A/N: In honor of it being Valentine’s Day, I’ve decided to embrace my trash self and write a little mini scenario for each member. Some are PWP some have backstory but they are all filled with filthy smut. Enjoy xx. :’)
Genre/Warnings:Smut; (pardon my vulgarities) featuring a Possessive Seokjin, The Pussy-Eating King Yoongi, Candle Expert Hoseok, Daddy Joon, Sub Jimin, Smug Tae, and Creative Kook.
It was incredibly rare when Seokjin let his composure go and his patience wear thin. Normally he was gentle, the man taking every bit of his time to map your body out, making sure he takes notice as to what gets you writhing in pleasure beneath him. He’s patient, always putting you first, and he never asks for anything in return. But there are certain things that make him tick – one being when another man can’t seem to keep his eyes to himself.
Sam’s fingers flew over the suspect’s keyboard. Flashes of color flickered over his face as he cycled between screens quickly with a shortcut maneuver. You watched as he licked his lips, intently focused on hacking into a zipped folder. His eyes narrowed catching some detail of significance. When he swallowed, your eyes followed the shift of his throat greedily. You pulled your eyes away attempting to continue through a pile of paper on the suspect’s end table. A slip of paper dropped from the stack in your hands, catching the air to flutter to the floor behind you. You turned to pick it up, eyes drifting over an accent mirror near the far wall. You paused. Sam’s eyes had lifted from the monitor to your form. You ducked your head hiding a smirk. Keeping a secret eye on the mirror, you stood, lifting your ass first in fluid motion you often used when dancing. He licked his lips, shifting lower in his seat. Shuffling the papers in hand, you turned just in time to see his head snap back to the computer.
“Got it.” He cleared his throat after a minute.
You dropped the papers on the end table, sauntering to the desk with renewed confidence.
“It looks like there’s a thread of emails here and-” His explanation was cut short as he glanced up at you.
You slid onto his lap, resting your elbows on the thin strip of cleared table before the keyboard keeping your back arched forward. You could hear him gulp audibly and feel him shift awkwardly trying to find a place to put his hands.
“What emails?” You asked innocently, seeing full well the emails in a smaller window behind the main one.
Sam released a shaky breath. He moved forward, chest pressing against your back as he reached for the mouse. You leaned against him, tilting your head to the side to give him view of the monitor. His breath touched your neck bringing a tingle to travel across your skin. You didn’t suppress the light shudder it caused.
“It’s, uh, here.” He replied breathlessly.
You responded with a deep hum. A smirk curled your lips as he shifted beneath your thighs. You scrolled through the emails, which would have been painfully dull if not for the pleasant distraction hardening every time you slid forward or back to “readjust” your reading position. Finally, you finished. Making a show of stretching your arms upward, you unleashed a satisfied moan and turned to face Sam. For his effort, he attempted to look unaffected. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his nails dug into the leather armrests.
“So, it doesn’t seem like the emails contained much, did they?” You asked in hushed tones.
He glanced between you and the monitor quickly, obviously having no idea what was in the emails. You twisted in his lap, grinding against an evident bulge between your legs.
“Sam?” You lowered your eyelashes, “You okay?”
“Yeah.” His eyes darkened briefly lowering to your lips before he found composure. “Yeah, fine.”
“Are you sure? It seems like you’re having a… hard time focusing.”
His hand paused halfway to the mouse.
“I know these emails can be… lengthy,” You continued finding it increasingly difficult to hide a smirk, “and having to sort through them is… really shafty…”
Sam sat back, embarrassment coloring his features.
“I know it would really… grind… my gears if I had to hack into every dude’s computer while Dean gets to take a break at the bar.”
“Are you done?” Sam interrupted.
“No, no… wait! I think I can come up with something for penetration and erection-”
Hot lips met the juncture of your shoulder and neck with leisurely-paced open-mouthed kissed, effectively transforming your teasing words into a sharp inhale. His fingers wrapped around your hips, gripping your pelvis firmly before pulling it back. A flash of sudden pleasure surged through your core. His nose dragged against your shoulder inching closer to your neck, heat building between your flushed bodies. A shiver ripped up your spine as he found a sensitive spot. He paused, pressing a kiss there. Your head lolled back against his shoulder. His hands slipped up your body, sliding under your shirt. His rough fingers pressed and caressed in disorganized trails, drawing each nerve to maximum stimulation. You gasped, unable to stop an onslaught of shivers from his touch. He sucked at the spot on your neck, locking his arm around your waist as you squirmed with assailing pleasure. His tongue flicked against the spot, his teeth following immediately. A cry broke from your lips. You slapped a hand over your mouth, surprised by the outburst. Sam chuckled darkly against your skin, the deep rumble sending an aching between your thighs.
“Oh, fuck…” You breathed, heat enveloping your body with a savage ferocity.
His hands grabbed your chest, barely restraining his strength as he kneaded. He closed his fingers over hardening nubs sending your hips to jerk forward in response. You bit your tongue holding back a moan, as your clit rubbed along his impossibly hard shaft. He moved quickly, grabbing your hips with a near bruising force. Every nerve in your body seeped with the heat building between you, overreacting with every little stimulus. Pleasure pulsed through your body with every breath hitting the tiny hairs along the nape of your neck, each finger digging against your hips, and every inch where your center rubbed against his.
He thrust up pulling your hips back. Sparks of unadulterated ecstasy exploded from the friction. Before the sensation could cool, he pushed you forward. White flashed before your vision. A helpless moan left your lips, an animalistic need for contact infecting every cell in your brain. You jerked against him, heat blazing, pleasure mounting endlessly. He grunted desperately against your ear, whimpers rising from your throat as you grinded together fueling an erotic fire threatening to consume your entity. There was nothing but sharp concentrated pleasure coursing through your core like live electricity. A strangled cry broke the room as he thrust against your sliding bodies finding an edge so high, you couldn’t believe a pleasure could be so intense, but it kept building, growing until you found a new edge before the other could finish. Your body shuddered, head falling to his shoulder, completely at his mercy.
He embraced your body, crushing you against him as he stiffened, broken groans tumbling from his chest as he shuddered against your back.You squeezed your legs together, his hold slackening as you felt a warm stickness in the apex of your jeans. You slid to his knees, turning to see Sam’s face. Surprise, mirroring your own expression, bloomed from a devastatingly sexy look of contentment. You jerked off his lap, stumbling to your feet.
“S-sorry!” You yelped, yanking your head away from the dark patch on his jeans.
“N-no, I’m…” The chair crashed into the wall as he pushed to his feet. He skirted around the opposite side of the desk muttering something you couldn’t catch over the blood pounding in your ears.
He retreated from the room. Your hands trembled, pleasure still lingering along your skin from his contact, as you hugged yourself close. It seemed the heat would never cool and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
I made some Gem redesigns! I’m planning to do some of the homeworld gems next.
