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infjsnightmare · 3 years

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Wedding Aesthetics: Yosano

A/N: I may be thirsty for Yosano and it may have come out a little bit while writing this. Okay, regardless of who Yosano marries, they are absolutely going to be a power couple. I also feel like Yosano is the protective type and would take on that role no matter the gender of her S/O. She is the dominant force in the relationship. During wedding planning, she would definitely take in every suggestion from her S/O and it would definitely be a collaborative effort, but she is the one calling catering, checking their financials, ect. She is a fan of hand-written vows that they write on cute stationary and save as keepsakes. Her wedding colors would just be white since she likes the clean, sanitary look, but her S/O talked her into having another color, so she landed on yellow since her S/O is a "pansy". A nickname she gave them to tease them for being the more submissive one, but she also likes that part of them and became a term of endearment. She also happens to like yellow pansies, so it all works out for the best.

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If her S/O is fem: She wants to see her fem S/O in something soft and demure, but also sophisticated and graceful. Yosano adores seeing her wife in a vintage style of dress and so tea-length bridal gowns are her go-to. Seeing her bride in one really brings out Yosano's protective side. She wouldn't want too many intricate details that would over power her S/O. She wants the dress to be complementary to her S/O without her S/O becoming an accessory to the dress. Short sleeves would give the dress a touch of sophistication without being to stuffy or modest. I think Yosano would also like an interesting neckline that could draw attention to her lover's beautiful *assets*.

If her S/O is masc: She would want her S/O in white, no exceptions. Black reminds her of death and she is not a fan of that being anywhere near her wedding. She also probably wouldn't want any accent colors on his tux. It just looks cleaner that way. She would like him to be in a softer ivory-type of white though, that brings out his more gentle features. Bow ties are better than regular ties for Yosano because they make him look "cute" and bring out that protective side to her. The suit would be well-tailored but not too form-fitting that it makes him look too sharp and angular. She still wants that softness that she sees in her S/O to come out. Especially since sharper shoulder seams remind her of her doctor's coat and that is really not the vibe she is going for on her wedding day.

Yosano's Clothes: Sophistication. Power. Elegance. Yosano is the embodiment of these things and she will find the perfect bridal clothes to match. She is upping her sex appeal just so she can see her S/O flushed face at the alter. A corseted top that shows a bit of skin is perfect for that. She also feels powerful in a pantsuit, but appreciates the feminine style that a draping overcoat gives her as it flows behind her like the train of a dress. It feels familiar like her doctor's coat, so it is comfortable, but it looks and moves differently. She feels like a queen. One who has the power to protect her S/O and she loves the feeling.

The Bouquet/Boutonnieres: Yosano likes the simple, clean and soft look and the bouquet/boutonnieres would be no exception. She doesn't want a huge bouquet overflowing with flowers that hide her or her S/O. She opts for a smaller bouquet with just a few yellow pansies and stems and a boutonniere would be made of a single pansy. Yellow pansies represent loving thoughts, which is why Yosano chose that specific color of pansy. As mentioned before, using pansies in general comes from her "loving" nickname for her S/O. Plus she feels like the yellow looks lively and energetic, making her smile.

The Rings: Practically, she would want something that can fit easily under her gloves for work without ripping them, so she would prefer thinner bands without gemstones. She would want to make up for the lack of gemstone with an intricate design though. I also think she would like her and her S/O to have the same wedding band, something that is a mix of both of their styles. She would prefer silver to gold, but honestly either would be fine. Even rose gold would be fine with her. Just nothing outside of the normal metals since she wants it simplistic and clean looking and she thinks some of the other colored metals look cheap.

The Venue: She would love to have a garden wedding in the spring! Something a little fancy and elegant, but also full of life and soft. She desperately wants to surround herself with life and all the flowers and plants growing in the spring would represent that new life. The birds and bugs would add energy to the event. She also loves the look of her S/O surrounded by all of the flowers. It makes them look precious and innocent. She appreciates that in a garden venue, there isn't as much needed in the way of decoration, so it's a logistically and financially a good choice.

Decorations: Saving decoration costs for the ceremony at the venue, means more money for the reception decorations. She would probably stay at the venue and have an outdoor reception, but she would make sure the table decorations are perfect, just like her S/O. The reception would be set up under a canopy with a lot of hanging paper lanterns which look elegant and simple, but bring a light and airy feel to the atmosphere. Rustic style table decorations would fit with an outdoor reception, but Yosano would make sure that they are assembled neatly and look like a fine mix of up-scale and down-home.

The Wedding Cake: Yosano did want a white wedding, so she would want the cake to at least be all white with delicate piping and an intricate design. To keep with her yellow theme, she would have the cake flavored lemon, so when she and her S/O cut inside, their second wedding color would be revealed. The cake would be stunning without needing all the extra decoration, just like her S/O. They would carefully feed each other cake from their hands, being sure not to be too messy, but Yosano would absolutely take the opportunity to lick frosting off her S/O's hand while giving them a lustful gaze that only they can see.

After the Reception: To be honest, Yosano just wants to go home and be alone with her S/O. To have them all to herself for the week. So, she does the next best thing and books them a couple's spa package, filled with sensual massages, a private hot spring, mud baths together, and complimentary champagne and chocolates. She picks a Spa that is in location without many other attractions. She doesn't want them to explore the city when they could be exploring each other by candlelight instead. She will make sure that all of her S/O physical needs are taken care of and that they can both release all the stress from wedding planning.

