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heli0s-writes · 4 years

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It Is Knowing*

HI THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. It’s been a wonderful ride. Here’s the last part of Bag of Tricks. It’s tender and smutty and stupid. All mistakes are my own.

Please stop reading if you are not over 18!

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

He’s terrified.

Suddenly he’s looking at you one way, and then in a flash, the same dumb grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of an ill joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like star fire and during a storm inside a standard-issued cabin hideout, Bucky thinks he must be losing his mind.

And maybe he’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

He hazards another glimpse.

“Help?” You ask from the table, angrily scratching out blocks of an attempted crossword puzzle.

Do it in pencil, he tried to warn earlier, but you only called him chickenshit because you’re—yep—annoying.

“Foudre,” Bucky says carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. “It’s a… six-letter French word for thunder.” He clears his throat, gesturing toward the window splattered with rain.

“Oh-ho-ho,” you snort, “Smart boy, aren’t ya? FOO-DRUH.” An incredible bastardization of the term, and you sing around a chewed-up pen cap between your teeth. “My name’s Smart-Boy-Bucky and I know French, Russian, and Updog.”

“What the hell is Updog?”

Your face steels.

“Nothing much, how ‘bout you?”

And instead of going over there to kick your ass, all he can do is stare wordlessly as you break into a laugh—his entire body electric like a live wire.

He keeps telling himself there are only a few days before someone drops in to collect. He just needs a little bit of distance, some time alone to clear his head and get over this—thing.

But his brain feels like it’s melting while he waits, his stomach is probably developing an ulcer, and his heart is so fast and fierce that he can almost see the pulse in his sternum throbbing errantly.

Too many things are wrong. You’re his friend— and Bucky wants to throttle himself a little bit for ever letting you be his friend. You’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass and he doesn’t like that at all. You cry over animals and when he gets hurt because you’re an insufferable drama queen, too. He hates that. He does.

The sound of something enormous slamming on the ground makes him dash into the shared bedroom and—oh god, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

First, the mattresses are on the floor.

Second, you’re. wearing. that. stupid. shirt.

The blue one. The one he used to love, hated for a bit, came back around to wearing, and now—yep, he officially hates it again.

“I think you’re too tall for the bunk.” You’re pushing the beds together, unaware of his clenched fists. “So if we sleep diagonally your feet won’t hang off—and can you believe it—” you point to the hem of cerulean brushing against your skin, “I packed three raincoats and no pajamas.”

At the sight of your creeping smile, Bucky loses it.

“Why are you going through my stuff?!” He shouts, gripping the doorframe with enough force to take the molding clear off. “Why are you touching my shit!?” And he probably sounds insane, flying off the handle like this, but he’s got a million grievances against you and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mind your own fucking business!” He’s still unloading, unreasonably frantic at the sight of that terrible color hanging from your shoulders.

Bewildered, you plop down clumsily on your knees, gawking like a deer in the headlights.

Your bare legs, your fingertips on your thighs, the thin sleeves oversized and loose on your forearms, that smear of toothpaste on the collar, the hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath—it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you dizzy.

It makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He’s so, so fucked.

“What…” Bucky quietly trails off, gasping helplessly as realization sinks in, “…what the hell is wrong with you...”

“Me?!” You shriek back, “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m over here worried about your crusty feet hanging off at night and you just swing in and take a dump on me?”

Bucky groans, miserable and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “Shit. I’m—I don’t know.”

“Eat my ass, dude!” you sneer, already tucked under the blankets. “I’m going to sleep. Turn off the fucking light you’re going to stand there looking like a dumbass.”

A feeble sigh as Bucky pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s glaring at the ceiling, listening to the patter on the roof.

“You’re the dumbass,” he whispers.

You’re the dumbass with the emotional regulation problem. The idiot with the temper. The head full of sawdust. But, if it only took three careless words from your blundering mouth to make Bucky fall entirely apart, you must be right after all. He is the dumbass.

He feels split open like the sky—torn up completely, unable to make out anything in his own turbulence.

Fuck.

The sheets shift until he hears them slide off. Then, a pattern of bare feet across hardwood. He must look disastrous in the doorway, bent out of shape in uncharacteristic disarray.

“What is going on with you?” You find his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging until they peel off his wretched face. “Why are you so upset? I wear your clothes all the time; I’m always in your stuff.”