My main motivator for these redesigns was the fact that I’m super disappointed that all the gems look so plain…(like for example I was really hoping Sapphire wasn’t going to have legs or that Peridot actually had cool floaty fingers) and I’ve seen some really neat monster-esc designs for them!
I wanted to do my own little spin on making the gems a bit less human while also adding in a few things that I thought I’d like to add/change (like their colours and Garnets hair most of all lol)
Summary: (Bucky POV) Nat tricks you into leading a road trip with Bucky, Sam and Steve. Her plot is partly to get the boys to travel for fun for once but mostly to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky, who seemingly despise each other.
Warnings: swearing, super mild smoot (it’s not really even smut)
Word Count: 4501
Author’s Note: This part is way too damn long. I really just like the ending. But I also couldn’t figure out what I wanted to cut so you’re getting all of it.
As we climb back to the car, Y/N has slipped off of Sam’s shoulders and shoved past him, nearly running up the trail, farther away from Sam. And from me. When we make it to the top of the trail and the edge of the parking lot, Steve looks to me with a shocked and unsure shrug, lifting his hands up in question. She barely speaks to anyone, only muttering a disgruntled, “Trunk, please” to Steve.
Once we’ve changed into dry clothes, Y/N tosses her now useless phone haphazardly into the trunk and grabs for her dated Atlas before slipping into the car without a word. She doesn’t move closer to me, she doesn’t look up from her Atlas. Goddamn it. She’s so upset. “Go left,” she instructs with a heavy sigh as she flips through the pages until she finds the map for South Dakota. She traces over an already marked road until it reaches the end of the page, before moving quickly over to Wyoming.
I’ve gotten a lot of requests for vampires and a few for a bat monster, so vampire bat is here!
It’s dark when you get home, then again it always is. You use to think working the late shift would be easy and fun, it’s only you and your coworkers in the store. You didn’t consider that the walk home would be so terrifying. You’ve started keeping your box cutter with you in your bag as well as a can of pepper spray on your keychain. You would ask your coworkers for a ride home, but some of them are gone before you even lock the front door.
That was before though. Now as you make your way home you hear the familiar flapping above you and as you stop to look up he lands before you. He kneels then stands, towering above you as he kneels down and kisses you.
“Did you just wake up?” You ask as you wipe the crust from the corners of his eyes, having to stand on tip-toe to reach.
Yuri smells like bubblegum—the potent sugar-sweet kind from the gas station on the corner. For Otabek, it’s the smell of summer. School lets out and Yuri is instantly shoving two pieces of the contraband into his mouth, discarding the wrappers into Otabek’s hands and smiling devilishly as he darts off towards Otabek’s bike where it waits for their first adventure.
The first summer they were friends (but who’s counting summers, and was there ever really a first summer?) Otabek put pegs on his back wheel, just enough for Yuri to stand behind with his hands on Otabek’s shoulders. Yuri is always eager, too excited to wait until they arrive at their destination, perpetually shoving his sharp chin into Otabek’s shoulder to see what he sees. The scent of his breath, that sickly sweet cloud curling around Otabek’s ear and kissing against his lips, is more comforting to Otabek than he’d ever be able to admit or express.
Summer means freedom for Yuri and Otabek. True freedom. Freedom from teachers who scold and prod and push them into focusing and working. Freedom from the impending future, from family problems, and even from the other boys who want him to share Yuri.
No, as soon as summer begins, Yuri is all his. They’re free to roll in the grass and watch the stars come out, to splash in the community pool after hours, to ride and ride and ride through the streets on Otabek’s racing-fast bike. Yuri’s always on his toes, reaching towards the next adventure, the next thrill, and Otabek is always right behind him (or ahead, pedaling).
“Beka! Look!” His green eyes are always sharp and clear, long fingers stretched out ahead of them. “Beka, that way!” When it’s warm, the bare skin of Yuri’s arm brushes against Otabek’s face, baby fine hairs tickling his cheeks. When it’s windy, the soft knit of Yuri’s sweatshirt rubs against Otabek. Somehow, the smell of Yuri embedded in the fabric is even more comforting than the feel of his skin.
Otabek wishes the summers would last forever. Every moment is precious, stored carefully so that Otabek can relive them at night with his nose pressed tight against the sweater Yuri has inevitably left on his bedroom floor, breathing in that bubblegum Yuri smell. He saves the smell and the memories for the winter, when he’s stuck in sterile, dim-lit classrooms away from Yuri.
Yuri puts his hands up in the air while Otabek is pedaling, pulling his hood down to let the full length of his blonde hair whip in the wind. Otabek smiles to himself, small and quiet as Yuri yells, a loud exultant noise—pure summer. Yuri’s arms wrap around his neck for stability as Otabek puts his foot down and the bike skids to an abrupt stop at the bank of the muddy river that runs through the middle of the town. Unable to hold himself up, Yuri slips off the bike and stumbles through the grass, arms still locked around Otabek.
They both go down, the bike falling half on top of them as they lay in the damp grass together, breathing fast as their laughter fades. Otabek turns his head to the side to look at Yuri, the pink of his cheeks and the feathery blonde of his hair.
Instead he’s met with ageless green eyes, the solemn set of Yuri’s mouth. In one fluid movement, Yuri rolls to rest above Otabek, his hand braced against Otabek’s chest. This moment should make him feel nervous, but Otabek is calm, steady as Yuri’s fingers trace the seam of his lips and he lowers his face to meet Otabek’s.
Their lips meet open and Otabek’s first thought is that Yuri tastes like bubblegum, medicine-sweet and soft. It’s wet, it’s languid until yuri pulls away, turning his face to the side and spitting into the grass—his gum, Otabek realizes—before turning back. He doesn’t kiss Otabek again, just looks down at him. A section of his hair falls over his cheek as they gaze at each other. Some sort of instinct compels Otabek to reach up, to push the hair back, to let his fingers trail around the soft shell of Yuri’s ear.
And then they’re kissing again, the sun warming the points of Otabek’s body through his clothes—his knees, shoulders, hipbones. They kiss until Otabek feels deliciously breathless, until Yuri’s pulling away and panting, rolling off of Otabek to rest in the grass on his back. There’s no need to rush. Summer is for taking their time, for slowing down and enjoying each moment. For now, the slow inhale-exhale deep in his chest feels good and right.
Yuri kicks at the bike absently, pushing it off of Otabek’s legs and then settling into the crook of Otabek’s arms.
Bioware Men - The Kissing Edition (updated) (Long)
(Author’s Note: I know I haven’t gotten ALL the Bioware men, but I’m working on it! (I’m missing Sebastian, but only because I really need to go mom up and take the kids to the library.) The Men of the Inquisition will end up here eventually. Er, once I actually finish the game.
As always, major props to my betas, Galleywinter and Zeroredemption!)
Kaidan is intense; lips, hands, every sense trained on you as if memorizing you through osmosis. His hunger is leashed, contained with the ruthless control that saw him through his first tour on the Normandy. He can’t contain it for long, though - not anymore, not after all this time, and all that formidable focus is entirely tactile, entirely on the task at hand, which is making you pant and writhe and scream until he can finally let himself trust that you’re real.
