#Ballet Dance Classes for Beginners | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cellophaine · 4 months ago

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Chapter I: En Avant

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: The first chapter is finally here!! I'm very excited to bring this new series to you. It's what I've been thinking about for a few months now. It came to me while I was still working on A Languor Spell, and now I can give it my full attention. Thank you for your patience! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter!

P/S: This is my first time writing in present tense, so if there's any mistake please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional ballet dancer. I'm an adult beginner, and I've been taking classes consistently for over a year now. I just want to say that the series isn't written with the experience of a professional ballerina, but with my love for the art and the extensive research that I've done and will continue to do. I don't choose to write the Reader as a ballerina because of the aesthetic, but because I think there are so many things to explore in the original story that I've come up with, with the Reader being in the industry.

GIF Source: @/petertingle-yipyip

There has always been an emptiness residing within the frame of your body. In the absence of your old life, it has grown expeditiously. It carves into your body and makes a home in the forefront of your mind. On worse days, you feel as if anyone can see at first glance, how incomplete of a person you are. On better days, like today, you can hide it well, even from your closest friend. But right now, sitting in a dimly lit bar across from the friend you have known since you moved to this city at 18, you feel the person you're supposed to be has taken your anatomy apart. You're disembodied, scattered, and fractional.

Jo notices your silence and reaches over the table, laying her hand atop yours.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Jo’s proposal. How can you not think about it? It has never left your mind ever since she mentioned it. Her newly acquired gym could be a place for you to get back to dancing in complete privacy. And you won’t have to pay a dime.

“I spruced up the place a little bit and will be adding more equipment. I can get whatever you need so it can be a proper space for you to practice.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Jo casts a sympathetic look at you, her voice careful.

“How’s your foot?”

You flex and point the right foot under the table, recalling the phantom pain that was your consistent companion for the most part of last year.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you still seeing Amy?”

“Of course. She’d bite my head off if I missed our appointment.”

You share a knowing chuckle, knowing Amy's personality. You know her through Jo, and they dated briefly in college. The two stayed friends afterward. After leaving Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre, your physical health was left to your own management. Your gaps of knowledge were filled in by Amy, a physical therapist who stepped in and offered her help voluntarily when Jo mentioned your situation. You still meet biweekly at her practice in Harlem, and the three of you hang out from time to time.

“Come to my gym.”

She hastily continues once she sees the decline perches on your pressed lips.

“It’s free.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll have to get a barre, and the flooring might not be suitable–“

“I don’t care about the cost. I just want to do this for you. Let someone do a nice thing for you every once in a while.”

You meet her eyes, resisting her act of kindness with silence. You know how to pick your battles, and this is the one you have lost from the start, judging by Jo's stern gaze. You sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

A victory smile graces her lips.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Jo leans into the table, her hand reaching for yours.

“I want to see you dance on the stage again. You’re a beautiful ballerina, and I know this is not the end for you.”

You know she means well, but her words feel like claws, sinking their sharp ends into your heart. You haven't danced since the injury, and a part of you knows that you might never dance as well as you once did. The best version of you had lived that life to its fullest potential, the life of endless classes and rehearsals, soldout shows, ending many nights and seasons to the deafening cheers from the audience. Your current self is only a shadow, living a partial existence and mourning the past as time passes and your grasp on it weakens.

You want the endless optimism Jo seems to possess. She’s always so assertive in everything she does. From her university days pursuing a bachelor's degree in sports science to her boxing competition days to buying a gym, she has a sense of self-assurance that carries her throughout the years you've known her ever since you became roommates when you first moved to New York. And you admire that about her endlessly. Her goals might vary, but her passion for them never wavers. Her faith in you seems to share the same sentiment.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, hoping your face doesn't betray your true thoughts. Jo squeezes your hand and lets go. She checks her wristwatch, and with a silent glance, you understand that she has to leave. Jo meets you as you stand up from your side of the booth, drawing you into a crushing hug.

“Will you be okay here?”

She pulls back. You smile and pat her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to finish my drink.”

She takes a step backward as she waves.

“Good luck tomorrow!”

You raise your hand in response and watch her tall and brawny frame vanish through the door. You drop your arm, but you don't sit down. Taking a discreet glance at the bar, your heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the sight of the stranger you noticed earlier when you bought the drinks.

As you waited for your drinks, he came in and settled for a spot at the bar. The lady whose name you learned earlier, Josie, greeted him, asking where his friends were, so you assumed he was a regular. He was good-looking, you admitted before finding yourself staring at him. You averted your gaze, but couldn't help taking in other details. The folded cane rested on the bar top as Josie slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. The scarred knuckles as he brought it to his lush lips. The suit was pristine for the most part except for the minimal wrinkles from the day's wear and the loosened tie. The red-tinted glasses perched on his pronounced nose, under the tousled sweep of dark hair. The soft smile brightened his handsome face as the other bartender told him something, which you had to tear your eyes away from when Josie placed the drinks in front of you. You thanked her and headed back to your table, feeling a touch of disappointment in your throat.

There is no denying that you want to approach him. But your nerves intervene with all the questions. What if he rejected you? What if he thought you were a creep for approaching him? What if he just wanted to be left alone? He has been sitting by the bar by himself ever since he came in, you notice. You'd ask if you could join him, and possibly buy him a drink if he was up for it. If he said no, that'd be fine. You would respect his wish and leave him alone. You have a feeling you'd regret it if you didn't at least try.

You gulp down your drink for a little liquid courage and make your way over to the bar. Your heart rate accelerates the closer you get to him, but you are determined to get over the little hurdle. You stop within a conversational distance and use your best composed voice.

“Hi, may I join you?”

He turns in his seat and gives you a friendly smile.

“Of course not. Please do.”

The high chair is a comfortable and respectful distance away from his, but still close enough for a private conversation. The stranger has angled his body toward you, and his openness eases the knot in your stomach. At this distance, you can see that he is even more handsome up close. Heat seeps into your cheeks at the full comprehension of his handsomeness up close. The neon signs around help shape the shadows and highlights that are already there in his features. The strong jawline and defined nose blend in harmony with the soft hair and luscious lips. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his moving lips, and only a brief moment later you realize he has asked for your name.

You tell him and laugh nervously, blaming the lively ambience around you. He humours you with a chuckle of his own and reciprocates.

"Matt. Nice to meet you."

“Nice to meet you.”

He reaches out with a hand, and you grab it. Your heart beats a little faster at the feel of his hand, warm and a little rough. You pull away first, conscious of the coldness of your hand. You eye his almost empty glass.

“Would you like another drink?”

“If that makes you stay with me for the rest of the evening, I’d love one.”

Charming. You allow an amused and breathy chuckle to escape, and order another fill of your drinks. When Josie turns away to make them, Matt asks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?”

You think about it for a moment.

“This is not really a celebration since I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

“When is the interview?”

“It's … tomorrow.”

His brows raise above the glasses.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. It’s been a while since my last normal job.”

“What were you doing before?”

Josie puts down the drinks in front of you.

“I’m a– I was a ballerina.”

“Was?”

You run a finger over the cool and smooth edge of the glass, taking a moment to tell a stranger about one of your worst shame.

“I haven’t danced professionally in over a year."

“May I ask why?"

The edge of his lips settles into a neutral line. No pity, just a willingness to listen. It is exactly what you need.

“Yes, but it's just … complicated.”

“How so?”

The old life that you once lived feels so out of your grasp now. Besides the occasional flareups, most mornings, you get up with minimal or no degree of soreness or pain, and you fear that signals the end of your life as a ballerina.

Retirement in your late twenties wasn't something you thought of when you were 18, fresh out of high school with an offer letter from Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre. Moving from a small, sylvan town to a big, lively city like New York was a dream come true. You got to live out the life your younger self used to dream about. How wonderful it was. Dancing on the big stage before the bright stage lights in front of the audience. The early classes, late stage calls, costume fittings, and demanding rehearsals leading up to the shows were all worth it. Because when you got to dance, it was just you and the music. Your body knew the techniques, learned the steps and how to master them. You bent music with your carefully crafted movements and turned the piece into your own interpretation. You worked hard on your craft and artistic abilities, and you thought that it paid off with your promotion from corps de ballet to the first soloist assembly after six years.

But for Matt's sake, you don't go into any of that.