#yosano wedding headcanons #yosano bsd #wedding headcanons #i was thirsty #aesthetic

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lonelypond · 6 years

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AU YEAH AUGUST, Fake Dating

Love Live, NicoMaki NozoEli, 2.5K, @auyeahaugust

Summary: Nico and Eli try fake dating to boost Eli's career.

Fake It ‘Til Maki Breaks It

Donner, big, blonde, muscled, in a relationship with another woman...Eli Ayase wanted the part so badly. The Shadow Cabinet series being developed had put out a call for LGBTQ actresses for the parts of Donner and Blitzen. Eli wanted in on that short list. Her career had been stalled for awhile, a few modelling gigs, nothing like Nico’s career arc, with a starring role in a ground breaking, mostly musical romantic comedy set in an music conservatory. Nico had decided to take a break, develop a project as a director, leverage her star power into something personal.

Eli had talked to Nozomi about ways to raise her profile and as reluctant as she initially was about Nozomi’s suggestion, the more she thought about, on the way to Nico’s condo, the faster her steps got. Nico could only say no. And then laugh at her for years. Might be worth it. And Nozomi was already laughing at her now. Eli smiled, looking forward to when her girlfriend returned from Japan, but that was months away still.

Nico was sitting at her desk, taking selfies. She’d just renovated her spare bedroom as an office and had spent the last two days texting Eli about the best angle for the professional look. Eli had been sending back very unprofessional photos of the cacti on her kitchen windowsill.

“Hey, Eli, Nico figured it out without any help from you.” Nico dropped her phone, sticking out her tongue.

Eli shrugged, then slid behind Nico, hugging the dark haired woman, “I need your help, Nico.”

“Who does Nico need to hurt?” Nico jumped to her feet, hands up in Marquis of Queensbury pose, brow furrowed comically over crimson eyes, like an angry Tex Avery cartoon character.

Eli giggled and stole Nico’s seat, spinning it and stretching out her legs, “You’re adorable, Nico.”

“Nico is tough. And dangerous.”

“Dangerously cute.” Eli blew a kiss.

Nico brushed it off, muttering as she started rearranging various things on her shelf, “Flattery does not work on Nico.” Then she glared at Eli, “What’s up?”

“I need to be gayer.”

“Talk to your girlfriend.”

“She’s in Japan.” Eli sighed, “And this was her idea.”

Now Nico looked suspicious, “What was Nozomi’s idea?”

“Raising my profile by being seen in public doing date like stuff with you.”

“Everyone knows you’re already dating Nozomi.”

Eli frowned, “Turns out not so much. And I want to get on the Shadow Cabinet casting director’s radar.”

Nico scratched her chin, “Donner.”

“Donner.”

“I could make calls?” Nico offered, skipping right over the dating suggestion as if she hadn’t heard it.

“Nicooooo….”

“Eliiiiiiiiii….” Nico pfffed, “Nozomi is crazy.”

“Yes.” Eli grinned happily, unabashed in her admiration of even Nozomi’s trickster qualities.

“Nico is not.”

“Come on, Nico.” Eli scooted the chair over, wrapping her arms around Nico’s waist, forcing the smaller woman to pull her around the room, “You’ll like it. Your pics’ll be all over and you can tell everyone about directing.”

Nico broke Eli’s hold, “Why me?”

Eli chuckled, “Nozomi says I’m not your type.”

“No, generally Nico prefers SINGLE and sexy.” She waggled a finger at Eli, “Not that you’re sexy. Nico is sexy, Eli is….” Nico swept a hand up and down as Eli pouted and Nico spit out the word, “Statuesque.”

Eli leaned over the chair back, “I’ll spring for a suit so you can get your Janelle Monae Noir Town Hitchcock vibe on.”

Nico hesitated, looked at the page of the photoshoot she’d framed on her wall, Janelle Monae suited up and cocking a lighter, then sighed “Perfect cool. Nico already has the fedora. And Nico knows a good vintage shop with a tailor.”

“So?” The big eyes. Nico hated the big eyes. Eli’s blue ones gleamed with good humor and just a bit of sadness. The thing that nearly convinced Nico was that she knew how much Eli would rather be doing this with her actual girlfriend. Eli remembered something and pulled out her phone, “Nozomi said if you didn’t do this, the cards were foreboding.”

“She just likes to use fancy words.”

“Says the person who just called me something so dusty I nearly sneezed.”

Nico, arms crossed over her chest, considered. Things had been slow, papers were being signed, money was being transferred, insurance contracts were being finalized. She had about a week before the crazy started. And Eli had been a good friend since their freshman year at NU. “Three dates. Then Nico starts cinematographer interviews.”

“Agreed.”

“No tongue.”

Eli stuck out hers.

“You wish.” Nico countered.

Date one was a wedding. Nico had picked out the suit, without Eli, and when Eli saw Nico stroll into her apartment, snazzy in a charcoal and gray glen plaid, pressed and gleaming, Eli knew Nico had paid more than she’d told Eli. Boots were polished, Nico’s hand rested jauntily in her pocket, jacket undone enough that the suspender popped a bit. Crimson tie with a small black design scattered over it completed the look. Nico tilted her hat, “Feel gayer yet.”

Eli laughed and flipped her phone around, “Say hi to Nozomi.”

“Why?”

Nozomi’s laugh floated into the room, “Have her back by eleven, Nico-chi.”

Nico grabbed the phone, “Bye Mom.”

