Requested by: @definitelynothim-notalex !!
Dance, I’ll Be Admiring You — MOTM
Summary: A mesmerizing performance becomes something far more personal when five very different partners watch you belly dance.
Through soft admiration, shy affection, playful pride, and loud, unwavering support, each of them reveals how deeply they cherish you — not just for your talent, but for who you are. Every glance, every word, every reaction turns a simple dance into a moment of love, connection, and quiet devotion.
Pairing: Myth Cuphead x Reader, Myth Mugman x Reader, Myth Bendy x Reader, Myth Boris x Reader, Myth Shelly x Reader (SEPARATELY)
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comfort, Wholesome, Relationship Centered, Performance / Art Appreciation and Slice of Life
Trope: Admiring Lover, “That’s My Partner,” Soft Praise, Opposites in Expression (Shy vs Loud Love), Performer & Devoted Audience and Proud Partner Energy
The music fills the room in warm, rhythmic waves, something rich with percussion and melody that seems to wrap around your body as naturally as your flowing red veils do.
It hums through the air, low and steady, like a heartbeat and somehow, it feels like the entire space bends around you the moment you step into it.
Cuphead leans back against the wall at first, arms crossed — but not in his usual cocky way. No, this is different. His posture is relaxed, one shoulder resting against the surface behind him, his head tilted just slightly as his eyes lock onto you.
The usual sharpness in his grin softens.
There’s curiosity there at first… and then something warmer.
And then you start moving.
The soft sway of your hips, the controlled isolation of your torso, the way your arms glide like ribbons in the air — slow, deliberate, mesmerizing.
He exhales a quiet, impressed whistle under his breath, eyebrows lifting.
“Would ya look at that…” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent for once, his grin tugging wider as he watches you.
One of his arms uncrosses without him even realizing, hand dropping to his side as if he needs to steady himself just to keep watching. His gaze follows every motion — every shift of fabric, every flick of your wrists.
His grin widens, but it’s not teasing. It’s proud.
You spin, the gold accents of your outfit catching the light in brief flashes, and he straightens a little, pushing himself off the wall. His boots hit the floor with a soft tap as he adjusts his stance, now standing more upright, more attentive.
His hands slip into his pockets, but his shoulders lift slightly, like he’s trying not to look too invested, even though he absolutely is.
“Hey,” he calls out, voice a little louder now, but still warm, a hint of playful confidence slipping back in. He tilts his head toward anyone else who might be around, thumb loosely jerking in your direction. “That’s my partner up there, y’know.”
There’s a playful edge to it, sure — but the way his eyes soften immediately after gives him away.
As you continue, your movements becoming sharper, more intricate, he nods along to the rhythm, almost unconsciously matching the beat with the tap of his foot. His heel taps lightly against the ground, steady, in sync with the music.
His gaze follows every detail — the way your hips snap to the rhythm, the subtle chest isolations, the delicate flick of your wrists. He leans forward just a little now, like he doesn’t want to miss a single thing.
“C’mon, look at you…” he mutters, shaking his head with a breathy laugh, one corner of his grin lifting higher. His shoulders rise and fall with a quiet chuckle. “You’ve been hidin’ that from me?”
There’s no accusation in it, just genuine amazement.
When you shift into a smoother sequence, your movements flowing seamlessly together, his expression softens even more. His tapping foot slows slightly, syncing with the calmer rhythm, his eyes narrowing just a bit, not in judgment, but in focus.
Not critically, never, simply… admiringly.
When you glance his way mid-dance, he straightens instinctively, like he’s just been pulled into the spotlight with you.
He lifts a hand, pointing at you with a confident smirk, but his eyes are bright, soft, almost glowing with admiration.
“Keep goin’,” he says, voice steady, encouraging, his hand lowering but not fully dropping, fingers flexing slightly like he wants to reach out. “Don’t stop on my account.”
His tone is lighter than usual, lacking its usual bite. Replaced instead with something warmer, something genuine.
As your movements grow more expressive again, he nods along, more openly now. His stance shifts, weight moving from one foot to the other, completely relaxed — completely invested.
There’s a moment where he exhales through his nose, shaking his head again, quieter this time.