“Well … being a principal dancer in my old company is a great honour since we're– they're much smaller than the American Ballet Theatre, New York City Ballet, etc … There were, and still are, only two dancers in that role. They were Christine and Guilherme. Christine'd been with the company since the early days. Many people came to the shows to see her dance. She and Guilherme brought in so many loyal audiences and sponsors over the years. So you can imagine what a big deal it was when Christine decided to retire."

He nods, his understanding and inclination to follow the story are apparent.

"Roger, the artistic director, wanted to appoint a first soloist, which is just a step below principal, to take over in her place. I was a soloist, and I was Christine's understudy for a few years until her retirement. I performed when she couldn't, when she needed to reserve her strength for important shows, on top of the roles I had to prepare and perform in those productions. So I thought it was my opportunity to get that promotion, you know? I always brought my best to work, and I pushed myself even harder that season to prove that I have what it takes to be a principal dancer. I was in and out of classes, rehearsals, and performances every day for over three months. On the days we had two shows a day, oftentimes I'd have to perform in both so Christine could have a break."

Matt listens intently, following your words with an attentiveness that you find endearing.

“In the final week of Sleeping Beauty, I had this pain along my heel. But I ignored it and pushed through out of fear that they would dismiss me. At that point, they already had a favourite. One of the directors even told me that I should quit while I was ahead and that I should be happy staying as a soloist."

You swallow the lump in your throat and go on.

"I couldn't take my bow that night, because as soon as my part was done and I went behind the stage, I passed out. It turned out I got an Achilles rupture.

“I had the surgery and was in a boot for a while. I was so desperate to show them my dedication and how good I was by going back to the studio just the day after they allowed me to go without the boot. And I made the injury worse. I was admitted for a partial rupture a week later.”

You thought you could do it. Bearing and hiding the pain so you would stand out as the best selection for the new principal dancer. Yet, all of that hard work didn’t matter in the end. It never mattered the moment Claudia Mavis signed a contract with Lady Liberty.

“In the hospital, Roger told me that he decided to promote Claudia, even though by that point she had been with the company for only one season. Then, I found out that Claudia left her previous company because they wouldn’t promote her. But here's the funniest part. After class one day, Claudia told me that they offered her a new contract two weeks before my accident. So I never had the chance in the first place."

You chuckle bitterly, remembering the tightness of your chest when you found out.

"They announced Christine's replacement at the last show of the season. Roger expected me to continue my duties as a soloist and an understudy for Claudia. But I just … couldn't do it. So I quit.”

“I’m sure when you come back to it, you will still be amazing.”

You don't even try to hide the disbelieving and playful scoff that escapes.

“You're just flattering me.”

There's not a trace of that cocky confidence of a man who thinks he just scores big with a woman because of a throwaway, vague statement he thinks will please her.

“I mean it. I enjoy music and dance performances in a way most can’t. When I really pay attention, I can hear … movements. The rhythm of someone’s feet striking the ground in time with the music when done right is beautiful. The way you talk about ballet shows me how much you truly care for the art. Like you live and breathe it.”

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth in quiet contemplation before answering him.

“I did. It was a big part of my life.”

“It still can be.”

You let out a noncommittal hum.

"We'll see."

You took sips of your respective drinks, allowing the moment to reset itself. But Matt isn't quite done with the questions. You give him the go-ahead.

"Why ballet?"

“I just love the duality of it. We're supposed to look graceful and effortless while our blisters have blisters, our toes are bleeding, our legs are cramping. We have to dance through all of that and much worse. I like the pain sometimes. It means that I’m doing it right.”

“I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

The quip takes you by surprise, but you quickly recover.

"Huh. I usually don't reveal that information to anyone until I'm ready to sleep with them."

Matt's tongue licks at his bottom lip, amused by your response.

"Maybe we are just that compatible."

Maybe it is the alcohol that makes you a little lightheaded, but the conversation has taken on a flirty turn, and you lean into each other's space, sharing a bashful, quiet laugh.

The person who took the seat next to yours when you were in the middle of your story bumps into you from behind, pushing you further into Matt's space. They apologize, and you tell them it's fine. The bar top has grown a little more crowded with new visitors. You think about what you could do to make some space when Matt reaches out and pulls your chair closer, so close that your knees touch. The contact is minimal, yet insistent, and you can't help the heat that races to your skin and the wild rhythms of your heart. Even your internal self admits that was the hottest thing Matt has done so far.

You clear your thoughts, focusing on the man sitting so much closer to you now.

“I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been talking about myself for the past hour.”

“No, don't stop. I like it. You have a beautiful voice.”

If he kept this going, you would need to check yourself for a fever. You clear your throat.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I have our own practice here in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Wow, that's amazing. What do you specialize in?”

“A little bit of everything. We started out representing people who can’t afford the legal service. Pro bono work basically. We still do that, but we have been getting more clients who can pay for our services.”

“Hm. It makes perfect sense. I can see that about you. The good guy.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You know the right questions to ask. You got me talking about myself for … way too long. And your face …”

You trail off. Almost two drinks have worked their magic on your unabashed honesty.

“My face?”

His plush lips lift in a curious smile.

“Yeah, your face. You made me feel … safe and welcome so I could tell my story. Your face stayed neutral when I went on and on about it. No pity or judgment. You looked like you really cared about me, or my case.”

“I do care about you. And for the record, I appreciate every detail you gave me.”

You know that he might say this just to please you, but his earnestness says otherwise.

“Thank you. I needed that. Not many people care about me, especially after my fallout with the company.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

Matt puts a hand on yours on the bar top. You stared at his scarred knuckles, your heart beating along the seam of your body with a slight increase in rhythm. Your hand itched to weave itself into his, to lay flat against the warmth of his palm. As if your body has thrown caution to the wind and wants to do just exactly what it wants to, your pointer finger moves involuntarily. He pulls his hand back, an apology on his lips.

“I’m sorry–“

“No, don’t.”

You reach out with the other hand and keep Matt there. You run your thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him, to tell him that this is okay. You want this. The additional contact exhilarates you, as you haven't felt another’s touch that isn't from Jo or Amy in a long time. Dating has always been the last thing on your mind, especially in the past year. But right here, right now, being with Matt is easy. There is no pressure. No hindrance. Even though you've met only for two hours, Matt has listened to you. He takes a soft and shaky breath, and your eyes follow the way his chest slightly expands.

Your pointer finger traces the raised edges of his scars, and he lets you. The air seems to thin as your pulse drums a frantic beat under your skin.

“Do you beat people up in your client’s honour?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

You chuckle, and you lean into him as if you can't help yourself. The world has gone quiet around you, and the only thing left on your mind is to have his lips on yours. Your voice is only a breath above a whisper, and you're afraid Matt might miss it entirely amongst the loud voices of others.

“Can I kiss you?’’

He releases a sharp exhale as if he has been waiting for you to utter those words all evening.

“Please.”

You lean in, carefully, slowly. His lips slightly part in an open invitation, and you meet in the middle. The touch is gentle, soft tissues overlap in slow, indulgent caresses. Simple, yet it invokes a craving in you. The need for him to be even closer, the yearning to find out the taste of him. Matt touches your jaw, and draws you in closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself go. Eager, perching on the territory of desperation as the pressure on your lips grows more insistently. You're entangled in an exhilarating chase, circling around each other like you simply can't resist the pull that's been there since the moment you sat down. Matt silently asks for entry at the seam of your lips, and you respond in kind. His tongue strokes yours and suddenly, there is a new kind of invisible vapour that you're breathing in. It's overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. You can taste the bitterness of the whisky that makes you wince on normal occasions, but on Matt's tongue, it's addictive and inexplicably irresistible. His air runs wild in your lungs, warming your body from the inside, awakening your nerves.

You break away at the sound of a teasing whistle clearly directed at you, reminding you of where you are. Matt’s face is flushed red, and you want to see how far down the colour goes under the suit and tie he's wearing. His hand is still on your jaw, gently caressing the line like he doesn't want to let go. And you don't want to let him go either.

“Can we go back to your place?”

The question rolls off your tongue, and he nods immediately, a little breathlessly. You stand up from your chairs at the same time. Matt reaches for his coat that is on the back of the chair. You shrug your own on and avert your gaze when Matt subtly adjusts his slacks. You put the bills down for your drinks, shutting Matt down when he objects to the idea. His hand find yours when you offer it to him, and you walk into the brisk air together.