Eli had opted for a bright blue pantsuit, lacy, see through ivory camisole underneath, white Chuck Taylors on her feet, orchid in her hair, “Let’s go blow out the gender binary.”

Nico offered her arm, “Nico prefers ‘let’s Bowie.’”

The “on the way to a wedding with my best girl” rising star Eli Ayase photo Nico had posted had blown up and when they actually arrived at the venue, there was a stir at the entrance. Nico knew cameras were out, pictures would be posted, she’d even provided the hashtag: #NicoEli1st. Why not let the universe in on their first ‘date.’ The universe liked snooping. Nico found a few people who were linking to Eli’s modelling campaigns. And Eli was posting about how glad she was people could find relationships that worked for them, with a #thanksNozomi and a winky face. Interest, mild controversy, lots of talk, probably wouldn’t hurt Nico. And this mansion was gorgeous, shadows and corners and patterns and contrasts. Nico might have to consider it for a location if she ever did a murder mystery type of thing, Hitchcocky...Nico had the suit now, although unlike Cary Grant in North By Northwest, she wouldn’t let it steal the movie. Unbuttoning her jacket, while Eli found the family of her friend the bride, Nico pulled out her semi vintage Zippo with a pinup girl on it. Nico wouldn’t smoke just for mood, but as she leaned against the wall, stretching out a leg, she flicked a flame exactly as a redhead came around the corner, tripping over her leg, Nico stumbling forward, loosing her grip on the lighter, which fell on the back of the now prone redhead. Nico snatched it up, closing it, hastily patting down the person for flames.

“Get your hands off me!” The redhead pushed up, she was dressed in jeans and a hoodie. Very unsuited to a wedding.

“Watch where you’re going!” Nico shouted, scared.

“Sorry, Arsonist.” The blade of the redhead’s sarcasm was samurai worthy, her lavender eyes narrowed and daring Nico to say something.

“Nico was trying to save your life.” Nico pocketed the lighter with a flair, her heart fluttering too fast.

“Sorry, don’t need your help. Just stay out of my way.”

Nico stepped aside, sweeping out a hand, “Gladly.”

“Stupid celebrities.” The redhead muttered as she passed, which caused Nico to grin. Recognized, check.

“Nico forgives you.” Too good not to toss off a parting barb.

The responding glare was Klieg level.

Since these were Eli’s friends, as the reception started a few had wondered about Nozomi, and Eli had politely explained they were taking a time out while Nozomi decided if she wanted to stay in Japan. So Eli was just casually going a few dates to stay busy. Nico was an old friend. At this point in the story, Nico would grin and wink. The fifth time through Nico found herself distracted by a spotlight on a piano and red hair she’d seen before, now wearing a stunning purple backless dress with a train, sat at the piano, elegant fingers hovering over the keys. Nico loosened her collar, elbows on the table, staring, as the pianist began “Come Rain or Shine” and the couple took the dance floor. Eli nudged Nico so hard she nearly fell off her chair, “HEY!”

“We were just saying” Eli smiled at the matronly woman next to her, “how nice it is to not to just be trying to find a date online.”

“Nico mostly stays out of the dating pool.” Nico stated, eyes still on the redhead, who had started another song, one that Nico couldn’t quite recognized.

Eli coughed and her foot came down on Nico’s, “Until I told her I didn’t want to come to this wedding alone.”

Nico realized she must have missed a few cues. “You’ll agree, Eli is too nice to come to a wedding alone. Nico is too chivalrous for that.”

Eli smiled, her foot easing up, the matron clucked sympathetically.

“You’re terrible at this.” Eli hissed in Nico’s ear.

Nico flailed a hand toward Eli as she turned around in her chair, facing the pianist, “Leave me alone. I’m trying to figure out the songs.”

“Crazy He Calls Me” The matron offered, “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“Who is she?” Nico’s question was too quick, as she couldn’t take her eyes off the muscles revealed by the sloping back.

“Nishikino Maki. She’s crazy rich, splits her time between photography and music.” Note of pride, “I know her parents, they wanted her to be a doctor.”

“Nico’d be sick all the time.” Nico muttered.

Eli stomped again, Nico glared, Eli tilted her head in the direction of the third person at the table. Nico smiled and decided to save the day and her toes, “Nico is just a big fan of the American standard songbook and you rarely get to hear them played this well, live.”

“I know” a warm smile from the target audience, “It’s a wedding gift to us.”

Nico stood, eyes still on the piano, but a hand held out to Eli, “Shall we dance, Eli.”

“Excuse us, Geri.”

“Of course,” near drunken tittering, “Enjoy yourself, girls.”

Eli let Nico pull her into a hold, “You’re really terrible at this.”

Nico sighed, “You’re really not my type.”

“RIght there with ya.” Eli mocked Nozomi’s accent and Nico snorted.

“Nico is everyone’s type.”

“What’d the redhead do?” Eli followed Nico’s lead, amused by her friend’s antics. Nico was always worth the price of admission.

“Tried to set herself on fire with Nico’s lighter.”

Eli doubled over with laughter, evening out their heights, “You’re terrible at everything.”

Nico rolled her shoulders in a long shrug as she finally caught the pianist’s eye and winked. “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered” picked up tempo, “Nico has hidden talents.”

“Charm isn’t one of them.”

Nico let Eli twirl herself out into the middle of the dance floor, pulling her close on the dancer’s return, “You’ll never know.”

“Nope. And I’m perfectly fine with that.”

