#megan-oppa

[solitaryandwandering]

Hiya! This is a new pinned post - I noticed recently that some commentary posts I've made on shows have disappeared into the ether, so this is the place where I will save any past and future posts about things I watch or read! I mostly make commentary from the perspective of my life as a queer, disabled person.

Watch-alongs:

La Pluie - episode 1 (kinda); episode 2; episode 3; episode 4; episode 5; episode 6; episode 7; episode 8; episode 9; episode 10; episode 11; episode 12

Hidamari ga Kikoeru (I Hear the Sunspot) - episodes 1-4; episode 5; episode 6; episode 7; episode 8; episode 9; episode 10; episode 11; episode 12

Rambles:

Love in the Big City - episodes 1-2; episodes 3-4; episodes 5-6; episodes 7-8

Other:

My Dear Gangster Oppa - Wahl & unhealthy relationships

The On1y One - The On1y One Went Off the Rails and I’m Mad About It

Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Love is a Poison) - Doku Koi: WATCH IT.

You can also check out my MDL or Letterboxd for more of my rambles on television and film! I'm on Goodreads, too.

[xkittzkornerx]

defending KATSEYE (long post bc wtf)

i feel like hating KATSEYE should be an immediate red flag just in general, but especially in k-pop spaces. that should be means for immediate expulsion from fandom spaces, okay? right off the bat, probably a kboo. you don’t have to like their stuff, but if you’re one of these people who despise them/participate in the online hate train, there is smth deeply demented happening and my tingling spidey senses scream fetishization.

there is not a single scandal between Manon, Megan, Lara, Sophia, Yoonchae or Daniela (that’s six whole people to slip up over the years, and they haven’t!). not only are their demeanors very sweet, OT6 is ridiculously talented and dedicated to their craft. they’ve all been dancing like pros since childhood. they’re all gorgeous in their own lovely, unique ways. not a single bad singer or dancer. charisma 9,000. the only argument i’ve heard against KATSEYE is essentially that they aren’t all East Asian, which is gross for so many reasons.

1) they aren’t k-pop, j-pop, mandopop, or cantopop. they’re a global English-speaking group that uses the methods made by the k-pop industry. neither the girls nor HYBE Labels x Geffen Records have claimed the KATSEYE project as anything other than that.

2) we saw the same reaction to VCHA. people freaking out mostly over KG and Savanna, although i doubt the people complaining even knew the girls’ names. the moment an artist doesn’t fit their “uwu unnie/oppa” ideal, they get mad. as if the idols who do fit that standard are obligated to and as if that isn’t them outing themselves as kboos. every member of VCHA is qualified to be in VCHA and w recent accusations made against JYP-USA by former-member KG, they’ve clearly endured a lot of abuse to stay where they are… mind you, KG and many of the remaining members are minors and they were still subject to literal torture. any harassment atp of idols (particularly minors) needs to be dealt w swiftly. we know the industry won’t protect them, so we’ve gotta do smth.

3) these weirdos will hate on a group regardless of if they sing in Korean, like BLACKSWAN, who still are largely ignored and purposely overlooked despite their immense talent and great chemistry. all they see is no Koreans and a Black leader. they’ll also whine regardless of if they have mostly East Asian members, like NCT, whose Japanese, Chinese, Taiwanese, and American-born Korean members are given far less hype from fans and less promotion from their own company. this is mostly directed at the Zennies who treat Nakamoto Yuta like he is invisible. Johnny is given the shittiest lines possible and he is treated like a joke bc of it. Yuta, who has been waiting for his own solo for several years, barely got any promo that wasn’t a consecutive effort on the part of Ai (his fandom). WayV, whose members are mostly Chinese and Taiwanese (Ten is Thai) are continuously neglected by SM in ways a Korean unit would never be.

4) they are weird to mixed idols. you have likely seen it before, they’ll ostracize them for not being a “superior full-blooded Korean,” w a special credence saved for half White idols bc apparently hating on Wasians fixes the racism a lot of White people have. (so smart! wow!) TXT’s Hueningkai, Pristin’s Kyla, NWNJ’s Dani, and SVT’s Vernon. what makes this worse is half-Korean people in South Korean (labeled ‘halfers’) are almost always bullied as children. we’ve seen how bad Korean bullying can get, and it doesn’t usually change once they’re adults. in Vernon’s case, he was born in Manhattan but he moved to S. Korea when he was 5. he is culturally Korean. he speaks Korean more confidently than English. he even dropped his American citizenship and will be enlisting in the S. Korean military. he could have easily dodged mandatory service if he remained an American citizen, but he dropped it. he is Korean. he’s also been the most vocal about how he was bullied for having a White American mom and had to drop out bc of the ostracism and loneliness. yet people still other him, dilute him to either the “weird meme guy” or “hot guy w no thoughts,” when he’s arguably the most philosophical and socially conscious member. they still call him a White boy, in FAN SPACES. Carats generally do not correct this behavior. i only ever see Dolly (his fandom) shutting it down and we’re always met w “it’s just a joke” as if it isn’t just eugenics in sheep’s clothing.

5) it. does. not. matter. it’s fine to have preferences. every human being has them. nobody is saying you can’t prefer Koreans. what’s weird is singling out a race/ethnicity as your only option, projecting a message that they’re superior, and putting them on a pedestal as if they aren’t just people like you and me. toxic positivity is real and fetishization is dangerous. it’s just racism in different wrapping paper. a group should be judged on their talent, charisma, chemistry, manners, and personality. their ethnicity/race/nationality should be embraced but don’t make it weird. listen to fans from their same countries when they point out creepy behavior. they know better than anyone.