“…Man,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, a small, disbelieving smile forming. “You’re somethin’ else…”
And when you finish, letting the final note settle into silence—
Not loudly, not obnoxiously — but steady, proud. His hands come together in a firm, rhythmic applause, his grin still there but softened at the edges.
He steps closer, closing the distance without hesitation now.
“That was incredible,” he says, voice more grounded, more sincere as he looks at you directly. His hands drop back to his sides, but one lifts again briefly, gesturing loosely like he’s trying to find the right words. “Seriously.”
His grin falters just a little — not disappearing, just easing into something quieter.
There’s a pause, and for a second, he looks like he might say more but instead, he exhales, shoulders relaxing as his confidence dips just a fraction into something more honest.
He rubs the back of his neck, just slightly, gaze flicking off to the side before returning to you.
“…Kinda makes me wanna show you off, not gonna lie,” he admits, voice softer now, a faint chuckle following as he glances back at you again.
Then, after a beat, he adds — more quietly, almost like it slipped out on its own—
“…Not that I gotta. You already shine on your own.”
He thought he was — he really did. He had told himself he’d be calm, that he’d just watch, smile, maybe even compliment you like a normal person.
But the moment you step into the light, dressed in flowing blue fabric and gold details that shimmer with every small movement…
Everything else fades — the room, the background noise, even his own thoughts — and all that’s left is you.
The sound slips out before he can stop it, soft but sharp with surprise, and his hands immediately come up, hovering awkwardly near his chest as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. His fingers curl slightly, then uncurl again, like he’s trying to decide whether to clasp them together or hide them entirely.
You begin dancing, slow and controlled, and he freezes.
His eyes widen slightly as your hips sway in soft, deliberate motions, your arms lifting gracefully, wrists bending with elegant precision. The veil drapes and shifts like liquid around you, catching the light in a way that makes every movement feel… unreal.
“Y-you look—” he starts, voice catching halfway through, the words tangling in his throat. His shoulders tense instantly, and he turns his head away for just a second, flustered beyond recovery. “I mean—! You look really nice—!”
The words come out rushed, almost tripping over each other.
His face is already flushed, a soft blue tint deepening as he presses his lips together for a second, trying to steady himself before forcing his gaze back toward you.
And then he doesn’t look away again.
There’s something about the way you move — so confident, so fluid, so sure of every motion — that makes his chest tighten. Not in a bad way… just overwhelming, like he doesn’t quite know how to process how much he’s feeling all at once.
His fingers fidget together, thumbs rubbing nervously as he watches your every step, every subtle movement. At some point, his hands finally settle into a loose clasp in front of him, but even then, they shift slightly, restless.
“…It’s really pretty,” he adds more quietly, almost to himself, like the thought slipped out before he could stop it.
His voice is softer now, almost drowned out by the music, but it’s sincere.
As you continue, your movements becoming a little more intricate, he leans forward just slightly without realizing it, like he’s being pulled in. His shoulders relax a fraction, though his posture still holds that nervous tension.
When your movements grow more expressive—faster, sharper accents in your hips, a playful turn of your body—he inhales softly, the breath catching in his chest before he lets it out slowly.
His shoulders tense, then relax again, like he’s trying to physically calm himself down.
He’s trying so hard to stay composed.
“You’ve… practiced this a lot, haven’t you?” he asks, voice gentle, a little breathless, his words slower this time as if he’s carefully choosing each one.
His head tilts just slightly, eyes following the rhythm of your movements, admiration clear in the way his expression softens despite his nerves.
When you meet his eyes mid-dance, he nearly short-circuits.
His posture straightens instantly, like he’s been caught doing something embarrassing, his hands tightening together for a second before loosening again.
No sound comes out at first.
Then he blinks, quickly, and forces a smile — small, sincere, a little shy, but completely genuine.
“You’re doing amazing,” he says, nodding quickly, maybe a little too quickly, like he’s trying to make sure you hear him. His shoulders lift slightly with the motion, then settle again. “R-really amazing.”
The reassurance feels a little rushed but the warmth behind it is unmistakable.
As you keep dancing, his gaze softens more and more, the initial shock slowly giving way to quiet admiration. His breathing steadies, though the faint blush never quite fades.