The walk back didn't take too long. Matt held your hand the whole time, and the small gesture made your insides flutter. He lets you go when you reach his apartment. The unit number 6A has almost faded into the dark door. He unlocks the door and tells you where the light switch is. You turn it on, and place your coat in his awaiting palm. You follow him further into the apartment and take in the space.

“Who did you kill to get this place?”

Matt chuckles, discarding his tie with one hand.

“No killing involved. The neon sign out there is enough to chase people away.”

Your gaze falls on the giant, blinking advertisement outside the window.

“Nothing a few blackout curtains won't fix.”

He drapes the black tie on the back of the couch as you turn to the other side of the apartment.

“Do those stairs lead to the rooftop?”

“Yes, they do.”

You keep your back to him.

"Do you go up there often?"

"From time to time."

"This is … wow."

You're not sure why you're stalling. You pretend to look around as you try to brush off a nagging feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Just the nerves, you think. You're out of practice, that's all.

So you clear your throat and say.

“Is your bedroom behind that bigger sliding door?”

He nods. You feel a little out of place, so you gravitate towards him, a familiar presence in a strange space. Matt lets you come to him, giving you all the control. You lean in and attach your lips to his, allowing it to follow the natural progression as it did back at Josie's. Your legs tangle and stumble towards the bedroom, your lips never too far away from one another. You think you might hit the closed door, but before that can happen, Matt pulls you flush against his body with one hand and uses the other to slide the door open in one smooth, practiced move. You pull away when you need to catch your breath.

“May I …”

You touch the side of his glasses. After a quiet moment, he gives you permission to take them, and you do. Slowly, and with the utmost care you can manage, you set them on the bedside table. His eyes are closed when you straighten. You caress his cheek, feeling the way his features form together. Your touch is soothing, and you hope he can feel the patience you offer to him. There is no rush, no pressure. After a long moment, Matt opens his eyes, and you take them in. You can see how he tries to meet your eyes in his own way. The shade of hazel is shrouded by the low light and the occasional shutter of his eyelids.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

You raise slightly on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, feeling his lashes fluttering softly. He waits for you to return to him, and seeks out your lips in a delicate manner.

You fall onto the bed together. Matt braces himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You pull his head down to yours, kissing and nibbling on the stretch of stubble along his jaw. His soft groans of approval encourage the other hand to travel downward, pulling on the white dress shirt. Once it's free from the slacks, you weave your hand inside and run your palm along the expanse of his torso. The dips and raises of his well-defined abs are warm under your palm, and the sensation stokes the molten liquid that's nestling deep inside you. You feel the feverish need edging over that part of you that you want to ignore.

The gradual pullback doesn't feel like a rejection at first, but merely an invitation to follow. So you do, your hands work to unbutton his shirt. But Matt slows you down to a stop, holding your hands to his lips and placing kisses on your palms. You blink, still snarled in the haze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Confronted. The only word that can describe accurately how you're feeling.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your heart …”

His hand trails from your collarbone to your chest where your heart resides within in a way that feels strangely intimate and not at all invasive. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. It's pounding. You are more nervous about this than you thought.

“… is beating quite fast. Are you nervous?”

You're safe. It's an innate feeling, and while you can't explain it, you know lying to Matt serves no purpose here. He seems to have a way to read you without using his sight.

“Yes, a little bit. I haven’t done this before. Sleeping with a stranger, I mean.”

“I see. We don’t have to do this.”

You raise yourself on your elbows.

“No, I wanted to go back here, with you. I want this.”

“But it doesn’t mean you owe me anything. If you change your mind for whatever reason, I'm okay with that as well."

Matt presses a kiss to your forehead.

"We can always try this again at another time.”

Guilt claws at you, urging you to do anything to please him.

“I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong signal.”

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He tries to find your hand, and you offer it to him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I had a good time with a beautiful woman, then I got to kiss her, all in one night, and that's enough.”

You guffaw, throwing your head back at the blatant flirt.

“You don’t even know how I look like.”

“No, I don’t. But I have my own way to tell. You sound beautiful.”

An idea materializes in your mind, and you give in to it. You bring his hand to your face, trailing along the side of your face. He gets the hint and begins his own exploration of your features. The way he takes his time, following the slopes of your face, his touch gentle, ghosting over your skin. He stops at your lips and soothes his thumb over the kiss-swollen flesh. You sigh softly. He gives you one last kiss, his tenderness makes your heart soar.

“Would you like something comfortable to sleep in?”

“I'm fine with anything you have.”

Matt finds his closet and pulls out a grey sweatshirt. He tells you where the bathroom is, and you take the folded shirt with you. You clean yourself up with water before stripping down to your underwear. You put the soft material over your body. It smells like him, and soft, just like him. You come out of the washroom and see his bare back for a split second before he pulls the shirt down. He has changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his chest and biceps beautifully.

You stand by his bed, not sure where you can come in despite the two of you ruffling the sheets not even ten minutes ago. Matt chooses for you, settling on the space facing the window, leaving you the side which is closer to the sliding door. His sheets are silky soft, and you feel yourself sinking right into them. You turn to face Matt, touching his shoulder. He faces you fully, his eyes settling on a point on the lower part of your face.

“Thank you.”

You whisper.

“Thank me by staying for breakfast.”

“Why breakfast?”

“I can't send you off to your interview on an empty stomach, can I? It's the least I can do.”

A rueful smile graces your lips.

“I can’t wait.”

You fell asleep with ease. At one point during the night, you could feel Matt detach himself from you, and out of a vague desperation that you couldn't process, you held tighter onto him involuntarily. At that, he stopped moving, and you felt a soothing pattern trailing over your head, luring you back to sleep again. His warmth carried you through the few hours that you slept.

It's a little past 4 AM when you wake, and find Matt still sleeping peacefully. Torn, but you come to accept that leaving is for the best. You get out of bed gently, thankful that the wooden floor didn't make a noise. You take his sweatshirt off and fold it, putting it on top of the pillow that you slept on. After putting on the clothes from the night before, you leave with much regret in your heart.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

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systlin · 1 year ago

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In other news, am doing something that I've wanted to for a long time and taking an adult ballet class with one of my friends!

It's a beginner class. TECHNICALLY I'm not a beginner because I took dance as a kid, but it has been 25 years and I have practiced zero times in those 25 years so I might as well be a beginner.

I always liked the ballet bit, but not the tap or jazz dance, and I didn't know any place offered adult classes until recently. First class is tonight and I'm excited!

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sandywritesfics · 22 days ago

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Dance To My Heart

After joining a dance class, the star dance student catches your eye, and she's grateful that she did.

Mina x Fem!Reader

Fluff, Light Angst, Panic Attack, Anxiety

4,254 words

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I sat at a traffic light, resting my chin on the steering wheel as I scanned the world outside my car windows. My eyes caught a building advertising dance classes on the second floor. The prospect of learning to dance seemed like a fun way to fill my free time with some sort of exercise. "I should go check it out tomorrow," I said to myself as I made my way home from work.

The next day, I walked into the dance studio to inquire about its classes. I opened the door during the middle of a class and was invited by the instructor to sit on the side to watch. I bowed as I took the opportunity to watch how the classes were run. I scanned the room and saw a window that displayed some of the trophies the dance studio had won. I was impressed by the number of trophies on display. Many of them read 'Ballet' on the base where a plaque was placed, but there were a variety of dance categories engraved on each trophy. I sat on the ground to watch the students as they practiced a dance routine.

That's when I saw her. She was extremely immersed in the routine. Her strong yet gentle gaze went over her own movements in the reflection of the mirrored wall they danced in front of. My eyes were glued to her, and I couldn't help but stare. As she looked at her reflection, her eyes caught mine. I looked away, embarrassed, and played it off by watching the rest of the students go over the routine with the instructor's help.

The music stopped as the instructor clapped to gain everyone's attention. She was going to teach the next part of the routine. My eyes fell on the student again. She stood up straight, shifting her weight to one side as she listened to the instructor's directions. Step by step, the instructor went over the motions, and she followed along immediately.

Again, they practiced the moves and after the class had the moves down, the instructor played the music to accompany the dance.

"Alright, here we go. Five, six, seven, eight," she counted off as she began dancing along, with the students following her moves.

I watched as some of the students fumbled or missed a step, wondering how I would compare to them. Then my eyes found her again. Her movements were precise. Her transitions, smooth. She nailed every move as the instructor had taught it. I snapped my head away, not wanting to get caught a second time. As the dancers stopped, so did the music.