[armynoonas]

Joon on Weverse

💜 Namjoon-ssi, do you have plans on performing live with Megan someday?

🐨 I think Megan's too busy

💜 is it winter there already?

🐨 please i really wish it was i wanna shovel the snow away

💜 how did you spend your chuseok?

🐨 exercising, watching youtube, reading books, eating, exercising, watching youtube, reading books, reading webtoons, eating

💜 you've worked hard

🐨 otsukaresama (japanese for 'thank you for your hard work')

💜 i can't breathe until namjoonie replies

🐨 let's be found breathing

💜 namjoon oppa, i'm not feeling well today but i practised the gayageum (korean instrument) and practised singing! it's tiring/hard but when i do something i like, it's fun for the most part

🐨 you're/thats so cool im going to learn an instrument too for sure

💜 namjoon in winter: snow, you xxxx

🐨 welcome, idiot

💜 Namjoon, after you finish your military service, can you do this one more time?

🐨 It's my dream to get a baby perm once i'm discharged But really, is there anything ! can't do?

🐨 I should be getting ready to go exercise now But I can't seem to stick to the diet

💜 I want a boyfriend who responds as quickly as Kim Namjoon

🐨 Someone like me is pretty great, (right?)

💜 Nam-joo-nah, why do I miss you so much like this?

🐨 I feel the same way I'm off to exercise now!

Translations by btsinthemoment, BTStranslation, eternalhyyh

[240918]

[mcmorins]

Yes, favorite! Really? I'm gonna go brag about this to the rest of them and make them a little jealous, haha. Aww, you are too sweet. I'm hoping I get more. I'm glad you do! We had a ton of fun working with Megan as well. Wish we got to do the promos with her but it's fine. You deserve it though! I'm gonna make sure to attend a show or two. Feel it will be an amazing experience. I'm sure you will easily, oppa.

"Favorite, huh? Well good, since you're my favorite member from Twice. Honestly, you deserve so much more recognition than you get. I did, of course. I have to stay in tune with the new releases in the industry after all. Yeah, it's gonna be a global tour which makes me nervous. However, I want to reach more fans than just within my own domain."

[pluviophile-imagines]

🌹 👁👄👁

some ayato just for u meggy

“Be nice,” he breathes out against your neck, that silken voice warm and husky with affection. “Be good to your husband, hm? Be sweet to him and he’ll be sweet to you.”

You don’t want to be sweet. You want him to feel the agony you’re feeling now, you want him to feel like he’s being wrenched in two from the inside out.

send in a 🌹 (and wip if u want to specify) to get a random excerpt from one of my wips

[beihonglin]

megan-oppa replied to your post “me reviving my ruibin stan branding for super vocal next week?? more...”

it's rhubard season for vivi!!!!

YE BOI LET’S GET THIS RHUBARB SEASON GOING 

[lesbolieeh]

Calling them Mommy in public (m)

Dom!Mamamoo ✦ Sub!Fem!Reader

WARNING—suggestive content ✦ relationship au ✦ titles/ pet names ✦ tiny part with degradation ✦ mentions of multiple kinks and sexual acts

NOW PLAYING—The Pleasure Principle ✦ Janet Jackson

[A/N.] this is the first dom!idol thing i've ever written but it's bc i was comfortable writing this abt mmm (and maybe other women too in the future). idk if i would consider myself a switch since i’ve only dommed b4… but my biggest kink is women in power and so the idea of another women being i power doesn’t sound so bad— kwon eunbi and megan thee stallion can do anything to me and i’m ok w/ that.

i’m sry if this is shit but, again, this is the first time i’ve ever written anything dom!idol x sub!reader hehe😅

M.LISTS—f.idols ✦ latest updates ✦ read on wp

All rights reserved © lesbolieeh

김용선 (𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑟)

Damn, I picked the wrong GIF for this reaction but Yongsun just looks so damn badass, powerful in this performance— She is the leader of her group and she tends to take that role in her friend groups so she has been called mommy by others in the past — which she’d never had a huge reaction to before. However, hearing you call her that will make her feel flustered, especially if you do it in public. She just wouldn’t know how to react so she’d just giggle at the situation and try to escape it, blushing.

"Hope it tastes well, Mommy.”

She choked on her food, “Wh— What? Haha.”

She giggled with a hand in front of her mouth both to hide her chewing and part of her blush.

Afterwards, she’d think about how you called her by that title in public as if it were nothing and she’d come up with so many ways she could’ve reacted, regretting everything. But she’s optimistic so she’d just show you how much she enjoyed it by expressing her contentment through words on the ride home or by expressing how turned on she got once you’re at home. Anyway, she’s make sure you knew she appreciated it and she’d tell you to call her that in the future — doesn’t matter how many times it’s happened, she’ll always blush a bit<3

... ✦ ...✦✦✦

문별이 (𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑏𝑦𝑢𝑙)

I can’t decide between whether she’d become really embarrassed and walk away (lol) or if she’d smirk and flirt with you. Anyway, Byulyi doesn't care for titles and thinks they aren't necessary and rather can be bad as they can put people into certain boxes or categories. Don't get her wrong, she doesn't mind being called Mommy at all, it's just that she prefers not having any title. When it comes to you calling her Mommy in public, she'd 1. be so embarrassed and walk away with a blush on her face because she's shy about that stuff 2. act all dom and confident (but still prefers not having titles in bed)

Ver. 1:

"Damn, Mama."

