taken a truck instead, and probably another pair of hands. But today, it was just the two of you enjoying the hot Georgian summer, and you had other things on your mind.

One night alone with Daryl far away from the rest of the group? This was the perfect opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the archer you'd been pining over for months, and, depending on how it goes, you might just confess your feelings for him. You had to contain your excitement when Rick briefed the both of you about the plan.

You trusted Daryl, and even trusted his instincts enough to close your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder. Just as you were getting carried away in your usual daydreams about the archer, this time with him in a little closer proximity, you looked up and diverted your attention to the situation in front of you.

"Oh, shit," you heard him say. The sound of his voice was almost completely drowned out by the familiar growling noises you knew all too well.

"Oh my God, I thought- I thought Rick and the group cleared this road!" you said, heart pounding at the sight of fifty-or-so walkers heading straight towards you.

"Yah, thought so too. C'mon, let's turn around-" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed five or six lamebrains that must have wandered into the road at the sound of the motorcycle engine. Soon enough, the entire road was blocked on either side and Daryl had no choice but to brace himself for a sharp turn into the woods.

"Hol' on, I'm gonna go slow through the trees." At this point, you had completely abandoned your train of thought, and focused on holding on tight in fear of getting hurt.

As Daryl weaved the bike in and out of the trees, you started to speculate what he thought was the best next step. Now surrounded by woodland and sufficiently in the clear regarding the herd, he slowed down for a second, keeping the roaring engine switched on.

"Daryl, what the hell do we do now?" you said with the slightest chuckle. The adrenaline still hadn't worn off, but at least you weren't surrounded by a hundred or more rotters who were hungry for your flesh.

"I think I know where we are," he drawled, stepping off the bike that was still running. "There's a bunker round 'ere somewhere. We'll have to sit tight down there for a little whi-" he was cut off by a walker that seemed to come straight out of nowhere. You leapt off your position on the bike and immediately plunged your buck knife into the skull of the walker that knocked Daryl to the ground. Dragging the corpse off of him that, upon closer inspection, appeared to be that of a former factory worker judging from the uniform, you lay on all fours over him for a moment, catching your breath. Luckily, the two of you seemed relatively unharmed. You rolled over and stared up at the sky.

Suddenly, the bike that you forgot to set upright by flipping the kickstand came toppling over and landed right on top of Daryl. You heard a yelp of pain before leaping up once again to heave the vehicle off of him. To your dismay, the bike was much heavier than you had imagined. If only the roles were reversed, Daryl would've probably been able to lift the bike off of you with ease. After struggling immensely for a few moments, you managed to lift up the motorcycle and this time, you leant it up against the nearest tree, albeit a little frustratedly.

"Damn bike..." you said, earning a snigger from the man laying on the ground. You turned to him and knelt next to him, noticing the bleeding from his upper chest. "Shit, Daryl! Are you alright?" you said, attempting to peel off the layers of fabric that concealed the wound. If you knew a little more about bikes, you might have been able to determine the specific part of the vehicle that was sharp enough to hurt Daryl in this way, how deep the wound might be and what you could do to help.

"I'm fine," he said, a little weakly.

"You're not, Daryl. Let me help you," you pleaded. He stood up on his own, brushing away your helping hand. The usual stoic presence of the man was a little diminished, and he wobbled as he stood. You also noticed his odd stance and remembered how the heavy wheel of the bike dug into his right leg. "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"Told ya', I'm jus' fine. Bunker's that way," he hesitantly pointed in the direction the bike would've been heading. "C'mon, leave the bike here an' we'll walk," he drawled.

"Are you sure? You think you can walk that far?" you questioned his strength, considering he already appeared to be limping and he hadn't even started walking yet. You reached for his arm and draped it over your shoulder, in your best effort to help him walk. The bloody patch on his shirt was growing and thought it best to hurry to this bunker so you could patch him up.

A thought entered your head. Fuck. This was not how your day was supposed to go, you mused. You'd reach the destination, make conversation with him about this and that, occasionally giving him your best doe-eyes. Once nighttime arrived, perhaps there would conveniently only be one double bed in whatever cabin you chose to hunker down in, and your plan would be set in motion. You figured that that would all be happening right now if you hadn't dropped his own fucking bike on him!

