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Holding Hands | Victoria Fluff

Anon: Can you please do a Victoria f(x) scenario with the promt: "You're afraid that you'll lose me in big crowds so you always hold my hand but now you just hold my hand when there's, like, five people around and I'm getting verry suspicious." Also you are astoundingly good at writing and thank you for giving your time.

a/n: thank you!! hopefully you like this and that makes up for how slow I am at doing requests (((: also sorry if you’re Chinese but you’re not in this fic \(>.<)/ haha sorry!!

Character: Victoria Song Word count: 1111

With f(x)’s activities essentially nonexistent, Victoria used this free time to go back to her home. While busy in Korea, she was happy for her job and her fans, of course, but nothing could compare to China. Her home will always hold a special place in her heart and there was nothing she longed for more than to show it to you. Even as you went on secret dates, in face masks and ducking from paparazzi on the streets of Korea, she would tell you tales of China. Of beauty and culture and astoundingly good food.

“I’m going to take you with me sometime,” she had promised.

And Victoria made good on that promise.

She had a solo coming up, one that she spent hours and hours planning, practicing, working hard on. Despite this, she never forgot to make time for you. And to scour the Chinese markets. They were vast and packed tightly with stalls, with shouting people and the smell of fresh fish and fresh bread mingling together to overpower the other stalls, with sweet delicacies and even sweeter teas.

You tugged on the back of her shirt, “Tori? Tori?” She slows down, not wanting to stall her march through the throng of people but showing that she was listening. “Yes?” she responds.

“I don't want to loose you.”

Victoria abruptly stops, causing you to bump into her back. An old lady, in turn, bumps into you and hisses something in Chinese. There’s people everywhere, piled on top of each other, squeezed and packed like sardines. What would you do if you lost her? Even if you screamed her name on the top of your lungs, it’s highly possible that she still wouldn’t hear you, that she would carry on, leaving you behind, lost in a sea of old Chinese ladies ready to fight each other for a good deal.

“Take my hand,” she tells you, offering it to you.

You do so, threading your fingers through hers.

“Thank you,” you say, not sure if she heard but as she turns her head to check out a stall, you see the ghost of a smile on her lips.

The next time she could manage free time, Victoria decided to take you to a museum. There was no better way to show you China’s history, than in a museum with artifacts and plaques with information far more specific than Victoria could remember.

As you walked from attraction to attraction, she found herself rather surprised. Some artifacts aroused a faint memory, of sitting in history class half asleep, or only half listening as she texted her friends, book up to cover her phone. And other artifacts were entirely new to her, previously unknown pieces of history that made her even more enamoured with her heritage.

“What do you think?”

She turns to look at you over her shoulder, a smile on her lips. She went with a bold lipstick colour today; a bright red. Red reminded her of home, of China, so she felt like wearing it on today’s date was appropriate.

She expects, no, hopes to see you smiling. It may sound childish but she wants you to love her home as much as she does, to be awed and amazed by the museum. Instead she finds your doe eyes looking sorrowful, focused more on the ground than on the historical pieces.

“What’s wrong?”

She pulls you aside, next to an artists depiction of how Chinese concubines dressed during the earlier years of the Qing Dynasty, and rubs your arm lovingly. To passers by, it might look more like a mother doting on her child.

“Nothing I just - “ you feel stupid, and silly, and annoying. This was your time with Victoria and not only were you ruining it, but you were making her upset. You had hoped that the museum would be empty, assuming that no one went to museums on a Thursday.

But you were wrong.

It seemed that three local schools had chosen today as their school trip to the museum. And it was half price today for children under twelve so what felt like thousands of people were swarming around you, pushing you in, suffocating you.

“I just,” you repeat, “don’t want to loose you.”

Victoria smiles and if she found you annoying, her face didn’t show it. “Then hold my hand. If ever you’re afraid of loosing me, just hold my hand.”

So you do.

And you continue to do so, throughout your time in China. There’s more people than you can handle, than what China can handle you think. You wonder how there’s room for so many people yet there is. Regardless of where you go, there’s people everywhere and there’s room (barely) for everyone.

Each time, you grab Victoria’s hand.

And she gives it a reassuring squeeze.

As she finishes up with preparations for her solo debut, Victoria brings a basket of cheese and wine to thank the people who had worked with her, who had helped with the debut. She brings you along, just ‘cause. No real reason, to be honest.

But did she need one to spend time with her lover?

No, she did not.

The studio is average size, a perfect fit for the eight (including you and Victoria) that are in it. Those were the people who worked tirelessly alongside her and you made sure to thank them. Politeness was always important, especially in Chinese culture.

You slip your hand into Victoria’s as she thanks them, faltering for half a second before carrying on perfectly. She was so poise, so in control. You blamed her dancing background. For years, she had mastered the ability to control her movements, every minute facial feature and twitch, into a fluid and graceful act.

Even as she brushed her teeth, she looked swan like.

You told her that once and she laughed for a solid ten minutes, spitting toothpaste all over the sink and dribbling it onto her pajama top.

After talking to the production team, you both take your leave. In the car ride home, she gives you a smug look.

“What?” you ask curiously.

“Were you afraid of loosing me?” she teases. “Or was that just an excuse all along to hold my hand?”

Your cheeks flush red. “Shut up and focus on the road. You know how many people there are during rush hour.”

“Will the people make you want to hold my hand again?” she teases.

Your blush darkens. “Just drive!”

She laughs, reaching over the gear stick to intertwine your fingers. “You’re such a loser. If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just asked!”

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