#ballet dancer reader

[ghouljams]

Need ballet konig to grab my fucking tutu and ravage me, absolutely end me, I need him so carnally it is I N S A N E.

Bent over with his big hands around your waist, your tutu bouncing with each hard thrust of his hips. He keeps mumbling about how sweet you are to let a beast like him fuck you, how a pretty little ballerina like you should know better than to let a man cut open your costume just to bully his thick cock into you. He's so rough with you, you'd almost think he likes feeling the stiff tulle and silk hitting his chest and thighs. You can't do anything but hold onto your ankles like he told you, letting him use you like a toy. His cock hits you deep, achingly deep, and with the angle you could almost believe he's punching the air out of you with every thrust. He stretches you out so good, the little burn of friction and the low grunts of pleasure from him make you clench, just to feel the drag of each vein along your gummy walls.

You should know better than to tease him, walking around in your little costume, your legs on display, your neck bare and waiting to be bitten. One little slice of the fabric between your legs and he could do whatever he wanted. He'll catch hell from the costumer later, but for now he buries his cock into your warm, wet, cunt and enjoys how tight you are. It's a good angle for him, really makes him have to bully his way into your pussy to get every inch inside, and you get to cry all that pretty makeup off your face with how good it feels to be used like the flesh light you are.

#cod x reader #x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #ballet au #dancer!Reader #dancer!König #f!reader #König x f!reader #“like the flesh light you are” BRO WHO SAID THAT #must be a demon running around here

[yandere-wishes]

I just read your swan lake (but yancore) fic

I love your spin on the tale, it's heartbreaking but also beautiful. I love how Odette and Odile find some solace within each other and have some friendship here

The imagery as well of the Swan Queen seems so striking in my mind 🩵🩵🩵

In reference to this post.

OMG thank you so much!! I'm so glad you liked it. I had such a BLAST writing it.

But yeah I always found it strange how similar the two girls were/could be yet Odile gets close to no attention/development. They never truly meet and I think a chance encounter would drastically change both girl's destinies.

It gets even more personal when you realize that the other swans were once Odette's handmaidens and that Rothbart turned them into swans because Odette rejected him. I wouldn't be surprised if Odette views their metamorphosis as her fault. But on the other side of the coin you have Odile who was born a swan (or -a personal theory I have- built/magicked to resemble Rothbart's ideal child with Odette) I feel like Odile would be drawn to the other swans who have a similar predicament as her.

In the end, both Odette and Odile realize that they're both just prisoners and that the only way to break free is to work together. To embrace being simultaneously royalty and bird. Their souls merging symbolizes how they've come to accept their role as swan queen and welcome their role as protector of a swan queendom.

I swear I could talk about Swan Lake for hours!! It's just such a fascinating piece of media~💜🦢🦢💜

#swan lake #swans #ballet #ballerina #balletcore #ballet aesthetic #ballet dancer #coquette #girly aesthetic #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #yancore #yandere x you #yandere #yandere x reader #twisted wonderland #yandere aesthetic

[dropsofletters]

danced around an impossibility

summary: everyone has heard about the newest episode of joshua hong’s podcast “backstage says”, where he talks about the secrets that celebrities fail to keep hidden.

the story dates back to more than a decade ago, when wonwoo was looking out his ballet academy’s window in hopes of finding an opportunity and instead, he caught a glimpse of a woman spitting comedy into a microphone for no one to hear. no one would expect these two to talk, or even to hit stardom one day.

he liked to believe back then, when 2008 was blaring with music and youth, that she was an impossibility. someone that he’d look at from afar and nothing else would happen.

but every year they got more tangled up with each other, and joshua hong has proof of it. 

want to listen to this story? check out the new episode of “backstage says”!

title: dancing around an impossibility pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader genre: ballet dancer!au ; stand-up comedian!au ; strangers to friends to exes (kinda) to lovers!au ; slice of life!au ; celebrity!au ; slowburn word count: 14k words approx. type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; real life shenanigans  note: this is a kofi request, if you want to ask anything from me over there, you can obviously do so!

“I like to believe, dear listener,” Joshua’s velvety voice slips through the slits of the microphone, much like the straw in between his rosy lips, when crossing one leg over the other. “That patience is the foundation of plenty of the stories we hear. As a gossiper myself, and to anyone who has listened to this podcast, we know that’s who I am…I know that the step that leads us to what we consider experiences is actually just someone’s tiredness of patience.”

Backstage Says’ listeners must sit at the edge of their seats, while Joshua Hong has never been calmer. He acknowledges this story as if it was his own, licking his lips like mesmerizing words and maiming them to be true. He manipulates; not reality but listeners, into thinking his voice is the utmost reality. It could be, for all we know. 

“Wonwoo’s deal, however, was that he was too patient. He almost lost his chance.” He announces, smirking into the process. “This story goes back to July of 2008, when Wonwoo was tiptoeing into the next step.”

July 17th, 2008.

The harmony of ballet is in the dip of the waist. Wonwoo likes to believe that structure is what makes a good dance, how the folds of his white t-shirt disappear into the curves of his toned arms and how his hips contort to the perfect pointé. Though, as he looks himself in the mirror of the dimly lit room that was once filled with Chan’s boisterous voice, he doesn’t feel comfortable. Like himself, really.

Through a crooked window of old rust and wood that would creak under the mere wind of the ocean had it been close to the center of Seoul, he sees a shape. Bent, curved, like there is not a care in this world to aim for the sharpness of an arrow or the success of a star. Someone lives between the shadows and makes themselves shine in colors that aren’t gold or bright yellow. He sees her back hunched, a hand pressed to her waist and a lift of the corner of her mouth.

“My ex is an asshole and I think I’m way more so,” She speaks into the solitude of the salon in front of Wonwoo’s practice room. She digs her fingers into the cable of her mic, moving it with her steps before she scoffs into the microphone. “Because I never really told him we were exes. He went to Spain one night, I knew he was fucking some other girl, and then when he got back it was like Men in Black but of relationships. Quite like he had forgotten me.” She clicks her tongue after, shaking her head before sighing. “It needs more of a hit…”

He had heard better, Wonwoo knows quite well how good her jokes can get. Like how she told the story of the time in which she had sat on the bus back home as a kid and had tried to cover a fart with a cough, but she had missed the timing much like she did with everything else in her life (her words, not his). Or when she spoke about her first kissing experience, when she had actually wanted to throw up so bad that she feigned choking on air. With examples, of course.

He leans into the window, the breeze of the midnight bloom caressing his cheeks. He lets his hands frame his face, distracting himself from the obvious repercussions of his actions. Not practicing when the ballet play he is taking part of will technically make him fall behind; much more so when his partner is none other than the young and talented Chan, but he lets himself be distracted by this woman.

This woman who turns to him, speaking into the microphone while her disheveled hair moves with that wind that lures him into sentimentalism.

Her eyes are so confident that he’s almost speechless. She’s not rid of her braveness because he is looking at her; as if she doesn’t care being the center of attention. Her cheeks raise when she speaks, with her upper lip a little bit crooked into a smile, into the microphone.

“That one sucks, right?” His heart races, for some reason, it does. Ever since he started practicing here, just over two months ago, he has seen her speak into that microphone every Saturday night. As per comedy night, one would think. “Won, Wong? You, I don’t remember your name…the guy who gets drunk every Saturday always mentions it but I’m bad with names. Was that joke good?”

He shakes his head, exclaiming at the top of his lungs. “You’ve done better!”

“So did my mom say when dating my ex.”

His mouth, perched in a non-interpreted frown most of his days, relishes in a cat-like grin before nodding. “That one is better.”

She shakes her head, picking the microphone up and testing it a few times before jotting down her script in that notebook that always looks a little too full. As if she lacks inspiration or she just comes up with things on the go. Wonwoo knows that is the end of their little interaction, but he lets his gaze linger on the cascade of her hair and the way she munches on her pinky’s nail while thinking.

The harmony of her is how unreachable she looks while being also deeply close to him.

August 1st, 2008.

“I hate that I love my friends, is that normal?”

Talking to a stranger on the bus shouldn’t be this comfortable. Though, he knows the lanky man by her side doesn’t give a damn about her life. He sits with his perfectly polished black hair and looks at her through glasses that are so slitted that she almost wonders why she uses them. He presses on the button of his pen, taking the ink in and out to jot down notes about his endeavors in his job. She sees him every Monday, when she tries her hardest not to feel bad at her job that she had once shared with glee with her friends.

Women that she adores. Women that she should be thankful of, because women supporting women is not something as common as one would think. However, each moment that she spends with them is more draining than the last. As if they are united by tragedy, rather than happiness. They live in spirals of gossips and making fun of themselves; basking on lives that aren’t lived to their fullest and—

“Then, they aren’t really your friends.” The stranger completes, youthful and yet so scarily wise. “If someone makes you feel as if your feelings for them shouldn’t exist, then, that’s guilt paired up with something else.”

“Damn, it was a rhetorical question.” 

“You wouldn’t ask if you really weren’t curious.” The guy in question quirks an eyebrow. If his personality didn’t belong to an arse, maybe, he could be some kind of handsome. “Why have friends if—”

“You don’t have any friends.”

“I do. Worthy ones of my time that are actually more of an addition to my life than a minus.” He’s sharp, she can tell, and as the pouring rain lures the bus ride into a comfortable place of mind with too much thinking and a little too much seriousness, she also thinks about what he says.

What if he life doesn’t belong to serving drinks in a club but instead being the one performing there? What would happen if for once she stopped caring that men got more opportunity in comedy and actually tried to speak up. Be funny, get laughed at or with, perhaps risk more than hating on people.

She grows more bitter by the minute. Of course, all thoughts of hopefulness fall to the same conclusion. She’ll fail. That’s what everyone expects out of her. 

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”

“Must be a perception of how little you trust your friends.” With that, the office worker stands up, holding onto his coffee and serving a curt nod. She crosses her arms over her chest, as if covering herself from the utmost truth, before she sees him farewell. With her chin up-high and her ambition on the low.

August 27th, 2008.

Wonwoo balances his weight on the tip of his toes. It’s an excellent metaphor for who he is—a passing shadow in the midnight sky, ignored in between stars of beaming light. He blends in perfection, missed by the eyes of those who look for the obvious. He works as wood to light fires and ambience to create peace. He leans into another position, dancing to the glee of Mozart, but never quite making the judges think of him.

He has worked closely with Chan. They’re in a play together, but being part of an academy means auditioning—starving off on ambition and living to the desires of the unknown. Now, as the sky blue walls blur into his vision, twisting to a perfect circle only to glimpse at the judges. They never look at him. Ignored. Forgotten.

He is Chan’s friend. Chan’s counterpart. He is but he isn’t. Nothing more than a derivation of what is talent. He’s the roots of a tree that sparkles in golden hues and spring breezes. Watered down, fearful, stopping on his tracks once the music does, while Chan leans into a complete ovation. 

Not to say he isn’t happy. Chan has earned what he has at the young age of twenty-one with fist and stone. Though, he hates just how his stomach dips with every breath he takes while Chan is so visibly comfortable. He despises the claps that never go towards him—the tiny finalizations of dreams that come with the bitter reality that we are that.

Humans that complete dreams halfway. We never reach the stars, we just get ladders. We never discover something, we just investigate something that already exists. 

The water bottle slips through his mouth, staring at Chan as he organizes his shoes and puts on a thick beige coat. The crackling of the thunder outside the academy doesn’t break the thoughts that grow in his head like a building would. Wonwoo is not deeply scarred; he’ll wake up tomorrow as if nothing happened, working as per usual, but for now he is only this. Angered.

“You know, this is usually something you would say.” Wonwoo leans his elbow into the windowsill, watching the droplets of rain fall one by one and then, the torrent thoughts merge with the upcoming storm. “But I’m feeling dumb enough to empty my feelings into a bottle of whiskey. Not entirely, just a tiny bit. I don’t want to listen to the bookshelf I have of psychology textbooks right now telling me it’s a bad idea.”

“Never a bad idea to drink, if you ask me.” Chan twirls the strands of his damp hair in between his fingers, tossing it back the slightest. “Wonwoo, I’m sure they’ll call you.”

Wonwoo raises a hand in the air, shaking it the slightest. “I don’t like lying to myself. I’m being half-dumb, not entirely idiotic.” 

Chan stares at him much like his father does whenever he wants to get information out of him. As if he can’t read Wonwoo; not knowing if he does care or not. Which reminds him—his dad wanted to be told the good news over the telephone once the time came about for Wonwoo to be accepted in that play that he had been wishing so hard to be part of, but now, he’s sure that he won’t be calling anytime soon.

