#but i can play around the headcanon that she wears a black hair wig since her red hair was a red sith's genetic trait

[roguescarlett]

Arisaira Vathraki: [1/?]

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

More than frivolity

(Hayffie ❤️. — I wrote this fic in the spirit of shared little headcanons and with gratitude for that sweet  @hayffiebird who motivates me to continue writing. — Ellie, your remarkable creations and compassionate presence keep helping me feel that maybe... “It'll be spring soon. And the orchards will be in blossom. And the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. And they'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields... and eating the first of the strawberries with cream.” — I don’t know if hope can transcend the depths of extreme trauma. That transcendence has not yet been my experience, but you’ve been inspiring me lately to not lose sight of the possibility. Thank you, dearie.)

***

Through a whiskey fog, he felt her eyes on him.

Again.

All day she’d been hovering, dictating “musts” and “must nots.” And not just to the tributes.

“...Wear the navy blue coat. No, not THAT one. The one with pinstripes. It makes you look taller. And wear the silver tie that shimmers when it catches the light. It draws attention down from that chin you refuse to have manicured. Just two millimeters shorter is all I’m asking, and you balk as if I’m suggesting you cut off your head. Scuffed shoes?? Absolutely not! After all my efforts to make you presentable, you want to wear THOSE old things?! The black leather wingtips will be perfect. And, for goodness sake, comb your hair. It appears as if some sort of rodent nested in it last night...”

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 71st Hunger Games.

Haymitch sank into the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. The black shoes, the pinstriped coat, and the silver tie were all off now. The kids were in bed, and he was no longer on the clock. He could ignore her.

He took a swallow of whiskey and tried to ignore her.

She smelled faintly like cherry lollipops from the sweet shop back home. She drew her feet up beside her, and her knees shifted toward him. They brushed his thigh for an instant before she inched them away.

She was impossible to ignore.

He took another drink, closed his eyes, and awaited an additional onslaught of directives.

Effie’s clipboard lay abandoned on her lap as she examined the contours of his face. He was probably too drunk to notice her attention. If he noticed, she could say she was planning his attire for the following day. Her truth was that memories of those contours had haunted her the past year. Now he was here again in person, and she was taking in that reality.

Had she ever been turned on before by the spot where a man’s earlobe curves into his jaw? It sounded ridiculous. Nonetheless it was happening inside her. Her perusal shifted to his hairline, and her fingertips followed. What am I doing?

He shivered as her nails touched his scalp. He’d expected nagging — not this. This was the kind of sensation he experienced in dreams that made him wake up ready to fuck somebody. But he always woke up alone. He made sure of that.

Now he wasn’t asleep, and he wasn’t alone, and he was feeling this. He opened his eyes and rolled his head to face her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about washing your hair.”

Of course. “Always looking for something to fix.”

She continued the caress. “I’m just wondering how it would feel — to do it. Don’t you ever just wonder?”

Yeah, he wondered how it would feel to do it with her. When he woke up ready to fuck someone, lately he always thought about her.

“Will you let me?” she asked.

Hell, yes. ...Wait...  “What?”

“Will you let me wash your hair?”

He didn’t need to look away from her eyes to know the details of her body. He’d been glancing at her all day. Peacock blue eyelashes matched her dress with feathers stitched in strategic places. Her wig was platinum like the rings on Capitol fingers. It was late, and her makeup was worn out. He pictured pink seeping through it if he could make her blush. Her lipstick coated the rim of her teacup. Her lips were almost raw. And kissable. Too kissable.

“Nobody washes my hair but me, sweetheart.” It was the safe answer. But he didn’t tell her to stop touching him, because the longer she kept at it, the better it felt.

Abruptly, she stopped and folded her hands over her clipboard. “It was just a thought.” A fool’s thought. Of course he’d say ‘no.’

He didn’t want her to stop. Shit. He took a swig so long the liquor burned his throat. “You can wash my hair, but I have two conditions. One, I don’t want to smell like perfume or fruit when you’re done. And, two, while you’re washing MY hair, I get to see YOURS. Not *that* thing.” He scrutinized her wig.

He’d seen her hair before, a decade ago, when it was teased and curled and sprayed to perfection. She didn’t have the tools for that here since wigs were the fashion now. So if she agreed, he’d be seeing her plain and wispy and nothing special. The voice of insecurity berated her.

“I don’t know...”