Her face turned beet red so she hid it in her arms, wondering how you can be so bashful sometimes.

Ver. 2:

“Thanks Mommy.”

“You’re welcome, Princess,” she giggled, wrapping her arm around your waist, holding her chin up high, feeling herself.

Call her that when you’re alone, and only occasionally because she prefers hearing you say her name more than a title. Don’t call her the d-word. Fans have called her ‘oppa’ in the past and she’s said that although she doesn’t conform to gender stereotypes she is a woman and doesn’t like being called a man. In conclusion, don’t call her d-word ever, and if you want to call her Mommy, don’t use it all the time since it can make her feel uncomfortable (feeling like she has to play a role, not be herself). She is either really OK with you calling her Mommy in front of others because it makes her confident to show others her dominance OR she gets really embarrassed and wants to leave the face of Earth. Anyway, don’t overuse the title/ pet name!

✦... ✦ ...✦✦

정휘인 (𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏)

Cocky as fuck. You already call her Mommy in bed but if you did it in public, all shameless, she'd be feeling herself, maybe go as far as calling herself Mommy in third person. And she’d do it in an condescending way, like with a tone you’d use for someone below you, patting your head like you’d do to a puppy, calling you her slut when she whispers in your ear.

“I forgot my wallet, can you buy me this? Please, Momma?” you tried to convince her.

"Hmm… Momma wants a hug first, Babygirl," she pouted at you and held her arms out, smiling brightly at you when you hugged her.

“Good slut,” she whispered so only you could hear, then proceeded to place an innocent kiss under your ear.

Call her more kinky shit outside of home more often! You bet your ass she’ll fuck you so well when you get home, worshipping your body and making you cum over and over until you can’t take it anymore.

✦✦... ✦ ...✦

안혜진 (ℎ𝑤𝑎 𝑠𝑎)

She would smirk and wink and the whole deal. In fact, I think she’d be comfortable enough to whisper dirty shit in your ear. Telling you she loves hearing you call her that, and that you shouldn’t address her as anything else, or it could go the other way and she’d tell you she’d punish you if you continued acting naughty.

Ver. 1:

“Okay, Mami.”

She smirked, leaning closer to you, “Don’t call me anything else, alright, Baby?”

Ver. 2:

"Damn, Mami, you look so good.”

"Behave unless you want to be punished," she raised a brow at you.

Shit, maybe she’d make you call her Mami everywhere (with exceptions, of course). And she’d both act all wholesome and cute, buying you gifts when you call her Mami in public or sexual, introducing public play (assuming you hadn’t done that together before) like using remote-controlled vibrators when you’re shopping at a mall.

✦✦✦... ✦ ...

❝ You might say, that I'm no good

I wouldn't trust your looks, baby, if I could

I got so many, things I wanna do, before I'm through ❞

—janet damita jo jackson; 1987

[ggidolsmuts]

Fromis App Part 6: Investing - Fromis_9 Jiwon

Exhausted after a day at work, your eyes begin to droop... until you see a message from the Fromis App.

Hi oppa, you up?

You smile and begin changing out of your sleepwear.

I am now, where are you?

Still at the office :( come keep me company? It wasn't a question.

Be right there

The streets are quiet being so late at night, and you look up when you reach the Fromis company building - every floor is dark, save the one you know Jiwon was on.

I'm in front of the building

Jiwon, dressed in a long buttoned up cardigan, meets you outside and lets you into the building with a quick nod. As soon as the elevator closes she pushes you against the door, making the elevator rattle as she kisses you hungrily.

"What took you so long?" She pouts.

"I came as fast as I could."

"You better not... I had a long day of showing around some lecherous investors, and you need to make me forget about them."

The elevator arrives at your destination, and Jiwon pulls you seductively by the collar, dragging you through the office, until you arrive at a door with the title "Lee Saerom".

"Why are we here?"

"Because Saerom made me show them around, so we're fucking in her office." She opens the unlocked door and lets the two of you in.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I don't care. If you don't want to do it you can leave, but here's what you're missing out on." The dark blue cardigan slips off her shoulders, revealing Jiwon wearing a thin floral white negligee, ending right around mid-thigh, teasing at the creamy skin you knew to be underneath.

"I can't blame those old men if you were wearing that." You growl, pushing Jiwon until she was sitting on Saerom's desk, your hand haphazardly brushing everything off it.

"Please, I would never wear this for them, this is all for you oppa, you're my favorite investor."

"Investor, am I? What am I investing in Miss..." You murmur into her ear, your fingers dancing around and under the straps of her nightwear, slipping one strap off her shoulder.

"Megan, its Miss Megan." She gasps as one hand slides up her leg, admiring her smooth skin.

"What am I investing in Miss Megan, what do you do?"

"I, mmm... I..." She groans unintelligibly, her brain all fuzzy from your demanding touches, her stress from the day beginning to melt away. "I produce... and give massages."

"Oh? What do you produce." You smirk, knowing her answer and already breaking the kiss to go down her body.

"Juices, perhaps you would like a sample?"

"Of course, I need to know what I'm investing in." She swings her legs around the desk, and you take a seat in Saerom's chair. Planting both hands on her thighs, you spread Jiwon's legs as she hikes her nightdress up, exposing her folds, already dripping with arousal.

"No panties?"

"Of course not, you will see that I am well prepared for this investor meeting." She places her legs on your shoulders, her eyes glittering with lust. "Please, go ahead and sample."

"Don't mind if I do." You wrapped your arms around her thighs and leaned in, beginning by kissing and licking around her slit, hearing Jiwon release cute whimpers as you denied her the contact she wanted the most. Her hands found their way to your head.