“This is a dumb way to get people’s attention, you know. Nico will call people.” Nico was confidently leading them through the dancing crowd, when the pianist started to sing, “This Is The End of A Beautiful Friendship,” her voice a breathy, smooth as silk cord twisting through the crowd, Nico stopped, Eli bumping into her. The brides were dancing, foreheads touching, happily absorbed in each other. Nico and Eli shared a glance, both a little envious, both a little lonely.

“Let’s sit down.” Eli pulled Nico off the dance floor.

“Yeah. At the bar.”

“No. We are going to call Nozomi and let her hear this. It’s amazing.” Eli pulled out her phone.

“It is.” Nico settled back backwards in her seat so she could watch the pianist, “You’re hopeless.”

“And you love me.” Eli leaned over to kiss Nico’s cheek, Nico’s smile was wry.

“You’re ruining my mysterious vibe.”

Nozomi's voice cut in, “Oh Nico-chi, you’re too cute to be mysterious. Like a tiny kitten about to pounce on a dust bunny.”

“Go away Nozomi.”

“I am.”

“Well then come home so your girlfriend doesn’t try to date me.”

There was a humming, which Nico barely heard over Maki’s voice wrapping itself around “Orange Colored Sky” while Nico’s foot tapped along, “You know, Nico-chi, I think I will.”

“Nozomi!” Eli cried out, Nico glanced over her shoulder, yep tears as Eli took the phone off speaker and left the table, speaking rapidly.

Then the redhead bowed her way into a break and Nico grabbed a glass of water and a flower out of the centerpiece and angled her way to the corridor Maki had fled down.

The redhead was leaning gracefully in a breeze, a few hairs blowing, head down, hands smoothing her dress. Nico coughed and she looked up, “Oh, you.”

Nico put on her best smile, “That was amazing. And Nico doesn’t even like piano.”

An incredulous look under a sharply raised eyebrow, “Noted. I think I’ll keep playing it though. You know, for the people with taste.”

“I’m sorry about the lighter.” Nico stated, offering the flower and the flute, “It’s water.”

Maki put the flower in the flute, “No thanks.”

“The singing though, WOW…” Nico nodded, trying for sage, “And Nico is a professional.”

The other eyebrow went, although the cheeks flushed slightly. “Really.” Sarcasm stained the ceiling.

“Well, more pop stuff, but yeah.” Nico ignored the disdain. Nico sniffed the flower, then reached into her inside pocket for her card, “Had my own show. Now I’m directing.”

Maki made a big show of having no pockets and tucked the card into the band of Nico’s hat, which, although Nico would never have admitted it, might have deflated her slightly.

“Anyway,” Nico tilted her head at the taller woman, enjoying a moment of silence before saving the situation, although her words came out in a nervous rush, “Alakazam! Nico just wanted to say your voice is as pretty as you are and if Nico can ever help you out, let me know.”

“Thanks, I’m good.” The redhead swept by, flicking a hand up and it took Nico until the redhead looked back winking, settling Nico’s fedora on her head, to realize she’d lifted Nico’s hat.

“Hey!” Nico started to chase after, but then paused at the edge of the dance floor, considering. She searched for a blonde head and found it across the floor. Raising her hands to her mouth, she shouted in that direction, “Hey, Eli.”

Blue eyes locked on hers and Nico continued as Maki began to play “Fly Me To The Moon.” “We’re breaking up.”

A/N: Anonymous dropped "you asked me to your wedding but your cousin's cute" in my ask box, which seemed a fake dating natural, which turned into this, because like Nico and Eli, I am terrible at this ; ) I think the world could use some more Nico Eli friendship.

Shadow Cabinet is a good comic from the Milestone Media days, and then Donner and Blitzen spun off into The World Needs Heroes with a few others.

Take care! New kitten has pushed my to do list back.

#nicomaki #nozoeli #love live #au yeah august #au august #fake dating #yazawa nico #Nishikino Maki #ayase eli #tojo nozomi

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just-a-re-blog · 7 years

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The Shimmer of the High Hat

Jung Hoseok is my idea of a perfect 1920s gentleman, so I did a little bit of a period piece. Just a couple of little notes--you, as the reader, are Rosalyn, and if you’re not black...well, you’re going to get the tiniest little glimpse into the reality my people lived in back in the day (and still feel the echoes of today).

~HMR

You loved the club at the end of that dark, hollowed out street. You loved the reedy, romantic squeal of the saxophone sending ripples of ecstasy through your chest. You adored the piano ornamentations ebbing like streams across your eardrums. You relished the trills of the gravelly voices scatting nonsense syllables like pebbles skimming across the surface of you.

You lived for the nights spent drowning in that club.

The night is clear, only a few wispy clouds threading their way across the star-lit sky. Laughter echoes down the cobblestone streets as your three best friends link their arms and parade the worn route to your hotspot. An unrecognizable set floats half-muffled from the thick, closed doors of the club. You drum your fingers excitedly against your thigh at the thought of being introduced to yet another new group.

For you, the bands that played were interchangeable. Of course, you had your preferences. You had a soft spot for the ones who returned weeks after their first appearances at Coal Dust Lounge, the ones who began calling it home as frequently as you. But as long as you could groove to the bass line, you could dig just about anyone who jumped on that glimmering mahogany stage.

Pushing through to the smoky, plush interior of the club, you fall in love all over again. The pungent scent of tobacco intertwined with the sweet aroma of wine fills you to overflowing. Dim yellow light is cast across every surface, turning the faded red and butterscotch room cozy.

