✨ 🎀 𝒮𝒲𝐹𝟤 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 🎀 ✨ || SWF2 imagines

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 || 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐲-𝐲 ✔

When you hear that Funky-Y became a professor at an arts university, you don't let the fact that you're an accomplished dancer stop you from enrolling in her course.

On the first day, Funky-Y struts in like the gorgeous queen she is.

"Hello professor," you all say.

Funky-Y gives a warm smile. "I'm new here," she says elegantly. "Be nice."

She's greeted with a chorus of, "Of course, ssaem"s and "How would we dare, ssaem". Judging by the easy banter between them, a couple of people in this course have taken Funky-Y's lessons before. You're gripped with a fit of jealousy, but not for long.

"Now, let's get started with today's lesson."

It takes you less than three minutes to find out that heel dance is not your genre. You find it hard to walk, let alone dance. As you struggle through the moves, you glance longingly at Funky-Y's star pupils, who seem to be having a good time. You wish you had not only their intimate connection with Funky-Y, but also their ability to balance on these impossibly high heels.

When class ends, people pack their heels and leave. Embarrassed, you're one of the very first ones to leave in a rush, so you don't notice Funky-Y looking at you as you flee from class.

The next day, your wish to see Funky-Y is the sole reason you trudge back to class. This time, however, she catches you by surprise.

"Y/n? See me after class." With that, she walks away to supervise other students.

How did she already know my name? Then, it hits you. You were probably so bad, she decided to remove you from class. Yes, that must be it.

Thinking this is the last class you'll ever have with her, you spend the rest of the lesson gazing at her. No one's really suspicious since, well, she's the professor and they're supposed to look at her moves and copy her.

When everyone files out after class, you brace yourself for the inevitable, but: "I've seen you struggle. So after every class, I'm going to give you pointers until you get the hang of it."

She teaches you the basics. The walking. The strutting. As you do so, she wraps her arms around you from behind and guides her delicate fingers to your hips, making sure they're moving the right way. You feel her breath on your neck, and try to focus by looking at yourself in the mirror. Her long strands of hair tickle you.

After the session, you say, "Thank you, professor."

She smiles. "Call me Funky-Y."

Day after day, you and Funky-Y stay together after class, dancing. More often than not, you find yourself flushing at the contact. One day, you look in the mirror wall and find Funky-Y blushing, too. She catches your eye in the mirror and looks away, her long hair concealing her face.

After months, you've gotten pretty competent at heel dancing, enough so that you don't need extra lessons. You know that, and Funky-Y does too. But still, the two of you dance together, the choreographed pieces now become more and more intimate.

It was the final class of semester. You end up beneath her, legs spread wide in splits and huffing, after a particularly challenging and provocative piece of choreography. Her face is inches from yours, her blonde hair falling in a curtain around your face. Her fingers brush against your bare thighs, making you shiver against the hard floor. Her soft lips part to release a heated breath down your neck.

As if she realised what position the two of you are in, she suddenly raises herself off the floor. The sudden loss of contact draws away her warmth, and all you feel is the cold seeping in from the floor.

She starts packing, face still flushed, and you get up from the floor to see her head to the exit.

You wonder if she's going to leave you just like that, but then she turns, the most beautiful look you've ever seen.

"Call me Eunji."

And with that, starts a new chapter in your life: your girlfriend, Eunji.