“Then forget it. I’m comfortable right here on the couch.”

He drank, and she watched his throat. She focused on the three open buttons of his shirt, counting them down and back up again. His skin was weathered just the right amount to make her want to crawl out of herself and slip inside with him. She wanted to touch more than the stiff bend of his elbow, which she curled her fingers through when courting potential sponsors.

She wanted more with him than artifice. For the past year, she’d been irritated, embarrassed by her desire. Yet the want itself was more overwhelming than any irritation or embarrassment she felt about it.

Effie set her clipboard on the coffee table and dropped the first hairpin onto it. “I don’t want to ‘forget it’.”

He gaped as she slid the pins out and lifted her wig off. She shook out her hair, bending forward and quickly back up. The maneuver thrust the feathers adorning her chest into prominence, and he wanted to see all of her at once.

She fluffed her hair like a preening bird. The color was deeper than he remembered from that long-ago summer when she was 18 and barely old enough for him to be looking at her the way he did. Her hair was golden now, like late afternoon sun reflecting off the endless fields of wheat they passed as the train traveled alongside District 9... and like the honey he’d spread on a slice of fresh bread that morning.

“I don’t want to forget it either,” he said.

She reached for his whiskey. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. She gulped a mouthful and choked down the cough that threatened to follow. She capped the bottle and set it on the table beside her clipboard. “If you stop drinking, just for tonight, then you might remember this.”

If he wasn’t drunk on the look of her hair alone, then he would have protested. In that moment, he’d do almost anything she’d ask. That recognition made him nervous.

“Follow me.” She stood up and moved through the dining room on stocking-clad feet.

He followed in socks. The walls had ears, but this act was quiet. Suddenly he wanted to keep it that way. “One more condition,” he said, “No talking.”

“But—“

“You don’t need to use your mouth to wash my hair.”

She pursed her lips. Her silence reflected her acquiescence. In the kitchen, she found a wooden chair used by the avoxes, and she held it out for him to carry. He took it, and she lead him back through the common rooms and down the hallway to her bedroom.

The layout was nearly identical to the room next door where he’d slept every July for 20 years. In all that time, he’d never been in the escort’s room. The space was Effie’s now, filled with delicate things he would have looked at more closely if she hadn’t ushered him straight through to her bathroom. Colorful robes and fluffy white towels hung on the wall. Dozens of shiny, fragrant bottles were lined up on the granite countertop. Haymitch stood there out of his element, holding the chair, unsure about what to do.

Mercifully she took it from him and positioned it with the back against the sink. She folded a towel in half and draped it from the edge of the counter over the back of the chair. As he sat down, he wondered when she’d done this before and with whom. He didn’t know why that mattered to him, but it did.

“You’re going to have to slouch,” she whispered, putting gentle pressure on his shoulder, “That shouldn’t be a problem for YOU.”

Smart-ass. He slunk down until the nape of his neck rested on the folded towel. She reached across him and cradled his head. Her forearm pressed against his cheek, and the scent of cherry candy hit him again. Her skin was soft. Beneath all those peacock feathers and that corset, she was surely the softest thing in this forsaken place.

She turned on the faucet and let it run. Then she let go of him.

“Where are you going?” He should have kept his mouth shut because he sounded like he cared too much about this. Like SHE was doing HIM a favor, rather than the other way around.

“Not far.” Stifling a chuckle, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic tumbler.

Then she was back, even closer than before, and he recognized how much he wanted her there. He was sober enough to know this whole thing was probably a mistake but not sober enough to call it off.

When the water poured over his scalp, it was the dream world again. Warm shivers, ease, pleasure... Oh, god... Effie. He tucked his hands in between the chair and his ass so he wouldn’t do something insane — like touch her.

She threaded her fingers into his hair. Goodness. He is actually letting me do this. She was scarcely breathing, fearing that air alone could burst the bubble, and he would leave.

“Peppermint?” she asked gently.

“Hmmm?”

She reached for a bottle of shampoo and pumped a dollop into her palm.

“If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll change it.”

Don’t change anything.

She watched sensations play over his face as she massaged his scalp, mindful of her nails. She wanted this to feel good for him; plus, breaking a nail during the Games would be an extreme inconvenience.

Right now she SHOULD be getting ready for bed. Puffy eyelids would be another inconvenience. She could justify this time with Haymitch as more than frivolity by telling herself that sponsors would be more inclined to make deals with a more polished version of him.