Your friends scurry over to your usual table, blue, green and white dresses and suits fluttering by. You follow a few steps behind—there is an air of unfamiliar anticipation that momentarily gives you pause.

But you put the strange feeling at the back of your mind when you sit at the booth and the waiter strides over to ask if you’ll be having your usual.

Nearly half an hour passes as you chatter with your friends and sip passively on your Mary Pickford before you realize that your foot has been tapping since you sat down. You turn to find out who the fantastic band is, but the dance floor is packed, and you can’t see past the ocean of heads to the stage.

But you get your chance to observe the group when a spirited slur of trombone rouses Janey to her feet. She nearly pushes you from your seat in her attempt to climb over you and reach the dark floorboards. One of her hands grabs at the deep violet fabric of your dress to pull you along behind her.

“Come on!” she cries. “We ab-so-lute-ly must go Lindy!”

Annie and Micah squeal and follow you. Janey squeezes forward through the mob, elbowing her way to the front of the crowd.

And then you see them—the tall, burgundy-haired singer caressing the length of his microphone lover; the young man scatting trumpeted phrases with a blaze of platinum hair adorning his face from under his pinstriped fedora. There’s a maroon crowned pianist stroking the yellowed ivory keys set in the glistening black façade of his instrument, fingers tangling and untangling themselves in a jovial melody. A man with sharply parted blood orange locks stands bearing a trombone whose brass is unevenly dulled. Beside him, a bassist in a brilliantly spiffy gray bowler and matching vest shuts his eyes while he twangs out a lively riff, while a raven-headed saxophone player puffs out soulful notes from a chair. The last man onstage sits behind a drum set, happily brushing his special sticks across the high hat cymbal.

Satisfied at having finally seen the band, you let yourself refocus on the task at hand: Lindy Hopping like there is no tomorrow.

Three songs later, your feet are throbbing from your confining shoes, and your breaths are a measure of your total physical exhaustion, although your mind insists that you could dance all night.

The band is equally tired, their break perfectly timed with yours. You watch the lanky singer pick up a glass of water from the piano and drink. The others disperse a bit, congregating in small clusters to converse: the pianist and the drummer; the frontmen; the brass, the bass, and the sax.

Janey catches the look of fascination on your face and grabs your arm, leaning in close to your ear. “Go beat your gums with one of them!” she whispers. “I’m sure you could have some ducky conversation.”

“No,” you whisper back. “They’re tired. I don’t want to disturb them. I’m just keen on their style, is all.”

“Tell them that then!” Janey shakes her head. “Honestly, you’ll be 35 years old before you grow out of this bluenose phase.”

You smack Janey’s arm. “I’m no bluenose! Just because I’m not a flapper like you doesn’t mean I’m a piker.”

Janey rolls her eyes and cocks an eyebrow. “Prove it. When was the last time you talked to a dandy with a bit of potential, Rosalyn?”

You adjust Janey’s headband, making sure the white feather protrudes at the perfect angle.

“I could say the same for you. Every boy you’ve pegged as the Real McCoy has turned out to be a rag-a-muffin, a flat tire, or a pill.”

She flicks her short blonde curls in defiance. “Fine.” She looks at Annie and Micah and smiles mischievously. “Girls, we’re in our glad rags and raring to go. We’re all going to go chat with those sheiks.”

Annie shrugs in assent, but Micah blushes nervously.

“Janey, stop calling boys that,” she mumbles. As always, Micah has the least alcohol in her system.

Janey sucks her teeth. “Ugh, you are regular pansies. Wet blankets, the lot of you. It’s the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and twenty-six—live a little! What’s the point of coming to clubs if we’re not going to search for someone to put a handcuff on us?” Janey was always looking for love and commitment in the strangest places. “Well, I’m going up there—with or without you girls.”

She starts towards the side of the stage through the thinning crowd on the floor.

“Wait for me, Janey!” Annie calls, and her jade pantsuit billows with the breeze of her movements.

You look at Micah, and she holds out a hand for you to take. The two of you follow Annie and Janey’s lead.

“Which one should I even talk to?” she asks softly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, trying to figure out your own answer to that question. Something about the sharp, striking features of the singer with the rusty brown hair nags at your attention. Rum-infused adrenaline pumps dangerously in your veins. “Which instrument is your favorite?”

“I-I—well, I like the bass,” she stutters.

“Then talk to the bass player! You heard Janey—it’s 1926. Live a little!” You grin back at her as you reach the side stage steps and let go of her fingers.

As you stand poised to ascend and make your way to the handsome vocalist, you notice that Janey has beat you to him. She laughs and smooths her dress while the trumpeter bends to kiss Annie’s hand. You curse under your breath and laugh softly, wryly. You turn back to Micah.

“Well, go ahead,” you urge, smiling.

She runs a hand through her thick black curls and pulls her elegantly modest sapphire wrap tighter around her thin figure. With her head down, she climbs the stairs and meanders shyly to where the bass player stands chatting with the fiery-haired boy and the young saxophonist with messy black locks. He smiles at her immediately, his lips pulled into a wide, boxy grin.

You sigh and rub a spot on your favorite silk dress.

Guess tonight’s not the night.

“Your—uh—that’s a fine…fine color,” someone stammers.

You look up to see the band’s drummer standing in front of you, eyes wide and mouth curved up on one side. His cheeks are big in rounded contrast to his thin eyes.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Violet, right?”

You nod, trying to place his strange accent, faintly perceptible in his broken English.