At one point, he lets out a tiny, almost inaudible laugh under his breath, shaking his head just slightly.
“…I didn’t know you could do all this,” he murmurs, voice full of quiet wonder, eyes tracing the flow of your movements again.
By the time you finish, letting the final note fade into silence, he’s still standing there, hands clasped together tightly in front of him.
He doesn’t move at first.
It’s like he’s still catching up.
“That was really beautiful.”
His voice is soft, but steady this time. Certain.
His shoulders relax as he says it, like finally putting the feeling into words lets him breathe again.
“And— um—” he starts, glancing off to the side for a second, his free hand lifting to rub the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly as he looks away with a shy smile.
“…You look lovely in that outfit, too.”
There’s a small pause after, his gaze flickering back to you, a little hesitant, but warm.
Then, quieter, almost like an afterthought he wasn’t sure he should say—
And this time, he doesn’t look away.
Bendy notices immediately.
Even before the music fully settles into place, before the rhythm finds its footing in the room, his attention is already on you — sharp, focused, curious. It’s instinctive, the way his gaze locks in, like something about the shift in atmosphere alone was enough to pull him in.
His smirk spreads slowly, almost instinctively, the corner of his mouth lifting as he leans back against his spot, arms loosely crossed. One shoulder presses into the wall behind him, posture angled just enough to look casual, but there’s nothing lazy about the way he’s watching you.
Every bit of his focus is on you.
“Ohhh… I see what you’re doing,” he murmurs under his breath, voice low, amused but there’s admiration woven into it. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he studies the way you move, like he’s already picking apart the technique behind it.
Your movements are precise, fluid, confident and he recognizes that immediately.
As a performer himself, he knows how much control that takes. How much practice. How much awareness of your own body.
There’s a quiet respect in the way his expression shifts, his usual mischief easing into something more thoughtful.
His eyes track every motion, the subtle isolations, the way your hips hit each beat with intention, the elegance in your arms as they carve through the air. His gaze doesn’t wander, doesn’t flick away even for a second.
“…You’ve got rhythm,” he adds quietly, nodding once, almost to himself. One of his brows lifts slightly, impressed, as if confirming a suspicion he had the moment you started.
For a moment, his fingers twitch slightly at his side — one arm loosening just a bit from where it was crossed, like he’s tempted to step in, to join you, to mirror your movements instinctively.
There’s a flicker of that urge in his posture, a shift in his weight, the smallest lean forward.
Instead, he exhales softly and settles back, letting his arms drop fully to his sides this time, palms flexing once before relaxing.
“This is your moment,” he says under his breath, quieter now, more certain, like a decision he’s making in real time.
His grin softens — not gone, just… warmer. Less sharp, less teasing.
As you continue, he tilts his head slightly, watching the way your outfit moves with you, the gold details catching light with every shift. His eyes flick briefly to the fabric as it flows, then back to your movements, clearly appreciating both the visual and the execution.
“…And you’re owning it,” he adds, voice low, almost approving, a faint hum of agreement following under his breath.
There’s pride in his voice now.
Not loud, not boastful but steady. Grounded.
At one point, he shifts his stance, one hoof sliding slightly forward as if he’s unconsciously aligning himself with the rhythm, his shoulders loosening more as he settles into simply watching.
When your dance builds, becoming more expressive, more confident, he nods along slightly, more openly now. His chin dips once, then again, in time with the beat.
“Yeah… that’s it,” he murmurs, quieter but more certain, like he’s encouraging you without interrupting the moment.
His gaze sharpens just a little again, not critical, but engaged, following the precision of your movements as they grow more intricate.
“…Clean,” he adds under his breath, almost like a performer’s note of approval, a small smirk tugging at his lips again.
When you glance at him, he doesn’t look away.
Instead, he meets your gaze directly, smirk returning but softer, less mischievous, more reassuring.
There’s something steady in it.
He gives the faintest nod, barely noticeable, but intentional.
As if to say, I’m watching. You’ve got this.
As you continue, he stays exactly where he is, resisting that earlier urge to step in. His hands slip casually into his pockets now, but his posture remains attentive, shoulders squared just enough to show he’s fully present.
At one point, he lets out a quiet breath, almost like a small laugh, shaking his head just slightly.