"Alright everyone, let's take a break and we'll go over everything again before moving on." The instructor announced to the class. They dispersed to the side I was watching from, taking their water bottles to rehydrate and converse amongst each other.

The instructor waved me over. I got to my feet to meet her.

“So, what do you think of the class? Is it something you’re interested in?” She asked.

I looked back to the students, who mostly seemed younger than me, except for a few others, the girl included. “Is this an all-ages class?” I asked.

She smiled at me, “This one is our general class, which, yes, does include some middle school-aged students,” she explained to me. “It has a mixture of students with different experiences and levels of skill.”

I nod in interest, responding to her explanation.

“These classes are usually held Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at 6 pm for the school kids, but we do have some classes for older students, whichever fits your schedule. As you can see, there are older students in this class, like Mina.” The instructor motions to the student I had been staring at. “Mina is also in our advanced classes, so if you want something more challenging, that’s an option for you.”

“Oh no, I’m just a beginner,” I waved my hands to decline the offer, “I was just curious about this class.”

“Well, just know there are options,” she explained, “But I do suggest you start with this class if you are just starting.”

I nodded in agreement. “So when can I start?”

“I’m glad you’re so eager to start,” she smiled at my enthusiasm, “You can start this Thursday if you’d like.”

“Alright,” I bowed eagerly, “Thank you so much. I’ll be here on Thursday.”

The instructor smiled, “Of course. Oh, and if you want, you can watch till the end of this class.” She began to make her way to the front of the class, “Granted, you have the time to stay and watch.”

My eyes widened, “I would love to, but I should get going.” I bowed and started to head out. I drove home excited to start something new.

Thursday dragged on longer than usual as I excitedly waited for my shift to end. Nearing the end of my shift, I looked at my bag, which I had packed some gym clothes into before work. The clock ticked down the minutes until it hit 5. I clocked out quickly and headed to the bathroom to change into my gym clothes. “This should be fine, right?” I asked myself as I looked over my gym clothes.

I psych myself up as I stand at the foot of the stairs that lead to the studio. I walk up the stairs and stand at the door. My first day. It’s always the most exciting and nerve-wracking day. I walked into the studio and saw the students sitting by the storage cubbies in the nook by the door. They seemed more interested in their conversations than in the new face that walked in. I was relieved that I wasn’t being stared at and set my bag down in a cubby.

I noticed that the girl, Mina, if I remembered correctly, was sitting with the older students, already stretching. She nodded as they spoke to her and smiled as they conversed, seemingly enjoying themselves.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself as I waited for the class to start, so I just sat in an open area by myself. To my relief, the instructor gathered everyone moments after I sat down.

“Alright everyone, I’m sure you’ve noticed the new face in the crowd,” she motioned to me. “She’ll be joining our class as a beginner, so please make her feel welcome.”

I bowed as the students turned to face me with smiling faces. I felt less intimidated when I saw the friendly faces greeting me. The introduction was brief as we went right into warming up with stretches.

I was amazed at the varying levels of flexibility, all surpassing mine, which was to be expected. But I couldn’t help but compare myself to everyone else. Some, like Mina, were doing full splits with ease. Others were closer to the ground than I was. As we proceeded with the stretches, I found myself stretching muscles I didn’t know I had.

After stretching our bodies out, we went into a freestyle dance warm-up. I looked around the class, confused, not exactly sure what I was supposed to do. I felt a tap on my arm and turned around to see a young girl.

“Don’t worry,” she reassures me, “It’s really easy. Just move your body however you want.” She shook her arms out.

I looked over to Mina, who, instead of focusing on her reflection, smiled as she bounced along to the beat of the music. My heart fluttered when I saw the joy on her face. Hers was contagious, and I bobbed my head with her. The instructor counted down and the studio was filled with various movements. Some sharp and precise, others smooth and flowy. I stuck with sidestepping while watching everyone else dance out any stress or frustrations they had. Just by watching Mina, I knew she genuinely enjoyed dancing. Her smile never left her face as she moved effortlessly to the beat of the music, getting lost in a trance. Only once the freestyle ended did her face slowly return to the serious one I had seen a couple of days before.

The instructor was very helpful and easy to follow. She would help the students who weren’t getting the moves down and walked them through the movements. Since they were practicing a routine that they had already been working on, she paired me up with Mina to catch me up to speed.

“Hi, my name is Mina,” she extended her hand to me. “Nice to meet you.”

I shook her hand and gave her my name. “Nice to meet you, too. Thank you for your guidance.” I bowed.

She waved her hand, “Oh, no need to be so formal.” She brought me up from my bow. “We're about the same age, right?”

“Still, I’ll do my best.” I made a slight bow and welcomed her instruction. She led me through the motions and tried her best to simplify the movements. I caught on quickly, but my moves needed work.

“Alright everyone, let’s break for 5 minutes.” I went to get my water bottle when the younger students took interest and began to introduce themselves. Their curiosity compelled them to interrogate me. I happily answered, taking a glance at Mina, who also had her own flock of children surrounding her. She smiled warmly as the children rambled on.

“She’s really good.” One of the younger students stated as she noticed my gaze, “All those trophies by the window have her name on them, or well, most of them.”

“Is that so?” I look back at the student, “Well then, I’m in good hands.”

“Sometimes I think she gets overwhelmed and overworks herself too much.” Another student joined as she let out a heavy sigh, “I just wish she would take better care of herself.”

The younger student added, “But that’s why she’s the best we’ve got. She works so hard.”

I look back at Mina and also start to worry about her. The instructor calls us back to resume the lesson.

After the class was over, we were dismissed. I grabbed my bag and pulled it over my shoulder. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. This could become a good pastime. Before I left, I noticed Mina asking the instructor if she could stay a bit longer to practice. The instructor seemed a bit hesitant to allow her to stay, but ultimately agreed. Being the star student must be tough.

After a month of attending the classes, I felt as if my flexibility was improving with every practice. My coworkers even comment on how I seem to be losing some weight and how much more energetic I seem. My plan to find a fun exercise worked out. Not only that, but I have gotten closer to many of my classmates, including Mina. She always seemed to push herself to perfection, and the more I watched her, the more apparent that became. Her seemingly unexpressive face hid a hint of joy in her eyes as she danced. Whenever she would help me with the choreography, she had a hard time simplifying it so that I could follow along. Fortunately, I learned quickly and would happily accept her help, but the way she demonstrated the moves was precise and detail-oriented. I could tell she took pride in getting every detail correct. During breaks, I would sit with her and entertain the younger kids who would flock to us.

“Alright,” the instructor called everyone over, “As you all know, if you read the group messages, we're having a performance next month. We’ll be holding a class on the Sunday before the event to go over the program and run it through in its entirety.”

I looked over to Mina, excited when I noticed her face remained serious. I could see the excitement in her eyes. I smiled as it seemed I wasn’t the only one looking forward to the event.

“Make sure to take note of the dress code as well. I expect everyone to be here on time,” the instructor clapped to dismiss us.

During the month of the recital, everyone began to take practice more seriously. In the blink of an eye, the Sunday rehearsal came. We went through each number as if we were performing. The ballet number that came next included Mina and two other older students. They made their way to the center of the studio, getting into position. The music started, and the girls sprang to life. They elegantly moved, gliding through the space in the studio. I watched in awe, despite having seen the number multiple times through practice. I could see that Mina, despite concentrating on the number, was enjoying herself. It seemed like things were going smoothly until Mina rolled her ankle during one of the jumps.

“I’m fine,” Mina responded as she got back up and went back into position before wincing at the weight put on her ankle.

The instructor stopped the music and pulled her to the side, “You won’t be able to perform if you don't rest. Your injury will just get worse. Now, please just take a break, Mina.”

“I said I’m fine,” she firmly stated again, “I need to keep going.”

The instructor sighed, “I can’t let you perform. You’ll rest or you won’t be able to perform at the recital.”

Panic set into her eyes as she looked around the room. Worried and concerned looks greeted her, and, for a second, we made eye contact. Mina ran out of the practice room, clutching her chest. Concern drove my body to follow after her, scurrying down the stairs to be by her side.

She hunched over on the sidewalk, her breathing was panicked and heavy. Both hands were gripping her chest as she fell into a ball at the bottom of the stairs. I immediately grabbed her tensed hands, pulling them to my chest to get her to face me. When her eyes met mine, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping she would do the same. "It's ok, just take a deep breath and slowly breathe out. Just look at me and think about your breathing."