She slid her fingertips along the base of his skull. His lips parted, and a sound between a sigh and a moan escaped his throat. She repeated the motion, curious if he was even aware of his response.

Her pubic bone brushed against his shoulder, and she wanted more. She wanted more of all of this. This wasn’t frivolous for her. It was intense and deliberate, and if she was being honest, impressing sponsors had nothing to do with her intentions.

She filled the large glass again with warm water. When she poured it over his hair, his eyes opened to find her staring.

Please don’t stop doing this.

Please don’t make me stop.

Effie didn’t glance away or prattle. She kept her eyes fixed on his as she pumped more shampoo and repeated everything that she’d done the first time. If he blinked, she didn’t notice.

If she blushed, he didn’t notice. Maybe the worn out makeup was too thick, after all, for him to see through it. Or maybe this was just business for her. Her body might be pressed against him simply because the space was small. She could be washing his hair a second time just because he was a mess.

His gaze dropped to her lips. He remembered the way they caught the corner of his mouth the summer before. He recalled his decision to not kiss her and how cold she’d turned afterward. 

His reasoning still made sense. He still liked her too much. He liked her now even more. She was aggravating and often preposterous... and she felt like the goddamn sun. The warmth of her was all consuming, especially when she was like this — quiet and close and wrapped up in fragrances of peppermint and cherry candy and whiskey fog.

Damn, this is dangerous.

She poured water over his hair once more, and he closed his eyes again. In a moment she’d be gone. If I’m going to touch her, it has to be now. He untucked his hands—

“Stay still,” she whispered, moving away to get a towel from the cabinet, and then returning. As she patted his hair dry, she felt him trace the feathers stitched along the sides of her dress. The warm water she’d been pouring ran through the core of her. His hands came to rest on her hips.

“Not tonight... Not like this,” he’d said the last time his hands were there. The words frustrated her then but didn’t make her want him any less. “Sit up,” she directed. 

He did so without letting go of her. As she dried his hair some more, he leaned his forehead against her stomach. The stays of her corset dug into him, but he didn’t care. Weeks of misery stretched out before him, and whatever this was with her, he needed it.

She set the towel down and held the back of his head. “You’re drunk.”

‘No,’ he shook his head against her. The haze of liquor was clearing. It was HER now in his veins.

“Do you want me to blow-dry your hair?”

“Hell, no,” he mumbled, “I’d probably come out of that thing looking like a poodle.”

“Hmm. No trust!”

When he finally looked up, her eyes were on the mirror.

“I’m a mess,” she murmured with her hands still in his hair.

He laughed. “Finally. Something we agree on.”

“Haymitch! Don’t spoil this.” With the back of a knuckle, she stroked his forehead, tracing the imprints of her corset stays. “Please don’t spoil this tonight.”

“I’ll spoil it tomorrow then.” He smirked.

The corners of her mouth turned up as she sighed.

She’d washed his hair. Twice. Their reason for being together in that space was done, but he kept holding her hips as she strummed a forgotten melody in his hair.

Neither of them was ready to let go.

***

[yikesharringrove]

what do you think about a crossdressing Steve? Maybe he started just liking the soft fabrics of his mom's clothes but then he started wearing them as a way to attempt to hold on to the feigned affection she gave him. Eventually he just got his own stuff because they helped him feel calmer, softer. He would only ever put them on when he believed he would be alone for a while to cook or do chores... And then one day Billy comes over. Do with it what you will.

So, maybe you wanted smut, but non-binary femme presenting Steve is a ridiculously big headcanon I have that I have talked about with several folks and will be included in the next big fic I roll out, so this is some Soft Shit bc I wanted an excuse to write Steve as non-binary femme presenting.

For some drag queen Steve, I got a little thing here.

This exact kinda character study of sorts has actually been in my drafts for like, a month, so I’ve incorporated some of it into this. It's modern, and there is some language that may be harmful, so PLEASE be careful with yourselves, no slurs or anything along those lines, just ignorant stuff. Also, this really went off the rails at the end, I’m Sorry.

Thank you for sending an ask!

Read on ao3!

When Steve was a little kid, he always preferred playing with the girls.

They would have clothes for dress-up, princess dresses, and pirate costumes, anything any child could want. They had wigs, makeup, crowns. Little girls also had babydolls, little pretend kitchens he would play in, plastic baby bouncing at his hip.