Hey, dad, I’m a disappointment at times and I don’t want to say it out loud for you to actually internalize it? Yes, Wonwoo is not ready to say that.

“It’s raining. You want to drink the day that it’s raining.”

“It heats up the body, I guess.” 

“You surprise me, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He scoffs. “Gotta do that sometimes, I guess.” 

“Wonwoo—”

Before Chan could deepen an idea that he doesn’t want to develop, he picks up his backpack, not caring of slipping the clothes in properly. Neatly, as he would usually do. Because he cares. He fucking cares about ballet; perhaps more than he does about his tainted heart.

“What’s a place you like drinking in? And that wouldn’t close because of the rain.”

Chan’s grin widens, youthful like his personality. “No bar ever closes up because of the rain. No amount of water can wash down the drunks.” He admits, wrapping an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder. “The Sentimental Cavern is my favorite. There’s good music and nice stand-up comedy on Saturdays. We could have a few drinks there.”

“I’m surprised you go to places called that.”

Wonwoo chuckles at what Chan says. “I mean ‘Tits and Ass’ was closed, so I had to go somewhere.”

“Asshole.”

“Another favorite bar of mine. Though, unrightfully closed.”

Well, at least Wonwoo knows that it will be an eventful night. 

Present 

“I think, her will was not precisely of fearless nature.” Joshua admits into the microphone, tapping a finger on his bottom lip. “What broke the patience that was once so set in stone for Wonwoo was that she took decisions out of impatience.”

He looks through his notes, written over the years of his endless study of this relationship that people still cooed about, even when it didn’t have the most beautiful of endings. 

“Not impatience with him and his timing. No. Not impatience with life. It was with herself, as if she couldn’t deal with the voices that grew in her mind and were strong enough to make her feel like she had to do something more.” The podcast grows silent for a little bit, the light of cigarette following his statement. “So, when his patience grew, hers became thinner.”

August 28th, 2008.

Joanne has eyes so deep that they hollow into her skull. It’s what lures men into her lap, asking for more drinks and tipping way overboard. She lives happily in a relationship that she denies, tightening her apron on her waist a little too tightly for it to accentuate what everyone can notice that she has. Though, when midnight strikes, Joanne steals drinks behind the counter and cries about her cheating boyfriend. Then, goes off to cheat herself.

It’s quite impressive the stories that develop around us, she believes. How everyone has their own protagonist nature that we fail to establish when living our own lives. Though, Joanne knows she is the main character. Not like her, who doesn’t flirt with the customers and hence, gets less tips. Or she, who doesn’t appear in the latest Christmas picture that the team took, where all the bartenders stood in a perfect line, just because no one called her.

Being the sidekick is lonesome, and sure, she can take the funny side-character, but for how long she’ll deal with it? She’s not sure. 

“The secret here is that you have to touch their arm. That makes them think of you, even just a tiny bit.” Joanne is talking, but she’s not listening quite well. Her eyes are set on the microphone in the middle of the stage, just minutes ago taken up by a man who was less than funny. 

“I don’t want to deal with men at this moment.” She whispers, though unheard by her friend as she rubs her hands over her face. She has to kick off that idea of getting on stage some way, right? “Jokes have been bad today, haven’t they?”

“To be expected,” Joanne admits. “This place is only made for talking. Not precisely for sharing laughs.”

Call her out on her bullshit, she wants to be the one to change that.

Tugging at her apron around her waist, she moves away from the counter, blending in between the old wooden walls and walking over to the center of the tavern with Joanne right behind her, calling her name like a mantra.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Lighting up this night a little bit, how about that?”

Joanne slips her fingers through her lucious black hair, mouthing. “How precisely are you going to do that?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

She’s tired, perhaps. Tired of the grump that sits next to her on the bus every morning. Tired of working in this bar, of watching the couples kissing on tables and getting out there shitfaced and vomiting. She lays one foot on the stage, the crisp radiation of the lights casting down on her with a glimmer of excitement and an ounce of fear when she finally reaches the middle. No one pays attention to her. Or, no one, but the man in the front row, downing a bottle of whiskey like his life belongs on the bottom of the glass.

Speaking of glasses, he wears a pair of those. They fall on his face romantically, on the bridge of a nose that looks a little slimmer with the shadows that cast on his face, paired with lips pouted like rose petals and strands of black hair that frame the face naturally. She has seen that face, normally from afar and with squinted eyes, where he listens to her stories on a windowsill, practicing with shirts too tight and tiptoes too pointed.

He gives her that push. That man that silently laughs or scoffs at her jokes when she’s practicing for something that won’t happen. Even when his face speaks more of drunken truths than the lying grins he gives her, she finds the stranger to be…homely.

So, she picks up the microphone, clearing her throat and shaking her voice to a hoarser, curter one before sighing. “I grew up with a bunch of men in my house.” She starts, and at first, she doesn’t get much of a reaction, but with every tremble of her body and joints that ache to speak for her, she continues. “And one would think that watching big bellies and sweaty armpits would give me a better hindsight of not trusting men to…uh…disappoint me every once in a while.” With that, she starts walking a bit, sending a wink to the groups of people now looking at her. “See, now I got your attention. That’s typical, both for men and women, tell us that we can’t do something and we go and do it…equally as wrong as how it was when we started.”

That earns a few laughs, but she’s concentrated on how the stranger chuckles. His shoulders shake, hairs falling on his forehead as if they belong there. They probably do, like his entire anatomy is a dance that follows its own steps.

That stranger, without knowing, makes her keep talking. 

“For example, with my first kiss, I had the audacity of believing that every hole shall be filled. Yes, blame it on the porn I watched…or maybe blame it on the fact that us, women, we are used to covering up what shall be left seen, so my mind went and I kid you not.” She lifts a hand in the air. “Throat. Tongue. Down. I saved that guy a visit to the odontologist and he paid me with what? What can you think about?”

“Great sex?” A woman in the background shouts and she hisses into the microphone.

“...You know eating in front of the poor is a sin, isn’t it?” She comments in a brief whisper before shaking her head. “No, I got disappointment. But then again, when you live in a house full of men, you’re quite used to it.”

More laughter and she feels on fire. Perhaps, because the man on the front row now had his hands pressed on each side of his face, looking at her with the intent of art. That night, she talks into a microphone, rambling about the in-between of being done with life but also trying to find the good side of it, and while she never gets to speak to the stranger, she knows he has a good luck amulet within him. 

December 23rd, 2008.

“Have you ever considered posting dancing videos on YouTube?”

Jun is one very vicious man. Wonwoo can tell from the way he sits; with his hands interlocked in between his thighs to warm them up and his body leaning forwards and backwards in its own axis repeatedly. He is trying to take up on cigarettes, but he leaves them midway and abandons them on top of the wooden counter of his apartment. Dino is seated at the corner, sipping on the same beer bottle he has shared the entire night they were spending together.

Wonwoo’s excuse was to have something to eat with his friends. Tomorrow, he’ll tag along with his family to dinners and pleasantries. For now, he wants the relaxation that comes with a TV night after eating out. Now, Jun is looking at the ceiling as if it’s the sky and he can count every astrological sign that people say there are painted in the stars, twirling the lit-down cigarette in between his fingers. 

“YouTube?” Wonwoo questions, not well-aware of technology at all. He knows he has a computer, though he never uses it, covered by a cloth somewhere in his apartment’s deposit. “What exactly is that?”

Chan squints his eyes, “You’re twenty-four years old, how in the world are you so lost in what young people do these days?”

“Because mentally, I’m not very young.” He explains, toying with the edge of the plate he had emptied. He traces the outline repeatedly, lost in thought. “Or because some people have other things to do.”

Jun scoffs at that, soon after masking his laugh with a hand clasped to his mouth when Wonwoo looks at him. Glares, really, but he won’t admit it.

“What’s the laugh for?”

“Wonwoo, you don’t do much apart from your routine.” Chan explains, extending a hand in the air after wiping the droplets of beer off his mouth. “You don’t date, rarely drink, spend most of your time practicing. The most action you get is from looking out the window to see this girl—”

“A girl?” Jun questions, finally stopping his ministrations of endless movement to look between his two friends. “There’s a woman in Wonwoo’s life?”

“The unfunniest comedian you can think of used to tell jokes in the building right across from our academy and Wonwoo was over the moon laughing at her jokes.” Chan tells the story as if it was a tale, standing up and doing big curves with his arms. A dancer, after all. “And once would think Jeon Wonwoo would ask her out, or at least make it obvious that he’s looking at her so she feels someone ogling her ass and finally gives him the time of the day, but the man’s sneaky as he can get.”

“It’s not okay to make women feel uncomfortable by ogling at them.” Wonwoo defends, leaning back on his seat and propping his legs over the counter. “And…she is funny.”

“Eyes of love, I’m telling you, Jun.” Chan contemplates, soon after placing a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. “But yes, I think it’d be a great idea. Like, two dudes dancing in an academy but they are totally platonic about each other and prove to everyone that ballet can be masculine.”

Wonwoo half-chuckles at his antics, patting his hand on top of his shoulder with his own cold palm. “I’m not against it, actually.” He answers, not knowing the weight of his words. Who does? Every word is just a conglomerate of syllables and the wind that passes to brush them off. “Jun, would you care to record something for us?”

“I was waiting for you to say that!” Jun stands up at that moment, a little bit drunk and hazed when he moves over the living room. “I have my camera with me! We can practice and see what we can come up with. Us being you, because I don’t plan on dancing.”

Christmas lights and endless laughter fill a night that blurs in Wonwoo’s mind, but had been the initiation of something much bigger. Perhaps, even stronger than what he could have ever controlled.

January 1st, 2009.

The east side bleeds perfectly lit streets for her to gawk at, but ambition leaves her in her spot. She stares forward, towards the hotel that she would have been presenting herself in had it not been for the denial letter she got. As of late, it seems as though she is only valuable for getting a few gigs in drunk-filled taverns and bars forgotten by the highest of classes. However, she wants a little bit more.

She sees the fitted dresses and the interlocked hands, and dare she say, she’s a bit jealous. Envious, even. She likes the way those women taut their gems and their beaming grins. Delicacy is something that can’t be found in simplistic matters, much less behind a dirty microphone as she spits out jokes about herself. She runs a hand through her hair when one of the invitees runs over a puddle with their sports car. Her sweater and jeans end up tainted by the mud of the previous rain. 

She could care. She could actually do something for her sweater.

She decides to rage, however.

Just as she’s about to turn around on the bottom of her boots and pretend like her life is not a complete misery, or make a joke about it, she hears a commotion, voices that blend with each other before she sees a body stumbling when getting out after being pushed—and whom she expects to see is not the stranger. That Wong guy whom she isn’t sure is called that way.

Handsome, of course, that he has always been. His hair is disheveled, falling on his face, a fitted shirt clinging to his body with a scar of a cup of coffee sprawled on the white material. His hands spread on the sidewalk, looking up with a flush on his cheeks and a sigh that impresses her.

“I wouldn’t have taken you as the kind to get kicked out of places, Wong.” She isn’t even aware of why she calls him such way. She has heard his friend, Chan, who is far more extroverted than him, call him something of the kind, but then again, she can’t recall. His knee is still pressed to the concrete and in any other position, perhaps from another point of view, it could look as though she is rejecting a marriage proposal. “Need any help?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, extending a hand and hoisting him up until she feels his chest flushed to hers. There’s some carving in those muscles, in the dip of his waist and how he stands as upright as possible. His eyelashes flutter softly when looking down at her and she has to swallow thickly.

Okay, those eyes? She can get behind them. She wishes she could, actually, so her vision would be able to foresee what he is seeing as his lips spread in a shy, tight-lipped smile. 

“Why ask if you already helped me?”

“Pleasantries.” She responds, letting go of his hand and brushing it on the back of her jeans until she saves it in her wet pocket. That’s a weird sentence, now that she thinks about it, she must be drenched in muddy water if her pocket is wet. “So, getting kicked out of expensive hotels? That’s better than me already. I get kicked out of bars.”

Wong, whoever, laughs at what she just said the way he did when he was drunk back at her first show. Now she has some more in a few bars, but never anything exclusive. “You seem like the type.”

“Love that we are both judgemental.” She chuckles along with him, earning an eyebrow lift that shouldn’t be quite as attractive as it is. As though he is confident in his silence and how that makes people more interested in him. 

“Chan’s the one that did it. He’s a friend of mine. Got drunk and started a fight, I ended up pretending like I was the one who started the commotion.” The stranger explains with a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. She watches the veins in his arms stand out in between fine hairs, making her bite her bottom lip. 

This man is art, even more from up close. 

“Are you sure you weren’t the one throwing hands?”