She began to follow my breathing, her clenched hands relaxed a little, and her wide, panicked eyes began to settle down.

Noticing her calming down, I continued to comfort her, "Mina, it's alright, you're alright."

Her voice barely above a whisper, "You saw my mistake, didn't you? How I rolled my ankle. I can't perform." Mina's voice wavered.

My brows furrow, "Mina, you’ll be able to perform. You just need a bit of rest."

"I don’t have time to rest!" She blurted out. "I’m the star student, I can’t get injured now."

"Mina," I was startled by her outburst. Her face was the most expressive I’ve seen.

"I’ll ruin the performance if I mess up." Her head hangs low.

I gently caress her hands, hoping to calm her down, "I'm sure you won't ruin the performance."

"How could you know that?” She takes in a deep breath, “If I mess up on stage, the audience will whisper among themselves. Wasn't she the one who won those competitions? How could she mess up a simple performance? I can hear their comments in my head."

"No one thinks you aren’t one of the best dancers we have." I firmly gripped her hands. "One mistake isn’t going to change that."

She let out a deep breath. "You weren't there, this isn’t the first time I’ve made a mistake."

"But I was just here, Mina.” I try to comfort her. “I saw you make that mistake in the studio, and not once did those thoughts cross my mind."

“You don’t have to lie to me,” She pulled her hands out of my grasp, “I saw everyone's disappointed faces.” She holds her head in her hands as tears begin to well in her eyes.

I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m concerned for you. And luckily, this is just the rehearsal.”

"This rehearsal is how we are going to perform on stage!" She started, her frustration threatening to let her tears fall free, “Yet I still-”

"Mina!" I shouted.

She looked at me with wide eyes, not expecting me to raise my voice.

I lowered my voice when I got her attention, “When I first saw you dance, I was mesmerized. You made dancing look so easy. I thought, how can someone look so beautiful while dancing? Then, I saw all the hard work you put into improving your skills and how much you enjoy dancing. Of course, it looks easy when you put so much work into something you love. So please, don’t continue blaming yourself. One mistake is not going to define you.”

She looked down at her hands.

I wrap an arm over her and gently rub her shoulder, "Not everyone is out to get you. I promise. I’m worried about you.” I got embarrassed by what I said, "And so is everyone else." I rubbed the back of my neck nervously.

A small smile grew on her face as she slowly stood up, “Then I guess I need to stop feeling bad for myself.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “I can’t let the people supporting me down.”

I smiled when she picked herself up, “That’s the spirit.” I could still see the doubt and worry behind her expression. How could something she enjoyed so much bring her this much pain? Was there any way I could help her? All I could do was to stand by her.

The day of the recital came in the blink of an eye. I met up with some of the others and gave them a ride to the venue. The venue was packed with family and friends who were invited to watch and strangers who saw our advertisements on social media. I even bumped into some coworkers I had invited to come watch. I made my way backstage, my nerves getting the better of me. I was greeted by everyone, and we all talked to calm our nerves before the performance. I saw Mina repeatedly going over the movements, mentally preparing herself for the performance. I got up and joined her.

“Mina,” I called to her, “How do you stay calm before a performance?”

She looked at me, seeing my tense movements as we practiced the moves. “I’m glad you think I’m calm.” She grabs my stiff hands, hers slightly shaking in mine. “I’m just as nervous as everyone else. But once I start dancing, my nerves seem to disappear.” She lets go of my hands and returns to practicing, motioning me to join her.

The instructor called everyone to get into position, the event was starting.

The lights dim as the audience begins to quiet down. I sneak a peek at the audience and feel the sea of eyes anticipating the opening performance. The daunting feeling of being watched sank back in as we were then queued to take the stage. I took a deep breath and decided to take Mina at her word. I’ll just dance. The music started as the lights illuminated the stage. I looked to Mina as she began to move the the rhythm. I could hear the count in my head and stayed on time. My body moved rigidly as I looked back at the audience. I concentrated on the count, and slowly I began to feel relaxed, dancing as my body told me. I looked at Mina, who looked back with a slight smile on her face. This is fun.

We received a loud and excited applause as we exited the stage for the next performance. My nerves settled as I began anticipating my next appearance.

After finishing the next dance number I participated in, I made my way to the side of the stage, brushing by Mina and the other dancers. I gave them a thumbs up, wishing them good luck. They elegantly made their way to the marked positions and waited. As the music cued, they began their routine. It was going smoothly, their form was perfect. Every arm movement was in sync, down to the way they seemed to glide across the stage. Their eyes were focused and gentle at the same time. Everything was going smoothly.

They jumped across the stage. Mina landed, almost rolling her ankle, stumbling instead. She regained her balance and continued with the dance. When she jumped for the second time, landing on the same foot, she fell to the ground as her ankle gave out under her. Her eyes went wide as she looked at the audience, whose concerned looks bore into Mina’s thoughts. She felt her chest grow tight as panic started to drown her. The whispers in her mind told her they were against her.

I cupped my hands around my mouth to yell her name, "MINA!"

Her head snapped in the direction of my voice.

I gave a wide smile and thumbs up with both my hands, mouthing the words, 'Don't worry, keep going.'

Mina looked back toward the audience when she saw that they were watching, waiting for her to get up to continue the performance. So she did. She got to her feet and caught up to the others, resuming the routine and finishing strong. The audience applauded the performance with cheers and whistles as if they had forgotten about the mistake she had made earlier. A smile grew on her face when she realized that no one in the crowd looked disappointed. She looked at me off stage to see my smiling face.

They hurried off stage, and as soon as she was out of the audience's sight, she hugged me tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, “I’m glad you were here with me.”

I was shocked for a moment when her arms wrapped around my neck to embrace me, but after the initial shock, I hugged her back. “You don’t have to thank me. Give yourself some credit, you pushed through.”

“If you hadn’t shouted my name, I don’t think I would have been able to continue,” she said, turning her face away from my shoulder to flash me a smile.

The sweet moment of appreciation was cut short by the next number, which everyone participated in. Everyone rushed out to the stage and finished off strong, receiving loud applause from the crowd.

After the performance, everyone met up with their friends and family, being congratulated on their performance. I met up with my coworkers, who were also impressed with my skills, joking about also joining. I graciously accepted their compliments, getting a little shy. I excused myself as I went to search for Mina. I spotted her talking with some acquaintances. Her smile radiated as I’m sure they were praising her. Her eyes caught mine, and she bowed to her friends, greeting me with a smile. I jogged to her.

“Hey,” I stopped in front of her.

“Hey,” she replied with a smile. "I know I already told you this, but thank you.”

“I was just doing what anyone else would’ve done,” I replied to humble my actions.

She shook her head, “You don’t need to be so modest. You were the only one who let me know that you were supporting me instead of letting me assume everyone was against me.” She fixed her duffle bag on her shoulder. “If you keep that up, I might fall for you," Mina teased, chuckling to herself as we began to walk out of the venue.

I felt heat rise to my face, "W-well, if you don't mind, maybe we can go somewhere after class together," I took the opportunity to ask. "You know, to celebrate."

She looked at my red face with a quizzical look on her face, "Like a date?" She asked.

Our eyes met, and already being overwhelmed from asking her on a date, my eyes shot away to avoid eye contact, "Yeah, I guess it would be like a date." My eyes slowly found hers again.

Her eyes squinted as a warm smile grew on her face, "I'd like that." She pushed the door open and walked out the door.

I stood wide-eyed at the exit, completely dumbfounded. "She said yes," I said to myself, "Wait, she said yes?" I burst through the doors to catch up with her.

She laughed as I ran to ask her if she really agreed to a date. My face lit up with excitement when she agreed. I annoyed her with questions so that I could figure out where to take her.

“Did you not have a place in mind already?” She questioned, amused at my persistence.

I thought for a second before replying, “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, so not really.” I answered honestly.

She giggled at the honesty in my answer, “Well, you don’t have to think too hard. I’m sure wherever you take me, I’ll have a good time.”

“That’s unfair,” I saw her puzzled face after my statement, “You’re giving me too much hope.”

She let out a chuckle, “In all fairness, giving you hope would only try to repay the strength you gave me.”

As we walked to my car, I made sure to let her know that I would always be there for her, “If you let me stay by your side, I’ll give you all the strength you need.”