When his nanny would come to pick him up from Carol’s house, she would have wipes in the car, to clean off his face. Your father will be very disappointed if he sees you playing with girls’ things again, Steven. He learned very quickly that playing dress-up, wanting to be Mommy when playing house, those are not things little boys did.

He remembers fighting with his parents, when they found the little plastic case of goopy lipglosses Carol had let him keep. He was seven years old and was crying, had screamed as loud as he could that if little boys weren’t allowed to play with makeup, then maybe I don’t want to be a boy.

When his parents started leaving him more often, their absences growing longer the older he got, he began going into his mother’s things, trying on her clothes. He was twelve when he first learned that women’s clothes were made of finer materials, were softer, felt like butter against his skin. He was thirteen and would slip into designer dresses each night, learning makeup from YouTube tutorials, practicing with things left in his mother’s vanity and whatever he could discreetly put in his pockets at Meldvald’s.

He got pretty good. Good enough that at sixteen, he wanted more, would go to stores in Indianapolis, would spend his allowance on dresses, skirts, blouses, frilly little things that fit, that made him feel good, correct.

The first time he put on a pair of lacy panties, he almost cried. the material was soft, the cotton tight and nice against him, the delicate lace trimming the waist and legs was pretty. Steve realized, all he ever wants to be in his life is pretty.

He began thinking of himself as a girl, a young woman. He would tuck his dick back, make the space between his legs flat, let his hair grow out more, long enough to braid, to pin with floral clips.

He started dressing up, going out. Finding bars that would let him in if he batted his false eyelashes just so, would overlook his obviously fake I.D. so that he could go in, talk to men that were too old for him, too interested in his doe eyes, his soft cheeks, men that would buy him drinks, fuck him in the back seats of their cars, whisper about how pretty he looked, men that would touch his cock and coo that his pussy was so tight.

He found he didn’t like that but would grit his teeth, didn’t understand why wearing women’s clothes felt so right but the idea of having a women’s body felt wrong. He didn’t get why he felt the most himself, the most comfortable with his dick tucked up in lace panties, but the minute a man told him he was a good girl he felt sick. 

When he was seventeen, he stopped going out, stopped dressing up. He had Nancy now, a beautiful young woman who wanted a nice, regular young man. He almost told her, almost told her so many times, but then she was drunk, slurring in his face that he was bullshit, that he was fake, like he didn’t already know.

So he kept to himself, started dressing up again, putting on a full face, a delicate outfit the minute he got home. He would dance around while cooking diner, would float around the house in heels and sweeping dresses. They made him feel better, feel good. He would dress up on particularly bad days, would wear his most beautiful pieces when he got poor grades, when his father told him he was a disappointment over the phone. He had been informed today by his English teacher she had assigned him a tutor.

So he had blinked back tears while blending eyeshadow, had put on his prettiest dress, a pretty dark green number, the fabric light, delicate feminine. He was ready to wallow in self-pity and makeup when there was a knock on the door, followed by the voice of his something-like-a-friend Billy Hargrove, announcing with a laugh that you should REALLY start lockin’ your front door, Harrington. Wouldn’t want someone UNSAVORY comin’ in.

Steve was frozen in the kitchen, his best-kept secret all over his face, his body. Billy didn’t even blink twice when he saw Steve, asked what’s cookin’? while leaning over the stove. Steve’s eyes were screwed shut, breathing fast when Billy looked back, took Steve’s shoulder lightly in his hands said, you need to breathe, Sweet Thing, take it slow, match me. He rubbed gently down Steve’s arms, his eyes clear blue when Steve was able to open his own teary ones.

“Billy, you need to swear to me you won’t tell, you, I, people can’t know. They’ll, I mean, I know I’m a fucking freak but no one-”

“Whoa, who said you’re a freak?” Billy’s eyes were sharp.

“Look at me, Billy. I’m, I don’t know what I am. Sometimes, sometimes I wish that I was a girl, but, but something about that feels just, bad, but, but being a fucking boy feels like shit too, and I just,” he was sobbing, loudly and openly, knew his dark liner was no doubt streaming down his face.

“Hey, that’s okay, Honey, you don’t have to know. You just have to feel good.” He led Steve in a few more breaths. “It’s not black and white, you don’t have to be one or the other. You can just be you. Can be Steve, if you want.”