“I could never. It would mentally drain me.” Wong retorts, raising a finger in the air out of the sudden. “You called me Wong, didn’t you?”

Uh-oh, that wasn’t his name? She has to play pretend now. “Um…Did I? I don’t really remember if I did.”

“You don’t? I heard you perfectly. Where did you get that my name was Wong?”

“I…I didn’t call you Wong, first and foremost. And I may have heard Chan calling you that over the music when I practiced my stand-up in the building next to yours.”

“Wonwoo,” The man corrects, breaking out in sweet laughter before shaking his head. “But I’ll take Wong. I think it sounds scarier than Wonwoo does.”

“Wonwoo.”

“Yes.”

“That’s your name.”

“I guess so. My parents gave me that name.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry.” She scrunches up her nose, placing a hand against her forehead.  

His shoulders shake in that silent laughter that shouldn’t interest her quite as much before he shrugs. “I’ll let it slide if you tell me why you stopped going to the building next door.”

“I’ll be honest, I’ve been making so much money off stand-up comedy that I haven’t been able to actually stop by and practice. I just spit things out in a microphone. Like Eminem.”

His eyebrows raise in an innocent manner. As though what is served in front of him is somewhat truthful even when he doesn’t double-check. She wonders if life has been less complicated for him, reason as to why he can believe with more of an open heart. 

“Actually, my career is dying. Both as a bartender and as a comedian but…I don’t have a choice, right?” She sighs, the humidity seeping like a cloud of air around her before it dissolves into nothing. “It’s either trying to live my dream or feel my heart failing so…if I make money or not, it shouldn’t matter. Success is a concept, not really a tangible reality.”

At least, that’s what she thinks. What she wants to believe when her cheek squished against her pillow and she feels like her thoughts are more death-threats against her dreams than anything else. Wonwoo stares at her with some kind of puzzlement in his gaze, and he takes that as his cue to nod.

“Something we never reach, that’s what success is. Or when we do, it slips through our fingers just as easily.” She didn’t expect him to sound so somber, but with the shiver of his body that trails up his spine and shakes him to reality, he hums. “But don’t feel down because of that. I like your jokes.”

“You’re the only one who laughs at them, most likely.”

“Some laughs from one person is still more than silence.” 

She watches him with precision. Wondering, maybe, how a man like him exists. How there is so much compound profoundness in a body that is constructed to be seen as it is. To be inspected and studied like the anatomy of perfection. Only that he’s nowhere near close that, isn’t he? 

“If I ever become successful, Wonwoo, I’ll say your name on stage.” She promises, giving a few steps back and hearing that laughter that she had never been able to catch from up close.

She wouldn’t trade it, now that she hears it. 

“Make that a promise.”

“That’s what it is.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“It probably won’t happen, so don’t wait for too long.”

With that, she turns back, munching on her lip and trying her hardest not to smile.

So, maybe, she has someone to play for.

Present. 

“Wonwoo’s career skyrocketed before hers, and I think that’s one of the biggest issues.” Joshua is not a plotter, but in this episode of Backstage Says, it feels as though he knows more than most. He leans back on his seat, rubbing at a tired eye. “He loved ballet. I’m not sure if he did it more than he loved her.”

For whoever that had seen Jeon Wonwoo on stage, they were up for a treat. Social media was barely touched upon when he finally got discovered by a group of women, which would then be shown in the video version of the podcast for people to see. Joshua taps a finger against his mouth, sighing.

“Her commentary was very clear. She didn’t want to be anyone’s shadow. She had lived there for a very long while…so I’m not sure what clouded her mind when she started seeing Wonwoo in another light.”

April 8th, 2009.

Wonwoo stands in front of a camera, feeling a little bit ridiculous, and yet, somehow saved from the imminent doom of his thoughts.

Near his house there is this plaza, a place that is rarely visited by anyone but teenage couples that are trying to hide their interlocked hands from their parents and make-out for a little longer, and a few kids that rush into their parents’ arms to get scoops of ice cream. He tugs at the beige sweater that rests on his broad shoulders, easing the knot on his throat with some clearance of it before he looks around.

Enormous trees cascade in elegant flowers at this time of the year, wetting his lips when seeing the gorgeous clouds that settle on the sky of Seoul. Jun had been nice enough to offer himself to record a video for Wonwoo’s and Chan’s channel, but he was nervous. Now that he got an email from a talent company, aware of his existence and wanting to support him monetarily, he’s not sure that he’s very happy about posting a video.

It’s the seventh time he has recorded the same routine, and he feels as though he does it worse every single time.

Wonwoo puts his glasses down, next to his wallet on a bench nearby, resting his hands on his waist and fixing the camera to settle the colors in brighter shades, discerning the clouds like puffiness in the sky to never be grazed by the horrendous hand of humanity. He likes that, the unreachable, but how freaking scared he can be of it is surprising.

He starts the music again, getting on his first position and raising a long leg up with expertise, though, when he curves his hands and gets ready to start with his jumps, he feels a droplet falling on top of his head. Soon after followed by many more, earning the widening of his eyes and a rush to Jun’s camera.

He’d get killed if he dared ruin that camera.

He covers it with his sweater, shielding it while the pouring rain gives him a message. As if telling him that now that he is represented, he won’t be able to sustain the views that he had gotten on his YouTube channel.

Though, just as he’s about to reach for his glasses, he hears music in his head. He listens to the soundtrack to ‘The Nutcracker’ in his head. He remembers the time he danced to it in high school; the mocking he got from other guys, the coos that came with the actual play and how it made him feel alive. He doesn’t realize that he’s getting into position until he renews the feeling from back then, swinging to his heart’s content. As it should have been, like it hasn’t been in a while.

Much to his surprise, however, as every joint in his body unravels into a typical glee, he sees a body from his peripheral. It’s a rushing outline of a woman, watered down like a flower in spring. She stops when seeing him and he notices this, immediately stopping his ministrations. He expects to see the mocking grin that takes over her features whenever he sees her; like she finds the universe funny. However, as she holds onto a now wet paper bag, she blinks at him before letting said bag fall to the floor softly.

“My God.”

His cheeks tint red, clearing his throat and putting his glasses on just so he can’t see her surprised face. He’s still not quite used to the attention; at least, not when he doesn’t have Chan by his side to take up most of it. “It’s raining. You shouldn’t be out like this.”

“It’s not like I planned it, Wonwoo.” The comedian says, taking one step forward before sighing. “How do you do that thing?”

It keeps raining and yet, she doesn’t care. She inspects with an eye that would be otherwise scarily specific when he frowns his thick eyebrows. “What thing?”

“The jumps!” There is a bit of a childish tone to her voice before she expands her arms romantically. “You seem so elegant yet so wide. It’s surprising to see you take up so much space and make it look okay.”

“That just means I’m tall.”

“You get it. I’m the one that should be funny.” She rubs the sleeve of her sweater on his glasses, rising her gaze and connecting her eyes with his own. God, those eyes could kill him at any moment and he wouldn’t feel any pain or resentment. “Show me.”

“Show you?”

“I’ve never been much of a dancer myself.” She admits, fluttering dusk-covered eyelashes at him and sighing deeply. “But I want to liberate myself in a way. It’s raining. I’ve gotten the news that my show’s been canceled. I bought my favorite bread and now it’s drained in rain. Maybe, try to lighten the mood? You always do whenever I see you.”

Not that they see each other often. It’s been months since he has heard her stand-up, but somehow, he’s always rooting for her. Living off a small crush that is clearly one-sided. “Okay.” He breathes out, taking off his glasses and hanging them from the collar of his sweater. “Raise your arms on both sides.”

She does so, but her actions are mechanical. One arm on the left, one arm on the right, and then a crook of her chin. “So, what else?”

“Your arms are not part of you. They are terminations of your being. Like the leaves of a tree or the feathers of a bird.” Wonwoo explains, letting his fingers graze the tip of her fingers. They are soft to the touch, somehow strong when he crooks them to his desire. “Let them curve, with a little bit of elegance, I guess. Lift your pinky and index, as if you are pointing at something but are too drunk to actually know what it is.”

“You’re an elegant drunk. I’m more of the shitfaced kind.”

“Part of ballet is pretending.” Wonwoo finalizes with her hands, sending her a smile before he takes place in front of her. “So, that’s the first position. Then, you launch yourself forward the slightest, letting your foot point behind you.”

“You really think I have the balance to do this?” She scoffs, leaning her body in just one leg and looking into his eyes before quirking the corner of her lips in a smirk. She’s far too close for him not to be bothered by that action alone, but he lets it slide. “Okay, now what?”

“You were the one that asked.”

“I want to feel pretty and elegant for once.”

Wonwoo bites on his lip, because he’s sure that he’d spit out that she’s always beautiful. The kind of gorgeous that has people looking twice, because that smile definitely has to be worked by Gods themselves. He would want nothing more than to spend hours and hours of his day looking at her just speaking, whether it was in her serious form or making fun of everything around her. He sighs deeply. 

“Bring the foot you’re holding up to the front, give three quirk steps on pointé and then, jump. Rotate as you do so.”

He gives her a demonstration, passing by her side and keeping his balance even with the rain. Though, when he finally ends up in the last pose, she has already dropped her arms on her side, leaving her mouth ajar the slightest before she starts clapping.

Wonwoo had been blushing before, but this is even worse. He even finds himself smiling a little bit, because hey, what kind of man doesn’t like being looked at like that by a woman like her? 

“That got you a lot of pussy back in high school, didn’t it?”

“You’d be surprised.” Wonwoo adds sarcastically, rolling his eyes and then, laughing.

“No way, you were the pussy monster? Like the cookie monster but cooler?”

“Not a lot of women want to be with a ballet dancer. I guess it’s the stigma of thinking that we are more femenine than most.” He confesses, only to have her quirking an eyebrow before crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t believe one bit that you weren’t popular in high school.”

Wonwoo, caught in his own lie, licks the inside of his cheek before laughing. “Okay, I may have skipped the fact that I was a ballet dancer so I could go out on more dates. But that’s part of going through high school, the whole experimenting bit.”

There is that mocking grin that he oh-so-deeply likes. She points her finger at him; straight, volatile, quite different to what he is used to because of dancing, before she adds: “I knew so. There is no way in this world that you weren’t some kind of heartbreaker yourself.”

“I never said I was a heartbreaker.” Wonwoo counterparts. “It depends on the story. Sometimes we are the good guy, sometimes we are the bad guy.”

“Sometimes, we are just some guy.” She comments, sighing deeply. “I feel like I’m just that at times.” 

Before he could tell her that he sees endless talent in her, she picks up the camera that he had left forgotten at the bench before placing it in his hands. “I think it’s not going to work anymore. Sorry for that.”

She gives a few steps back, raising her arms on each side of her body before jumping two steps backwards. That makes him smile, even though he should be worried about his camera. 

“Be my guest, judge me.” She says, only to have him shaking his head.

“Could be better.”

“I’m the bad guy in your story, then.”

Though, as he sees her leave, he’s not sure if she is the good or the bad guy. He only knows he’s more than just somebody. 

And that he has to buy Jun a new camera.

February 15th, 2010. 

She doesn’t feel the slightest bit like herself. Polyester never looked good on anybody, much less herself.

This green dress ends up a little bit under her knees, a little snug on the chest area and yet, it doesn’t make her look any more attractive or sexier. The Valentine Ball was an event that her manager had invited her to be part of to launch her career; some people had heard her stand-up and they wanted her to be part of the line-up. Through gritted teeth, of course, someone had to cancel for her to get the spot, but she’ll take what she can.

What she didn’t expect was that the dress that she ordered online would look like this. Pressing a hand to her neck, she tries to breathe in deeply. Perhaps, suck in her waist or look a little bit more confident, but as she’s trapped with a bunch of people in a changing room; known talents and those to be found, she feels like she’s out of place.

She should have taken the sexy dress that Joanne offered. She’d feel more confident then, wouldn’t she?

With tingling fingertips and the acids in her stomach lurching and expecting to make her throw up, she starts walking in the hunt for something. Anything? She is not really aware of what she’s looking for, but she’s opening doors, not seeing anything but more people, trapping her in a mindset that tells her she’s not really that talented to be performing in front of five thousand people. To be part of a lineup, even.

Another beer bottle ends up in between her fingers, sipping on it like her life depends on it. Skin heated and perhaps glistening a bit of sweat, she opens the last door she sees before she has to turn towards a hallway that she thinks she has already passed. The doorknob feels heavy in between her fingers, tugging at the door and then pushing it with her shoulder to help it open before she comes face to face with a body that she shouldn’t be ogling at.