“Yes. It’s my favorite color.” You gesture upstage to his drum kit. “You’re the drummer, right?” He nods. “What’s your band called?” He answers quickly, and you are taken aback by the rapid foreign syllables that spill past his lips.

“Sorry!” He laughs. The sound is light and open. “It means the Bulletproof Boy Scouts.”

“Get right out of town!” His smile widens, and it seems as though he is radiating joy. It puts you at ease. There’s no pressure with him. “The Bulletproof Boy Scouts, huh? I’ve never seen you all here before. Is it your first time playing Coal Dust?”

“Yes. We haven’t…been here long.”

“In town or in the country?” You shake your head. “No, sorry, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just—”

“No, you weren’t rude,” he assures you. “We are new to America.”

You look at the other boys behind him. “Are you all from the same place?”

“All from Korea. We didn’t come…together, but we…were in the same…group…at Angel Island. That’s why we’re friends.”

“So are you all here to stay for good, then?”

You find yourself pausing before speaking, determined to avoid using slang in front of the young man. Not that you don’t think he could understand it. And not that you think he’d mind your lingo. But you feel the need to be more formal with him. It’s funny—he is such a casual, calming presence, but you can’t help but feel he deserves better conversation than your easy-going dialect can offer.

“I am.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to gesture at the blond trumpeter. “Namjoon wants to do…business. He’ll go…back and…back and…” He pauses, looking around embarrassedly as he tries to remember the word.

“Forth?” you finish. He nods gratefully and fiddles with a button on his gray suit. You have only known him for two minutes, but it already seems unnatural for his face to read anything other than happiness. You quickly change the subject, desperate to restore his smile. “You know, my friends over there,” you start, “they’re all quite keen on your music. I am too.”

He perks back up instantly. “You all danced really well! What dance was that?”

“That was the Lindy Hop—the Jitterbug. It’s our favorite. We’ve done it about a million and one times together in here.”

“You had a lot of…”

“Energy?”

“Yes!” You both laugh. “I’m sorry. My English—”

“Your English is great.” He beams in response.

There is a shuffling onstage as the boys pick their instruments up again to resume their set. Your friends bid their companions good-bye with varying degrees of sincerity and reluctance. Annie leaves the stage first, followed by Janey. As the bass player says something that makes Micah’s cheeks turn rosy, the drummer sticks out a hand, drawing your attention back to his glimmering black eyes in front of you.

“We didn’t…introduce…ourselves.”

“Oh! I’m Rosalyn.” You slip your hand into his.

“Rosalyn…” He chews your name over momentarily before his mouth spreads into another infectious grin. “My name is Hoseok.” He kisses your hand gently, his pink lips soft on your dark skin.

“Hoseok,” you echo. “Well, thanks for letting me yap with you, sweet thing. I’ll let you go back to your music now, I suppose.”

He nods to you and jogs back to his position, waving over his shoulder as you descend the steps to the dance floor. Micah joins you and the other girls just seconds before the next tune starts up.

“Ooh!” Janey giggles. “Looks like Little Miss Micah has weaseled her way into somebody’s heart!” Micah bows her head to hide her face in her curls. You all crack up.

You swing each other around in circles to the beat, recounting your interactions as you turn.

“I mean, he wasn’t exactly my type, but he was nice enough. A bit too flirtatious for me,” Annie admits. “But his English was very good.”

Janey goes next. “He said his name was Seokjin. He was very polite, but we didn’t exactly jive like lovers. I think I’ll put on my black next time and talk to that red-headed one on the trombone—he’s been giving me the eye since we started Jitterbugging.” She looks up at the stage and throws a playful wink towards the boy standing with the brass. He raises an eyebrow and his eyes scrunch up in a mouthpiece hidden-smile. You can already see it: Janey’s fair skin popping against her black satin as she sits at a table for two with wide eyes, feigning innocence.

Annie laughs loudly, throwing her head back. “Janey, you really are a bearcat.”

Janey shrugs and tosses her hair. “You should talk to the young one next time. When he’s not cracking up with the bass player, he’s looking at you.” She twirls away from Annie to dance next to Micah. “Speaking of the bass player, what was his name? What did you all talk about?”

Micah smiles at the ground and simply replies, “Taehyung is very, very sweet.” Janey prods and pries, trying to get more details, but Micah’s only response is to shake her head and bite her lip to suppress a smile.

“Attagirl!” you call to Micah, laughing. “Frustrate her at every turn.”

Janey whirls around to face you, a teasing smile gracing her lips. “Well, what did you talk about with your Little Drummer Boy?”

“His name is Hoseok, and well…we talked about quite a few things. It was a jake conversation, really.”

“Will you see him again?” Annie asks as the song winds down.

“How do you mean? As a friend or a suitor?”

Annie’s eyes grow wide and her words are rushed. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me now—if he asked you for a dance, would you take it?” The other girls crowd in around you, their expressions matching Annie’s intensity.

“Well yes. Of course. I’d love to if he offered.” They grin.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to come face-to-face with Hoseok.

“Oh! You startled me!” The two of you chuckle briefly. Music begins to play again. You look back at the drums and are surprised to see the trumpeter seated behind the kit.

“Would you, uh…like to dance?” You turn back to Hoseok. He is bowed deeply. His mouth curls hopefully, his contagious smile reflected on your face.

“Ab-so-lute-ly.”

He holds his palm out and you place yours against it. He spins you to the center of the now-sparsely populated dance floor.