"Quickly..."

You stop abruptly. "Are you telling your investor what to do?" Jiwon stays quiet, shaking her head, her face already red with desire. You decide to worship her thighs, planting kisses on them, feeling them quiver as you continue to flit everywhere between her legs... except her pussy. By the time you were done her juices were already leaking from her slit, pooling on the desk. You take a finger and dip it in the puddle, licking your finger instead.

"Mmm, delicious, that's enough sampling I think." You say, pausing and backing away from her.

"Wha-" Jiwon reacts with outrage at her denied pleasure, but before she can even finish reacting you dive in, pressing your lips against hers, your tongue suddenly running rapidly up and down her pussy. "Oh fuck!" Apparently there is no one else on the floor... or in the building for that matter, as Jiwon gets loud.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck me!" She takes a breath before screaming again, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!”

On edge from your teasing earlier, Jiwon cums loudly and wetly, her tangy juices flooding your mouth, dribbling down your chin and on to Saerom's desk. Still in the middle of her convulsions, you get up, pushing her on her back, kissing her and making her taste herself. One hand creeps up her body beneath the thin cloth she still had on, feeling her warm body still trembling from her orgasm. The other plunges two fingers into her, feeling her walls contract around you immediately.

Your thumb rubs her clit as your fingers dig deep into her. "Cum for me again please?" You ask casually, almost as if you just asked her to repeat what she said on a spotty connection. Your fingers tear another scream from Jiwon's throat, her voice cracking near the end as she squirts once more, spraying your pants and the chair with her juices. Immediately afterwards you feel her thighs close around your arm, her other hand gently pushing your shoulder. You resist her push, but gently pull your fingers out of her, letting her come down with a kiss. When she opens her eyes she is beautifully flushed, her hair a wild fan across the desk, looking up at you in satisfaction.

"You fucker." She sighs, her body fully relaxed, all the stress gone, left on the desk, the chair, on your pants, and on your face.

"That's hardly appropriate to call an investor now is it Miss Megan?" You quip, smirking at a job well done. You are met with her negligee in the face, Jiwon throwing it at you before pushing you back on the chair. Her hands get busy with your shirt, trying to get you to the same naked state she was as fast as possible - it flies off to somewhere in the office.

"Shut up." She pulls off your pants and boxers before kneeling between your legs.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to do my due diligence, making sure what you are investing is... legitimate." Without a further word the office is filled with your groans, Jiwon working her mouth up and down your shaft. Her cheeks puff, your tip poking the inside of her mouth as she tilts her head, giving your shaft the full service of her tongue. Over and over she licks all over you, kissing and applying pressure to the tip, driving you very close to your own peak.

"Fuck Jiwon..." You groan, your fingers going into her hair, but before you can hold her down she backs away. For a moment you were scared she would edge you too, paying you back for what you did, but thankfully she doesn't, instead grasping your shaft with her hand and stroking you rapidly.

"Cum all over me, do it." Your hips buck up off the chair as you do just that, the first few shots landing on the desk, the next couple landing on her face, and the final few spurts ending up in her mouth as she sucks away the rest of your orgasm.

"Mmmm, very tasty." You hear through the blood pounding in your head, Jiwon sitting on the one clean spot on the desk, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a smile on her face at her job well done.

"Wow we made such a mess... shit Saerom's gonna be mad, we should clean this up." You comment when you have enough blood in your brain to think again. Jiwon jumps in your lap, not letting you get off the chair.

"Not yet, you haven't made your investment yet..." She feels your cock get hard again in her hand, her seductive tone convincing you immediately. "I'm going to need you to fill me up with your large... and thick investment."

"We still talking about money here?" With a laugh Jiwon shuts you down, both of you moaning when she sinks her hips down on to you, sheathing your shaft inside her body. As more of you enters her body, you can feel her walls milking you already, her warmth imposing a most pleasurable pressure on your shaft.

"God you feel amazing." You moan, feeling the grin on her face, the two of you leaving harsh kisses on each other's necks.

"Good, I hope the massage-" Your deep moan vibrates against her neck as she flexes her inner muscles all over your shaft again. "Convinces you to invest."

"Let's make sure this will be a good partnership." It is Jiwon's turn to moan, yelping loudly as you grab her waist, moving her back and forth over your shaft, and soon she begins moving on her own accord, your hips rocking in time with hers.

"I'm sure it-" She cuts out with a scream when your tip brushes against a sensitive spot deep within her. It seems almost too sensitive, as she immediately changes her motion, trying to avoid it, but you don't let her, your hands controlling her movements, making sure you brush against the spot over and over again to her undeniable delight.

The chair begins to creak, the movement on it becoming more and more violent. You capture one bouncing breast with your lips, swirling your tongue over a stiff nipple. Her screams become shorter and shorter, her chest heaving more and more as you bounce her quicker and harder on your rod. Having long since lost control of most of her body, when you feel her walls grip you crazily tight you pull her down on your lap roughly, stuffing your cock balls deep inside her.

Jiwon screeches shrilly before ragdolling in your arms, her mind cutting out, all thoughts replaced by pure ecstasy. She gets impossibly tight around you before her juices rush all over your shaft, leaking out onto your crotch, and you almost grind your teeth to dust to not climax with her right there. Your hands roam her back, idly stroking her hair and back before she finally gets the strength to no longer hang on you, pushing off to look at you.