After about 20 minutes of walking side-by-side in relative silence, you started to feel a little disheartened, though, despite the nature of this particular plan B, you still enjoyed his company and proximity. "Righ' here," Daryl gestured to a small brick structure just big enough for a single wooden door. Completely abandoned, there was moss growing on the walls and took a small shove to force it open. As it creaked inwards, you were met by a dark, damp staircase leading straight into the ground.

"After you," you spoke, somewhat hesitant to enter the dilapidated bunker.

The underground room was filthy, yet, at a glance, it seemed fit for a one-night stay, and in these circumstances, you didn't really have any other choice. It was small and cramped inside, almost completely filled with cheap furniture that was covered in a thick layer of dust. When Daryl put down his crossbow after thoroughly checking the space for any more walkers, you approached him and urged him to rest on the single bed in the corner.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he said, looking up at you as you searched for the medkit in your bag and set it down on the ground. "Take off your shirt." he obliged and you ran your fingers over the cut that stretched a little further than you had previously determined. "I'm so sorry, I did not mean for this to happen," you said softly, tracing your fingertips over his torso. "I think you'll need a couple stitches. Let me fix you up, since it's my fault in the first place."

"It's not your fault," he said, looking at you with those deep blue eyes that you adored so.

"Well, it is. It takes an idiot to get off a bike and not flip the kickstand," you said with a sweet smile shaping your lips as you prepared to stitch the wound.

He chuckled a little at this. "It's fine, done it myself countless times," he began. "At least when I did it the bike didn't crush me in the first place," he said sarcastically, and he was smiling now, too. You giggled at his response.

"Do you think your leg will be okay?"

"Dunno what yer talking 'bout."

"Don't be like that, Daryl. You were limping all the way over here."

"I'll be fine, jus' give it a day," he drawled in response.

You sighed, in somewhat admiration of his stubbornness and forbearance. You trusted his instinct yet still wanted to do anything to help him. He winced silently as you began to stitch the wound after cleaning it with an alcohol pad.

Time passed quickly in his company, and, unusually, you didn't seem to mind not being able to see how much the sun had set. You set up a dim lantern in the centre of the room, and appreciated how the soft, warm light made his face glow. It felt so good, for once, to feel totally safe from any threats from the world above your head. Perhaps that feeling of safety came from simply being near Daryl, you figured. Any feelings of discouragement from earlier that day had dissipated.

For dinner, you scavenged for anything that you could find in the cupboards that was more appealing than what you'd brought with you. Daryl had struck the jackpot you supposed, after finding nothing yourself.

"Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda, and pig's feet. That's a white trash brunch right there," he spoke up, holding his findings up proudly.

"Perfect," you said, unable to contain your grin just from looking at Daryl, and how he slowly let his guard down in front of you and relaxed.

You sat across from each other at the makeshift dining table, stealing glances at each other as you tucked into your 'white trash brunch', as Daryl called it.

"This is nice," you said quietly.

"Hm, the food?" his innocent response made you laugh.

"Oh yeah, definitely. I mean, being here, completely safe for once instead of being in the prison, where it feels like the fences could fall any second. Just being with you." you said, thinking out loud.

He smirked up at you upon hearing this. "Oh yeah?"

You hummed in response. "I, uhh- I was real worried earlier. 'Bout the walkers, then the cut. And, you," you spoke.

He was surprised at your words, but it felt good to hear that coming from someone else, to hear that they care about him. "Dun' need ta be. I should be the one worryin' 'bout ya'," he declared.

The two of you finished up and decided it was time to get some rest. Despite your best effort to persuade him to take the single bed, he resigned to the couch in his stubbornness that you couldn't argue with. You both ended up talking for a while before you fell asleep, sharing views about members of the group, and swapping stories about your best walker kills, or anything you thought worthy.

"I mean, have you ever met anybody who introduces themself by their full name to everyone they meet?"

"Rick Grimes," he said mockingly.

"I mean, I love the guy. But there's just something a little more admirable, more real, in guys like... you."