A slim waist is hugged by a gorgeous coral-colored shirt, flared at the shoulders, paired with some pants that belong to a dancer. That head of black hair is a bit longer than she remembers when he turns around to look at her, eyes squinted because they are always like so when he is not wearing his glasses. He neatly folds the shirt he must have taken off just a few minutes ago in between his fingers, but she’s licking her lips at the moment.

Totally to taste the beer off her tongue, not because he looks good enough to eat.

Wonwoo is not a common memory, but it’s a good one. She briefly remembers that she had sworn to say his name on a show when she became successful, but that hasn’t happened yet. Sighing deeply, she raises a hand in the air, stumbling a bit because of the alcohol in her system.

God, make it better for the show, that’s all she can think about.

“I totally didn’t mean to interrupt you for like the umpteenth time.” Before he could say if that was the case or not, she closes the door with the back of her cheap heels before chuckling. “But I’m totally scared and overthinking my script, but I’ll take this meeting as a sign that I might be dreaming or that I have lost my mind completely.”

The room is smaller, crapped and heated, warming her up and making her feel a bit stupid. There he is, Wonwoo looking like an absolute dream, slim hips and small waist, with his cheeks pushing up in a smile and all she can think is ‘feromones, calm the fuck up’. 

Fuck it, he’s sexy, she’ll admit that. Those girls that thought dating a ballet dancer was stupid must have lost their goddamned minds.

“You’ll do well, I’m certain.” Wonwoo places his shirt inside his bag before leaning on the bedframe of the mattress that comfortably lays in the corner of the room. The angles in his body become more apparent at that moment, but she tries to concentrate on what he is saying. That’s her drunk mind speaking, after all, isn’t it? “I have my own presentation today. I read your name in the list but I wasn’t sure if we were going to meet up. There’s plenty of talent today, after all.”

She chuckles, drinking the last few bits of her beer before placing the bottle down on a table nearby, getting closer to Wonwoo. “Sorry, I’m awfully stupid when it comes to these things. I didn’t check the line-up. I would’ve looked for you if that was the case.”

He widens his eyes momentarily before smiling. “Why so?”

“Because you’re a distraction, and I feel like I’m losing my mind at this moment. I’m drunk, nervous, and let me be honest with you…” She shouldn’t. Her mind is blaring signs that she shouldn’t speak more than necessary. Or at all, really, smart people like Wonwoo shouldn’t have to listen to her blabbering. “You look too fucking good right now and I want nothing more than to kiss you so I can have my mind at peace for a lonesome second. That’s what I need, really.”

Wonwoo should be one of those lovers that are shy and bite back on their words. She had seen him blush and stammer with his words, soft and comfortable, but there’s always a few hidden words in every silent tale. Wonwoo doesn’t move, but he’s a magnetic field that pulls her in by just extending his hand and interlocking their fingers together. He traces the bones on her knuckles, a few lines in his fingers felt by every fiber in her body. 

Her anatomy gravitates towards him, by the way he doesn’t move and yet, everything about him seems as though it’s dancing. The golden lights of the room cast down on his now darkened eyes, though there is a bit of flirtation in them. Perhaps, he has his own sneaky ways of getting what he wants. Silently and patiently. 

“You really want a kiss to forget? So, if it was anyone else, you’d ask them, too?”

She shakes her head, because she must have lost it. Giving a man this kind of power over her is different from what she does. She’d talk smack about what she is doing right now in a stand-up comedy, but the romance in his eyes is killing her neurons slowly. 

“No.” She confesses. “I’d only want to kiss someone this badly if it was you.”

Wonwoo wraps a hand around her waist, though the hold is weighty, he doesn’t tug at her. He moves her closer, making her stand in between his thighs, warming her up when his lips wrap around her upper one. His other palm moves from her hand to her face, cradling her cheek and smacking their mouths together. He’s relaxed, patient as ever, with an elegance in his touch that shows the experience that he likes to deny. The pit of her stomach winces, contracts, pleads for her to get closer to him but her hands only wrap around his shoulders, curving more towards him, breathing in and sighing against his mouth before taking more of him.

His tongue doesn’t graze her lips, and his teeth don’t lurk to bite. Wonwoo is patient to the point she is down to kiss him for the entire night and miss the event if that’s what liquor courage makes her do. He smells like musk and feels like warmth, pulling her in and yet, granting her only what she can have for dreams late at night, never reaching the end-line.

Because he wants her to run there. 

He’s an expert in making people look at him and desire him. 

Soon after, she’s hearing her name being called from the speakers, calling her to prepare for her stand-up. Wonwoo pulls away, eyes gleaming, looking at her with a desire that weights his eyelids down and makes his lips purse as if disappointed.

God, she’d kiss the disappointment away if she’d have a little bit more time.

“Go. I’ll be looking at you.” His lips are not rosy enough, not kissed enough, and she’s about to lean in for another kiss when he moves away, opening the door to the room and pointing the entrance for her.

“I’m still not successful enough to say your name.”

Wonwoo’s lips quirk up at that. “I’ve heard you say my name in my mind plenty of times, don’t you worry about that.”

July 1st, 2012. 

There's radiation within her body, emanating from her back and transcending to her chest. It doesn’t make her feel at ease, but somehow, she completes herself with the nervousness that coaxes her. Dressed in the costume for this week’s program, she tries to concentrate on how different life is. Joanne is somewhere in the bar, forgotten by her, abandoned in a world where gold splashes cameras and makes people coo at the images of celebrities.

She’s nowhere close to that, or so she thinks, feeling like a kid as she stands in front of Dokyeom, her counterpart. He is always ready for the next scene, live and yet, eating whatever script he had written alongside her for every Saturday night. However, her body dissipates into a small butterfly that shakes through the strong wind, trying not to disarrange herself with every bridge she burns to be able to fly.

Now that she’s flying, making people laugh weekly, working on her own stand-up shows, she is afraid of how high she can go before the imminent fall comes. 

Whenever she feels nervous, she remembers the smile that she would see in some of the front rows of her shows. She recalls the vibrato of his voice after that lonely kiss they once shared while she was tipsy. It’s the only thought that makes her stay sane when the world moves a little too quickly, like Dokyeom’s lips as he recites the script before the cameras turn on.

“I want to do something.” She says, because her decisions are always taken like that. When she’s scared and there is nothing else to do but hope that throwing herself to the ocean will wash away that emotion. Dokyeom stops speaking, looking at her through thickly brimmed glasses that barely let him see. It’s part of his nerdy character for the show, after all.

“I’m blind enough as of now not to ask you what kind of crazy thing you want to do.” Okay, maybe she had gotten a little bit lost on the midway-through being a celebrity phase, but partying had some kind of taste to it. Like alcohol that buzzes through her body and makes her feel confident. What she rarely is these days, after all.

“I have a friend and whenever we spoke about me making it, I’d promise him that I’d say his name.” She recalls. Of course, Wonwoo is not really her friend. She barely knows a thing or two about him. His passion, the way he holds himself together, his laugh and how deeply he enjoys her jokes. She knows he is majestic, rare in every shape or form but in the best way. “Mind it if I call your character like him? In hopes of…you know, him watching it.”

Dokyeom takes off those enormous glasses before cooing. “Hold up, you’re lying to me here. If you two are friends, how do you not know if he’s going to watch it?”

“We’ve lost touch.” After that kiss, she would like to add, but she’d never hear the end of it if that was the case. 

“Or, you actually are not friends with him but are trying to get inside someone’s pants.”

“On fucking stage, yes. Of course.” She adds sarcastically, pushing at Dokyeom’s shoulder before she hears him laugh joyfully. “Nothing funnier than making things awkward for everyone.”

“It’s what you’re saying, mind you.” Dokyeom counterparts, clearing his throat and then, grabbing the script again. His eyelashes flutter when reading the next few sentences, waving a hand in the air to coax her to say more. “Say the name so I don’t lose track when performing.”

Those syllables weight in her tongue. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t regret not trying it out with him. Whenever she goes out on a date or when nights get heavy on her own, she imagines whispering it to him, while wrapping an arm around his waist and trapping his lips in another kiss. One better than the last, if that’s even possible. She wants to unclad his secrets and get to know him more, to touch skin but also soul. 

“Wonwoo.” Her voice shouldn’t have been as soft as it was and maybe, Dokyeom notices it. He doesn’t see her, nor does he make a joke. If anything, he stands perfectly in place and plays his character even when she calls him Wonwoo, trying her hardest not to smile but failing at the end of the scene, when she says it with a grin on her face.

Maybe, that’s what she wants. For Wonwoo to see that she has started dancing with life and while it’s nowhere near easy, it’s something. For her to get used to what the world threw at her was out of the question. Now, she releases her own weapons and fights against the odds, letting the rain wash down every insecurity she ever had. Like she did with him.

She auditioned for this weekly comedy show the day after she met up with Wonwoo under the rain, after all, and it took time, but she got called eventually. She wants to believe his braveness is what unleashed the inspiration that got her to be a better version of herself.

Or damn, she’s just overthinking the possibilities. Wonwoo could be just like any other man, a stranger to her, but it’s not like she’ll get to know so. He vanished into a memory of what never happened, only to stay that way. A treacherous yet luring road that was never crossed by her wandering steps.

 July 9th, 2012. 

Wonwoo doesn’t understand how his students spend most of their time with their noses glued to phone screens.

He should do it more, he thinks. He has his own channel, after all, and while he has launched and bleed through classes through his shared academy with Chan. However, as he extends his joints and prepares to start from the top with the presentation his teenage students were preparing for a high school performance, he hears more giggles coming from the group of girls seated on the wooden floor. They look at him before hiding blushed cheeks behind extended hands.

They have been like that for the last fifteen minutes and he knows that they got over their crush on him over five months ago. He made sure to establish that from the moment they started taking classes. However, there is something different and he has been trying his hardest to ignore the laughing and the stares, but it’s starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Do I have something on my face?” Wonwoo questions, placing both hands around his waist and frowning deeply to earn an answer. He needs to perfect their synchronization and they are not going to get anywhere with the gossiping that happens in the classroom. 

“Nope.” Bitna answers quickly, chuckling into her hand. “But I think you’ve got a girlfriend, Instructor Jeon.”

He had one seven months ago. It wasn’t the most glorious of times and it ended quickly. With a few dates and hands that got lost in naked skin, but it didn’t feel like much else. It drained him from his energy whenever they argued, and the memories slipped from his fingers quickly. Not love, not like, just simply spending time together. 

Was that even a girlfriend? He’s not sure. He hasn’t asked anyone to be so in years. 

He hasn’t felt unique in years, and that’s mostly part of what stops him. To be with somebody, he wants to find someone who makes him feel as though he is one on his own, yet great enough for someone to desire to be with him. The butterflies can be forgotten, but there needs to be a buzz…or something.

“Girls, what are you saying? Stop inventing things.” Though, when he gets closer to them, hearing a chant of ‘no’ when he grabs the phone, he didn’t expect to see what he did. A woman is on the screen, one that he remembers candidly with a lingering kiss that had him wishing for more. Her lips part on one of those live weekly shows that plan on making whole families laugh while making commentary about celebrities and the current society. Though, what takes him off guard is when she continues with her role and dares say…

His name.

It doesn’t take much more for him to smile. Savoring the glory of her finally reaching a position in which she is happy. At the end of the scene, she seems to feel him. As if she knew he’d react this way, with the tips of his fingers tingling to touch her and his heart blossoming within his chest. He starts the video again, just because he can, hearing more coos from his students…but he’s awfully inspired.

Joyful, even.

She said his name. She’s on TV. Now, he knows he has something to watch every single week. 

His impossibility, as he’d like to call her.

November 22nd, 2014.

Simpleness, she had always liked. Yet, when a diamond glimmers, a person can’t help but look at that. She wonders, somehow, if she is the villain in the story when she cringes into her own body as the cameras flash in front of the car her boyfriend was driving towards their date. Not that it was going anywhere nicely, the car smells rancidly of weed and they had been arguing from the moment they got out of his home. Lost for the past three days, he had been partying endlessly, and not a single text had been sent her way to make sure he was okay.

People hated them to bits and pieces, too. She was a joke of a comedian for dating a pop star, and Mingyu was too lost in his own vision to even care what people were saying about him. A few paparazzi, those that are now hunting them like an animal’s prey, had been nice enough (or not) to email her to see if she wanted to have a few pictures of Mingyu cheating on her. She asked her team to ignore them, pay them however much was necessary just because…

She loved him? As the cameras grow wider and Mingyu starts cursing under his breath, she looks at his profile. Stardom was always beautiful; god, she had wished to be in this same position, wrapped up in cameras and money just years ago. However, as Mingyu’s jacket transcends the smell of a perfume that isn’t hers and his eyes water in complete stress, she realizes that this is not love.