Before you could quip or say anything she begins moving again, whimpering in sensitivity. "Fill me up, I need your cum in me." She demands, and already so close to the edge, it only takes a few rocks of her hips before you groan, shooting your load deep into her. You pull her into a tight hug, your hands gripping her butt needily, pushing yourself as deep as you could go, wanting to leave your DNA signature over as much of her walls as possible. The soft whines she releases directly in your ear with each shot of seed entering her gives you immense satisfaction.

"Remind me why I don't have you come by every night." She mutters as you recover from your orgasm.

"Because the entire office would smell like sex... and the janitors would hate the mess."

"Right..." She turns around to see the state of Saerom's desk. She gets off you, leaving your load oozing out of her, most of it already dropping on the expensive chair. "Oops." She says mockingly.

"Yeah right, you meant to do that."

"Not my fault you left so much cum in me." She retorts before getting the fallen box of tissues on the floor and dividing all the tissues inside between the two of you. Together you begin the impossible task of cleaning Saerom's office, but thankfully by the time the tissues are gone you've wiped pretty much most of it clean. Neither of you remember what her desk looked like before everything got swept off, so you did your best and placed it how you think she would do it.

After Jiwon changes back to her usual office wear, the two of you tiredly head out the building.

"It's late, how are you getting back?"

"I'll get a cab." After a few taps and a short wait one arrives at the front of the building.

"Will you be okay? I can see you back if you want."

"You're too sweet. I'll be fine, I'll text you when I get back." Jiwon plants a kiss on your cheek before getting in the taxi, waving goodbye as it zooms away. You head home too, and after a quick shower (remembering to throw your clothes in the laundry) you crash on your pillow.

You wake up the next morning, sleepily checking your phone. You smile at Jiwon's message, letting you know she got home safely. You immediately snap awake at the next notification - an email from Saerom?

EMERGENCY MANDATORY ALL HANDS DISCIPLINARY TRAINING

Dear Employees,

It has come to my attention that there has been a serious breach of the employee code of conduct LAST NIGHT. Therefore your presence is requested for this emergency disciplinary training session. The details will be sent in a future email.

Participation is MANDATORY.

Wait, you weren't an employee, why were you getting this email? You read the email closely, and spot the "last night" term capitalized...

Thank you,

Lee Saerom

Oops.

A/N: There was that one ask that wanted Jiwon to be a squirting mess in the office, so here it is lol. No lie though, before this comeback I didn’t really pay attention to the group outside of Saerom and Nagyung, but holy crap it really is visual_9, they’re all gorgeous! Thanks for reading!

[nekomas-kuroo]

on the down low: 10 - get off my couch

previous || next

on the down low masterlist

a/n: i had this sitting in my drafts for like 2 days but i didn’t wanna post cause taglists are a pain

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

taglist pt 1: @hello-it-s-mo  @miyulovestowrite  @yogurtkink  @90s-belladonna  @rockkcityboy  @zoppzoop  @koibitodrawz  @l0svers  @kaithehero  @raenebalgaire  @merry-kuroo @edgy-bunny @rekkles-is-my-waifu @kiracat13 @reallythowow  @geologii @vanderaliwaal @sannajosaphine @keepcalmandreeciecup @unlikelyinternetprincess @togasknifes @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @shittykawa18 @insomnia-cashews @teamnicedynabitch @dpqssmdd @sleepycarabou @a-moon-fairy @rinnieee @renaxwrites @plushoetra @eijihoee @ladyinmoon @pinkdohnuts @what-is-this-fangirl-life @megan-oppa @bigpokico @shinsousama @min-kags @hitoshi-s-stupid-bitch @captain-shittykawa @yeehawnana @ijuuy @louddreamcopcookie @uwu-toiletpaper-uwu @strawberrynhoney @star-witchs-blog @gulfwanq @space-flamingo @13-09-01

[myherowritings]

I CAN CO-OP NOW ON GENSHIN (all thanks to @megan-oppa let’s be real 😭) ppl can come over now 🥺🥺🥺

[nct-bliss]

BLISS AND NCT DREAM RELATIONSHIPS

(Sorry no Mark but he’ll be included in the 127 version)

These two sub-units are so close, they’re basically intertwined. They act like a huge squad of friends and siblings whenever they’re together, and the chaos is dialed up 20 notches. But there’s a lot of love and they adore each other underneath all the teasing and bickering sometimes. They basically live at each other’s dorms and visit randomly, unprompted. At idol events like award shows, ISAC, etc, they just cling to each other, too shy to talk to others most of the time. They support each other so much, and always hype each other up during promotion times.

Minji: It’s a joke for everyone, even the fandom, that she belongs in Dream even more than she does in Bliss. She just has such strong natural chemistry with every member, ever since their long trainee years together, and being schoolmates. She’s such a Mom Friend in general, and can be especially so when it comes to Dream. They live to tease her but they adore her a lot. She’s super tight with the 2000 line of course. She and Jaemin are affectionate besties, she gets dragged into Renjun’s conspiracy theory chaos, she adores Jeno a ton, and she and Haechan are basically like siblings. She’s a doting big sister towards Chenle and Jisung, since they’re babies to her. Especially Jisung, who has been a little brother figure to her since trainee days. They’re both very protective of each other: like Minji will tell fans to stop asking for his abs, and Jisung will voice his disapproval of any revealing stage outfits she gets.