* * *
Alistair is reverent, worshipful; with him, a kiss is a paean to the Maker, a thing out of time and space. Delicate, as if he’s not sure quite what to do, or if you’ll disappear if he’s too quick, too harsh, or if his hands stray. But the strong, sword-calloused hands that won’t go below your waist are trembling, and his reverent mouth quickly heats to almost clumsy hunger, as if he wants to absorb you into himself where he can safeguard you from everything that’s coming.
* * *
Carth is rusty, as if he hasn’t kissed anyone in years and isn’t too sure he should be doing it now. His kiss is angry and hard, but he’s hungry, too…. so hungry for you. His hands bite into your shoulders, and he’s trembling; you’re honestly not sure if it’s from grief or rage or desire. Maybe he doesn’t know either. His Force presence is a whirl of so many things, but it’s your name on his lips as they follow the line of your jaw, your name he groans when your hips meet and rock together.
* * *
Zevran kisses like he kills; with skill, flair, and a certain amount of showmanship. He smiles against your throat, catlike and smug, whispers charming obscenities and flatteries in that exotic Antivan accent of his, until you’re drunk on him, everything about him. But when you kiss him back, that’s when that practiced smile starts to slide off his face. That’s when his golden eyes heat, when the lean muscles under your hands tense, when you can taste honesty mingled with desire on his tongue.
* * *
James is tequila-flavored adrenaline when he finally lets go and just takes your mouth like he takes every other military objective, all power and purpose and driving need. His big body is hot against yours, all muscle and undeniable strength; you knew he wanted you like hell burning even before he pulls you tight into him, lean hips surging into the cradle of yours as if he’s already inside you. His kiss might everything you expected, but you never dreamed how soft his lips were, or how the velvet brush of his shorn hair against your fingers made want pool inside you, hot and liquid and quivering.
* * *
Joker Moreau is stunningly physically restrained when he kisses. But where he’s physically cautious, his mouth is anything, anything but. The things he whispers against your neck, the low, hot whispers of a lover about your skin, your scent, the feel of you, what he’s imagining doing to you, how long he’s watched you, wanting you… His commentary is all spiced with a generous helping of his trademark snark and punctuated by the kisses of a man who is truly gifted. Joker can turn a simple kiss into an act of blazing eroticism - precise, probing, mimicking everything he wants to do to you, with you, in you with just his tongue, until you’re shuddering against him, locking your fingers into the back of his pilot’s chair and moaning into his mouth in helpless surrender.
* * *
Garrus doesn’t kiss, not like a human does, but there’s something stunningly, suggestively erotic in the way his eyes hold yours as he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. He’s humming - a low, subvocal intonation that gets into the marrow of your bones and liquifies it, until his hands, his arms, the look in his unfairly blue eyes are the only things holding you up… until they’re not, and you discover that Garrus is very, very good at calibrating things other than firing algorithms.
* * *
Everything about Zaeed is hard lines and gravel - he’s the first to tell you his good looks were lost long ago, and he has the voice of a seasoned soldier, rough from too much battlefield smoke and way too many nights in a cigar-fumed nightclub. So it’s a complete surprise that he touches you with such care, tracing the curve of your skull, tangling your hair in his fingers as if he’s savoring the texture, leaning close to sample the scent at the hollow of your throat. The way he kisses is a surprise, too, all delicacy and finesse, and very, very thorough, until you feel like he’s mapped every nerve ending you have and is taking his sweet time about lighting them all on fire, one after another, with a lazy mastery that’s as arousing as it is irritating.
* * *
Fenris is equal parts desperation and fear. His kisses almost snarl with impatience, as if he’s been waiting years to let loose, let go. To have you. To have something in his life that’s just for him, and from the way his hands are moving over you, mapping you, that’s just what he’s thinking. Where his mouth is clumsy, his hands, all clever fingers and sharp gauntlets, are not, daring to claim every inch of you, daring you to claim him back. When you do, he growls low in his throat, and he snarls something in Arcanum that could be a curse or a prayer or a threat to the Maker not to take you away from him before he can steep himself in you, sate himself on you, bury himself so deeply in you that nothing in Thedas can untangle what the two of you have become.
* * *
Thane is decadence; leashed, lethal, and elegant, and that’s the way he kisses, too, as if a single, simple kiss is the equivalent of a hundred acts of simple carnality. His mouth, so delicately scaled and lush, is your lodestone. Your world spins around his axis as he kisses you with exquisite eroticism, committing you to memory with lips and tongue. You’re hazily aware that he could break you in a dozen ways and you’d never feel it, but you’re even more aware that he could make you erupt in a dozen more, and you’d never forget it. And neither would he.
* * *
Steve Cortez is precision, soft-spoken but devastatingly thorough in his exploration of your mouth, your jawline, your neck as you let your head fall back against the cool metal exterior of the shuttle. You can’t get your breath, you just can’t, but when you do, the air tastes like him. Like chicory coffee and determination, like love. Like home. And you can’t help it, can’t help but respond, hands streaking paths of want up his back, feeling the flex of muscle as he shudders, leans into you. You get a little equilibrium back by the time you’re cupping the back of his head, the lean planes of his cheeks, and you meet his precision with your fire. You kiss him back, letting him know with tongue and teeth and muted moans that you refuse to lose him every bit as much as he refuses to lose you.
* * *
Jacob is honesty; there’s honest admiration in his eyes as he looks at you, honest desire in the strong hands that slide from yours up to your shoulders, pulling you into a lazy, seductive dance around the cabin. Honest desire on his tongue when he finally kisses you, managing to tease, to seduce, to woo you for only a moment before honesty takes him, too, and you’re both trembling, both seeking out skin hidden by clothing, seeking to share vulnerabilities. And then it’s honesty of a different sort when you tumble to the bed, wrapped around each other as if you can each shield the other from everything outside this room.
* * *
Anders is hunger and loneliness and longing all wrapped up in a kiss that tastes faintly of lyrium and a faint, exotic tingle that can only be Fade energy. He crowds you against the wall, lean body hard against yours, trembling hands framing your face, fingers tangling in your hair as if he needs to have all of you, right here, right now, as if you’re going to be ripped away from him at any second. When you wrap your arms around him to soothe, he shudders, and his kiss changes to something dangerously erotic, all hot lips and bold tongue and aching hunger, as if this is it, this is the act entire, and he can bring you both to completion with just this….