This is the need to brag. The egocentrism that clads celebrities and hides them in loops of nothingness. She likes appearing in pictures with him, that she has something to talk about in her monologues, that at the end of the day she has someone to kiss on the lips and have get lost in between her legs when she feels lonely. But this? The invasion of privacy? The loneliness? The screaming and arguing that ends up in pretending for a few cameras…?

“I’m done.” She confesses, grabbing her jacket from the backseat before she pats a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. “Stop the car. I’m getting off.”

“What?” Mingyu questions, eyeing her as if she’s crazy. She must have been, considering that she has been in this relationship for the past four months and she feels as empty as ever. Sold out, like her shows should be, not her heart. “You’re absolutely fucking nuts. They’ll eat you alive.”

She knows that she is somewhere near the center of Seoul, where the restaurants become more apparent and people are not half interested in who she is. Or they weren’t, until she started dating the rap superstar, Kim Mingyu. 

“I want to end this. This…fucking car ride, and this relationship.”

He chuckles at that. Of course, he can’t believe what she is saying. “Babe, I’m not joking. Those people could actually hurt you.”

“Stop the car and open the goddamned door.” 

“No.”

She opens the door at that moment, watching his eyes widening because Mingyu can pretend to be reckless, but he won’t continue with the car ride if she’s threatening to get off. Her jacket clads her vision when she gets out of the car, bodies tugging at her own, pushing her around as if she’s a sack for them to possess. However, the tears she wants to spill never appear, swallowing thickly and moving forward.

“Slut!”

“Sell-out!”

“How are Mingyu’s other women doing? What do you think about that?”

“Get back here!”

All of this for feeling a little bit less lonely? No thanks.

She starts running at that moment, hearing more shouts behind her, but she covers her face with that jacket. No one could see her shame and sadness if she did so. After all, she’s expected to be all laughs and that’s all she will ever be. Never successful enough, never anything but someone’s shadow. A woman, after all.

More steps are heard behind her and she starts turning on alleys, not knowing precisely where she is going and entering the first secluded restaurant that she finds in an abandoned alley. Cats are by the doorway, the secluded Japanese restaurant perhaps very close to stopping their business, but someone is seated there…

And it’s almost ironic that she doesn’t recognize him at first. His waist is still as taut, glasses humid because of the ramen he’s having. His black hair is shorter, pushed away from his enigmatic features, relaxed as ever until he hears the big sigh that escapes her lips. Her palms spread on her knees, never once letting go of the image in front of her.

Jeon Wonwoo always comes at the best times for her, and yet, somehow, it’s always the wrong moment for them.

She tosses the jacket to the side, hearing the old lady working by the entrance asking her if she’s okay but once glance of Wonwoo at her and she recognizes that he’s aware that she’s nowhere near close to that. Her feet move to their own accord, standing in front of him as if asking him to say something. He doesn’t.

“I think I lost.” She whispers, because she knows that he’ll understand better than anyone else. “I don’t know if it’s myself…or this game that I dare call life.”

Wonwoo stands up at that moment, placing his hands on her shoulders when he stands behind her. The part of her that were dead are lit up by hope when he sits her down on the chair across from her, grabbing a hairband from his wrist and messily tying her hair. 

“You can feel pain now.” He reassures her and at that moment, she feels the tears that she had been hiding for the past few years building up. “The more pain you feel, the more it will heal…and then, you’ll see yourself in your reflection again. I promise.”

In the tea Wonwoo had been drinking, she sees tears winding down her cheeks, a few hairs framing her face and a man behind her, who smiles softly, like he is a bit shy about doing it. 

She’ll be herself one day.

It’s not today, but she lives within her body and she’ll appear one day.

“...I would really like some ramen.”

“Have mine.”

“You sure?”

He chuckles and the sound alone heals her heart. “The world is a little bit better if we share, isn’t it?”

May 26th, 2017.

“If you had to choose a part of me to stay with, which one would you choose?”

She asks that question as she watches the sunset with Wonwoo, seated in between his legs and sharing a dense, oversized jacket with him. His arms are wrapped around her body, caged and confined by the same fabric, with his perfume lingering in her body and his chin squished to the top of her head. Wonwoo half chuckles at her words.

“That awfully sounds like I’m a serial killer and I will pluck off your nails or something.”

“Don’t be so literal about things, Wonwoo.” She rolls her eyes at him, interlocking their fingers together and still, feeling her heart stop. She likes saying that what makes her relationship work is not letting anyone into their lives. They know what they want them to know, and that power alone has people wondering if the person in her monologues being completely anonymous.

Or kind of, people are well aware that he is a famous ballet dancer and it’s not difficult to add two plus two.

“Your eyes.” He confesses, pressing a kiss to her neck and then, tugging at her body closer. The heat in her skin could come from his body or his words, she’s not certain, and that’s the beautiful thing about being with him. One never knows with Wonwoo. “You’d never look at me when we were in those two buildings.”

“I’d look at you!”

“Not a chance.” Wonwoo adds, laughing at her words. “You’d look at the wall as if people were staring at you and there was so much power in her gaze alone. When you finally asked me what I thought, I was over the moon…You’d look at me without a hint of fear, and I needed that. I wanted to be fearless because you were so.”

“I’m not anywhere near fearless.” She adds, pressing his hand to her thundering heart. “I’m scared of…of how nice you make feel, Wonwoo. How much I love you.”

“Let it be.” Wonwoo says, swinging their bodies from side to side before pressing his lips to her own. She had gotten this; comfort and grief…letting go of the sadness that had once cladded her. “So, yes, I’d stare at your eyes forever if I had to.”

“You have to now after telling me that.”

“I won’t fight it, then.”

Present. 

“So,” Joshua Hong finishes his podcast with a small clap. “I wanted to talk about this story because I see people lurking for real love and whenever they answer what real love is, they answer this couple and I am certain they have broken up. Here, in Backstage Says, we have confirmed that Chan and Wonwoo are no longer friends after a dispute about the business and that…”

“You are so full of shit.” Much like her mother, Sangmi places a hand in the corner of the laptop and closes it with a thud. Not only had her little crush on the podcast host deflated, but now she’s licking her lips, twirling in her chair and looking up at the idol poster she has plastered on her ceiling.

Did mom and dad ever break up?

Picking up her backpack, she rushes out of her room with heavy steps and a curiousness that blinds her. When she reaches the kitchen, she sees her mom, hunching on the counter and jotting down a few notes for her next script. Dad, on the other hand, is reading a book that speaks of old literature and art.

Sure, her parents are not open about their relationship…but she exists. How could Joshua Hong say that they are no longer together?

“Did you guys ever break up?”

The young teen gets the attention of Wonwoo first, who raises his eyebrows before exchanging a glance with his wife. Laughter rises from both of them at that moment and Sangmi inflates her cheeks, bundling up her fists.

“I’m being serious!”

“We spent plenty of years lost, I guess.” Wonwoo announces, closing the book softly. “You have to think of it this way, it took us a long time to end up together even though we knew we were meant to have something with each other.”

“Okay, so, nice.” Sangmi adds. “The podcast I was head over heels for had an episode about you two and they say you broke up. Joshua Hong is now off my crush list.”

Her mom is the one to laugh now, writing another sentence before shaking her head. “Get ready, kid. You’ll make lots of mistakes before you find the one.” Though, she eyes her daughter. “Besides, he’s a little too old for you. Get over yourself.”

“Mom!“

That’s not Wonwoo’s attitude, for sure.

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #wonwoo au #seventeen au #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #ballet dancer!au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst

[natashaslesbian]

First Position

From the ‘Tiny Dancer’ series

Summary: Natasha takes you to your first ever dance class, unfortunately it doesn’t go well

Word Count: 1.2k

Parings: (Little/Kid Reader x Mama Natasha)

Angst/major fluff/comfort

Warnings: none I think :)

————

“Alright baby girl come here let’s get you ready” Natasha called as you came bolting towards her. Today was your first ever ballet class, you were so excited! You had your new pink leotard on and your mama had your tutu packed up and ready to go in your little dance bag. “There we go beautiful” Natasha said as she placed the last pin in your bun “you wanna go get your shoes” you shot out of the room quicker than Natasha could blink. You burst into your room and picked up your ballet shoes. “Got them mama!” You said with a beaming smile as you returned “oh baby girl I meant your outside shoes, your sneakers?” You were so cute, so eager to get to dance class that you forgot you’d need outdoor shoes first. “It’s ok” said Natasha as she came down face to face with you to help you into your ballet shoes “I guess mommy can always carry you” you giggled as Natasha tickled your tummy and hoisted you up into her arms

You couldn’t sit still the entire car journey to the studio, you were shaking with excitement. Natasha was in awe of you, her grown up little princess all ready for her first ballet class. Your mommy had shown you photographs of when she used to dance and you decided straight away that’s what you wanted to do. Natasha protected you from the truth of her formal dance training but she was made up she would get to see you flourish just like she did in a much happier and safer environment. You had imagined for weeks what your first class would be like, the teacher, the pianist, the other kids. The car pulled into the parking lot and you tried your hardest to wriggle out of your booster seat. You had dreamt all last night about this very moment. “Mama! Mama! Come on!” You beamed up as your mommy opened the car door and helped get you out. “Ok, ok let’s go!” Natasha said as she carried you into the building.

The second your mama put you down you were off, running over to introduce yourself to all the other little ballerinas. Natasha smiled as she watched you patter away on your little feet, she introduced herself to Miss Taylor (a highly recommended ballet teacher) and left you in her trusty hands. You waved to your mommy as she left the room to work on her latest mission report. She listened to the classical musical flowing from the studio and tried to push away the lingering anxiety of her memories. You were completely safe and she knew that - but she still insisted she stays just outside the room. You are here entire world and she would lay her life down to protect you from any harm.

The hour raced by, Natasha completed her mission report and got started on some reading assigned by Fury. The other parents arrived gathering outside the studio doors; peaking their heads through the windows to get a glimpse of their dancing angels. Natasha packed up and waited for you to come running and tell her all about your first ever dance class. You were the first one out and rushed into your mamas frame. She curled into you and asked if you had a good time but when she felt you shake your little head and pealed you from her body, she was heartbroken to find tears streaming down your face “oh my darling” she said as she came down to your level “what happened y/n/n?” You began crying your little heart out and Natasha scooped you up right away “wan-wanna go home!” You cried “alright sweetheart let’s go” Natasha said as she carried you back to the car.

Once you were safely strapped in your car seat, Natasha passed you your favourite stuffie in the hopes it would calm you down. But you didn’t want widow bear, you wanted your mommy. You started to scream and kick, just wanting to be held. “Ok, ok, ok” Natasha cooed “come here baby” she said as she pulled you back out of the car and into her arms. She sat with you in the passenger seat, stroking your hair and whispering soothing words, until you grew tired and fell fast asleep. Natasha was devastated, you had never cried yourself to sleep. She knew you must be really upset and was desperate to get to the bottom of it.

You woke up an hour later, tightly wrapped up in your mamas arms. “Hello beautiful” Natasha said gently helping you wake up “did you have a good sleep?” You nodded and buried your face into your mommy’s neck. Natasha spent a few minuets bringing you out of your sleepy state before she spoke up again “do you wanna tell mommy why you were so upset after ballet class?” You began to tear up again at the memory and Natasha gently shushed you. “Other girls were- were meanie” you whispered. “what did they say baby?” Natasha was furious “they laughed…at me because I could-couldn’t do the spins well” you hiccuped through your quiet sobs “an-and one of them said I was stupid. Am- am I stupid mama?” Natasha’s heart shattered at your question, she looked down into your teary y/e/c eyes and lent down to place a kiss on your forehead “oh y/n you’re not stupid. You’re not stupid I promise, it was very wrong of them to say that darling. Don’t you listen to them ok, you’re not stupid babygirl, you are very very smart and such a special little girl. I am so proud of you y/n/n” you smiled at your mommy’s words but didn’t quite believe them after what the girls had said at dance class.

You spent the rest of the evening being pampered by your mama with cuddles and chocolate treats and all your favourite movies. Natasha got you wound down for bed with a bubble bath and the softest pair of pjs that you owned. After tucking you into bed (Natasha’s bed that you begged to sleep in tonight) your mommy pulled out the big book of fairytales to read you a bedtime story, it was one of your favourite parts of the day. “Mama?” You interrupted half way through the classic tale of Goldilocks. “Yeah?” Natasha said, pausing her reading “can I go to ballet class again?” Natasha was surprised by your request “you wanna go again baby?” Natasha asked “yeah, wanna try another time” your mommy smiled, you were the bravest little girl. Natasha was so proud of you “of course you can go again, but I think we should find you somewhere else to dance, yeah?” You nodded and agreed with Natasha. You were glad you wouldn’t have to see those mean girls again. “Alright then, now you get some sleep” said your mama as she laid a final goodnight kiss to your temple “I love you so much tiny dancer” you leaned up and gave your mommy a kiss on the check, your way of telling her that you loved her too.