Aria: No one noticed this until they were all on a variety show and the host mentioned it, but Aria literally speaks to Dream as if she’s their mafia boss. There’s just a maturity to her, as well as her naturally dominant nature that draws everyone to view her as a “leader.” But she’s super laidback at the same time around Dream, like 99% of the time, she’s just a bro to all of them. She’s the one who comes up with chaotic ideas the most, and Dream rarely hesitates to implement them. She loves messing around with Renjun, and both of them are really blunt, so they’re savage towards each other. Jeno is her favorite victim to drag into chaos, or on a random smoothie trip at 5am. Haechan is like her second-in-command when causing chaos, and they connect really well, being moodmakers. She doesn’t baby anyone, and more is like a wine aunt to ChenJi lmao. She loves to pull Chenle into hugs and call him her fellow “rich kid” or some other obnoxious nickname. She ruffles Jisung’s hair and teases him, but not before giving him some snacks she bought just for him UwU.

Jiwoo: Ohhhhh rather than being an agent of chaos besides them, she’s more likely to get dragged into it and just rolling her eyes the whole time. But she really does always have a great time with Dream, they’re like her best friends. She gets into fun rap competitions with Jeno and Jaemin all the time, and she definitely gives them some tips at the same time. Whenever Jiwoo is recording for a song, the boys love to hype her up all obnoxiously but cutely right outside the door. Cue more fond eye-rolls. She hypes them up just as much honestly. On her solo vlives, she’ll talk about Renjun’s radio show, tell her fans to listen to Ridin, etc. Jiwoo’s bond with the boys is definitely more of a friendship and family type, and none of them really baby her unless they’re trying to annoy her. She loves hanging out with Chenle so much, and she’s always encouraging him to do the dolphin laughs more just to drive everyone crazy. Haechan is one of her closest and most important bonds in NCT overall: they’re besties. But I won’t say too much about this, because their dynamic is very...complicated.

Yunhee: In contrast to the rest of the unnie line, Yunhee is viewed as more of a “little sister” figure to the 2000-liners. Like she’s on the brink between sister and best friend to them. With some members (usually the more chaotic ones) she looks like the more mature, quietly quirky type. Then with certain members (the less chaotic ones) her eccentrics pop out. Yunhee has a lot of playful and affectionate, sometimes jokingly flirty, chemistry with all the boys and they do love her tons. She’s the only one allowed to tease Renjun’s height since she’s just as tall as him, and will only bring it up when he’s annoying her. She jumps onto Jeno and Jaemin for piggyback rides, and in general, likes bothering them for attention at random times. Also totally joins their work-outs but gives up halfway through. Haechan...can either entertain her a lot, or wear her down super quickly. Usually the latter tbh. She’s bros with Chenle and they love doing vlives together. And of course, since she’s close in age with Jisung, she lets him speak to her informally and they get along super well. She usually defers to him if she ever needs help with dance moves...which is more often than she’d like.

Kayo: She’s the scary, slightly vicious but tiny savage little sister to Dream. Most of her interactions with the Hyung line are like Megan and the boys in Drake and Josh. She just likes to mess with them a lot. Sadly, they’re only terrified of her for a second then go back to finding her adorable. Kayo is the type of person who shows her love through actions. So she’ll do little things, like buying them snacks, getting new film for Jaemin’s camera, cleaning Renjun’s paint brushes, etc. Or even bigger things, like learning their choreography and promoting their song in her own vlives. Dream definitely knows this and they appreciate it. The older members dote on her more, but her besties are Chenle and Jisung. She’s the third person to make up their little rag-tag friendship. All three of them are super chaotic together, but they always have fun. She’ll always claim they drag her into their antics, but she loves it. Even though she’s technically the same age as Jisung, there’s almost a year between them. So he makes her call him oppa just to be annoying.

Lian: Is the baby to all of NCT, so Dream is no exception lol. She loves hanging out with them, and over the years, has gotten more comfortable with each member. She always makes them laugh with her antics and cute, quirky sense of humor. Sadly for them, Dream is also her favorite victims to play pranks on often (second is WayV of course). She’s used the fake-cockroach on Jisung about 5 times, and he still falls for it. They can never stay annoyed at her though. She and Renjun are really really close, and they’ve been so ever since trainee days. They bond over art, painting, singing, anything. She’ll never tell anyone outside of Bliss, but she has a slight crush on him. She likes to cling onto him without even thinking, and often sings “Renjunnie” or calls him by that. Jeno is her cuddle buddy, and it’s super common to see her leaning on him or hugging him randomly, and of course he always reciprocates. She and Haechan have fun singing competitions as jokes, and generally they just make each other laugh a lot. Chenle is her adopted sibling at this point, they’re so close. They fight for Kun’s attention sometimes. And Jisung...our boy finally isn’t the youngest and he kinda loves it. They have this semi-awkward sibling-friend dynamic, but they are close. And they bond over a lot of shared experiences. And Jisung likes to teach her dance moves, while she teaches him Chinese and songwriting tips.

[venexus-but-not]

i love my friends <33 we did blind bob ross night (only listening to the audio) and i added some improvements~

@stardustsof @stardust-alec @stardustkitkat @stardustchiri idk why I dont have Shay's matching @ but u have the best part of this

also i drew mineta in honour of @stardust-tay

EDIT I ADDED MEGGY BC I LOVE MEGGY AND MEGGY IS MY FAVE HUMAN EVER @megan-oppa AND LORI BC I LOVE LORI TOOOOO @stardustlori

ur welcome for me tagging ur matching sideblogs instead of ur mains xox

[haikyuucreations]

31 Days of Haikyuu!! are officially over!

Thank you all so much for all the amazing submissions over this past month! Each was special and creative and we're so happy to have boosted each and every one of these creators and fans. We’re looking forward to more events with you all!