He chuckles defeatedly because you really are always in his space. Throwing yourself into in his room. Eating chips in his bed. Squirreling away in his brain. Everywhere. Always.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, grimacing as he looks at you. Wordless and vulnerable, he can feel his brow sinking lower, throat narrowing around a swallow as he attempts to fix himself. A stutter falls out, then another, crackling syllables like surfacing thunder but never quite forming a sentence.

The earth groans, shaking the cabin and his precarious soul.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like—”

And then, under a streak of lightning, recognition splits across your face.

“Don’t,” he pleads to the silence, “Don’t say it.”

The seconds stretch into horrible eons of slow passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes going from his face to his hands, limp at his side with your own fingers still grasping on.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you say gently, “You’re—my best friend.”

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I know. I’m not trying—"

“Bucky,” you interrupt, faster now. “Bucky,” suddenly elated and laughing. “Bucky—shut up.”

And then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorching trails everywhere they touch, and Bucky burns up like a solar flare trying to catch his breath.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh, kissing him again. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “A real idiot.”

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million possible outcomes and failing painfully each time. Relationships never quite work out for him; he’s dated a few girls and liked them a lot, too, but they’ve never turned out how he wanted them to. And this one—this one, he really can’t fuck up.

He’s got a bad track record, and with you, never knowing is much better than losing.

“Hey, you’re going crazy in there. I can hear it.” A sweet smile as your lips hover over his. The sweetest your face as ever looked. “Stop thinking, Bucky. Kiss me.”

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The dip of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your neck and the way your hair moves— wispy strands framing your face. Sounds of happiness tumbling out, hand firmly inside of his.

“It’s just me.” Joyful. Comfortable. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer—a familiar color calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve was the more competent linguist in their old days. Rolling French r’s, dropping ending consonants, silky smooth in pronunciation. Bucky’s tongue had always been more supplant to the Eastern European languages but, he knows enough of French—remembers enough from the war to recognize this:

Coup de foudre.

It’s the thing romantics exalt, the thing that half-strikes him now. The thunderbolt.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s not infatuated or starry-eyed. Not blind. Not feeling.

It is knowing.

And yeah, Bucky watches the way you pull him to the floor, euphoric and aglow, Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

This is it for him: your chaos, your entropy, your impulse. Your lack of personal space and foresight and good fucking sense. But—your kindness, too. Your care. Your heart.

Calm and patient as you settle down into his lap, the warm weight of you seems to be the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Can I touch you?” You ask shyly.

His voice is barely audible, hands unsure of where to rest, heart swollen in his throat.

Bucky flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself do it, you coward, just fucking do it—and god help him, he does.

He presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collar and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs and instinctively pulling everything off.

You’re both surprised and excited, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too.

His shirt gets flung behind your back. Both pants disappear somewhere else. One hand goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

Bucky stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

He feels perfect in your hands. A silly grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and glide yourself over his length, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Bucky begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s unquestionably powerless.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Buck.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Bucky holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second--"

Using the position you’re already in, he lifts you up and brings you back down, a bit at a time until you’re landing on his hand with a gasp. He uses his fist as a stopper, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Thor?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a hook up. One time—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Bucky wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking on top, tipping him backward into the cushions, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Bucky, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck.

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Bucky could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

It’s rougher in the morning. In the shower, soaking together. Faster.

On the couch, next. With him asking you to put your hand here, move your leg there.

He wants to learn everything you like, too.

You eagerly change positions, giggling when your knee slips and you pitch forward onto his chest. The two of you take a moment to compose yourselves, pinching each other, kissing in-between. He commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you. The way everything moves easy and wonderful, sometimes lazy, sometimes harried, but always fun.

Yelping when you bite too hard. Biting you back even harder. Positions neither of you have surprisingly tried before, but why not start?

Cursing. So much cursing. A lot of it good—fuck me, yes, more, don’t stop—but truthfully, most of it stays about the same.

Barnes, you got a juicy ass.

Will you shut up!