“Do you know how to Baltimore?” you ask him. He shakes his head. You take a few bars to show him the steps at full-speed, prepared to slow the motions down to show him exactly what the footwork is. But he picks it up after three measures and joins in. Your jaw drops as he grabs your hands and mirrors your movements exactly.

He sweeps you across the floor elegantly, never stepping on your toes or fumbling over his own feet. He makes eye contact with you often, lips pulled back from his dazzlingly white teeth. You giggle softly as he spins you smoothly and braces his hands at the curve of your waist and spine.

All too soon, the song is winding down, and Hoseok swings you into his arms in a fantastic dip. The girls holler and squeal, clapping their hands in an obnoxious ruckus. The sound makes you inaudible to them, but it doesn’t quite drown out your breathless whisper to the man holding you.

“Hoseok…that was…positively swell. You’re a ducky hoofer, you know that?”

He tips you back to your feet, trying to hide the look of confusion in his eyes. You laugh.

“I’m sorry. I only mean that you’re a great dancer. Why didn’t you tell me you were so good? It was a jolly old run, but I felt like a bit of a fool dancing next to you!”

His shoulders shake as he chuckles. “No, you were very good! I didn’t want to…mess up. It was fun! I’m happy…you had fun too.” He bows again and turns toward the stage. “I think…I should go back now…” He frowns for a moment, contemplating something. He raises an eyebrow at you. “Would you like to come?”

You are taken aback. You blink a few times, dumbfounded. “You mean…come onstage?” He nods. You shake your head, beaming. “Boy, would I!”

His face glows as he leads you to the front of the stage. He hoists himself up, and offers his hands, intending to pull you over the edge to save you the trip to the stairs. You gladly accept and relish the feeling of his muscular arms around you.

The trumpeter nods and throws a kind smile your way as he stands to give Hoseok his rightful seat back behind the drums. Hoseok gestures to the stool.

“You want me to sit?” you clarify.

“Yes,” he insists. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

You nervously brush at the folds of your dress and sit. Hoseok stands behind you and puts his hands over yours on the drumsticks. The black-haired boy lets out a low whistle from behind his wooden mouthpiece. Hoseok laughs under his breath.

His voice is soft in your ear, warm air tickling the back of your neck and making your pulse quicken. “Is this okay?” You nod, suddenly unable to form words.

He counts the boys off and guides your motions to create a steady beat that has your friends traversing the floor. Soon, the few loners left milling around the club push through the thick, wooden doors, leaving your small, motley crew to their own devices. In between songs, Hoseok whispers the names of each boy in your ear: Jeon Jungkook on saxophone, Park Jimin plays trombone, Min Yoongi the pianist.

The boys start rotating between shifts with their instruments and shifts on the dance floor, revealing that all of them are musically talented in multiple ways. Sometimes a fast song not requiring ivory keys allows the pianist to cover for the bass player while he spins with Micah. A slow melody that doesn’t need trumpet lets the blond flirt relieve the red-head itching to swing next to Janey. Not long after you have fully relinquished the drumsticks to Hoseok, he lets Seokjin take his spot and goes to the microphone to sing.

His silhouette is tall and imposing in his tightly tailored black suit.

“I didn’t know what time it was,” he warbles softly, his smoky tenor floating through the room. The ends of some of his words are muffled, bordering on mispronounced. But the sound has you inhaling and exhaling in shaky awe. He half turns in his spot to grin over his shoulder at you. “Then I met you.”

And as the band swells around you—the purr of brass and woodwind, the trill of piano and bass, the brushed shimmer of the high hat and the breathtakingly beautiful voice—you feel weak on your feet. The sound waves overtake your body, pitch after tone after note disrupting the pulse of your heart, the expansion of your lungs, the coherency of your thoughts.

“I didn’t know what day it was you held my hand. Warm, like the month of May it was, and I’ll say it was grand!”

Hoseok extends his hand and tugs the microphone with him as he moves towards you. He guides you out from behind the drum set and twirls you to the front of the stage with one hand. You lose track of how many verses pass by; his eyes hardly leave yours as he sings with a wide smile plastered to his face.

“I didn’t know what year it was life was no prize. I only wanted love, and here it was, shining out of your eyes.” He curls you to his chest and sways gently. “I’m wise, and I know what time it is now.”

The tune ends with a flourish and Hoseok’s hands linger against the bare skin of your wrists momentarily, unsure of when—or if—he should let you go. Finally, his grip loosens and he releases you towards the stage’s side steps with a reluctant smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You descend the stairs, disoriented and a bit lightheaded.

The girls encircle you as soon as your feet hit the floor, but you barely register their questions, too caught up in the ghosting touches of his muscled arms around you.

Two more songs blare by in a blur before Seokjin finishes the night at the microphone with a quick ditty that ends with a booming, chromatically introduced seventh chord. He thanks the tiny audience of four and the other boys stand to join him in a bow. They begin packing the instruments that are theirs—sheathing drumsticks, disassembling saxophones, encasing trombones. Taehyung finishes quickly, jogging down the stairs with his case thumping clumsily against his thigh to meet Micah.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly, beaming. He takes his hat off and straightens his slate vest.

“Hello, Miss Micah.” His voice is surprisingly deep in contrast to his round, youthful face. His sentence is full of pauses, and he fidgets with a flitting gaze that avoids Micah’s eyes; he’s clearly not as comfortable with English as Hoseok. You fight back the butterflies beating your brain into a haze at the thought of his name. “I was…wondering…could I…walk you…home?”

“Well, we have to catch the last bus back to Harlem, but I’d love it if you would walk with us to the station.”