Please make sure to check out the #HQ31 on this blog to view all the posts! Some are still in our queue to be posted throughout the next few days

Now, our raffle winner for 31 days of Haikyuu is...

the amazing @wateringlily!! 

Please contact us within 48hrs so that we can arrange the prizes! 

Once again, thank you all for participating in this event! We’re extremely thankful to each and every entry and person who made this fun event possible. We'd like to thank these people for completing the most days as well — we extremely enjoyed getting to see everything you all came up with and this event wouldn't have been the same without you: 

@megan-oppa - 25 

@renesis-jj - 24 

@wateringlily - 21 

Thank you again for participating and we hope that you'll consider joining our future events, or even our Directory and/or Discord Server!!

[sapphic-shinee]

tagged by @megan-oppa to do this aesthetic tag and its kind of all over the place but im also making this while kind of drunk oops

tagging @hoshifromkpop @chaeunwoo @chawoongs @sichengsbimbo and @partyfeellove

[pluviophile-imagines]

Like The Dawn

in which a month after moving to mondstadt, you finish the prettiest damn ballgown you've ever made. and it'd be a shame not to wear it out—but you're still awfully new in town, and you're pretty sure your coworkers don't have invitations to the fancy gala being held by that elite winery just outside the city

luckily for you, it's a masquerade

diluc ragnvindr x reader

word count: 9.7k genre: fluff, modern au, vague cinderella vibes type: one-shot reader: neutral (no pronouns, neutral terms, fem clothing) warnings: mention (but no consumption) of alcohol, eat the rich note: this is a bday present for @tay-is-writing​, and will likely be the only genshin fic i ever write. big thanks to @venexus​, @megan-oppa​, and @bluewritesmha​ for beta-ing

“you snuck into this gala, didn’t you?”

okay, that’s a reasonable assumption to take from that. he says it confidently, firmly,  like he knows he’s right—yet he doesn’t sound accusatory at all. rather, his voice is full of that endeared tone, and he’s still struggling to keep back that big smile.

“maybe,” you reply coyishly, moving your leg subtly under your dress if only to watch how his eyes, as if he can’t help it, are drawn to the sparkle beneath the fabric and the teasing glimpse of your thigh. “You gonna tell on me?”

those eyes dart back up to you, mouth slack like he’s dazed as he leans back against the wall behind him. “no, I don’t think our host has to know.”

You find out about the masquerade a week after you move to Mondstadt.

“And nobody was going to tell me that there’s a masquerade happening next month?” You ask the question rhetorically as you enter your new apartment after work, flouncing in to greet one of your two roommates where she’s making dinner in the kitchen.

She glances back at you from the stove. “What, that gala that Dawn Winery puts on every year? Forget it, it’s invite-only, and the only people who’re gonna be there are the rich bastards that live down by the western harbor. The guest list’s hand picked by Diluc Ragnvindr. You can’t get in, and I don’t see why you’d want to, they can’t make for good company.”

Reaching over her shoulder to grab a raw cherry tomato from the strainer she’s keeping them in, you pop it in your mouth and then turn away. “I like parties, though. Big fancy parties where you have to dress up… I’ve got that gown I’m working on, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll get turned away at the door if you show up in a homemade gown. Not that I think your dress is poor quality.”

You hum slightly, neither an agreement nor a denial. “You haven’t seen it. Besides, getting into events like that is easy—you just put on a pout and look a little disheveled, and tell the bouncer that your date’s already inside. A masquerade’s even easier, they won’t even know my face.”

“Do you even have a mask to wear?”

“Nope!” You grab another tomato, leaning over the simmering pasta dish that she’s cooking to smell it. “I’ve got a month to make one, though. I’m thinking I’ll do a night sky theme, with a moon and stars and stuff. The dress is blue and silver, I think it’ll look nice.”

“You’re already determined to do this, huh?” Your roommate sounds exasperated. You only shoot her a grin.

“Oh, completely. It’ll be fun. I can make you a mask, too, if you wanna—”

“Absolutely not,” she interrupts you, causing you to cackle. “You’re on your own with this.”

That, you think, is a challenge if ever you’ve heard one.

You’d been making the dress for over three months now, which is a long time to be working on one project even for you. In your defense, you’ve been well preoccupied with the move from your small hometown to Mondstadt, the largest city in your region. It had been, admittedly, a bit of a rash decision, but one of your oldest friends happened to be looking for a roommate and you’d been accepted to a master’s program at your university’s downtown campus, so it seemed like a natural choice.

In the process of packing up all your things and moving out of your parents’ home for the first time ever, the dress (your magnum opus) was pushed to the background. Now that you’re settled in, it’s quick work to finish it off with enough time to spare to make the matching mask.

The dress is stunning. Made from layers and layers of midnight blue chiffon overtop a silver base, it fits your body perfectly and almost feels as if it’s made out of some magical material like stardust or seafoam. The bodice cuts across your chest with a single cape sleeve on your right arm, long and elegant, the same deep blue chiffon as the billowing skirt. The whole effect makes you feel like fairytale royalty.

Over the three weeks between your initial discovery of the masquerade and the event itself, you find suitable accessories with a combination of thrifting and modification—a statement sapphire pendant to bounce off of, a silver ear cuff and then a collection of dainty necklaces lacking in adornment some of which you use to decorate the ear cuff and the rest of which you connect together into an elaborate yet subtle body chain for your left thigh, visible through the dress’s slit as you walk. The look is completed with a pair of strappy silver stilettos, surprisingly comfortable to walk in. Altogether, you probably haven’t put more than $100 into the whole look, with the majority of the expenses going to the dress’s fabric (of which there is a lot).