And he never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or if maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Bucky’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the front door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Sam swings it open and Bucky is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” Sam hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Sam!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a sweater, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Bucky is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Sam whispers again, “Oh… my god.” He sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” he hisses, before screaming, “Oh hell no! I’m here picking y’all asses up. Landed the damn jet like two miles away, walked my happy ass through the rain— you butt-ass-naked in here—” He stands ram-rod straight, hands on his hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on y’all.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Sam!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m wet! And well— you wet too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Sam snickers, high-fiving himself before crossing his arms, “Really though, believe me when I say this for everybody who’s ever met you two: finally. Now get y’all freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Barnes’ dick.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Sam dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Bucky locks the door to a now silent cabin, damp with sweat and the smell of earth. It’s torrential still, two days bucketing and the ground is so wet mud goes up to his ankles. Luckily, and he wants to laugh at that, you packed two extra raincoats.

Thunderclaps shake the very ground he stands on. Bucky turns to look at you, marveling when electricity bounces off your eyes, lighting up your face. He reaches over.

A squeeze to your hand that says I’m yours.

One more, tighter. I love you.

You slot your fingers between his. I know.

You smile at the next streak in the sky. Me too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction #mcu

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nsheetee · 4 years

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Clumsily In Love

Cupid!Donghuck x Reader

Genre: Cupid AU, a splash of crack

Summary: Donghyuck is a cupid, a very clumsy one at that. He is known to have exceptionally bad aim, missing almost all of his shots... except the one he aims at your heart.

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: @hyuck-obsessed first came up with the idea of Archer!Haechan, and I got inspired to write this from that idea ;-; also, happy valentine’s day!

“donghyuck, this is the 17th case you’ve messed up... I don’t even know what to do with you now”

donghyuck purses his lips, sliding down further in his chair and spreading his knees

“sucks to be a manager, kun” is all he can say to his superior’s whining

“how do you aim and miss so badly... to make your last case fall in love with his guitar?” donghyuck rolls his eyes

“mark lee was already in love with that guitar, I just accidentally gave him the extra push.” donghyuck explains, shrugging innocently

“he wants to MARRY IT! he cuddles it to sleep in his bed every night! that’s not normal!” kun looks like his dyed gray hair might actually turn gray at this point, and his eyebrows are about to get lost in his hairline with how blown out his eyes are

“so, not much changed since before I shot him with the arrow, huh?”

kun sighs exasperatedly, slumping in his white office chair and spinning around in it for a few turns

“I have no choice but to assign you to our department’s hopeless case files”

“what?” donghyuck sits up straight at kun’s words, the easy going nature of his body position flying out the window

along with his sanity, probably

donghyuck loves his job of being a cupid for only one reason: every case file already comes with a group of predestined people that the human is compatible with

all donghyuck has to do is find out which one has the necessary means and is currently available to fall in love

find them

aim

and shoot

it’s just that easy

but with the hopeless case files, his job would be a lot harder

the hopeless cases sound as pitiful and loveless as they seem

these people are labeled “hopeless” for several different reasons

sometimes, their standards are so high that even if they do fall in love, they don’t accept the other person due to their own ego

sometimes, their partner passes away and they’re not in the right mind to fall in love again

and sometimes, all of the possible compatible people are already matched up by the time a cupid gets to that case, forcing that cupid to mark them as “hopeless”

donghyuck thinks the last option is the loneliest and the most bittersweet

to know that love is somewhere out there, but never be able to truly feel it and share it with someone else

maybe donghyuck empathizes so much with the last category of people because all cupids, including himself, are in that category as well

cupids only enable humans’ love lives, their own are not considered in the matchmaking process that the higher ups are in charge of

“Y/N has been going to lover’s pond lately,” kun starts by giving donghyuck your case file, a big red heart pictured with a black diagonal line through it on the front, “they don’t have any compatible options left, but they still throw a quarter in the pond every single day” kun chuckles

lover’s pond is found in a small park in a little, uneventful town

but the name of the fountain and the purpose that the townspeople gave it attracted the cupids’ attention

every year on valentine’s day, couples and non-couples alike stop by the pond and make a wish

to find love, or to keep love, or to grieve love

the pond isn’t used that much during the rest of the year, so donghyuck is surprised to hear that someone has been making wishes everyday

he opens your file, immediately taking note of how cute you look in your picture, and reading through your information