* * *
Nathaniel is hard - hard lines, hard, sinewy muscle, hard, calloused hands on your skin, hard lips against the back of your neck, hard flesh against the curve of your backside as he presses against you. His voice is hard, too; aristocratic accent wrapping easily around base words as he whispers what he wants to do with you, wants you to feel when he does them. But for all his hard edges, he’s soft, too, and it shows in the brush of his hair against your throat as he bends to taste your collarbone, in the stroke of his tongue, warm and wet on your shoulder. His archer’s precision shows when he moves to map your spine from bottom to top with a chain of tiny kisses that leave no skin unworshipped, when his hands slide between your legs, pressing where you burn hottest for him. Your head falls back against his shoulder, and when you shudder, so does he, and you know then what his restraint is costing him.
The youngest daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, showing up at Ostagar broken and wounded with a snarling disposition and a propensity toward using threats of violence to address the lack of respect from her fellow recruits, determined to fulfill her last promise to her father, regardless of what the nation thinks of her family now.
Adaia and Cyrion Tabris’ daughter, arriving at Ostagar having already killed so many humans, she feels as if their blood will never wash off her hands and in some ways she never wants it to, suspicious and distrusting of every single human she runs across, vowing to show them all what a scrappy fighter from Denerim’s alienage is really capable of.
The Princess Aeducan, a princess no more, her identity erased, her title stripped, showing up at Ostagar with her head held fucking high, not caring if she has to look up to meet the glance of all the cloud heads she meets, speaking in a stern voice that commands authority and respect, staring down those who would challenge her with a withering glare.
The huntress Mahariel, arriving at Ostagar clinging to life, a fever raging in her blood, but on her own two fucking feet, stoically bearing the pain of Blight sickness with a quiet strength so vast even her human healers can’t help but be impressed.
Brosca shows up, eyes sharp and deft fingers twitching, already sizing up every person that crosses her path as a possible opponent, or even a mark, eager to get on with this whole Blight business and ready to knock some Darkspawn skulls together, performing a duty with more honor than the feckless nobles of Orzammar could ever hope to achieve.
Surana arrives with her swishing robes and wide eyes, feeling raw and hurt from recent betrayals, but an insatiable curiosity propels her to swallow her fears and explore the wide world around her, secure in the knowledge that lightning and fire can be called at a moment’s notice into her soft, uncalloused hands.
Female wardens, arriving at Ostagar–whether they’ve always known the world was cruel or whether they just discovered the fact, their spines are already made of steel.
Sorry if this has been requested before, but can I have a Saeyoung x MC where he has a bad dream and he's super scared when he wakes up. Maybe mc could comfort him or something. Thanks!
Sure thing! I hope you like it:)
Beads of sweat trickled past his temple. Breath left his lungs faster than he could inhale. His head ached, and the world around him spun in darkness.
Saeyoung gripped his blanket, almost shoving the cloth in his mouth to stop the sob that wrenched from his throat. Cold air glossed over his skin, eliminating whatever body heat he had acquired from initially waking.
The bed was so cold and…empty.
For a moment, his sleep induced brain convinced him that he was alone in this world. The faint glimmer of his wedding ring and the padded steps in the hall snapped him back to reality. Though they did nothing to stop his trembling shoulders.
You called his name from the doorway, bleary eyes and mussed hair. You rubbed your eyes and yawned, before your gaze turned sharp and worried.
“Hold me,” he managed to speak.The words came out broken, weak, and desperate, but right now his pride was nothing compared to the images in his head. “MC, please–”
He doesn’t even get to finish, as you were already rushing towards the bed and half throwing yourself onto him. You sat on his lap as your legs encased him.
You weren’t so much wrapping your arms around his neck as he was grappling your body against his chest. He buried his face in your shoulder, unashamedly letting the burning tears streak down his cheeks.
Your fingers stroked the hair at the nape of his neck. “Hey,” you whispered. “What’s wrong?”
The statement only beckoned him to squeeze you tighter. He shut his eyes and concentrated on you. The smell of you…how it mixed with traces of your perfume…your warmth emanating from your closeness…your skin…pressed flush against his rooting him in reality.
“Just another nightmare,” he said finally, though he still held you against him.
We peel apart the veins of flora just to get a closer look at what makes everything hurt so goddamn much. We press our fingers down sharp on every bruise and call it love and art and poetry and the processing of emotion as it lends itself to healing.
And I say, it’s tender but isn’t it done? And you say, it’s tender but isn’t it over? And then we still write soliloquies about softening in each other’s mouths. I still ask you to put your hands on me without washing off any of the dirt.
And you say, baby. And you say, honey. And you say, don’t you love the way the trees sing when the cicadas are out?
And I am in the garden. And all the trees are humming.
The antagonist placed the protagonist’s foot gently in their lap, tweezers in one hand to pluck out thorns and other sharp things. Fingers rubbing soothingly whenever the protagonist tensed or winced at the careful healing.
“I don’t know why you insist on trying to run,” the antagonist murmured. “At best, you’re only embarrassing yourself. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse than this.”
“Keep talking and I’ll kick you.” The protagonist’s toes flexed.
The antagonist patted their ankle absently. “Kick me after I’ve done the other foot. Switch.”
Plot: When you’re set to be partners with the school’s quiet and charismatic dancer, how will you fair?
Word Count: 6633
“______, please work with Park Woojin.” A murmur ran through the lab, as students shot curious glances to one another. A few girls looked murderous, while some of the boys just shrugged it off. You stood there, fiddling with the Eevee Pokemon keychain on your bag, before letting your gaze flit to him. He had a stoic expression, his hand running through his dark brown bangs as he quietly whispered to one of his closest friends, Kim Donghyun. You sighed, before nodding to the teacher, and stood to leave as the bell rang.
Working with Woojin was going to be hard. He was adored by all the girls, regardless of the age. He was the dark, mysterious, and charismatic one from his goofy friend group. Boys wanted to imitate his powerful presence while girls cooed over how wickedly handsome he looked whenever the dance team performed at a school event. Even now, with it being casting season for the popular crews in the area, he was looked at as the prime candidate to join a nationally recognized group.
“_____?” You froze at the doorway, turning to meet his unwavering gaze. His voice was quiet, but it demanded attention at the same time. A few female classmates giggled as they purposefully brushed by him to leave for the buses or subways as the school day was coming to an end. “How are we going to separate the research paper?” You ring your hands awkwardly, trying to not meet his intense gaze. Donghyun popped up behind him, giving you an angelic smile as he bid the two of you a good day before leaving.
“It’s not really something we can divide easily from what I can see. We need to learn the same content to create this paper.” He nods slowly, absorbing the information, and you finally let your gaze admire his unique and sharp features. He was not from Seoul as the rest of you were; he had moved in from somewhere in Gyeongsang-do. You could tell from his dialect, although you still had no idea if it was Busan or Daegu that he had originated from.
“Then let’s go out.” The words caused you to cough furiously, your hands flying to cover your mouth. He gasped as he realized how wrong his words had come out, and ran a hand through his hair once more. “I meant let’s go somewhere to work on it… together.” You finally stop yourself from coughing, and nod your head slowly. Working with him should be easy. He was known to be naturally intelligent, which was not fair when he was already graced with his unbeatable talent in dance, endearing appearance, and ability to win everyone and anyone over.