Taehyung’s mouth transforms into that boxy smile that turns Micah’s cheeks into cherries. He offers his arm and she loops hers through it. She’s not much darker than him, and you envy how natural they look together as they walk towards the chair her coat is draped across. You envy the way their skin tones are the perfect compliment to one another. Not like you and Hoseok could ever look. You two…noon could never proudly stand beside midnight.

The trombone player, Jimin, you remember, comes down next, dragging the lanky saxophonist behind him. The black-haired Jungkook looks terrified as he falters steps away from Annie, but Jimin strikes up a new conversation with Janey like they are old friends. You spot Seokjin and Namjoon nodding in approval at their decision to let their juniors take a shot with their partners.

Moments later, Hoseok slides across the floor to stand next to you. His hand brushes against yours and your heart jolts in your chest.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, brow lifted in anticipation.

“The best,” you breathe.

Namjoon’s low voice rings out, cutting through all the chatter, “Okay, boys. Sorry to interrupt you, ladies, but we’d best be heading out. And we wouldn’t want our lovely audience members to miss their bus, would we?”

“I think,” Taehyung interjects, “I’ll catch up…later. I can…find my way back okay.”

Hoseok speaks next, and the sound of his voice takes you by surprise. You didn’t think he’d be dead-set on taking you home. ��Me too. I think I’d…like to walk Miss Rosalyn to the bus.” He looks at you, uncertainty in his eyes. You nod and give him a shy smile. Jimin and Jungkook echo the same sentiment.

Namjoon shrugs and grins with one eyebrow raised. “Well, I suppose that’s settled then. We’ll see you all back at home. And, boys—” Namjoon looks each band member in the eye before continuing. “Behave.”

Seokjin and Namjoon wave briefly before fastening their jackets tightly around themselves and pushing through the double doors. Yoongi follows, tipping his hat to you and your friends to reveal the dark burgundy roots of his hair.

Hoseok bows, motioning for you to lead the way. You grab your faux mink stole from your booth and Hoseok’s wide hands gently lift the fur from your arms. He drapes the stole affectionately across your shoulders and takes your hand.

You see the others filing through the wooden exit. But something stops you from following them. The pain in your legs becomes noticeable, dull aches radiating from the backs of your calves through your thighs. Your chest grows heavy with fatigue and a sudden untraceable anxiety. Your hand twitches in Hoseok’s, and you feel your heartbeat and breaths speeding away from your control. He looks back at you, concern evident in his features.

“Rosalyn? Are you…okay?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I-I…We shouldn’t d-do this, Hoseok…”

He frowns and opens and closes his mouth repeatedly. “Well…why shouldn’t…why?”

“Hoseok, look at me—” You pull your hand out of his, and you can’t meet his eyes. You had never felt ashamed of the color of your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to cast the shadow of your pigment on Hoseok. He was innocent. He didn’t deserve the looks walking with you would earn him. Micah and Annie were light enough that they could pass for suitable partners for someone other than solely white men. But that was not your lot in life. “You…I really like you, Hoseok, but…we come from different worlds. Someone like me…I’m not allowed to be with someone like you…I’m…too dark…too black.” Your voice cracks and you stare at the floor, blinking quickly to soothe the burning sensation you feel gnawing at the backs of your eyes.

Hoseok looks as confused as ever. “Why…does that matter? I like you. If you like me, too…I’m going to walk you to the bus,” he says with conviction.

“No, Hoseok, here in America, it does matter. People…they’re going to look at you with funny expressions. If we…ever did anything together beyond this one night…they would whisper about us in the streets. You can’t get attached to a girl like me.”

He steps towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. “I’m an immigrant. They already…whisper about me in the streets. They all think…I’m Chinese. They don’t know the difference…They say…I’m cheap labor…I should be…deported. If anything, you should stay away from me.”

He gently puts his fingers under your chin and lifts your face until his compassionate gaze meets yours. He smiles, and his cheeks turn into those glowing orbs you feel yourself falling for. “You are…beautiful, Rosalyn. I want…to walk you to the bus. Tonight and in the daylight.”

Your heart feels full to bursting.You finally allow the tension to drain from your body as Hoseok brushes a curl behind your ear.

You chuckle weakly under your breath. “Guess I’ve never been one to shy away from trouble. Not when it means something, anyway.”

“Great.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Let’s go.”

You wave over your shoulder at the bartender in charge of closing up shop behind you. He winks as he dries a shot glass, and then the humid night air hits you as you step outside.

You spot the others ahead of you, but you are grateful you are behind them. Hoseok swings your linked hands and leads casual conversation. You marvel at his initiative despite the language barrier. You’re not sure how it looks to the rest of the world, even in the dark, but the tones of your skin meeting feels organic and right.

“Let me buy you a drink next time,” Hoseok suggests. “You will come see us again, won’t you?”

“Of course. When will you play again? And how did you end up playing at a colored club anyway?”

“Well, it’s like I said…We’re immigrants. Not a lot of places…want us around either.” He kicks absently at a pebble on the moonlit cobblestone walkway and runs a hand through his black locks. His shadowed profile is striking, breathtaking. “I’m not sure…when we’ll play there again…but maybe we should…go together…when we don’t play…so the two of us can dance longer.” He turns his head, grinning sideways at you.

You beam back. “You know what, Hoseok? That would be just ducky.”

#bts #bts scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #fluff #angst #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #taehyung #jimin #jungkook #bts angst #bts fluff #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #1920s

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