Once you were snoring softly, Natasha crept over to her computer and began searching for another place for you to dance at. She found a small club called ‘Main Attraxion’ and decided she would get in touch with Emma, the owner, in the morning. After leaving herself a reminder on a little sticky note, Natasha climbed back into bed with you and pulled you close to her chest. You subconsciously wrapped your tiny arms around your mamas neck and the two of you slept peacefully in each others arms.

————

Another little story from the Tiny Dancer series. There’s a few little sprinkles of details from my dance background:))

- Astara🩷

#marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha x daughter!reader #black widow #marvel fic #natasha x y/n #natasha x little!reader #nat x reader #ballet #dancer

[flordeamatista]

𝘼 𝘽𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙡𝙮 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙁𝙡𝙮

pairing:  soft dark!Andy Barber x ballet dancer!Reader

concept: Dancer or dance? How can we tell if a dance is free?

word count: 2.5k

warnings: soft dark Andy, blindfold, desire, fingering, poetic smut, lust, rough sex, p in v smut, body worship, possessive Andy, public sex-dressing room, tiny angst, unprotected sex, manipulation, dance themes,— nicknames: butterfly

a/n: Inspired by my ballet days and the song experience --Ludovico Eunaudi

lovely betas: @jobean12-blog and @writing-for-marvel

line divider: @s-tarksintern

Masterlist

Flying without wings, traveling without moving, seeing the entire universe without opening your eyes.

As you move, you embody your own language, poetic and emotional in a way you can't express with your words; seeing the audience's faces brighten up with happiness, sadness, or anger fills you with excitement.

Through one of your art pieces, you showed the crowd your story and danced into the emotions of expressing the story through your body. The movement flowed smoothly through your body, and you felt your hips your hips extending as your leg elongated up through your toes

Upon hearing the first melody, you closed your eyes, forcing a deep breath out of your nose into your lungs. To prove your exceptionality, you must prove your worth. In dance, the body is used as a medium to tell a tale with music. The aim is to create an artistic image with tunes in the bones.

The rhythm began to move you as soon as you heard the mellow beat, your limbs fully extended with every downbeat. 

You continued your routine, adjusting certain parts of your body to emphasize them. Seeing for his eyes only, since he was the reason you were on stage to begin with.

While standing in the doorway, his mouth curled into a smile. Watching your body move in sync with the music, he was captivated by its alluring appearance. 

His eyes break out of the trance, but only to be sucked back in by a trance much more alluring in your eyes. Stepping forward, he gazed into the mirror and met your eyes. Your skin came alive with the light of his crystalline gaze, illuminating every inch of your body and making you hyper-aware of his presence from head to toe. 

You stopped your movement and looked down at him in the mirror as he pulled a thick piece of black cloth from his jacket pocket. He quickly moved up behind you and placed the satin pink ribbon binding around your eyes. His blue eyes are going to be your eyes now, and he will lead you further into what you desire. He will make the light shine when he is around.

In spite of the darkness that surrounds my soul, it will rise in perfect light

Your eyes almost watered as you felt the ribbon slide over them. Andy's fingertips gently brushed the soft skin of your cheek. The sweet smell of his cologne and the way he touched your body made you want to dance.

In the same manner, as a soft classical melody, you whispered into the room: "You shouldn't be in here."

You will endure the pain of satin ribbons tightening your eyes , but Andy will lead the way.

It sounded like he was moving away from you and closing the door behind him. The sound startled you. Your heart raced as you heard the lock turn.

He whispered into your ear, “Butterfly, if you want me to stop, I won't.” 

You felt the heat of his breath against your skin. “Do you know why I won’t stop coming to you?” Through the mirror, he leaned closer to your neck to watch your movements. 

“Because you are mine to dance with. Day and night.” 

There was no fear that you would tell him to stop, who would refuse Andy and tell him to leave?

The touch of his lips on your ear made you loosen up. Though you couldn't see him, you stepped back and pressed yourself against him. 

Your back pressed against his front, and he inhaled deeply.

 “'I want a show of my pussy' sounds”

Your body brushed against his hips like a lover's dance. 

Your skin was so soft and he began kissing your neck, lightly nibbling at the most sensitive part. Your body seemed to be engulfed in flames when his lips touched your bare skin.

"Oh my!" you moan when Andy pokes his hungry mouth on your neck. 

"You were good tonight. I wasn't planning to stay, but I was going to send you my appreciation."

Andy bites down on your collarbone. Almost a growl escapes your lips. The moan he carved from your body. Tonight, your dance together begins with that moan. 

“You’ve got it, don’t you? That high. You want to be worshiped and adored." 

The words touched your body deeply and the truth penetrated your spirit. Being the best in the program was important to you, and you wanted to be seen in your own right. The moment of truth is Andy's way of showing you that you must be blind if you want to be seen, and that is what he needs to show you.

You felt shockwaves through your body as you imagined what he might do next if he knew how you felt. With your head turned to the side, you made access easier for him.

Let yourself be swept away to another world, another time, another place.

You were experiencing difficulties forming words, but your body was speaking for you. Andy kissed you on the neck and smiled. His hands moved to your waist as he pulled you closer, and you could feel his hard-on pulling against the fabric of his pants. 

Under your pink ballet leotards, he was curious to see what was hidden for him. His fingers danced over your body. As he ripped away the fabric along your shoulders, your bare back was exposed to him. Your body is a dance floor for him to do his steps on. 

Cool air hit your hot skin as he caressed it softly with his artful fingers. There was almost an electric sensation as his hands glided across your skin like magic. It seemed like tiny lightning bolts flew from his body to yours.

In the room, there seemed to be a thick layer of air. Andy found it almost impossible to breathe. A slow dance, exposing just a bit of your skin at a time, was the way he hoped to capture every feature, every dimple, every freckle, and every curve on your body.

The material was moved off your arms and then to your waist. You were exposed to him as he kneeled behind you, pulling the dress further down your body. With a gentle pull down your leg, he lifted the thong off your legs and began kissing your legs up to your spine. 

A soft feathery kiss to the skin. You let out a small whimper when you felt him kiss your skin and feel liquid fire coursing through your veins.

Andy stood back up and ran his hands up your body. As he kissed your neck again, he whispered softly into your ear. "Butterfly, tell me what you want."

A sense of urgency echoed through your voice as you said, "I want to be yours to dance with".

The powerful emotions Andy now felt were totally different from the ones he used to feel when he first saw you dance. There seemed to be electricity between you two, fueling your desires, and sparking your passions. 

He removed his jacket and tossed it aside. 

Loosening his tie, he began unbuttoning his white dress shirt. His plan was to show you what you owed him. 

“Despite what you showed the crowd, you're going to show me more. I will get the special treatment of seeing and feeling your steps" The sound of him removing his clothes could be heard as you stood there. 

You didn't even take the blindfold off because you knew it would cause a harsh reaction from him. Turning carefully, you placed your hands on the dressing table before reaching out to touch his chest. As you caressed his muscular chest, Andy groaned at your fingertips. 

People dance notes, and you dance with Andy.

Every second was filled with deep and aching joy. You brushed up to his strong jaw, lightly grazing his neck with your fingertips. He was impressed by how you felt so far. A few kisses landed on his chest from your lips. You slid the shirt off after running your hands over his chest and shoulders. 

Andy grinned. Seeing that you wanted it as much as he did, he realized he was not alone. In one swift motion, he grabbed your waist and pulled you against him. His hand touched your chin and he tilted your head upward. Your lips was kissed by a greedy, hungry mouth. As his tongue danced past your lips, he smiled. Your mouth was filled with a warm woodsy flavor. Every tiny detail and secret spot was explored by his tongue.

Your arms encircled his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest as your lips met, brushing against his strong muscular body. There was nothing better than kissing Andy because he made you weak. Just in his kiss, he exuded the passion that lingered within his soul. The harder he pressed his body against yours, the harder he got. Your fingers ran through his soft hair, chuckling behind the kiss.

In one swift motion, he ran his fingertips along the center of your back, causing you to squirm against him. He then broke the kiss and began to kiss you along your shoulder, scraping the skin with his teeth. He began reaching down into your heated core, which he knew would be wet and inviting for him. 

The deep lyrics of love spoke through touch or caress, the laceration of hearts was done with one glance. His glance.

Every muscle in your body stiffened in anticipation. What would he do to you next? "I can't take much more," you said softly, your voice trembling in the air, "I can't, Sir." 

There was almost a pleading quality to your melody, as if you wanted to be pampered and taken care of. The soft skin of your thighs was brushed by his fingers. His quest led him to the location he had long desired. With his finger, he massaged your pussy, parting the folds. You were drenched. You were pushed back towards the mirror dresser by him.

A silky moan of pleasure escaped your lips as he explored between your thighs. His finger was even more teasing now that he had located your center of pleasure. A cold rush of air touched your backside as you backed up toward the dresser.

The blindfold still covered your eyes. At this precise moment, your body was on for him. Attempting to free his swollen cock, you grasped the front of his pants and fumbled with the buttons and fly. His gaze was fixed on every move you made as you struggled with his pants. 

You were the beginning of his dance. He would have fun with you.

"Simply take it..." He took a deep breath in and he bucked his hips in a hard, deep thrust. During the shock, your throat let out a mumble. "I'll hold on until...I force you to come the way I want you to." 

"Please—I…" 

"You feel that," he said, kissing your lips and caressing your head. "You know how it feels,"

"Yes, sir." At his size, your throat tightened as you swallowed hard. 

"Good…" Andy grinned as he wrapped your leg around his waist. "All I want is for you to come for me.." 

He pounded inside you as he caressed your thigh. Two hands soon guided your hips, forming a fast rhythm. You let out a raucous mutter of contentment. 

Male and female dancers need to be synchronized and have a strong romance. A male dancer controls the female's body while you move delicately around him. The way your body reacted to him hypnotized him. He can do whatever he wants and make you feel however he wants. 

Pushing himself into you and then pulling out. He could feel the pressure in his cock building already. As you tightened around him, he groaned under the kiss. He knew that you were probably feeling the pressure just as fast as he was. His lips tore away from yours, as he bent his head to bite at your neck.

Andy could feel you tightening around his throbbing cock. The grip he had on your neck stiffened as he moved faster. Feeling you at last. His throbbing cock continued to cause cum to leak out of your pussy while your moans grew louder.

Screaming loudly, you threw your head back. A sudden and intense orgasm nearly caught you off guard. You buried your nails deep into his skin as explosions erupted in your mind. He could feel your cum spilling over him, lubricating your entrance even more. You contracted and pulsed around him, trying to take the pleasure out of him.

In response to your orgasm, he slammed harder into your delicate body. Seeing you tighten around him and pulse hard, he groaned loudly. Almost coming there and then, he bit down on his lip hard. It wasn't yet time for him to stop fucking you. There was no way he was going to stop. By reaching up, he removed the blindfold from your eyes.

He looked at you. Your eyes were only half open, but you were filled with passion.

There is a sense of darkness in every moment when I close my eyes 

There was something deeply moving about his ice blue eyes. You continued to feel aftershocks. The dressing room echoed with your moans. 

With lust, he kissed your body gently and you closed your eyes again, this time looking into your blackness.

Despite working your whole life to get into this ballet company, everyone seems to work against you. The moment you met Andy, you were surrounded by girls who envied you. To make you the best in the world, he needed you to dance one for him to use as his canvas. Every night after your show, as he tells a story with your body, he stretches you.

It's the perfect time to tell you about a couple who fell in love after your performance, isn't it? And you did the same, taking your time to enjoy the sparks that ran through your veins while you held Andy's hand, the butterflies that filled your senses when he was holding your waist, the flush on your skin when his eyes were full of lust.

Dancer or dance? How can we tell if a dance is free?