“Do you want to go to the library sometime this week? We have about to finish this and submit electronically by Saturday night,” you inform him, and his brows furrow as he contemplated his schedule. You didn’t do anything special; you spent time at home to study and rarely went out. In fact, it was more embarrassing trying to grasp at some social connection to Woojin when he was so outstandingly admired in the school and you were almost three alternate universes behind. To say you were hated was wrong; you were known as a nice and quiet girl, but it took an uncomfortably long time for anyone but your childhood best friend to remember who you were when hearing your name.
“I have dance usually at night, and it’s kind of far from the library. I normally get off at the fourth stop from Bus 166.” He rubbed his bangs with his hands once more, biting his lower lip meekly. You avert your gaze and fixate on the paint that was peeling off behind him. The sound of students flooding out the school doors is fading, the last few casting curious glances at the sight of Park Woojin with a girl.
“I actually get off of that stop too. It’s near my apartment.” He brightens momentarily, a flash of a childish smile on his face before it returns to his neutral mask. You sigh inwardly at how dreadfully long and awkward this paper would be.
“Are there any other scheduling conflicts you might have?” He thinks a bit more, a small silence once again between you two. He finally nods.
“I have a dance audition with the school team on Saturday night. I’m really sorry.” You smile a little, remembering how much you loved the sight of him dancing at school performances. Not that you would ever dream of saying it publicly, but Woojin was destined to be a star in the near future, and you could only imagine how many girls would swoon at the sight of him performing on TV or an important stage.
“It’s cool. We should just start a little earlier and work a little harder to make up for it then.” He looked distractedly apologetic, but seemed a little comforted at how coolly you were trying to brush it off. He opened the door a little wider for you to exit, and you wiggled through. His eyes glinted with amusement at how you blushed when your bag accidentally hit him, and the keychain fell off. He picked it up, brushing off the dust, and put it into your side pocket, before leading the way towards the bus stop near the school. You scrambled after him, heat radiating off of your cheeks. He was innocent. He did not mean to make you flustered, or feel like there were raging butterflies eating you alive, or that you could die of a heart attack.
“Oh shoot.” His quiet voice was laced with panic as he dug through his book bag. He looked at you with a meek smile, his own cheeks pinking considerably. You cock your head slightly, curious at his peculiar behavior. He cleared his throat a little, unable to meet your eyes. “I ran out of money on my bus card. Is it possible-”
“I got it, don’t worry.” You say quietly. You wanted to pinch your forearm to see if you were dreaming. Park Woojin needing your help? You wrinkled your nose slightly, trying to distract yourself from the thought, before continuing towards the bus stop. He followed in pursuit, his expression stoic once again, if not a little pink in the cheeks still. By the time the clambering bus arrived, you had taken out your earbuds and your bus card, swiping twice and waving him on. He ducked his head, letting his bangs cover his shy gaze as he sat besides you. All of the vacant seats around you made you almost blush at the thought of him choosing to sit by your side, but the other part of you chided at yourself for the thought. Of course he would– the whole purpose between you two travelling together was for a stupid biology research paper.
“I like that song too,” Woojin said quietly, his eyes directed at the head cushion of the seat in front of him. He was fiddling awkwardly with his phone, unsure of what to do in the silence as the bus bumped along the street. You took out an earbud, before hesitantly offering it to him. His gaze lit up, but his lips remained in a mutual line.
“I didn’t know you were a fan of Bruno Mars,” you whisper, not wanting to distract the few souls actually on the bus. You were somehow mortified at the idea of him listening to your music playlist. Was he judging you secretly? Was it expected that you would even like some song like When I Was Your Man?
“This is actually a good song to dance to. It’s kind of tricky to display the emotions but if you can’t do that then it could be a sad slow dance, too.” He whispered back, before tapping your shoulder to signal that the bus was at your stop. You stand up, his words still swirling in your mind. Part of you wanted to ask him to dance for you to this song, but another part of you knew better. The remainder of the walk to your apartment was quiet, sifting through various songs in your playlist. He didn’t comment at the flood of sorrowful and slower songs, instead just bobbing his head to the beats of Special by Lee Hi and Snow Flower by Park Hyoshin.
“You like a lot of older songs,” he didn’t sound surprised as you entered the elevator, and you took back the earbud from him. You nodded, waiting for him to say something else. “They’re all good though.” You fumble for the key in your pocket, hoping he didn’t notice the nervousness at his words. His praise made you feel flustered, and as much as it embarrassed you, you enjoyed it.
“I hope you can excuse the mess,” you said apologetically. He walked in, taking off his shoes and tucking them into the corner where there were other shoes. He looked around, his eyes careful and you could imagine the whirl of calculations and thoughts buzzing in his mind.
“It’s a nice place you have.” His words were punctuated with a rumbling of his stomach, which caused him to send a bashful smile to you, his eyes flashing with hope. “Er. By any chance, is there food?”
“Go ahead and sit down and start. Do you like any fruits? I have apples and pears.” He nodded gratefully, before moving towards the dining table. You watched him settle down, taking out his laptop and focusing on his work fairly quickly. You carefully cut the fruit, trying to make it as prettily arranged as possible. You had never done this for anyone outside of your family, and most certainly not a boy. You had always envisioned it to be something done in the far future, perhaps when you had a fiance or long time boyfriend or husband. The thought of the boy being Woojin rattled you even more, a distraction until you felt a sharp nick in your finger and looked down to see blood welling up. You sighed, grabbing a bandaid and messily putting it on, before grabbing a pair of forks and setting the dish in front of Woojin. He looked up, eagerly reaching for a slice.
“It’s a rabbit!” He exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement at the little ears you had made. You smiled, basking in his joy. Your grandmother and mother had cut all their apples like this for you at a young age, and now you were spreading the family joy. He reached for another, munching enthusiastically, before he halted, his eyes focused on your hand as you reached for your own laptop.
“Is something wrong?” You mumble, hiding the bandaged finger out of sight. He frowned slightly, before grabbing your wrist gently and bringing the damaged hand forward, examining it keenly.
“Did you cut yourself? Did you wash it? It’s bleeding through.” His words poured out of his lips, quickly and laced with worry. He was worried!
“It’s honestly fine–”
“It’s honestly a deep cut, ____.” The way he said your name shut you up, and you felt warmed by the concern. “Where’s your first aid kit?” You sighed, before pointing at the medicine cabinet that was barely in view from the kitchen at your seat. He rose, sifting through the contents before he grabbed the tiny plastic container. He took out an antiseptic wipe, before peeling off the now blood soaked band aid.
“This is going to sting,” he warned, before carefully dabbing at the cut. Stinging did not quite describe the pain, and you scrunched your face up to avoid spilling out some profanity. He tried to not smile at how adorable it looked, and instead fanned it with his free hand as he took out the antibiotic cream and applied a thin layer, finishing it off with a bandaid. It looked considerably neater than your own lousy attempt, and you stammered a measly word of thanks. He looked satisfied at his dandy work, instead turning back to his laptop.