“find them a hobby to enjoy, or maybe inspire a purpose in them... but stop them from wishing into that fountain. it’s hopeless.” kun states, turning his chair to face his sleek white computer and starts working on whatever it is that cupid managers work on

his last words ring in donghyuck’s mind

for a hopeless case like yours, the only thing donghyuck can do is make you fall in love with something rather than someone

maybe he can get you to enjoy painting? or maybe he can convince you to fall in love with charity work? something beneficial to society...

the more donghyuck thinks about his new position, the more he can’t help but feel a little hopeless himself

he travels to your town on the day before valentine’s day, when he knew you would stop at the pond after work to make your wish

like clockwork, you show up to the edge of the pond and close your eyes, making a wish and throwing a coin in

since you usually head straight home after making your wish, you surprise donghyuck and yourself by sitting down on a park bench nearby and stare at the pond as the sun sets behind you, the street lights slowly turning on one by one

“what did you wish for?” donghyuck makes his approach, startling you a bit

“excuse me?” you can’t deny how beautiful the man in front of you looks

ethereal, like he was kissed by apollo himself

“I always see you around here...” donghyuck waves his hand in the general direction of the pond so that he doesn’t have to look at your face while telling the half-lie

“it’s nice here.” you muse, leaning back in your seat and closing your eyes

donghyuck understands what you mean

the pond is huge, big enough to house fish that swim languidly, but small enough that you can see the other side of the pond easily

a small fountain pours water down over it’s curves and back into the pond on one side

on the other side is where people throw in their coins when they make their wish, and where you and donghyuck are currently conversing

“so, you didn’t answer my question, what did you wish for?” donghyuck makes his way closer to you, hoping he isn’t scaring you

he can’t help but notice how beautiful you look

not necessarily your facial features, or how your hair rests over your forehead, or how your sweater hugs your neck nicely (although those are definitely things he noticed)

but rather the way you look so calm and composed, like you love where you are right now and how time seems to not exist for you

“if I tell you, will it still come true?”

“I don’t see why not?” at his words, you open your eyes and turn to him

“I wished that this park could be a little cleaner. I wished that the lady who runs the flower shop I work at would get more customers because she loves making bouquets. I wished that my work friend could dump her boyfriend already because she’s not happy with him at all.” you say, the words rolling off your tongue so smoothly, donghyuck knows that you’re not lying

“why didn’t you wish anything for yourself?” at this point, he’s no longer doing his job, but just generally curious about this case file-

this person

“what use would that be? I come here everyday, if I wished for myself all of those times I would have no more things to wish for. it’s better to make a wish for people you love than for yourself, anyways.” you lean back to your earlier position, eyes closed and breathing in the fresh air

you obviously thought you warded off this stranger’s curiosity with your answer, but donghyuck stands in his spot, more grounded than warded off at this point

he glances around him, the people who were all walking home when he first arrived are gone and the park is nearly empty

he materializes his bow while he takes a few steps forward (he cannot afford to miss this shot or else kun will have his head), nocks the arrow, pulls his arm back, points and aims right at your chest....

but he doesn’t release

he can’t release

he can’t just write you off in your little manilla folder as “new purpose: cleaning a park”

not when you’re genuinely one of the most thoughtful and beautiful humans donghyuck has been in contact with in a while

(and donghyuck has been in contact with A LOT of humans)

he holds his bow, still aiming it at your chest, his mind a mess and his fingers unwilling to let go

and he makes his decision: he’ll let you be

but it feels wrong to not release his arrow, so he aims it past you into a group of pigeons

but of course, donghyuck’s aim sucks

and when he releases, the wind blows just right and his aim is just off by a few centimeters that the arrow lands in your shoulder rather than somewhere in the group of pigeons

the arrow disappears the second it touches you, making donghyuck gasp in surprise and his bow dissipate from his grasp

he is four steps away

HOW DID HE MISS????

the sensation startles you into opening your eyes, and donghyuck’s gasp makes you turn to face him

the first thing you see is not lover’s pond, not the park that needs to be cleaned, not some random object on the other side of the area

you see donghyuck

and donghyuck sees you

“by the way, my name in Y/N.”

why does donghyuck not feel guilty for making you fall in love with him?

why does donghyuck love how you look at him with interest and intrigue?

maybe the wind didn’t blow just right and maybe his aim wasn’t just off by a few centimeters

maybe somewhere deep in his subconscious, he meant to hit you

........ or maybe his aim is just downright horrible

but if he’s banished from his cupid job...

maybe it’ll be worth it if you stick around him

“oh... I’m donghyuck.”

he’s missed a lot of shots in his career

but this one is by far the best mistake of his life

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astralnct-blog · 6 years

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pirouette.