“What-I don’t understand.”

“Well, you don’t feel right as a boy, but you feel just as not right as a girl. There’s more than that. You have more options.” He turned off the stove, led Steve to his bag, whipping out a laptop covered in worn stickers. “So basically, there’re a whole bunch of genders.” He pulled up an infographic on his screen, a color-coded mess of columns and descriptions. “There’s way more than man and woman. There are people who are non-binary, don’t adhere to the idea of two genders. Sometimes non-binary people identify as another gender, a third gender, sometimes they identify as a mixture of identities. Agender people often identify as having no gender at all. genderfluid people tend to fluctuate between identities, can feel agender one day, the next feel like a man, it all depends on the person.” He looked at Steve, hand gentle on his arm. “And none of it’s wrong. There’s no correct way to be a human. And they each are up to interpretation. There are people who identify as agender but choose to present a certain way, there are people who identify as male but choose to present androgynous, there’s no one way to do it.”

“So if I, if I feel good like this,” Steve gestured to the dress, the smeared makeup. “I can still be, a guy, like I can just be a guy that likes to look like a girl.”

“If that feels best to you. Like I said, you don’t have to  be a guy, just because that’s what you were assigned at birth.”

“What do you mean? ‘Assigned at birth’?”

“That means the gender that’s on your birth certificate. It’s just a better way of saying like, male-bodied, since that can be, kinda shitty for people. And like, what even is a male body, you know?”

“You’re getting a little introspective for me here, Bill.”

“Basically, just because you were born with a dick and a doctor was like, it’s a boy, doesn’t mean you have to be a boy that likes looking like a girl, or whatever you said. That’s a perfectly valid way to be, a femme presenting guy, don’t get me wrong, but earlier you said you didn’t feel right as a boy, and I just don’t want you to back yourself into a corner.” Steve blinked.

“Yeah, I think, I think you’re right. I don’t, I’m not a guy. I don’t think.”

“You do not have to know right now. You literally just learned about this, you don’t have to like immediately make a choice. Take some time. Try different labels, try different pronouns, try no labels, see what feels best.” He smiled, looking at Steve softly. “If you want to, I can, like, help you. If you, if you think of something you want to try, it may be nice to, like, hear it from someone else.”

“What was, what was the one that was like, sometimes people identify as like, another gender?” Billy typed away, pulling up a new article.

“I think you mean non-binary. It’s more of an umbrella term to some people, they find more leeway in it.” He scrolled down, pointing at a list of pronouns. “So, some people who identify as non-binary also use alternative pronouns, things like they or ze, which is a way for them to be referred to outside of the gender binary.” Steve’s mind was racing. He tested the words on his tongue, thinking ze, sie, hir to himself, to, themself?

“But if I identify, as, as non-binary, or something, can I still, like, dress like this?”

“Of course. Identity and expression are two different things. To some, they go hand-in-hand, but to others, they can be totally separate.”

“I think, as of right now I think non-binary is okay.” Billy beamed.

“Okay! You don’t have to decide right now, and some folks never decide, they spend their lives flowing through different ways to identify and express themselves, and again, that’s totally fuckin’ okay. Nothing has to magically click into place for you. You can experiment.”

“Can I, can we experiment with, with they. I kinda, it kinda makes sense.” Billy just kept grinning, his smile huge and beautiful.

“Yes, I can do that.” But his face fell, “But I, I mean, this is fuckin’ Hawkins, and I don't’ know, I mean, is it, like safe?” Steve felt like their heart was breaking.

“No, it’s, I don’t think it is, I mean, there haven’t been like incidents but also, we don’t have a lot of people that are, like, openly different.” Billy’s brow was drawn.

“I can, I can call you whatever you want just the two of us, but, I don’t want to like, out you-”

“You can, you can say he was it’s, when it’s other people. I don’t, I don’t want this to get back to my dad, or anything.” Billy’s eyes were sharp.

“I can do that, I can protect you, like that.” He was nodding vigorously. “I just, I wanted to be on the same page, didn’t want to be like misgendering you behind your back and make you feel like shit.”

“You have my express permission to, uh, misgender me, or whatever you just said.” Steve sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I just gotta get outta this fuckin’ town, man. Then I’ll be good. Live my little queer life outside of the shitty bar outside of town.” Billy laughed.

“You go there?”