“Anyways, back to this project. I heard from a few of the upperclassmen about this project and I hope you don’t mind that I started doing a bit of research and topic finding on my own. I printed a few papers out on one of the topics I liked.” He handed a stack of stapled articles, and you were impressed to see the already highlighted information, along with the immaculate notes he had written. You scanned through, eyes flickering every time he made a particularly loud sound as he continued to eat the fruit.
“I like it.” You announce finally, looking up at him with a smile. “I don’t think anyone else would think of triple negative breast cancer combinational therapy between dihydroartemisinin and 3-bromopyruvate. This is a pretty solid topic.” He grinned widely, his little “fang” poking out. He took the second fork, before spearing through a pear and handing it to you.
“I just realized I ate almost all of this without you. I’m sorry, I was really hungry.” He mumbled, and he separated the papers in half. “Also, I’m glad we’re partners for this. So many of our classmates probably wouldn’t have understood this topic.” You bite into the pear, relishing the sweetness. He probably didn’t realize that it was your favorite fruit, but it was the thought that counted.
“I mean, it’s pretty fool proof. Dihydroartemisinin targets the spindle fiber formation during mitosis, and 3- bromopyruvate lowers the cellular metabolism. They work hand in hand.” You mumble thoughtfully, finishing off the pear. He took the fork, spearing another pear slice and handing it to you again. You smile at the notion, and the two of you start your work quietly.
By the time night had fallen, he was humming some song repeatedly. The two of you straightened up as his phone alarm rang, playing the same song, signalling his time to leave for dance. He smiled slightly.
“I’m really thankful you’re so hard working.” You blushed a bit at his words. He was really too kind for his own good.
“What is that song, if you don’t mind me asking.” He smiled broadly at this, his little tooth showing.
“That’s the song me and the boys are performing at the audition. I thought the best thing for me to do was familiarize myself with it. I’m one of the younger members, so I have to work harder.” You nod in fascination. The passion that sparked in his gaze was intriguing, and you wondered briefly if this was what a bug felt like when it saw light.
“What’s the title?”
“Get Ugly by Jason Derulo. I’ll dance a bit for you some day. Maybe tomorrow.” You nod eagerly at this, and he laughs, ruffling your hair a little. The warmth from his hand blossomed across your body, and you missed it the moment he recoiled, as if realizing his action. He smiled a little demurely, his gaze unable to meet yours and his cheeks reddening. “Good night, _____.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and scurried out of the apartment, leaving you to retire with a flicker of warmth still where his hand had been.
“So I forgot to fill my bus card again,” Woojin began, running a hand through his fluffy brown hair. He eyed you cautiously, expecting some disappointment or frustration. Instead, you stifled a laugh and shook your head teasingly.
“Luckily for you, I still have money in mine.” He grinned at this. You two had grown increasingly comfortable since being initially paired up, much to your pleasant surprise. You were looking forward to spending more time with him, mainly because he had promised to dance for you and because it was just nice to have someone to spend time with.
“It might rain soon– Oh, it is raining.” He held a hand out to catch a few droplets, before playfully flicking it at you. You shrunk away, about to shout at him, but caught yourself. He genuinely looked happy, perhaps the brightest you had seen him off stage! He caught your stare, and you glanced towards your feet instead, pretending to shy away from the rain as you set off towards the bus stop. He jogged after you lightly, a comfortable silence surrounding you two. You found temporary refuge under the trees that lined the path, but knew that there wouldn’t be anything to shelter you when you saw the crowd of people at the bus stop.
You sigh, standing at the end of the line with Woojin. The rain was beginning to fall harder, and you tried to not flinch every time a cold droplet of water splattered against your face. You could feel the rain trickle down your forehead, and you wiped it with your hand, silently begging the bus to come. You prepared yourself to wipe off the next trickle, but it never came. The water stopped tapping your face, and you glanced up to see Woojin’s hand covering your head, his gaze nonchalantly directed towards where the bus was slowly coming into view.
“Oh, it’ll be here in a few seconds.” You nod wordlessly, eyes still fixated on his hand. You wanted to hold it, to keep it warm and protected from the cold, but you knew your place. That would just make it awkward, and make him uncomfortable with you.
“Can I change into my dance clothes? My uniform got kind of wet,” you nodded and point towards your bathroom, which he shuffled into awkwardly. You also turned to your room, changing into your sweatpants and baggy Hello Kitty T-shirt. Part of you wondered if you should be embarrassed to sport this outfit in front of him, but another part of you dismissed the worry. Why care about someone who you didn’t have a chance with from the beginning?
“Do you want anything to drink or eat?” You ask as you enter the dining room. You ignored how handsomely boyish he looked in his simple all black attire, and tried to not let your gaze linger. He stifled a smile as he saw your faded pink shirt.
“Do you have hot chocolate?” You nodded, and turned to the kitchen. “Cute.” you almost froze at the words. Did you hear him, or was it just the rain hitting the window in the downpour? You forced the thoughts away. You probably had a higher chance of having auditory hallucinations than hearing him call you cute. You prepared the hot chocolate a little slower than usual, not wanting to be in the same room as him with your heart beating as erratically as it was at the moment.
“Thank you,” he accepted the mug with a grateful smile, inhaling the scent of the chocolate. You didn’t tell him that you actually snuck some of the more expensive cocoa powder into his to make it taste better, and sat down with your own mug of regular Swiss Miss, stirring the last few clumps of solids into sweet liquid. He stood up, tapping on his phone a few times. A familiar tune came on. Get Ugly.
“Are you dancing for me?” He nodded, a wicked grin on his face. He was not the same demure and bashful boy that he had been a few seconds ago. His face radiated confidence, and each movement he made was deliberate. His stare pierced yours as his movements were fluid from start to finish. His presence was explosive, and you were awestruck as his ability to pour his heart into a performance that was seen by only you.
As the song ebbed away, his breathing filled the room, and an unsure smile returned to his face as he searched your face for a reaction.
“How was it?” Each word was punctuated by the a puff of air and you grinned, clapping your hands enthusiastically. He smiled freely at this, his canine poking out adorably.
“You’re honestly amazing. I wish I could dance like that,” you said wistfully. He extended his hand slowly towards you, as though you were an injured bird who could potentially run away from fear.
“I’ll teach you right now.” Your eyes widened and you shook your head furiously. There was no way you were going to let him see you dance. You couldn’t even call the shameful movements you made to the beat a dance; hell, half of the “moves” weren’t even properly matched to the beat.
“I’m really not good at this–”
“Then I’ll pick a slower song.” He hesitated, before scrolling through what you imagined to be his playlist. Finally, he turned on a familiar song. Snow flower.
“You listen to this?” He shrugged, before grabbing your hand gently.
