Ballet teacher!Larissa x ballerina!reader
A/n: got the idea, went into docs, wrote one sentence and the rest wrote it self. Who knew it could be that easy?
Warnings: unhealthy teacher/student relationship, sexual undertones(not too bad here), condescending, manipulation, slightly mean Larissa, but she’s nicer today
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚୧⋆｡🩰✧˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚୧⋆｡🩰✧˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚୧⋆｡🩰✧
“What is wrong with you today?”
Her words felt like acid being poured straight down your throat, threatening to destroy every ounce of you from inside out.
She circled you, much like a predator does with its prey. Observing. Judging. As if she planned to strike.
You almost flinched when she stopped and stepped closer.
“I asked you a question, girl.”
“I don’t know- I don't. I feel so off today, everything I do just feels wrong-“ you rushed to reply, knowing the madame hated repeating herself almost as much as she hated spotting imperfections in your art.
She interrupted anyways. “It is.”
“I’m sorry. I’m very sorry ma’am. I’m trying here. I really- truly am, you have to believe me.”
“No.. I’ve seen where your efforts get you. I’ve seen how far your talent goes and see the potential in you to keep growing it. Yet you’re failing. Nothing about you, about this-“ she gestured vaguely towards you, as if your whole existence was some sort of mistake.
“-is graceful.” As if she regretted putting so much work into you. “So I will ask again, what is wrong with you, today, child?.. you may rest. Sit, talk to me.”
You listened quickly, thankful to finally sit down for a moment, grabbing your water bottle and drinking like your life would’ve ended if you waited a second longer. She looked amused.
Larissa said nothing. Waiting for you to simply gather yourself. Which was rather unusual for the woman. She as usually so quick to scold and scoff. A woman known for her lack of patience. But you’d come to realize there were more than a few things she’d allow to you, that would get any other dancer booted in a heartbeat.
“I feel out of sorts, ma’am. Maybe I’m getting sick, or-“ and she went.
“Excuses. All I am hearing is excuses. I want reasons, my dear.” well maybe if you stopped interrupting long enough for me to get a sentence in- you thought, but spoke none of such words. You would no doubt regret them. No matter how much she let slide from you, disrespect was an easy way to get yourself discarded.
You sat for a moment, looking up at her, looking for any hint of sincerity in her face. A sliver of emotion to show she was truly asking because she cared and not because it was disturbing the dance space.
She tilted her head, a beat, and she knelt down beside you.
Oh you wore you could see all the love in her eyes enough to fill a thousand galaxies.
She grabbed your chin, long fingers holding your face up, thumb caressing your cheek ever so gently.
Her hands were soft, so damn soft. Surely she has a wide collection of expensive lotions and soaps enough to pay for a full three months of your small studio apartment.
“You are troubled, my dear. I can see it in your form. It’s in your back.. all the way up to your brows and all the way down to the tips of your toes. It interrupts your usually graceful dancing. It is ugly. And I do hate seeing anything ugly anywhere near my star student. Much less in you.”
“You are good. You are always good, my dear. But you’re exuding all the wrong emotions. This is a production about love strong enough to die for and all I feel in you is.. disappointment.”
Tears welled up in your eyes. Disappointment? Of all things she could’ve said, disappointed? You’d rather die. “I’m sorry, ma’am.. I’m sorry. I will try harder, I can push things aside-“
“I refuse to let these damaging emotions control you, dear. You confuse what I’m asking of you.” Well if she didn’t mean to slap you across the face with your biggest fear in life, she sure managed to. But what was the point then? If not to hurt you? To slap some sense and composure into you?
“Then- what do you want?..” you asked, your voice was small, afraid to disappoint her any further, or anger her with your dumb questions.
“Talk to me, little star. Simply talk. I shall listen. And then we progress.”