“I used to, when I was first kinda, questioning myself. Used to let guys fuck me and call me, like, their pretty little slut or whatever. Not my finest moments.”

“Christ, Stevie. That’s some deep shit. I went once when I first got into town, and some guy was like, I wanna hear you screaming ‘Daddy’ for me and I was like, nope. No thank you to That.” Steve laughed with him.

“I’m pretty sure I did let that guy fuck me. Bily groaned.

“Stevie, no. Don’t call random men Daddy.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Bill, I got a lot of daddy issues.”

“Yeah, me too, but not that many.”

“Just enough to be called Daddy, then?” Billy went red, dropped his eyes from Steve as they cackled. “Hit the nail on the fuckin’ head then, didn’t I?”

“Whatever, you little asshole. Let’s just fuckin’ get on with your English homework that is why I’m here after all. Go grab your books.” Steve grinned, leaning in close to Billy.

“Okay, Daddy,” they purred, racing off up the stairs laughing loudly, hearing Billy cursing them out from the kitchen.

[choisgirls]

Alright Hailey, was just listening to Smooth ft Rob Thomas by Santana (pure classic &asexual 👌)idk you take prompts now but here's the scenario/headcanon. MC is a professional dancer (who's a regularly participants in international dance sport) RFA members (including V & Saeran) walk in seeing their s/o wear a bright red dress with high heels (or MC's a guy who's in his black dance wear) dancing Cha Cha to the song ;D

A/N: my friEND SMOOTHIS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE SONGS AND HAS BEEN SINCE I WAS A KID AND I JUST- HHHNNNNjust know that im singing this song the whole time~ ~Admin 404

I’m just gonna spin awheel and let it decide whose MC is female and whose MC is male~

*YOOSUNG: (Male!MC)

               -Where did you go some nights?

               -You promised to play some LOLOLwith him and the guild but you would… disappear? And when you came back youwere always extremely sweaty and that concerned him

               -OH NO YOU WEREN’T CHEATING ONHIM, WERE YOU MC?!?!

               -P A N I C

               -He followed you one day to findout the Truth™, Detective Yoosung on the case!

               -You went to this studio typebuilding, he slipped in behind you and went into hiding behind some curtains, watchingto see where you went. It looked like some sort of dance floor, there werespeakers around the room, with a phone plugged in via aux chord. Some olderwoman walked out onto the floor in some heels, tapping one of them inimpatience

               -“MC! If you expect to winat this upcoming competition, I suggest you hurry out here so we canpractice!” she called as you walked into the room in a sharp suit. Yoosunghad to physically cover his mouth to stop him from gasping. A blush crept acrosshis face because you looked amazing dressed up like that- it was a differentlook from your casual attire, but he loved both!

               -The guitar riffs bounced offthe walls as you and your partner make your way around the room, her heelsclicking against the floor, as the both of you danced to the beat, hand in handbefore breaking away to dance side by side

               -When you turned to face thesame direction he was in, he couldn’t stop himself from coming out of hidingwith a huge smile on his face. His laughter and cheering was loud enough tohear over the music, causing you to stop in your tracks and your partner raninto the side of you

               -You paused the music as Yoosungapologized profusely  for ruining yourpractice, he just couldn’t believe how good you were? He had never learneddance moves like this and he thought they were really cool! The shy blush onyour face told him you just felt embarrassed to confess about it to him and hewas okay with it- he forgave you! Your partner told him about the latest dancecompetition and how the two of you were going to compete with that routine andhis smile lit up! He vowed to be your number one fan, and to be the loudest onethere, cheering for the both of you, because he cannot imagine the amount oftalent and work that goes into learning the routine and he was definitely readyto support you from then on!

*ZEN: (Female!MC)

               -He wanted to learn a fewdifferent dances so he could add them to his resume, you know, spice it up abit!

               -He asked a friend to set him upwith a great dance instructor, but not just /any/ instructor

               -So, one of his other acting buddiesdecided to take him to the national dance competition, so he could scope outhis own instructor or catch a glance at the one they were going to suggest

               -“No, no, no, none of theseare dazzling enough… I need to learn something that can really woweveryone!”

               -He was looking for somethingfun, something fast-paced but slow just when needed… something sexy, likehim!

               -The main dance floor caught hiseye, listening as the announcement of the national champions entering the roomblared over the speaker.