“…Didn’t know you had that in you,” he mutters, tone low, impressed, his gaze flicking briefly from your movements to your face and back again.
There’s no teasing in it.
And when the music fades and you come to a stop—
He doesn’t move right away.
His eyes linger on you, taking in the final stillness after all that motion, like he’s letting the moment settle properly before breaking it.
Then he pushes himself off the wall, slow, deliberate. His posture straightens as he steps forward, boots landing softly against the floor, closing the distance between you.
“You’re good,” he says simply but the weight behind it says a lot more. His voice is steady, confident, but stripped of its usual edge.
He steps a little closer, hands slipping into his pockets again, shoulders relaxed but his gaze still fixed on you.
“…Really good,” he adds, quieter this time, a small nod accompanying the words.
A small tilt of his head follows, eyes narrowing slightly, not in judgment, but in thought, like he’s replaying parts of your performance in his mind.
“Next time,” he adds, and now there’s a hint of that familiar playful challenge returning, one corner of his smirk lifting again, “I might join you.”
There’s a brief pause, his gaze flicking down and then back up to meet yours, something almost teasing, but still warm.
“…But this one?” he gestures toward where you were dancing, one hand slipping out of his pocket briefly to motion toward the space, fingers loose, casual.
His eyes return to you immediately after.
Makes it clear he wouldn’t have taken that moment from you for anything.
Boris wasn’t expecting to feel like this.
He sits a little off to the side at first, legs drawn in slightly, shoulders relaxed in his usual quiet way. One arm rests loosely over his knee, the other hanging at his side, posture calm, almost sleepy, like he’s just there to watch, nothing more.
But the moment you begin…
It’s subtle at first, just a small twitch upward, but then they stay there, attentive, alert in a way that doesn’t happen often.
His eyes soften instantly.
The gentle sway of your movements seems to draw him in completely, like he’s watching something he doesn’t quite understand but deeply appreciates anyway. There’s a stillness to him now, like he’s afraid that even shifting too much might somehow interrupt what he’s seeing.
It’s barely a whisper, more breath than voice, slipping out without him even realizing he said it.
His hands rest loosely on his knees at first, fingers relaxed, but as you continue, they begin to curl slightly into the fabric of his pants, gripping just enough to anchor himself. His shoulders shift faintly, posture leaning forward just a fraction, like he’s being pulled closer without moving his feet.
Your hips shift, your torso rolling in smooth, controlled motions, and he tilts his head just slightly, watching with quiet fascination. His gaze follows the movement carefully, like he’s trying to understand how you’re doing it — how something can look so effortless and yet so precise.
There’s no judgment in his gaze. No confusion.
Slowly at first, almost unnoticeable. A small sway behind him, brushing lightly against the floor with a soft, rhythmic motion.
But as your movements become more expressive, more confident…
A little faster now, a little more noticeable — though he doesn’t seem aware of it at all. His focus is entirely on you, eyes following every motion, every shift of fabric, every subtle detail.
When you add a sharper accent to your hips, he blinks, ears twitching slightly again, his grip on his pants tightening just a little.
“…Huh,” he breathes softly, almost like he’s impressed but doesn’t quite have the words for it.
When you spin, the fabric flowing around you like a soft leaf, his breath catches just a little. His shoulders tense instinctively, then relax again as the movement settles, his eyes widening just a fraction before softening once more.
“You look… really nice…” he murmurs, voice soft, almost hesitant, like he’s unsure if he should say it out loud. His words are slow, careful, as if he’s choosing them one by one.
As soon as he says it, his gaze drops for a second, flustered, ears dipping back just slightly, then they lift again almost immediately, and he looks back up.
He doesn’t want to miss anything.
The way your arms move, the way your body follows the rhythm so naturally, it leaves him a little overwhelmed. Not in a bad way, just a lot to take in all at once.
His tail is definitely wagging faster now.
It brushes more noticeably against the floor behind him, a steady, happy rhythm that completely betrays how he’s feeling, even if his expression stays soft and reserved.
At one point, he shifts slightly where he sits, adjusting his position without taking his eyes off you, like he’s trying to get more comfortable but doesn’t want to break the moment.