> fluff !!

——————————————————

“no, no. you’re supposed to lead the turn with your knee, not your shoulders, renjun.”

jaemin corrected, seeing renjun hop a bit in the second turn. .

“you know i’m bad at double pirouettes, jaemin.” renjun pouted.

“yeah, and that’s why i’m trying to help you, dumbass.” jaemin retorted, laughing as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“okay, once more. from the top!”

renjun had been chosen to compete with the piece kitri act II, which consisted of many turns.

jaemin, on the other hand, was competing with the piece cupid, which involved sharp, small and quick movements.

the problem was, renjun’s double pirouettes weren’t..the best.

and that’s putting it lightly, in jaemin’s opinion.

“jaemin, help me move the separate barre to the other studio! the girls need it!” ten yelled, snapping the brunette back to reality.

he shook his head, smiling gently at renjun. “keep practicing while i’m gone, okay?”

renjun nodded, his attention already on his image in the mirror as he practiced his passès.

——————————————————

around 15 minutes passed and jaemin came back with plastic containers of fruit.

“sorry i took so long. they made us buy fruit salads downstairs too.”

renjun didn’t hear him, his eyebrows knitted together with frustration.

“hey, you okay, buddy?” jaemin asked, suddenly noticing his expression.

the chinese boy let out a shaky breath. “i can’t do it right. what happens if i compete? i’ll be a laughingstock, nana! i can’t embarrass myself in front of all those people!”

“woah, woah, woah. calm down, jun.”

jaemin immediately gripped renjun’s shoulders and pivoted him around to look at him.

“you’re not gonna be a laughingstock. not on my watch. i’m going to make sure you’re the best performer there. don’t lose hope.”

blinking rapidly, renjun looked up, as if to prevent tears from falling from his eyes.

jaemin frowned. he wasn’t the type of person to let his fears get to him. it’s the first time in 4 years he’s seen renjun like this.

“don’t cry. i’m here to help you. trust me.”

the gentle tone of his voice and his reassuring words made him nod.

“okay.”

jaemin smiled. “let’s get to it.”

——————————————————

“and one, and two, and, three, and turn!”

renjun had managed to go through the choreography smoothly until the last turn came around.

“woah-“

“i got you.”

before renjun could fall down during his double turn, jaemin stood up and took long strides to get to him, holding him steadily by the waist.

“you alright?” jaemin asked as renjun slowly balanced himself and stood on both feet.

renjun nodded, shaking his legs a bit.

“it’s hopeless, jaemin. i’ll never be able to polish the turn.”

jaemin, in response, sighed.

“yes, you can. what do i have to do to convince you?”

“hmm, maybe a little kiss?”

jaemin was taken aback and he felt warmth creep up his cheeks.

“i-if that’s what it takes.”

he planted a small kiss on the older boy’s cheek, blushing madly after doing so.

this time, renjun turned pink.

“i-i was just k-kidding..”

great. you just embarrassed yourself, na jaemin.

——————————————————

they went through the choreography once more, the two still feeling flustered from what had just happened.

“and one, and, two, and turn!”

miraculously, renjun had done a clean double pirouette, landing with his arms in a proper, diagonal line with his legs in a wide, fourth position.

he rose from his ending pose in a v-plus position and his arms in demi-seconde before taking a small bow.

“oh, my god. i did it!”

renjun grabbed jaemin’s hands and began jumping around, all smiles as he basked in the glory of his achievement.

“i’m so proud of you!!”

out of sheer happiness, renjun planted a quick, firm kiss on jaemin’s lips, smiling brightly.

jaemin let go of renjun, extremely flustered by the action.

“wh-what was that for?!”

“it was a thank you kiss.” he replied casually.

“you’re pretty dense, nana. can’t believe you only noticed now.”

renjun laughed as he picked up his duffel bag.

“i really like you. let’s meet up for coffee soon, ‘kay? i’ll text you.”

and he stepped out, leaving jaemin in the studio, a blushing, stuttering mess.

#nct dream #renmin #fluff #dance #ballet #this was so damn cute #au #nct #ballerina

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