               -A familiar song started toplay, he watched as a sharp dressed man made his way expertly across the floor,holding his hand out for his partner to join in

               -From the corner of his eye, Zenwatched as a woman practically floated across the wooden floor, meeting withher partner and stepping in time together. Their movements fast and precise, hecould definitely see why they were the national champions. They moved so quicklyhe couldn’t catch the woman’s face. Her hair reminded him of yours… in fact,a lot of this woman reminded him of you?

               -You and your partner had yourgrand finale- your body now facing Zen head on so he can get a clear look atyou. After taking in the fact that, holy shit that is HIS MC out there on thatdance floor, he is immediately taking in your outfit. Bright red, body-formingdress paired with shiny pumps, you were looking sexy and bright- he was meltingjust looking at you. But he’s trying to wrap his head around the fact thatyou… were a national dance champion. You, his beautiful MC…. the both ofyou were now The Amazing Performing Duo™!!!!

               -He ran up to you as you wereleaving the floor, he actually scared the hell out of you and you were ready todig that high heel of yours into his leg- until you saw that it was really himthat is. You listened, watching as his eyes gleamed with excitement and hislips move a mile a minute- compliment after compliment, his surprise imminentin his body language. You promised to teach him everything you knew, so long ashe was committed to the hard work, which of course he was!

*JAEHEE: (Female!MC)

               -After a long day at work, shecouldn’t wait to come home and see you!

               -There was music blaring beforeshe even opened the front door, and she was curious as to what you were doing

               -She recognized the song as oneyou’ve been listening to for a few weeks at a time on repeat. But why? Sure, itwas a good song, but you seemed to always be lost in thought when you had iton, almost as if you were analyzing each and every part of it

               -And now she would find out why

               -With your high heels clickingacross the floor, your red dress moving and flowing to the rhythm of your hips,she was captivated with not only your appearance, but the determination in yourface as you plan and organize every movement in time with the song’s beat

               -The way your hair bouncedaround, always a step behind you, it framing your face at the most beautifultimes- she was dazzled and couldn’t look away. You looked as if you were anexpert- which you were

               -She dropped all her paperworkwhen you were finished just so she could clap like crazy, letting you know ofher presence and her absolute thrill!

               -Couldn’t stop herself fromtalking nonstop, mumbling and blushing, trying to get out the words andquestions she had about how you learned to dance like that

               -You told her you had grown updoing it! You usually had a partner and would attend competitions, but youhaven’t performed in years and had just wanted to get back into it

               -Which she was 100% for! You canbet your sweet ass she’s there every time you practice, signing you up forcompetitions, helping you pick new music and piece together routines. Her loveis in performing arts!!! She’s so excited!

*JUMIN: (Male!MC)

               -Another day another importantbusiness party

               -He hates coming to these thingsbut knows for the sake of his company, he has to attend

               -So now he just makes you go aswell! “MC, I don’t want to suffer through these alone anymore. Now I haveyou to keep me compan- MC get back out here you can’t just hide in thebedroom!”

               -After being dragged againstyour will arriving at the party, there were many eyes on the two of you themoment you entered the room

               -Jumin tried to reassure youthat it’s common, and they could stare all they wanted since their gazes meantnothing to him

               -Nervous laughter bubbled upfrom the back of your throat as you nodded in agreement, knowing full well thatthey were staring at you for other reasons you have yet to tell your boyfriend

               -Later into the evening, the twoof you had been separated and were wrapped up into different conversations. Theman talking to him kept complimenting him for “catching” you, asking howwell he was able to keep up? He kept calling you a “firecracker”?What in the world was he talking about?

               -The man pulled up a video fromonline from last year’s national dancing competition, and staring at him fromthe small screen was your bright smile in a dazzling black suit and tie,holding your partners hand in the air. He watched as your intricate foot worktook the dance floor, spinning your partner around, stepping in time with eachother and shaking your hips faster than he’s ever seen you move

               -He was conflicted. He wanted tosit and watch your body move so fluidly over and over again. Yet, he alsowanted to remove all versions of this video because he didn’t want anyone elseto see how majestic, amazing, and sexy you were. He wanted all of you all tohimself, dance moves and everything

               -You jumped when you felt hisbreath against the back of your ear, he was whispering soft words of love andraspy sexual innuendos about Cha-cha-ing with him in bed later that night whichmade your face turn as red as the vest you wore in that dance video

*SAEYOUNG: (Male!MC)

               -He’s already seen your videoonline!!!