#A Butterfly Will Fly— fic #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x ballet dancer!Reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfic #andy barber smut #andy barber fluff #chris evans x reader #andy barber x you #chris evans #andy barber x latina!reader #andy barber x poc!reader #andy barber x mexican!reader #andy barber one shot #andy barber x reader smut #reader insert #andy barber x fem!reader #daddy chris evans #andy barber x plus size reader #andy barber x woc!reader #defending jacob #andy barber imagine #soft dark! andy #chris evans fanfiction #andy barber ​x reader smut #steve rogers fic #andy barber drabble #chris evans x y/n

[nyashykyunnie]

The idea of Jinwoo falling in love with a ballet dancer reader is sending me to heaven god I just how whipped he is watching them do pirouettes and leap into the air like swans 🥹🥹🥹

Re:birth debut will have to delay until school break 2 im sorry qwq, I'm packed with school responsibilities and thesis

#∞ ₒ ˚ ° 📎— kyunnya speaks #i need it #ballet dancer reader and martial artist jinwoo #I FCKING NEED IT

[aswho1estuff]

The way you move

ep. 2 repeated patterns

Plot: Two performing art schools are combined upon underlying reason bringing together an unlikely duo Moose and Alice who help each other grow beyond fluttering hearts and the genre of music.

Overview ep. 2 [repeated patterns]: Alice’s day of work has a change in repeated pattern.

Masterlist

Playlist

-/-/-/-/--/-/-/-/--/-/-/-/--/-/-/-/--/-/-/-/--/-/-/-

Alice pov:

Treasure by Bruno mars plays as I hum along cleaning up the aisle “gimme your attention baby” I sing out doing a little turn and step.

Spin, turn, kick, spin again “wooh” point this way, point that way, and this way again. “ I didn’t know you did freestyle too” I turn so fast dropping the cereal in my hand to meet eyes with the boy from school smile and all.

“Sorry about that” I let out groaning “don’t be it looked nice like your were having fun” he says smiling like I haven’t made a ass of myself and the ballerina name.

“I always dance during my shift too” he says handing me the cereal I dropped “thank you” he works here too I guess that’s nice, you know if your into that “when’s your shift end?” He asks “I get off in a few minutes” I reply looking at the shelve.

He mimickes me looking them over “well…would you like to go to the park with me we could get a burger too maybe?”.

The thought of burgers making me uneasy I twist my face “okay not burgers, sandwiches, or salami and crackers?” I haven’t had that in a long time rice crackers yes but just crackers seems forbidden.

The thought of it making me giggle “okay I’ll get that …and pick up some fruit for you too” he says speed walking making me laugh.

Clocking out i change into my clothes “ready ?” he asks lending his arm hesitantly connecting mines i shy away, matter fact do I even know his name ?.

“Don’t take this wrong but what’s your name?” I ask low causing him to laugh “moose” “moose, ..like hair gel” I reply he nods turning to me “..Alice” I respond “Alice like wonderland” “yes, exactly”.

“Soo” he elongates plopping down on the blanket taking everything out “how’d you decide on doing ballet?” Moose asks grabbing a cracker “well my mother was a ballerina she loved it” a great one infact one I have to live up to.

“You love it too?” wasn’t expecting that question ....i don't know honestly "well I like dancing I know that, I like moving it makes me feel nice" I smile ending my sentence to pick up a cracker.

"I totally understand the feeling's freeing, freeing from restraint, barriers, stress everything really" moose adds very genuinely. And for a minute it felt like he knew so much and so little, so much about what I felt and so little about who they wanted me to be.

The feeling of being understood made me squirm.....it wasn't something I was use to it almost made my waterline tickle with the threats of tears.

"How's the fruit?" Mooses asks "I .. really like it, alot actually thank you" I respond back to the question of fruit but also his company, it made me light headed to think he understood that too. "I'm glad" he replies picking up a piece of mango gently, mangos always been my favorite but not even Alicia remembers that I wonder how he knew or had it been that obvious.

<-episode .1 episode.3 ->

#moose x black reader #moose x reader #step up moose #moose #x black reader #black reader x #the way you move series #dance aesthetic #dance au #art school au #opposites attract #young love #step up imagine #step up #SoundCloud #Youtube #black ballerina #black ballet #black dancers

[cahmilo]

Camilo Madrigal Dating a Ballerina

pairing: camilo madrigal x fem!reader

genre: fluff headcanons

tags: modern au, ballerina reader, mentions of anxiety and pressure, gif source

requested by: anonymous

a/n:

heavily inspired from @kitasgloves' camilo bf hcs cause i cant get them out of my head kasjshhd this one is for when he's dating a ballerina :'))

not a professional ballerina but was trained in a similar genre so pls do correct me for inaccuracies!

Camilo is an artistic person all in all so if YOU manage to get HIS attention the most, you're something else, he's definitely a keeper

I feel like you would know him beforehand, I hc him to be also oriented with dance therefore you two met over mutual friends or connections

He's seen you dance a lot and he gets shy when he approaches you but soon enough, he musters up the courage to get your contact info

The talking stage between you two is MAGIC. He would often ask if you ate, ask if you were okay, and if you're free he would ask if he can take you outside to hang out

After sometime he asks you out and his jumps would be higher than yours. Man is an energetic person therefore he would be all over the place if he's over the moon

Despite being energetic, he's anything BUT flexible. He would joke around and try to imitate your poses but would fail miserably but it's okay cause your laugh already makes him feel enough

He's very affectionate. He loves to kiss your hand and 'bow' jokingly as if he's imitating a royal prince

Speaking of prince, he calls you princess a LOT. He loves saying that you remind him of royalty and that he should treat you with respect because of how poised, graceful and elegant you are

Whenever you need to practice without your crew, he wouldn't hesitate to be a dance double. You can tell he really tries and it's the most adorable thing in the world

He can lift you up and spin you around gracefully but ask him to do a split and he's whining like a 5 year old

He cringes with shoe squeaks on the floor so everytime you practice you're either wearing socks or stockings along with your pointe shoes

Camilo is a natural jokester and energy pill that never runs out so to other people, you're seemingly like the most mature out of the relationship

YOU TWO ARE THE SUN AND MOON AND I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH !!

Camilo Madrigal, the sunshine and source of energy while you, the moonlight's grace and calming wonder. A PERFECT DYNAMIC

He gets weak at the knees when you do pirouettes. He says it's like you're in a wind up music box and you look so beautiful everytime

Even if its not required, he's always getting you accessories for your dance outfits (may it be tiaras, feather headdresses, flower hair clips) which always makes you stand out from the crowd and he loves it

He's always posting you on his Instagram stories !! With matching emojis that fit your outfits (🌸🧁💗, 🌊🎟️💙, etc)

And everytime your ballet team posts pictures with you, he immediately shares it to his IG story with an arrow pointed at you

Every time you get sore after practice, he always gives you adhesive relief patches along with sweet treats that both of you enjoy on the way home in the car

He always carries your bottled water everywhere. His backpack is even bigger incase you needed to put something in there

Bonus: He practices opera as a joke after how much you dance to the genre

Camilo Madrigal is also a sentimental person. He would keep small memoirs of your life or he even collects it (spare feathers, loose fabric, etc) not in a weird way but just for something to look back to

He's always goofing around the barre (handrail for support). He loves to tease you practicing but can never reach your flexibility so he's just there looking like a stiff giraffe and it makes you laugh every single time

He wears your tutu as a lions mane when hes feeling goofy. Sometimes he would forget it was still there and you hold back your laugh

Being a ballerina and having to be constantly fit means that you're physique is lowkey built and your muscles are lean. This makes Camilo jealous so he works out just so that he can rival and get better abs than you

When you're out for dinner after a show, he always tells you to keep wearing your dress in public. You don't know why but he loves showing off his ballerina girlfriend out there and he grins proudly holding your hand when people stare at you

He's always inviting his family to your shows!! His cousin Isabela loves you so much to the point where she just wants you to marry into the family so that you can teach her dance gracefully

Camilo's sister Dolores treats you like a doll. She and Mirabel pampers you with new dresses and accessories that makes you look more like a princess. They always have Camilo get the last look and he gets so lovesick everytime.

Even if you love being a ballerina, there are often times where you just don't feel like it. You feel pressured to perform, anxious to mess up, etc. If that ever happens Camilo would always be there to cheer you up. If you're down he gets you to do something else like watching a movie or walking in the park while endlessly chatting to distract you.

You love his singing voice! If you're extra drained from dancing all day he goes all out to play the piano and sing you a song until you fall asleep

Camilo is always the first to congratulate you. He has nothing to hide so he's always out there running to you after every competition and showers you with love

Camilo's love language is both physical touch and words of affirmation. He's very affectionate and open to you and you reciprocate that by running to his arms and endlessly telling him 'thank yous', 'i love yous' and etc. It makes him feel so loved and think he's worth it.

If you receive bouquets of flowers as you walk through the stage during awarding ceremonies, you already know who it's from 💗

again and I cannot stress this enough, SUN AND MOON DYNAMIC ‼️‼️‼️

[Angst] With your sun brightening up your day, there are times when he gets real down but tries so hard to hide it. You notice it though, you know him the most so you're always looking out for him

[Angst] Oftentimes he feels burdened and pressured of having you. A ballerina girlfriend is every man's dream and sometimes he feel like he's not enough and he doesn't deserve you which is why he tries so hard in making you happy, at the cost of neglecting his own

[Angst] But you, you see through him. You're always showering him with affection and making sure that Camilo isn't down and he's so genuinely lucky to have you

With you around, Camilo is certainly living his Disney Prince dream. Having a princess-like ballerina to love is already enough to make him grateful for his life

He loves to dance with you! Slow dances and ballroom dancing are his fave because its a genre you two feel comfortable dancing in

Bonus: You two love to sing and dance to this song alone when you're visiting his family back in their lively and colorful house rooftop 😭💗💗💗💗💗💗

Camilo Madrigal is a very lucky man to have you, and you're extremely grateful you finally found the soulmate and the prince you've been dreaming for 💗

taglist: @thegirlwiththebangs , @mirabelleza , @carcat-02, @brushofease , @camilos-luna, @kitasgloves , @ducky-is-dead-inside , @elegantkidfansoul , @moon-cakiie , @ignoremepeople37 , @its-mia88, @nerdish-simp , @foreverwriting @try-cry-why-try ++ join here

#cahmi fics #camilo supremacy #camilo madrigal #camilo my beloved #camilo x reader #camilo #camilo madrigal x reader #camilo x female reader #encanto #camilo fluff #encanto headcanons #camilo fanfic #camilo imagine #camilo madrigal headcannons #camilo madrigal fanfic #ballerina #ballet #ballet dancer

[onsunnyside]

sonny baby !!! for your slutty nutty sunday thots 😌😌 did u know that boxing and ballet are actually very similar and that boxers will often incorporate dancing footwork into their training to improve coordination and balance? all of this made me think of boxer!ari needing to work on his body movements and being light on his feet so his trainer signs him up for lessons with lovely and innocent ballet dancer!reader who is, aham, very flexible if i may add 😶

oh I didn't know that !! that's so interesting bc boxing is so rough compared to ballet !!

big gruff and grumpy boxer!ari begrudgingly attending ballet lessons with innocent!ballet dancer!reader 😳 he enjoys watching you squirm and get nervous whenever you have to forcibly move his big BEEFY arms/legs into position, you're so much smaller than him (most people are) and he can't help but think about folding you into all sorts of positions 😣

#YOU HAVE A SEXY BRAIN BESTIE #sonnysprompts #boxer ari x ballet dancer reader #slutty nutty party

[ghouljams]

Ballet König tiiiiime... I have many thoughts because I saw a ballerina with big tits and I am... no better than a man...

Tw for minor reader descriptions (big boobs...)

Being fitted for costumes is always annoying, the costumers always complain about having to fit your chest, and have to let out the corseted tutu to compensate. You always end up with your tits either smashed against your chest or lifted to an almost pornographic degree. This costume seems to be the latter. König stares down at you, you raise a brow at him and he gives you a one word growl.

"Change."

You have to anyway, so you follow the costumers directions and change back into your usual leotard and tights. König is holding your sweatshirt when you make your way out of the changing room, he holds it out to you and you give him a confused look. You take it but don't bother putting it on, you still have practice, it's not like you're about to dance in your sweats.

He follows you through rehearsals, he's supposed to anyway but he's really, really, close. It isn't until the last dancer has filed out of the room for lunch that you finally get an explanation for his behavior. He grabs your tits, or tries to, two big handfuls that make you press your chest into his grip with a quiet noise of surprise. He squeezes you through your leotard and grumbles something. His hands smooth over your chest, down and back up, before he's digging his hands under the neckline and into the garment.

"There they are," he coos bending close, "You've been hiding such pretty things from me Schatzi."

Hiding is a strong word, wearing the dance equivalent of a binder is more accurate. As such, the material wants to stay close to itself, forcing you into Königs hands as he fondles you. He pinches your nipples hard and you whine, your blood rushing to heat your skin as he rolls his thumbs over them soothingly.