“…It’s nice to watch,” he adds quietly after a second, voice barely above a murmur, almost like he’s thinking out loud. His fingers loosen their grip slightly, relaxing as he settles into the feeling.
When you glance at him, he freezes.
His tail stops mid-wag for a split second.
Eyes widening slightly, ears dipping back just a little—
Small. Shy. Completely genuine.
There’s a softness in it that wasn’t there before, something a little more open, a little more vulnerable.
“…It’s really pretty,” he adds, quieter this time, his voice gentle, steady despite the faint flush creeping across his cheeks.
His tail resumes wagging almost immediately after, slower now, more relaxed, like he’s settled into the moment fully.
As your dance continues, he watches just as intently, but there’s less tension in him now. His shoulders drop slightly, his posture easing as he lets himself enjoy it without overthinking.
At one point, he lets out a small, breathy huff of air — almost like a quiet laugh — shaking his head just a little.
“…You’re really good at that,” he murmurs, voice soft with admiration, his gaze never leaving you.
By the time you finish, letting the final note fade into silence, he’s still sitting there, tail swaying gently behind him again, slower now.
He doesn’t move right away.
His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, like he’s not quite ready for it to be over.
Then he shifts, one paw lifting to rub the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly as he looks away briefly, cheeks faintly flushed.
It comes out simple. Honest. Quiet — but firm in a way that makes it clear he means every word.
There’s no hesitation in it this time.
He glances back at you after a second, eyes softer than before, a small, shy smile returning to his face.
Shelly notices you before the music even fully starts.
The second you step into view — flowing brown fabric, gold accents catching the light with every small shift — her entire face lights up like someone just flipped a switch. Her posture straightens instantly, shoulders lifting, hands already coming up like she’s about to clap even though nothing’s happened yet.
The words burst out of her, bright and unfiltered, and she immediately brings both hands up to her mouth for half a second like she’s trying — trying — to contain herself. Her fingers press lightly against her lips, shoulders bunching up with barely-contained excitement.
Because then the music starts.
The first sway of your hips, slow and controlled, your arms lifting gracefully, wrists turning with that soft, practiced elegance—
She practically bounces on the spot, heels lifting off the ground in quick, excited hops as her hands fly together in loud, rapid claps that echo just a little too much — but she doesn’t care. Not even remotely.
Her eyes are shining, wide and bright, completely locked on you like you’re the only thing in the room.
“That’s my partner!! That’s my gorgeous partner right there!!”
She points at you immediately, arm fully extended, finger unwavering like she’s presenting you to an invisible audience. Her other hand presses flat against her chest, fingers splayed, like her heart can barely keep up with how fast it’s beating.
She laughs — short, breathless, overwhelmed.
As you continue, your movements flowing into each other, the veil shifting like liquid around you, she starts jumping.
Small, excited hops in place, her shoulders bouncing with each one, her laughter bubbling out between her words as she watches you like she’s witnessing something incredible.
“YES—! Oh my gosh, yes, that was so smooth—!!”
Her hands clap again, faster this time, slightly off rhythm but full of enthusiasm, her body swaying side to side as if she physically can’t stay still. One foot taps, then the other, like she’s trying to match your energy but can’t quite keep up.
Her admiration isn’t quiet.
It’s loud, bright, overflowing.
When your movements sharpen, hips hitting the beat with more precision, she lets out another excited sound—half gasp, half squeal—as her hands fly up to her head for a second, fingers threading into her hair before dropping again.
“HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD AT THAT—?!” she calls out, voice full of disbelief and pride, her head shaking quickly like she genuinely can’t process it.
She paces a tiny bit in place, taking two quick steps to the side and back again like she has too much energy to contain in one spot, then immediately stops, eyes snapping right back to you, completely locked in again.
“That spin—! Oh my gosh, do that again—!!”
She leans forward slightly as she says it, hands clasping together under her chin for a second before she breaks into another round of clapping.
When you transition into another sequence, she nods rapidly, almost bouncing with each nod, like she’s trying to push more energy your way.
“WOAH—! That’s it, that’s it—keep going!!”
Her grin is huge, completely unfiltered, stretching across her face so wide it almost looks like it might hurt — but she doesn’t stop.