#twice #twice fanfic #twice fluff #twice imagines #twice mina #twice x reader #mina x reader #x reader #female reader #kpop #fluff #fanfic #kpop gg #kpop imagines #first person pov #ao3

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littleslaywrites · 7 months ago

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pas de deux- adagio | spencer reid x bau!reader

pt 2 of pas de deux - based on request by @kakamixoxo

summary: you substitute for your friend who is a ballet teacher, and spencer helps you work out your lesson plans. set like 3 months after part one.

word count: 1.3k

cw: f!reader, literally just straight fluff, brief mention of past injury

Spencer was never graceful. You’d seen him trip over enough curbs to know. Luckily for him, you thought his awareness was endearing, like a six foot tall baby deer.

You were the opposite, poised from your years of ballet training. You were finally off of your crutches and back in the studio. When you first started your internship at Quantico, you took classes at a local studio. The teacher who was in charge of your class became one of your first friends in Virginia, and you had stayed close ever since.

When she called you asking to fill in for her while she took a week long vacation, you jumped at the opportunity. You thought it’d be the perfect way to get back into dance after your recovery.

One night after work, you went to the studio to work on what you planned on teaching. Spencer insisted on going with you, claiming he was worried you’d hurt yourself again. Truthfully, he just wanted to watch you dance.

Spencer was your biggest fan. You try not to think about the money he’d spent on tickets to your shows, gifts themed for each one, and date nights afterwards. So, naturally, if he had the chance to see you alone, in your natural habitat of the ballet studio, he was going to take the opportunity.

Arriving at the studio, you changed into a leotard and sweatpants while Spencer sat on the wood floor of the studio. He felt awkward surrounded by the walls lined with barres and mirrors, your world feeling foreign to him.

You step into the room, joining him on the floor to stretch.

“You know, it’d help to have a student to practice my lesson plans on,” you say, stretching to the side as you touch your nose to your knee.

“Would it?” Spencer replies.

“I’d get stretching if I were you,” you say. He tries to follow your lead, but his inflexibility hinders him. You giggle at him, trying to figure out how to help him follow along.

Eventually, you give up, standing to lead him to the barre.

“Since the class is for early elementary schoolers, everything is for beginners, which means you’ll be perfect for testing it out,” you say as you take hold of the barre, facing him.

He mirrors your action, saying “I’m glad to know I have the same skill set as a five-year-old.”

You giggle at him, and turn out your feet into first position. “Can you do that for me?” you ask, watching his feet.

He clumsily shuffles his feet along the floor, gripping onto the barre.

“Not like that Spencer, turn out from your hips.”

He nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand from the way he scoots around. “Like this?”

“Not exactly... here, let me—“ you adjust him yourself, grabbing just above his knee to try to pry him into first position.

He gets it down after about a minute of fumbling, finally in a successful first position, despite his arms still swinging without grace. “Is this right?” he asks, proud of himself.

“Sure,” you say, letting himself bask in his small victory. “So first we’ll do the plié combination.”

“That means ‘fold’ in French,” he replies.

“Right,” you dismiss him, trying to move onto the next set of instructions. Before you can, he bends at the waist, assuming the step based on the translation.

“Oh, Spencer, that’s not—“ you pull him up by the back of his shirt. You giggle at him, causing him to follow suit. “Your genius doesn’t exactly extend to ballet, honey.”

He pulls you in for a quick kiss. You let him, but before he can prolong it, you step back. “You know, you’re not as helpful as I expected you to be.”

He juts out his lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’m trying my best,” he sighs, looking up at you with the puppy dog eyes he knows you can’t resist.

You sigh, matching his pretend exasperation. “It’s just a bend at the knees, like this,” you say while modeling the move. His eyes are trained on you, trying to take in every movement you make. He tries to match you, but his height makes everything he does look rather gangly.

You try to fake that you’re impressed, but he sees right through you. “Maybe it’s because I’m still in my work clothes,” he gives you a goofy smile.

You smile back. “That has to be it,” you reply, giving up on the idea of trying to teach him.

“When do we get to the part where I lift you up?” he asks, moving close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Usually you have to master the basics first,” you raise your eyebrows at him, “but we can give it a try.” He releases you to swiftly grab you just above your knees, carrying you to the center of the floor.

“Spencer, I don’t think this is an official move,” you giggle, feet wiggling in the air.

“Then I invented it, so they can name it after me.”

“The Reid Potato Sack lift?” you tease him as he sets you on the floor, hands sliding down your back as you roll off his shoulders and put your feet on the ground. He keeps hold of you, swaying as his arms cage you close to his chest.

“What am I supposed to teach these kids tomorrow?” you say when he leans down and captures your lips in a light kiss.

“Are you saying I’m a distraction?” He pinches your side.

You squeal, responding with a simple “yes”.

He smiles, backing up while taking one of your hands. He brings it above your head to prompt you to turn. You twirl under him, looking at his smile when you make your way around to face him again.

“Teach me a lift,” he says, eyes telling you it’s a genuine request.

“Okay,” you start, moving so you’re both facing the mirror. “Here’s an easy one. I’m going to lift my leg in an arabesque and you'll lift me like that.”

He nods, hanging on to every word you say. You move one of his hands under your ribs as you raise your leg. You move his other to the top of the thigh that’s raised in the arabesque.

“You’ll just bend your knees and lift,” you say. He does as you say, lifting you until you’re above his head. You raise your arms, scrutinizing your technique in the mirror.

Spencer is also watching you in the mirror, but not to judge your extensions or turnout. Instead, he was admiring you. He could feel the love you had for ballet in your focus. He loved to see you in your element. Of course, he saw the way you excelled as a profiler from the time you started your internship, but the passion you had for your art was what he truly admired about you.

In that moment, he thought he could watch you forever, but you interrupted his thoughts saying, “you ought to put me down now, Spencer.”

Reluctantly, he eased you to the ground, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you both faced the mirror.

“I think we might have actually found a ballet step you’re good at,” you say, smiling at the way he leans down and rests his head on your shoulder.

“All I did was stand there,” he replies, smiling at your reflection in the mirror.

“Exactly,” you say, blushing under his stare.

His hands move down to your waist, and he pulls you to face him. “I’ll stand and do nothing forever,” he says as he rests his forehead against yours, “if I can watch you dance."

You smile as he kisses your forehead and pulls back to look at you. Reluctantly, you pull away, grabbing your phone out of your bag to figure out the music you were going to use in class.

Plugging it into the speakers, you glance into the mirror to see Spencer still staring at you with a lovesick smile on his face.

“Stop staring,” you say smiling. “It’s distracting me.”

“Only when you stop distracting me by being so cute.”

You roll your eyes at the cheesy comment, heart secretly jumping at the obvious love he had for you.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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blushblushbear · 7 months ago

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Wrote a quick fic of @ren-054's Vitya and Nimh based off a drawing they did of them (and also cause I think they make a dang cute little couple!)

Mildly suggestive, most just sensual!

more under the cut!

At the start of it, Nimh was just trying to be more flexible.

He wasn’t getting any younger and it was never too early to start trying to take care of your body; but given his heart condition, anything high impact or high cardio was out.

He had attempted a yoga class but it was just too much! And all of that relaxing new wave zen music blasting while he was struggling did not help to relax him actually…

So on a weird whim, he took up a dance class.

It was beginner ballet. He knows that’s probably a bit weird but something about it called to him. He wasn’t about to drop it all and be a dancer or anything, but he was enjoying himself!

Actually, what he was really enjoying was his dreamy teacher with the dashing smile. It wasn’t why he joined or anything, or even why he stuck to it for months, but he had to admit the first time that elegant ray of sunshine beamed into the class he felt his knees get a little weak. And it didn’t hurt that the teacher was probably one of the most chill and encouraging people he’d ever met. Between his pretty face and charming personality;

Yeah, Nimh had to admit it, he had a little crush going.

He’d never act on it of course, he’s way too much of a coward for that! But just being able to be around him once a week, to see him glide around swan as he watched over the class, to see that smile, to hear that voice– it got him through many a tough week.

And occasionally when he felt his hand on him– supporting his back, adjusting his stance, stretching his leg just a bit further– it was accompanied by the feeling of his heart leaping into his throat.

Not that Vitya needed to know that.