"Quite the ballerina," König drags his lips against the shell of your ear, "having such-" he struggles for the right word, toying with you all the while, when it does finally come to him it's with his cock pressing against your ass, "indecent sounds right-" he kisses your neck, "-indecent-" you know the feeling of his teeth anywhere, "-obscene-" they tease your skin, "-naughty-" his tongue replaces their points, dragging over your pulse as König groans, "tits."

"They make costuming, nng, difficult," you bite your lip against making another sound. It's better if you don't talk, you don't want to alert anyone outside the studio that the two leads are misusing the space.

"They fill my hands, Engel," König hums, giving your breasts a firm squeeze as if driving home his point, "how did I not notice them?"

You don't have to think hard to answer that, but you do have to press your hand over your mouth to avoid whining at the way he toys with you. He's never fucked you without a leotard on, that's how, despite all his protests against it, the man has a firm kink. He pinches your nipples hard and you moan, König shushes you, grinds his hard cock against you. Heat pools between your legs, making your leotard and tights sticky with slick. He's teasing you, and you both know it. He was never going to fuck you, there isn't time for it.

"Such a dirty girl," he tells you, "I should have taken you home, and fucked you properly."

You press back against him, prepared for the consequences of asking him to do it now, fuck you on the floor, fuck you against the Barre with your face pressed to the mirror, like he's so fond of, but the door opens. His hands slide off your breasts to rest on your shoulders in a flash. Another dancer wanders in to grab her water bottle, squirting some into her mouth as she turns to walk back out. She waves, you give a small wave back. König doesn't move until the door closes again.

Then his hand is pressing between your legs, bending you forward to truly grind against you. You know he can feel the way you're starting to drool, you can almost hear him smiling. "Needy thing," as if it isn't his fault, "why don't we find somewhere I can enjoy you properly."

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig x f!reader #f!reader #afab reader #ballet au #i have another very short ballet piece for today #bevause i saw a ballet last night #ALSO i may have a ballet graves piece... #if anyone is interested in that #i saw a dancer last night that i was like jesus christ its him and i get it

[imaginedreamwrite]

Oh I like this game. How about a twist on Steve and ballerina? Ballerina is from a Mafia family and Steve is the ballet dancer

Steve felt innately bashful and shy, almost naively so, when he hears that he not only had a sponsor but an invitation to accompany his sponsor for dinner at one of the most expensive restaurants in the city.

He had finished a stint at the Boston Ballet company, finishing out a season and the latest show with a few weeks off before he had to return. His manager informed him that he had a sponsor, and a date, with the hopes that this mysterious woman would find the rest of his seasons until he retired or took up instructing on his own.

He was given the time to meet his date and sponsor, a chance to impress and bewitch the woman. However upon arriving at the private restaurant it was Steve that was bewitched. It was Steve who had found himself mystified by the date that he was supposed to take.

He stepped into the private dining area and was stunned by the woman sitting at the table. He had felt his mouth going dry and his heart racing the longer he stared at you.

You were breathtaking, and so was your deep red dress that fit you like a glove.

“Steve Rogers,” you cooed his name like he was a velvet and delectable dessert, “come sit, sugar. Let’s entertain each other.”

He knew, with absolute certainty, was that he would never be able to walk away from you again

#dancer!Steve Rogers x mob!Reader #ballet!Steve Rogers x mob!Reader

[fonteyn]

How dare you? Really, how dare you write the most filthy and hot Marquis de Gramont fic… I can’t get over it, YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS 😭, PLEASEEEEEEEEEEE

Sksksksksks THANK YOU SO MUCH. It was honestly so fun writing for him. When I left the movie theater after seeing him serve cunt in his pretty little suits I was like WHERE ARE THE FICS??????? And there's so few out there that I HAD to write something to contribute.

I have some more ideas for fics, but considering my work & study schedule I'll have to think them through before committing (I literally wrote this one-shot in a desperate frenetic state bc I could not let this idea go lmao 💀💀

#marquis vincent de gramont #answered #anonymous #i have a really vague idea that i THINK could be one ill write of like #smth smth a ballet dancer #and on the movie (despire the Tchaikovsky music) hes watching Balanchine's Jewels #and idk like reader dances Emeralds (act 1) and he gifs them emerald earrings #then they do rubies #and finally diamondsssss #am i insane

[landothemuppet]

Please don’t hate me bb, but... could I get a little bit more of Tom in Giselle? 🥺💜 Like, some headcanons, how he would interact with his co-star... you got me addicted to it 😭

bb, i don't hate you at all, i'm kinda obsessed with it too now !

I think Tom would like to be alone before each representation. He would like to have some moment to feel the pain of his character. But after the ballet ends, he would need a real big hug from y/n and need to be reassured. I think Y/N will have to dip her hands in Tom’s hair and massage his skull while she hugs him so that Tom can disconnect from his character and get back to reality.

I even think that the first time he finished the ballet, after the performance, he cried, so confused by his performance. And that’s why Y/N hugged him at first. And it became like a ritual after every performance. They're working hard together, intensive rehearsals that sometimes, it's to Y/N to say to Tom that he's too deep into his character and needs to let it down. She’s the one who would order Chinese food to make him decompress and she’d love to see him laugh and joke, because he’s so different from Albrecht. I think Tom could call Y/N in the middle of the night because he’s having nightmares about the Wilis wanting him dead. I think they could talk for hours on the phone to try to change Tom’s mind.

#lia #justapurrcat #thollandsdarling 500followers night #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #ballet!tom holland #dancer!tom holland #mag replies

[natashaslesbian]

Second Position

From the ‘Tiny Dancer’ series

Summary: After your disastrous first dance class, your mama takes you to a new dance studio

Word Count: 437

Pairings: Mom Natasha x Daughter Reader

Lil angst/Fluff/Soft Mama Nat

Warnings: None I think:)

————

Last week, you had your first ever dance class. You had been so excited the weeks leading up to it, but your positive attitude was soon deflated when you came running to your mama after the lesson in tears because of the other girls. Natasha was quick to comfort you and together you decided to try again at a different school.

‘Hi Natasha! We would love to have y/n come and try out our beginners ballet class. They take place every Wednesday at 5pm, let me know what week she would like to start and I will add her to our records!

- Emma’

You were ecstatic when your mommy told you the news “‘M gonna try super duper hard mama! I’ve been working on my spins so they be great!” Natasha was so proud to call you her daughter. You were definitely a Romanoff considering how quickly you had bounced back from last week.

‘Thank you very much! Y/n is keen to start as soon as possible, can I bring her along this week?

- Natasha’

‘Yes of course! We can’t wait to meet you both! See you Wednesday!

- Emma’

You could hardly sleep on Tuesday night, Natasha had to read you four fairytales to even get you tired “come on y/n/n you need your rest for tomorrow!” Your mommy said as you stood up once again and started jumping on the bed excitedly. “Y/n” Natasha warned “if you don’t go to bed you don’t get to go to ballet” you sighed and gave up the fight, slumping back down into your bed and curling up with widow bear “sorry mama” you said “I’m just so excited!” Natasha giggled at your enthusiasm “well the sooner you go to sleep the sooner tomorrow will come won’t it?” Your mommy said as she tucked you in “ok I goes sleep then” you admitted defeat. Natasha gave you a last kiss on the cheek and wished you sweet dreams “I love you mommy” “I love you too y/n”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/n darling” Natasha called “time to get ready” you came sprinting into the bathroom, so excited that your second chance had finally arrived “mama, can you do the twisty bits in my bunbun?” You asked as your mommy lifted you up onto the counter “of course I can baby” Natasha said as she began parting your hair and taking the front pieces to twist back into your ponytail before wrapping it all up in a neat bun, tied of with a pretty pink bow. “All right” your little feet were placed on the ground again “let’s get you dressed, get your things ready and then…we’ll get going!” You beamed with anticipation, jumping all around causing the current task to become quite unmanageable.

The car journey was so long, so boring. The route to the new studio came with an extra 15 minuets though each one felt like an hour to you. Your little brain was slightly to slow to have seen the entrance sign you just past, so when your mommy announced you had arrived you were screaming to be freed from your car seat. “All right, all right” Natasha laughed as you dragged her by the hand into the unfamiliar building “slow down babygirl!” You came to a halt at the front desk and your mama signed you in. You both headed into the little waiting area where you could hang up your coat and leave your bag.

As the start time of your class grew nearer you felt a strange sensation forming in your tummy, your tiny hands started to shake and you felt tears sting your eyes “mommy” you whispered “hey, what’s wrong y/n/n?” Natasha instantly took in your fragile state, pulling you close to her “scared mommy” you said, admitting that although you’d try to stay strong, you were still a little upset after your first dance class “oh sweetheart” Natasha scooped you up and took you to the hallway where it was a little quieter “it’s ok to be scared you know. Lots of things can be scary, even mommy gets scared sometimes, but you know what I do?” You shook your head “I take some deep breaths and I face my fears because I know that I’m braver than I think I am, and you are braver than you think you are too! You are the strongest little girl y/n, so, do you want to go home or do you wanna give it a go?” You pondered for a moment before wiping your nose on Natasha’s shoulder and taking some deep breaths “I wanna give it a goes!” Your mama smiled at you “that’s my girl”

Natasha placed you back on your feet and walked with you into your new class, the teacher walked over and introduced herself “Hi Miss Emma” you whispered, hiding behind your mommy’s frame. The brunette crouched down in front of you “It’s great to meet you. Do you wanna come and meet the other kids? We’re all really friendly here, I promise!” She reached out to take your hand and your mama nodded, encouraging you to go ahead. Your feet took you further into the room with your new teacher, the other girls were so excited to meet you, they seemed really nice. Natasha stepped back, watching you in absolute awe. you looked back and gave your mommy a small wave before the other ballet dancers pulled you off to start their warm up game. You looked so happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

The entire car ride home, you shared every detail you could remember from dance class with Natasha. She sat quietly in the front seat, engrossed in the stories you were telling. “And then, we got to do spins and I did two in a row! I did one and then another! Like in a row!” You spoke in between mouthfuls of your chocolate muffin. “I’m so proud of you sweetheart” Natasha came to a stop at the red light, she twisted her body towards you and placed her soft hand on your knee “I love you tiny dancer”

————

More references to my dance background in this one

Part 1

Astara🩷

#marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow #avengers #marvel fic #natasha x daughter!reader #nat x reader #natasha x little!reader #ballet #dancer #nat x y/n

[strawberrystepmom]

kendy + gojo + ballet au = 👀

okay well first of all why would u come here and say that to me??? you know im dangerously not normal cher im gonna sit here and ruminate for days

also he and i constanty snipping at each other bc im a perfectionist and he's naturally perfect and it pisses me off bc i have to work hard to be good and he doesn't aldja lsdkjflasjdflaskjdflasjkdflaj UGH UGHUSHGSKDJF but we're preparing to go on stage and he tightens the laces on the bodice of my costume and whispers good luck and squeezes my shoulder and UGHOEIJRLW:JSFLSDJF:SJDF

#satoken #answered #I LOVE U SO MUCH BUT HOW COUDL U DO THIS TO ME #whats so funny is i actually have a ballet dancer reader/geto wip LMFAO

[petalsofyouth]

properly together made me sob at the end and i dont usually cry at necessarily "happy" things, but for some reason the floodgates just opened when we see ran at readers door after so long... the emotions just hit me like a truck even remembering that part just fills up my chest in the most bittersweet way!

i just wanted to tell u ur writing had a real reaction on me <3 thank u for ur work! ill eat it up every time

oh my god.

you guys do know how to leave me speechless, don’t you? but thank you so so so so so much for this message, i can’t even begin to explain how many times i have read it and how happy i feel right now 🥹 like i am giddy and everything, hahah.

actually, i had two alternate endings for ‘properly together’. in the first one, they meet by accident at some event and they are with their partners, they see each other, but don’t interact and then at some point of the event, the reader overwhelmed after seeing ran goes outside to calm herself down a bit and as she goes down the stairs, she sees ran waiting for her by his car (rindou is also there) & all of them leave together. the second one was that she returns home and as she goes down the street she reminisces a lot and stops by haitani’s old house and obviously ran is there and he sees her, smiles and offers her to have a cigarette and as she takes it, he says that they won’t smoke here, but at the penthouse he bought.

now that i am thinking i have no idea why i went with the ending that is the ending of pt, hahah. i should’ve gone with the first one i guess which is the original, but that’s okay. another time.

anyway! thank you so much for you message, i am really really really happy you like my silly little stories & i hope you’ll like the next one i’ll post too <3

#the next one i am posting is either going to be rock star ran x ballet dancer reader #tenjiku ran x dvd store worker reader that is working hard to pay for her degree ft tenjiku rindou who is also a street racer #rindou is cool and shit in the second one #both stories are wips #but i hope i’ll be able to finish them soon