“My mom was a fan of the drama. I was only five at the time, but I remember it a little. So Jisub. Don’t a lot of girls like him?” He guided your hands to his shoulders, while his hands cautiously wrapped around your tiny body. You flinched a little at the touch, and his hands recoiled.
“You’re better than him.” The words blurt out before you can stop them. “Sorry. I was just a bit surprised and I couldn’t filter myself,” you whisper, and he nods tensely, before trying once again. Over Park Hyoshin’s beautiful voice, you felt yourself relax a bit, and for the first time ever, you enjoyed dance. It wasn’t quite dancing in the powerful way Woojin had performed, but in the stillness of the minimal movements the two of you were making, it seemed just as breathtaking. You tried to keep your mind away from complicated thoughts, but they pestered you constantly. ‘Why was he doing this? What am I supposed to do after this? Do I just play it cool?’ As the song faded out, he leaned a little closer, wrapping his arms around you in a brief hug. You felt your insides melt, as if everything had just been blown out of reality and you were thrown off into some strange world of fantasy.
“I- I think we should get back to the paper.” You stammer, backing out of his hug, and shuffled towards the dining table. He followed, his cheeks a little pink and his eyes restless. He looked lost, a little disappointed at your reaction, and above all confused. He wanted to get to know you better, and seeing someone dance was a way for him to grow infinitely closer to him or her. To have shared that experience with a girl as timid and quiet as you was an enchanting experience, and he was surprised that you had even gone along with it.
The hours flew by in a silence that would be ruptured by the occasional cough or exceptionally loud scratch of the pencil. You struggled to keep your gaze on the gibberish of words. Something about how the centromere was affected. Another something you kept missing over about the MDA-MB 231 cell line. Triple negative. Iron concentration correlation to what? You peeked up at Woojin, who seemed to be flying through his own work. A small pile of packets he had already finished was beside him, while his to-do list was shortening rapidly. Yours was drastically smaller. ‘I guess I’ll have to stay up and do it today because it’s due in two days,’ you thought somberly, flipping the page. The page ripped a little, and the sound caused Woojin to glance up, his eyes meeting yours.
His expression was unreadable, closer to stoic than anything else. You felt embarrassed and mildly irritated at yourself. What was your luck to have been paired with him? You ducked down towards your work again, and he ran a hand through his bangs, again, while turning back to his own work. The silence stretched on for what seemed like eons, and you willed for something to happen. It was a game of intuition, where you wanted to say something and you were almost positive he did too. You glanced up, about to blurt out some casual conversation starter, but his alarm rang. Dance practice.
“Good job today,” he said quietly. He bit his lower lip, and you were waiting for a few next words that never happened. Instead, he turned to zip up his backpack, gaze pointing downwards. You trailed after him wordlessly to the door, opening the door for him. He smiled a little at the gesture, before reaching out to pat your head once again. “Good night, ____. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You like pears, right?” Woojin asked, before holding out a can. It was pear flavored aloe. You smiled at the gesture, trying to open it. A dull throb from the cut a few days prior ached, and you winced. He took the can from you, walking ahead of you towards the bus stop. You could hear the container open with a pop, and he turned, a teasing smile on his face.
“Stop it. I got that cut because I was preparing food for you,” you sniffed the air indignantly, and he let out a small chuckle. You did not mention the slow dance from yesterday, nor did you even dare of telling him that your thoughts were filled of only him. You had stayed up a few more hours into the early morning, trying to catch up on your work. Luckily, you had actually finished all of your work, and he was almost done. Today would be a breeze.
“I’m sorry, ___.” He handed you the can, and you took a sip. It was sweet and chilled, the way you liked your drinks. You hum in appreciation, and he looked at your face. He loved the way your eyes crinkled into two crescents when you smiled, and how your baby hairs framed your face when there was a breeze. Perhaps you hadn’t an idea, but you were quite pretty to him.
“Do you want a sip?” You ask, confused by his staring. He smiled, accepting the can again. “Man, if I knew you were going to give me this I would have prepared something for you too.” He shrugged, relishing the taste.
“Getting to know such a quiet girl like you was an honor itself,” he mumbled thoughtfully, passing the can back. You pink a little at his words, and fished out his beanie that he had left the night before. You pull it over his face, deliberately covering his eyes with a giggle. He frowned, pulling it up to see your laughing face, and his expression softened immediately.
“Don’t get sulky because of that,” you said, and tapped his nose lightly, before turning to face back towards where the bus was arriving.
“I got this,” he said, and swiped his bus card twice. He actually refilled his card! You grinned, and sat beside him. The bumpy road lulled you to sleep, and dozed off in the late afternoon sun. You woke up from your blissful oblivion at a like poke on the cheek. Woojin was smiling down at you, motioning for you to get off the bus. You groggily followed, and he snorted with laughter as you got off of the vehicle.
“You snore so loud,” he began, and you rolled your eyes. You were always told you were a silent and unmoving sleeper. You were definitely not falling for it. “And you drool!”
“Where is your proof?” You stuck your tongue out, and he laughed, raising his hands in surrender.
“Man, I thought I could get away with it.” You nudge him playfully, and he tossed the empty can into the recycling. He must have taken it when you fell asleep. The thought warmed you a little, and you were constantly surprised by his caring ways. He was perfect, and you were the lucky classmate who got to experience this side of him for a few days. Today is the last day.
“If we finish early, want to go out a bit? It is Friday. I bet we can finish before I have dance. Or, you can come to dance with me.” Woojin looked at you hopefully. You gulped a little, and nodded slowly.
“If we finish early, I supposed I can go out. But I don’t think I can go to your dance studio. Besides, your audition is tomorrow and I wouldn’t want to take away from your practice time.” He nodded slowly, but still a smile formed on his face.
“How much more work do you have? I just need to type up a final paragraph.” You gasped at how much time the two of you had leftover. If you were already finished, then he would be done in a matter of an hour.
“I finished my work last night,” you admitted. He grinned, before nudging you towards the apartment door.
“Then I guess we have more than enough time to hang out. Let me ask Donghyun what there is to do that’s fun in this area– he plans all of our outings so I’m sure he can think of something.” He looked bright, like a child on Christmas morning, and you shook your head in amusement.
“Can I at least change out of the uniform?” He nodded, before pointing at his bag.
“I brought a change of clothes anyways.” You left for your room, heart pounding. He was making it impossible for you to even think of giving up this closeness with him. You dreaded tomorrow even more. In a matter of hours, this spell that created the dreamlike fantasy would be over. He would have no reason to continue being your friend, and you would have no excuse to talk to him. Perhaps you could maintain waving to him in the halls, but that seemed to be the limit at which you two could stay close.
You opted for a simple white tee with rose embroidery on the top, and skinny jeans. He had changed as well by the time you came out and were tying your hair into a ponytail.
“Wow, we’re matching. Is this a couple look?” He asked cheekily, motioning to his own rose embroidered shirt, which was black. You furrowed your brows, trying to not blush at his words. Couple look.