Oh yeah, and his name was Vitya. Just when Nimh thought he couldn’t get more dreamy…

He was trying to clear his head and focus on breathing as he stood there, eyes closed, bent over, back straight, feet in an awkward fourth position because he couldn’t handle fifth yet, one arm outstretched as gracefully as he could manage (which is to say, not really at all), while the other death gripped onto the balance bar above so that he didn’t fall flat on his face… again…

“Your face is turning red again.” Vitya’s voice sounded so close, and when Nimh opened his eyes, he nearly jumped when he saw Vitya’s face just under his. And so so close… “You’re holding your breath again.” Vitya said with a bit of a pout, “You need to BREATHE.” He took a deep breath in to demonstrate, making it all look so easy as he practically folded himself in half to lower his face to meet Nimh’s. Nimh took in a deep breath, and exhaled it shakily, his limbs wobbling a little making him feel even more embarrassed than he already did.

“Excellent!” He chirped, rising to a full stand with seemingly no effort at all. “Alright class, deep breath in–” a collective inhale, “and as we rise, exhale out! Good!” Nimh was grateful Vitya had sauntered on, so he wouldn’t catch how shakily he lifted his back, or how red his face still was– albeit for… different reasons.

Even though he enjoyed himself, Nimh realized he hadn’t gotten much more flexible in the months he’d been coming to the class. He wondered why he hadn’t just been kicked out at this point. And when Vitya called to him at the end of class, for a brief moment, he worried he was about to be…

As the rest of the class filtered out for the day, Nimh and Vitya were left alone.

“Hey,” Vitya began, his smile still sweet, but his eyes seemed a bit more concerned, “I’ve noticed you’re still having some trouble… This was my last class for the day and I was wondering– if you’re down to stay a few extra minutes, I’d really like to work with you one on one for a bit.”

Nimh screamed internally.

It was bad enough he had to deal with his dumb little crush head on in the moments Vitya hovered around him, but having to do that ALONE.

“I mean– if you don’t have the time today that’s fine…”

His brain was scrambling, trying to find a way to say no, but as he looked at Vitya’s face (his stupidly handsome face, as it pouted at him, hand on a cocked hip and the other hand hooked against his other arm in a pose only a dancer standing idly would pull) he couldn’t find it in him to turn Vitya down.

“N-no, I have a few minutes I could spare…” Nimh stuttered out. Vitya’s face was immediately beaming.

“Wonderful, let’s jump right into it then!”

Within a few minutes Nimh was back standing at the bar, posing the same as he had earlier, only now he had Vitya’s full attention as he shakily lowered himself.

Vitya circled him as he bent over, eyes studying Nimh’s movements.

“I know it’s hard for you,” Vitya began as he came up behind Nimh, “but you have to bend lower.” Nimh felt Vitya’s hand on his lower back and a chill rushed up his spin as Vitya began to gently push him lower. “That’s it…” Vitya cooed, hand slowly sliding up Nimh’s spine towards his shoulder blades, “bend further… remember to breathe…” Nimh could hear the smile in Vitya’s voice, but it felt… different… almost coy… and as Vitya leaned over him from behind, pushing Nimh further down, he wondered which was more inappropriate; this position, or the fact that having Vitya behind him with his hand on his back was putting the wildest images into his mind.

Images of his hot dance instructor. Images of said instructor bending him over like this to have his way with him. Images of Nimh panting as Vitya, firm but gentle, gave him everything he had…

Nimh exhaled out shakily (though shaky for different reasons this time), closed his eyes, and tried to clear his head. His heart was pounding, and he was certain he was blushing from ear to ear. Vitya chuckled behind him. Nimh had never heard Vitya sound so playful, as the words,

“Good, very good…” escaped Vitya’s lips and made Nimh’s knees go a little weak.

And then Vitya’s hand was gone.

Nimh blinked his eyes open, suddenly remembering where he was.

“And now, rise up slowly.” Vitya said cheerily, circling around again and landing towards Nimh’s front. Nimh rose up slowly, quietly cursing how all it took was one dreamy dance instructor to turn him into a pervert apparently. What had he even been thinking? He closed his eyes, and bit his lip embarrassed.

Vitya smiled, cocking his head slyly at Nimh.

“Your hips aren’t square enough.” Vitya said in a very matter of fact manner, “You need to keep your hips straight.” He walked over to Nimh again, coming around behind him once more as he set his hands on Nimh’s hips, moving them a bit forcefully into the correct posture. “See, like this, they need to stay like this as you move. They’re perfectly fine as you go down, but once you come back up they’re all tilted.”

Nimh heard Vitya’s voice, but he took in none of the words he said. The moment Vitya’s hands were on his hips, Nimh’s head went all fuzzy.

“Try it once more.” Vitya instructed.

“Wh–huh?”

“Bend over again, and this time try and keep your hips squared.”

Oh GOD.

With a gulp, Nimh began to bend over once more.

“That’s it. Nice and steady…” one of Vitya’s hands was on his back again, “Remember to keep your back straight. Yes, just like that!”

Yep. Nimh was bent over in front of his sexy ass dance teacher while said sexy ass dance teacher was behind him with one hand on his hip and the other on his back.

And Nimh was internally screaming again.

He couldn’t tell if this was a dream or a nightmare but wow was it sure fantasy fodder for later…

He tried to not think about it as his cheeks burned and he rose back up slowly.

“There you go,” Vitya continued, hand still on Nimh’s back, guiding him back up just as steadily as he lowered him, “And then– you’re back up! Shoulders square, hips square,” Vitya’s hand smoothed to Nimh’s front as he pulled Nimh back a bit, “back straight.” Nimh chanced a nervous glance at Vitya whose face was so close to his, smile all beam and eyes focused in on Nimh’s face. “Perfect.”

Nimh stood there frozen for a moment, until a small gasp made him realize he had stopped breathing again.

“O-oh… Uh… I…”

“Once more.”

“Huh? Oh! U-uh…”

With Vitya’s hands still resting on him, Nimh began to slowly lower again. Vitya still guided him, but more lightly than before. And before Nimh knew it, he was doubled over in front of his teacher again.

“And back up,” Vitya’s hand slid up Nimh’s side, guiding him to rise again, this time stopping a little up his arm. “Excellent. And back down,” Vitya’s thumb that rested at Nimh’s hip gave a little push and once again Nimh lowered. It was starting to feel a lot easier with Vitya guiding him. His hands helping to ease Nimh into the movements. He didn’t mean to, but he felt himself give his body over to Vitya’s control. It was forceful and gentle, bright yet sly, demanding yet sweet, and most of all– playful.

After a few more bends, Nimh eased back against Vitya again, stretching up and draping himself over his form as he panted lightly. His cheeks were flushed, eyes half lidded and mind hazy as he looked back at Vitya, who greeted him with a warm yet knowing smirk.

“There you are. See, you were practically in half on that last one.” Nimh was only half paying attention to Vitya’s words. His body felt so closely pressed against his, Nimh’s eyes on Vitya’s lips with a sudden urge to kiss him. Vitya noticed… “Nimh… you… you like me don’t you?” Nimh’s eyes went back to Vitya’s, lips pressing into an embarrassed line. Nimh couldn’t say it, but his expression answered for him. Vitya chuckled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you out like that. I just…” his hand slid up Nimh’s arm and took his hand, never breaking eye contact as he lowered it and giving it a small kiss. “I’ve noticed.” Vitya winked.

Nimh snapped back to reality, whole face turning red as he took a step away from Vitya, hands covering his mouth and eyes wide.

Vitya cocked his head curiously.

“Sorry… was that not alright?” he asked, eyes soft with concern.

“No… I MEAN– NOT ‘NO’ NO! NO! I MEAN, YES! I MEAN—” Nimh’s eyes darted around the room trying to get a grip, “what I mean to say is…” he paused, looking over at Vitya. He let out a small sigh, “I was just… surprised… is all… that was fine… b-better than fine actually…”

Vitya smiled, stepping closer to Nimh, who was still a stammering mess, but he didn’t step back. Vitya leaned in close, took Nimh’s hand again, and gave it another kiss.

“Good. I really was hoping to keep helping my favorite student.” the word ‘favorite’ dripped out of his mouth like honey and with another playful smirk he leaned in closer and whispered against Nimh’s ear “Though next time, I would like to give a more… private lesson.”A shiver ran up Nimh’s spine. Vitya pulled back and, with a look that was a mix of sly and puppy dog, asked, “Is that alright?”

Nimh nodded like crazy in response.

“Wonderful!” Vitya beamed. He pulled his phone out, and with a playful smile said, “Give me your number, and we’ll work on some real flexibility together.”