               -Has practiced alone in his roomfor /such/ a long time before he actually got a chance to meet you in person

               -The two of you are constantlydancing with each other around the house, nothing too fancy

               -He’s always telling you howhe’s in love with how you move and how handsome you look in your dance outfits

               -The little brat throws himselfacross any and every object in exasperation at how sexy you are

               -/Totally not constantly askingyou to show him the way your hips move in bed?? What are you talking about???/

               -You’ve noticed he’s been tryingto copy a few of your old partners moves to the song Smooth, and you decided toplan a surprise for him!

               -You left a gift for him on thebed. A stunning red dress with a wig and high heels lay in wait for him tochange into while music played softly in the living room. Once changed, he cameout to find all of the furniture pushed to the walls of the room, stacked infront of the hallway, anywhere to be out of the way. He could hear the softbeat of the song playing from a nearby speaker and he couldn’t keep his smileoff his face

               -He kept up surprisingly well!He had studied very hard, because he wanted to be a worthy partner! There weremoments where you had dipped him and he found himself losing himself in youreyes and how amazing you looked in your sharp suit, but he had to snap himselfout of it so he could focus on showing you his skills! With the final move, he leanedin close to your face, ready to plant a kiss on you when Saeran’s voice brokeyou two out of your dancing spell

               -“HEY WHY IS THE FURNITUREPILED IN THE HALLWAY? CAN THE TWO OF YOU STOP FUCKING AND LET ME OUT OF MYGODDAMN ROOM????”

*DADDV: (Female!MC)

               -You’ve always attended all ofhis photo galleries so of course he would support you in whatever you wanted todo!

               -The moment you told him thatyou were a national champion in dancing, he was ecstatic!

               -You were in the arts and he wasexcited about it! Even if it was a different kind of art, it was still socreative and beautiful, and he thought it said a lot about you

               -So he asked to photography youat your latest competition!

               -He set up multiple cameras torecord and take rapid shots as he got ready to take some closer ones with hishandheld one

               -You and your partner had pickedsuch a great song, he was moving around to it himself, so he definitelycouldn’t wait to see how fluidly and gracefully your body would move

               -The way your hair and dressseemed to move together, flowing behind you. The way your hips moved in timewith your high heeled clad feet- everything captivated him. He was afraid hewas going to forget to take photos

               -Some of the shots he got weremesmerizing. He thought you looked like an absolute goddess. It was almost asif your red dress acted as your wings- every time you twisted or spun aroundthe bottom would fan out and he was sure to get many pictures of it

               -His next gallery was sure to befull of the shots he got of you at just this competition. He couldn’t wait tofollow you to each and every one from now on

               -Was sure to ask you to have aprivate lesson at home so he could get intimate photos of the two of youbonding over something so beautiful- something that embodied you in everyperfect way he could think of

*SAERAN: (Female!MC)

               -I hardcore believe that heloves this song and its one of his top 5’s

               -So when he hears it playing inthe living room, he practically runs from the bedroom to peek around the corner

               -He has to make sure it wasn’this brother playing it just to get him to come out, after all!

               -But what he saw was definitelynot his brother- he can tell your body from a mile away

               -And your body was clad with abright, body-con, red dress paired with some killer heels

               -Couldn’t help but stare, notjust because he loved your outfit, but because he loved the way your bodyseemed to be moving

               -The way your hips moved, theway you could twist and spin your body, it was all amazing…

               -He didn’t know you could movelike that?? So gracefully, so quickly, so… sexually?

               -Watches you until the song’sover. Afterwards, he’s asking you to do it again and again. He wants to watchand study every single movement your body makes. He wants to memorizeeverything from the curve of your hips to the toes of your heels that hover halfan inch off the floor. Videos of past dance competitions are played on repeat,notes and screenshots scattered about the floor. You would think he was creepyand obsessed with you but in reality, all of the notes were about the dancemoves instead? Was he trying to learn how the moves worked?

               -That is indeed what he wasdoing. You walk in on him one day attempting to recreate your moves in more ofa leading man’s way. You couldn’t help but smile at his dedication and at howcute he was trying to do this all on his own instead of just asking you tohelp. The moment he feels your presence though, he’s a blushing, stutteringmess and has to push you out of the room to calm down, constantly denying thathe was doing anything

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