“Did Donghyun reply?” You ask instead, sitting next to him. He shook his head, before taking out his laptop.
“At worst, we can go to an arcade. I’m going to finish this paper really fast. Take a nap or something.” You agreed to his words, hugging your knees to your chest in the seat as you curled up. You let your cheek rest against your knee cap, and let yourself doze off once again. You felt something warm and soft encompass your shoulders, and opened your eyelids just a crack to see his black hoodie draped around you. You could hear him settle back into his seat, the typing restarting as he continued his work. The hoodie smelled like him, something clean and light. Perhaps it was laundry detergent, or his soap, but it was something you wanted to remember forever.
It felt like only a few minutes, but you could see the sun dip below the buildings when Woojin nudged you to get up. He brushed the hair away from your face, trying to stifle his laughter at the giant red circle imprinted on your cheek from your knee. You swatted him away, mumbling some incoherent complaint.
“Don’t worry, it’s kind of endearing. Just… do this.” He pulled the hood up so it covered your head, and you shoved him as he erupted in laughter, the sound beautiful to your ears. “Also, Donghyun said that at evening the food stalls and little stores are nice to visit.” You nodded, before realizing that he had given you his hoodie.
“Don’t you need this?” He shook his head, taking out another one, also black, with the plain white letters ‘BNM’ on it.
“I have another, don’t worry. You’re going to submit this online tomorrow, right?” You nod, and he smiles cheerily, before picking up his bag. “Let’s go then!” He was filled with infectious energy, surprisingly dragging you by the wrist to every destination. He refused to let you buy their fish cakes, so you forced him into accepting the bubble tea instead. You strolled in and out of little shops. He struck silly poses as you clipped on neon pink bows and plastic tiaras to his hair, and he returned the favor by urging you to try on fake moustaches and some hideous bucket hat. The quiet and intimidating boy from the first day was no longer there. Instead, this silly and fun loving soul was showing off his dance moves again on the streets in an impromptu dance battle you two had stumbled upon.
“Go Woojin!” You cheered, eyes glued to the boy as he smirked. He simply knew he was going to kill whatever performance he had, and you loved it. The crowd gathering cheered for him, and it was pretty obvious who the winner was in your eyes. You passed him back his stuff after he shook hands with the other dancer, a satisfied glint in his eyes as sweat was dripping down his face. You wiped it absentmindedly with your handkerchief you had kept in your bag. He smiled sweetly at this, grabbing your hand and lowering it.
“How was I?” He asked, his hand still wrapped around yours. You grin back, unable to deny yourself of this. ‘Just for this one last night… let me enjoy it.’ You rearrange your hand in his grip so they’re comfortably together, much to his pleasant surprise.
“You’re the best no matter what.” You replied honestly. He squeezed your hand, keeping it warm in the cool evening air. His face looked a little nervous, and your eyes widened as he began to move closer to you, his face approaching your own. You were about to let your eyes close, but then a familiar alarm sounded. The two of you jumped apart, and he smiled apologetically.
“I set the alarm a little early so I can walk you back home. It is night, after all.” He took your hand once again, and you obliged. Your heart was racing at the prospect of him doing what exactly. Kissing you? Hugging you? What was going to happen if the alarm hadn’t rung? He led you through the crowd, keeping you close and made sure to have his arm out to part the sea of people. You felt safe, but a sadness suffocated your thoughts. This is it, you thought as you finally arrive at the front of your apartment. He fixed your hair a little, and you try to not let your lip tremble. Where you two really just going to be strangers again? He was too popular, and you were too quiet in school to probably catch his attention in the halls.
“Have a good night.” He said quietly. He lingered a bit, taking in your sleepy appearance in his hoodie, which was too big for you. “Keep the hoodie. I’ll take it back another day.” A small flare of hope to rekindle their friendship.
“Good luck tomorrow.” You stand up on your tippy toes, giving him a chaste peck on the cheek. You both turn red, and you look away. “You should get going now.” You turn for the elevators, and pressed the button, a little dazed at your ability to have even pecked him. ‘He probably won’t want to talk to me after that-’
“Thank you. Today was fun. I’ll be sure to get the spot.” He said, his arms wrapped around you. He let go as the bell notified you both of the elevator’s arrival. “Sleep well.”
It was already late in the afternoon when you woke up. You had taken melatonin to help you sleep at night, and it worked a little too well. Your mother had left for work, as had your father. You sighed, taking your laptop out to submit the paper. You had checked it over a few times out of restlessness last night, and were positive it was submittable for a good grade.
After a quick shower, you pulled on Woojin’s hoodie once again. You loved how soft it was, how it was oversized and covered your hands so only your fingertips poked out, and how simple it was. But above all, you loved how it smelled of him. Your thoughts drifted to him for the nth time since you had woken up. Was his audition going well? Did he even go yet? He said he would be done by early evening or late afternoon, but you had no idea what the actual time was. You sighed. This would not do. You needed something to do.
Your stomach grumbled as you looked at the empty fridge. There were only a few beverages, and a container of kimchi that looked a little too fermented. Go out for a walk, go get some food. That was what you could do. You pulled on your thickest socks and put on your sneakers, the hood up to cover your messy bun. As you opened the door, a gasp made you look up.
The boy was standing there, his hand outstretched to ring the doorbell. He had a bag of what looked like fried pork cutlet and pear aloe drinks. In his other hand was a small teddy bear, one that you had been admiring the night before.
He rubbed his head awkwardly, a sigh escaping his lips. His eyes were embarrassed, and it showed in how red his cheeks were growing.
“H-Hi, ____.” He stammered, before clearing his throat. “I did well like I promised. And I thought maybe you would want some company while you submitted the assignment.” He winced at how stupid his words sounded, and you accepted the bear, looking at it fondly.
“How did you know I liked this?” He straightened up, attempting to speak some sensible words the second time around.
“I saw you staring at it. It was a pair right? I have the other.” He turned so you could see the other bear’s head poking out from his dance bag. “Did you eat? I have food.” He moved towards the door, and you raised an eyebrow. What about his dance team? It looked like he had come back from the competition without even changing, especially by the look of his outfit.
“This is really sweet and all but is there an actual reason? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the guys?” He coughed at your words, and his face turned a shade redder as he sighed. He shifted the bag of food out of his hand and onto his wrist, before taking your hand.
“I was trying to find a smoother way of doing this but you’re really a difficult girl.” You try to not blush at his words and intense stare. “I wanted to formally confess. I like you a lot, ____.” You felt your face turn more red at this, and he licked his lips, unable to look at you in the face anymore. “I know you probably don’t return it, and that I’m rambling and I probably sound like an idiot, but I had to try-”
“I like you too.” You interrupt. His head shot up, looking at you with widened eyes. His mouth had fallen open, and his lips seemed to not function as he tried to register your words.
“I like you.” You repeat bashfully, and finally open the front door. “I think you can come now. I guess I can accept having my boyfriend visit me spontaneously.”