#bear text #blush blush game #blush blush #bb game #sad panda studios #Nimh #Vitya #blush blush nimh #nimh blush blush #Vitya blush blush #blush blush Vitya #blush blush oc #I'VE HAD THIS IN MY BRAIN FOR A MINUTE NOW only finally just got to actually write it #also posting this with Ren's permission!

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museenkuss · 4 months ago

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loving and moving my body this week (10.02.-16.02.25)

Monday. Yoga Sculpt - Firecracker [22 mins] // 10 Beginner Moves for Burlesque [10 min]

Tuesday. full-body strength workout with weights [10 mins] // active stretching [29 mins]

Wednesday. 10 min inner thigh // Motion in Elegance Yoga Flow [17 mins]

Thursday. lengthening and sculpt pilates [20 mins] // cardio ballet for confidence [11 mins]

Friday. Burlesque class [17 mins] // relaxing evening flexibility routine [14 mins]

Saturday. belly dance with weights [23 mins]

Sunday. all-levels morning pilates [20 mins]

Last week left me exhausted, but this week is going to be just as exciting. In that spirit, I'm doing my best mentally and physically, while still listening to my body and taking it slow if needed!

In case the suggestion doesn’t feel right for that day, here are some alternatives (13 minutes or less, can also be used as add-ons). No shame in taking it slow! Let’s move according to our needs! :) bedtime yoga stretch to release stress & tension [13 mins] // beginner’s ballet flexibility [8 mins]// slow & smooth beginner belly dance workout [12 mins] // lazy girl full body workout [7 mins] // express pilates [10 mins]

#girlllls I have an event on satuday I CANNOT get sick #fingers crossed!!!!#anyhow I did the yoga sculpt earlier and it was really nice #my back has been. bad. these past few days and it's better today but I was worried #but it was really fun <333 Sunny joined in <3 (she watched)#workout

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emergeartsmedia · 1 month ago

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#best dance studio singapore #ballet lessons singapore #dance studio singapore #ballet classes singapore #dance classes singapore #ballet for kids singapore #beginner dance classes singapore #acting classes in singapore #ballet classes near me #best singing school singapore

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blossom-hwa · 1 year ago

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manège | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, a little angst and comfort, ballet dancer!taehyun and pianist!reader warnings: n/a word count: 1.4k notes: — this pairing's been on my mind for a good year or so, so I'm very happy to have finally written something for them :) please note that I've only been doing ballet for a couple years now, so if I've used any terms incorrectly, I'm very sorry! — for some clarification, mc and taehyun go to an arts school, and mc volunteers as one of the pianists for the ballet studio Taehyun finds his way back to you, again.

TXT Masterlist

manège: a classical ballet term for “circular,” which describes a series of steps done in a circular pattern around the stage

. . . . .

"...Taehyun?"

The question of his name is quiet enough that if he hadn't noticed the opening of the door in the corner of the mirror, he would have missed it. As it stands, his mind barely processes your voice emerging from behind the door, and it takes a moment to shake off the double tours and pirouettes before he can even recognize the face appearing in the mirror. He blinks sweat away from his eyes. "Y/N?"

"It's late," you say, stepping into the empty studio. "You're still practicing?"

As one, you both look at the clock hanging on the wall. It's long past eight, when Taehyun initially told himself he'd stop—long past nine, even.

Suddenly all of the exhaustion of the day seems to hit him at once. His muscles ache, sweat keeps dripping down his face no matter how much he wipes away, and there's a small but consistent flare of pain in his calf that he should really stop and massage out. Really, he wants nothing more than to just sit down against the wall, or maybe even flop onto the floor and stare at the ceiling while seeing nothing at all. He's been here since eight in the morning and his body clearly knows it.

"Yeah," is all he says in lieu of articulating all of this, though, because his throat feels gravelly and words are hard. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead. It's at least as fair of a question for you as yours was for him.

"I had class," you say. Taehyun takes in your leggings, the loose T-shirt almost covering your shorts, and remembers yes, there was a lower-level class held almost immediately after you got off your shift. "I stayed after to practice."

He frowns. "For almost five hours?" You were playing the piano for his company class until it ended at three. Your adult beginner class ends at four thirty, and it's past nine.

"Not ballet." You shift the weight of several books in your arms, and only then does Taehyun see their worn paper bindings, the music markings on the covers, and remember that people practice things besides dance. "Evaluations coming up. There was a free piano in one of the empty studios."

Ah. Taehyun nods. And then the room falls into silence again, broken only by the sounds of your breathing.

"So." You walk to the empty piano in the room, placing your books on the top before looking at him expectantly. "What are you working on?"

It takes him a moment to register your words, to understand that you're not telling him to leave or go home or get some rest. All of which he should do, but the looming specter of the showcase next week won't let him. "You're not going to tell me to go home and rest?" he asks regardless, and even though his throat squeaks a bit after spending so many hours in silence, you don't laugh. Not at that, anyway.

"Well, would you have gone home if I'd said you should?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head and a smile curves his lips when you give a little laugh. "See?"

"Point taken," he says, and when you laugh again he laughs too. "Grand Pas Classique," he answers your original question. "For the showcase. Next week."

Your mouth parts in a little 'o'. "This one?" you ask, playing out a short melody. He nods. "Can I see?"

He should. He shouldn't. He at once wants to but doesn't, wants to let the melody sing in his blood as he double tours and entrechats around the room, spinning and leaping across the floor, but he also knows that you're here. And if Taehyun is his own harshest critic, he becomes even harsher when someone else is in the room.

You look at him, though, and he looks at you, and he knows that you see him for himself. See the sweaty hair matted into clumps, see the muscles aching behind his skin, see the work put into every effortlessly pointed toe and graceful finger as he takes his beginning position in front of the mirror. And when the music begins to play, the melody spilling into his ears and then into his blood, he looks into the mirror and smiles not because he has to, but because your watchful eyes will never hold judgment. Will never hold disappointment. Will only ever see him, see Taehyun Kang the person and not Taehyun Kang the dancer, and will cherish him for it.

When he's done, the applause of one person cuts through the labored silence of his breathing, and it's enough to keep the smile on his face, to let his muscles finally relax, to wipe the sweat from his brow and sit down. Or—not really. He's still a little too wired to sit, but he leans against the wall of the studio and gestures to where you sit at the piano like it's the most natural position in the world, ready to play but not. "Show me something," he says when he has enough breath to speak. "What are you working on?"

There's a moment when you're flipping through your books, skimming pages filled with music and your careful notes, where Taehyun loses himself, for a moment, in you. When you squint at a few pages, then put the book back on top of the piano, then position yourself at the keys. The preparation—the careful placement of your fingers just as deliberate as his pointed toes and graceful hands—the moment where time holds still, before you give in to the song in your mind and your heart and allow the music to flow through your veins.

It all comes back to you, Taehyun thinks as your fingers waltz and whirl across the keys, dance in enchanting patterns of black and white. From him, to you, back to him and then to you again—in manège, arabesques and jetés leaping about the stage, coming away from the center only to reach it again the way everything always returns to you. Your voice, your music, always there. Always constant. Pulling him back to earth when he threatens to topple over the edge, never once wavering in your strength or patience even when you see the worst parts of him over and over.

He's sitting down by the time you stop playing, fingers gentle yet unyielding against the piano, coaxing a last, wavering echo from its depths before your hands rise, suspended in the air, then fall to your lap. When you look up, the fluorescent studio lights seem to burn your figure into his vision, like the afterimage of a lightning strike behind his eyes. "That was beautiful," he says, and he means it in more ways than one.

And you accept the praise in more ways than one, in the smile on your lips, in the twinkle in your eyes, in the moment where you sit down next to him, back against the wall, and let him lean his sweaty head on your shoulder with no complaint about how gross it must feel. "Thank you," you say, and when you do, the melody racing through his veins finally calms.

It's almost ten, now, the clock still ticking away on the wall. But you make no move to get up and neither does Taehyun, even when you murmur "Home?" in a voice that only makes him lean further into you, even when he makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. In the end, it takes nearly twenty minutes for you to finally pat his knee and say get up, Taehyun. And then he disappears to change and wash up and collect his things, and maybe in the shower he can feel himself beginning to fade away again, but then you're standing right outside the locker room and when he slips his hand into yours, he comes back to earth. Manège. Circling you, always. Leaving. Returning. Orbiting. Joining.

Music dancing through his blood and yours, a song that he will always be able to follow back home.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

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