Quickly after your little confession, you drifted off to sleep, but Daryl found that sleep did not embrace him as easily that night. His head was full of you, and the last thing you said to which he'd offered no response. In truth, he too was thrilled to be able to spend this time with you, and didn't care in the slightest about your little accident earlier. He thought it was sweet how you rushed to take care of him, though he hated being the one who needed taking care of in the first place. You always seemed to be busy at the prison, chatting away with Maggie or working down on the farm. He was hesitant to approach you, in fear of saying the wrong thing or scaring you off. He thought about your gentle fingertips brushing over his wound, and the other scars on his chest that you noticed. What did you mean when you said, '...guys like you'? Do you... like him that way too?

He slowed down his thoughts. No, no, he can't start thinking like this. Not when you were turning in your sleep just a couple metres away. Perhaps, another day, he'd work up the courage to tell you how he felt. For now, he couldn't risk ruining the time he had alone with you until you returned to the prison.

When you awoke in the morning (or, it felt like the morning, you couldn't tell though due to the lack of natural light underground), you contemplated how that might just have been the best sleep you'd had since the fall began. That was probably thanks to Daryl practically sleeping next to you, you figured.

You turned over, still wrapped in the dusty sheets, to appreciate the sight of Daryl Dixon in the morning. He stood in the corner of the room, bags packed, fiddling with what looked like an arrow. You rubbed your eyes and blicked, once, twice, in an effort to get a better look at whatever he was doing. Unlike Daryl, you didn't share his anxiety surrounding telling you how he felt. If you could make it clear to him in any way possible that you care about him, you would.

You stood up and grabbed your flannel shirt from the heap you left it on the floor. Your legs were exposed as you stood across from him, wearing a pair of skimpy pyjama shorts, a tank top and your red flannel jacket. It was safe to say that Daryl liked the view.

Over breakfast, you discussed the plan for the day which involved navigating back through the forest to find the bike, and then going ahead with the original plan, which was scouting around the outskirts of the nearby town. Daryl, distracted by his late-night thoughts, couldn't help but notice your hair, your morning expression, and your clothes, in a way that he hadn't done before.

"Yeah, yeah. This time, I'll try not to drop any heavy machinery on you," you smiled.

"Mm. Better not." If it meant that you would brush your fingertips over his chest again, he would happily let a hundred bikes fall on top of him.

As the two of you gathered the last of your belongings, you exchanged glances before climbing the concrete staircase and opening the door that led to the forest floor. What you were met with, however, was a crowd of walkers that all turned to face you as if on cue. It didn't even look like a herd, just a mess of stumbling corpses circling the bunker. They must have sensed you, somehow; but there was no time now for figuring out how this happened.

Suddenly every decaying face spun and came at you from every direction, and you simply looked at each other before deciding that there was only one thing to do: run.

So you ran, and ran. You ran until you noticed that Daryl was lagging a little and you remembered his leg injury from the day before. You grabbed him and pulled him into the hollowed-out trunk of a large oak tree. Your heavy, laboured breaths were silenced by his hand reaching over your mouth. He used his other hand to make a 'Shh' sign. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as the walkers passed you by, wincing at the occasional growl or smack as they snapped their decomposing jaws shut.

You had to say something, now. Or else you'll wish you'd said something later. "Daryl," you whispered, meeting his eyes and still trying to be as quiet as possible. These may not have been the perfect circumstances for confessing your feelings for the man currently stood a couple inches away from your face, but they will have to do.

"Daryl, I- I need you to know something," he wished you would just stay quiet. If anything happened to you he would never forgive himself. "If we don't make it back, or- or if something happens, I need you to know that I love you. M-Maybe more than I should. I just- I can't help it and I had this plan of how the run would go and I didn't mean to injure you or-"

For God's sakes, Y/N, why were you still talking? There's a damn herd walking past and- Daryl knew that there was only one way to shut you up. He placed his hand on your neck and moved his lips to meet yours. He let himself get lost in the sweet kiss as soon you rested one hand in his hair and the other on his chest. He'd wanted this for so long, and he felt a pang of guilt for letting it happen in such dire circumstances, and not in some place safe, like back at the prison. You pulled away, suddenly remembering where you were.

"I, uh- Do you...?" you felt his warm breath on your neck.

"Yeah... I do," he began. "C'mon, the walkers are gone. Why don't we finish this up back home?" he smirked.

"That sounds like a great idea."

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