At one point, she presses both hands to her chest again, shoulders lifting as she lets out a breathy, emotional laugh, her eyes softening just for a moment.
“I’m so proud of you—!” she blurts out, voice softer this time, almost shaky, like the feeling slipped through the excitement before she could catch it.
Her fingers curl slightly into her shirt as she says it, like she needs to hold onto the emotion for just a second longer.
But then you hit another sharp movement and she’s right back to bouncing.
“OKAY—! OKAY, I SEE YOU—!!”
Her hands fling outward dramatically, then come back together in another excited clap, her whole body practically radiating energy.
When you glance her way mid-dance, she reacts instantly.
Both hands shoot up into the air, waving enthusiastically, fingers spread as if she’s trying to physically send you encouragement across the space.
“YOU’RE DOING AMAZING—!! DON’T EVEN WORRY—JUST KEEP GOING—!!”
She beams at you, eyes wide, full of nothing but encouragement, nodding so quickly it almost looks dizzying. Her shoulders lift and drop with each nod, her excitement completely uncontained.
Her voice cracks just slightly from how loud she’s being, and she immediately laughs at herself mid-cheer, one hand coming up to her chest again as if to steady her breathing, but the smile never leaves her face.
As your dance builds, becoming more expressive, more confident, she mirrors the energy without even thinking — small rolls of her shoulders, little sways of her hips, like she’s feeling it with you, even if she’s not nearly as coordinated.
“YES—! YES—THAT’S MY PARTNER—!!”
There’s something so genuine in the way she says it, her voice bright but certain, like there’s not a single doubt in her mind.
At one point, she leans toward you slightly, hands cupped around her mouth as if that will somehow make her voice clearer over the music.
“YOU’RE STEALING THE WHOLE SHOW—!!” she calls out, laughing right after, clearly thrilled by the idea.
By the time the music begins to wind down, she’s already clapping again, fast and excited, practically vibrating in place as she watches you finish, her heels lifting with each bounce like she’s seconds away from running over.
And the second the final note fades—
She rushes forward immediately, barely giving you a second to breathe before she’s right there, closing the distance in quick, eager steps. Her hands reach out to grab yours, fingers wrapping around them warmly as she bounces slightly on her toes.
“Oh my gosh, you were incredible—like, actually incredible—!!” she gushes, words tumbling over each other, barely spaced out as she looks at you with sparkling eyes. Her grip tightens just a little — not enough to hurt, just enough to show how excited she is.
She gives your hands a small shake for emphasis.
“I mean it—every single part, the spins, the way you moved your arms, that thing you did with your hips—HOW DO YOU EVEN DO THAT—?!”
She laughs again, breathless, shaking her head quickly, the goggles on top of her head bouncing with the motion. She doesn’t let go of your hands, like she’s afraid the moment might slip away if she does.
“I swear, I blink and you’re doing something even cooler—like, what—?!” she adds, shoulders lifting as she gestures slightly with your joined hands.
Then, softer — just for a second — her expression melts.
The excitement dims just enough to reveal something warmer, deeper, more grounded underneath.
“…You looked gorgeous,” she says, voice quieter now, but no less sincere. Her thumbs brush lightly over your hands, a gentle, affectionate motion that contrasts her earlier energy.
Her gaze lingers on you, steady and fond.
Then the energy comes right back.
“I’m telling everyone,” she adds immediately, grin snapping back into place, eyes lighting up all over again. She straightens, bouncing once more on her toes. “I don’t even care — you’re way too good to keep that to yourself.”
She gives your hands one last excited squeeze, then lifts one of them slightly like she’s presenting you all over again, pride written all over her face.
Bright, loud, completely full of love—
Makes it feel like the most important title in the world.
Author's note: This was actually requested a few months ago when I first started this blog and it was just for Mugman or Boris, but I decided to write the main 5 anyways BUT I was so eager and excited to write this one because I do belly dancing sometimes, it's a great way to exercise and have some fun while doing it.
One of my amazing wives @skylersunrise drew her version of the outfit the reader is wearing on the Cupheads scenario, imagining how they would be dressed — absolutely divine.
Please go see her beautiful art, she's so freaking talented and so passionate about what she does, her art and she herself are amazing!!
I hope you guys enjoyed it <3
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