The mask took you about a week to finish. You’re careful with it, allowing a bit of the perfectionism that you typically beat back to shine through knowing that pretty much every other person at the dance will have specially ordered their masks from Venice or something. Yours is made with papier mache around small-gauge hex wire that you’d asked your roommate to mold against your face and then trimmed to the proper shape; it fits you nicely, doesn’t hinder your eyesight too much, and you paint it to match the celestial theme of your dress—deep midnight blue speckled with silver stars and a matching crescent moon curving around your left eye, accented with slightly darker swirls. You finish it off by backing it with inky black fabric, attaching two matching ribbons made from the scraps of fabric left over by your dress, and by the time the paint has dried it’s impossible to tell that the thing is made with old newspapers and glue.

When you step out of your room on the night of the masquerade, your roommates and a friend are there to see you off. Your mask is already on, a small silver clutch in hand for your phone and keys, and all three members of your audience stare at you in amazement.

“How do I look?” you ask cheekily, already knowing (both from their reactions and your own confidence) what they’re thinking.

“Like a rich bastard,” said your roommate who had initially tried to talk you out of this. “In the best way possible, of course. I… can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you might actually get in.”

You snort lightly. “Please, I told you, this shit’s easy. I do it all the time.”

“I never should have doubted you.”

Your friends wish you goodbye and good luck. You’re pretty sure they’re still partially expecting you to return in half an hour having been turned away at the door, but you set off anyway, calling up an uber with a driver who’s a little bit too curious about your outfit and destination for your comfort.

It’s funny how easily you slip into the masses, even while you’re still in the uber. He drops you off at the stone steps leading up to the large manor overlooking the vineyard, driving away with the hordes of other fancy black cars driven by chauffers and dropping off their own ornately dressed occupants. Nobody bats an eye at you, though you do turn a few heads.

You have a plan by the time you come up to the tables where two people are checking invitations. They’re right inside the manor’s doors, in an enormous hallway that opens up behind them into an unfathomably vaster ballroom. When it’s your turn to approach, you make a scene of checking your person for an invite.

“Oh my god, I didn’t—” you cut off your mumble, acting more desperate as you dig through your small clutch and then pat down your body, not particularly subtly turning your thigh to catch the light. You can feel the eyes of at least one person watching you; an older man, perhaps pushing 60. Not your type, but the right kind to help out a pretty young thing in distress. You pretend to give up, looking at the unamused bouncer before you apologetically. “I’m so sorry, I think I misplaced my invite.”

The bouncer rolls his eyes, and you genuinely feel sorry for him, but you’ve got the old guy behind you hook line and sinker so you know the poor worker won’t have to deal with you for long. You turn around, pouting, trying not to make it obvious that you’re making a beeline for the man who’s desperate to be your savior—and then you make eye contact with him, and you let your face brighten, and you know you’ve got it in the bag as he moves to make his way towards you.

And then someone else taps your shoulder.

You turn around in surprise, playing off the sudden anxiety it’s given you, to find a far younger man (a very tall, very handsome one) standing before you. He’s wearing a white suit with pastel blue accents, and it’s striking against his rich brown skin. His long blue hair drapes around his shoulder, and his face is half covered by an elaborate mask that looks to be made of pure ice; it stretches diagonally across the upper right half of his face, leaving his left eye and mouth uncovered but not his nose, and you note with slight surprise that it has no eye socket for his right eye to see through.

“Pardon me,” he begins, giving you a charming smile, “but I couldn’t help but overhear. You’ve lost your invitation?”

You nod eagerly, desperation clear in your voice as you answer. “My friend’s already inside, I must have left it in her purse, this tiny thing can hardly carry anything at all.” You lift your clutch and smile sheepishly.

“Well, we couldn’t have you miss the festivities. I’ll escort you in.”

“Oh, would you?” The relief in your voice makes him chuckle slightly. “Thank you, sir!”

“My pleasure.” He steps aside lightly, gesturing for you to join him at his side as he walks towards one of the other bouncers. “Always happy to come to the aid of such a lovely creature as yourself.”

You give him the flustered giggle you know he’s expecting from the compliment. This, you think, is far preferable to the old man you’d previously intended to rely upon. As your new escort approaches the bouncer, his hand comes to rest easily on the small of your back—nothing too overbearing, just the slightest touch.

“Kaeya Alberich,” he says to the woman before the two of you as he hands over his invite, then nods over at you, “plus one.”

The woman takes the invite, looks through the paper list in front of her to check off the name, and then waves the two of you through. Kaeya keeps his hand on your back as you step through the massive doors into the ballroom, and your breath is swept away by the enormous space.

You’re gawking at the ceiling when Kaeya chuckles from next to you.

“I take it you’ve never been here before.”

“No,” you say, distracted laughter bubbling up within you. “Never. I’m, uh, actually new in town.”

“Then let me be the first here to welcome you to Mondstadt! Our fair city is truly blessed to call someone as radiant as you one of its citizens.”

You snort, rolling your eyes at the over-the-top compliment. Kaeya is exactly the kind of person you’d expected to run into. He’s more bearable than most, though.

“Would you like me to help you find your friend?”

“No,” you rush to say, still more than a little enamored with the room around you. “Thank you for helping me in, but I wouldn’t want to hold you up for longer than I already have. I think I see her over near the staircase, anyway.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” You expect him to leave, but as his hand leaves your back and he turns around, you feel him lean in and he mutters to you, so low that you know nobody else could possibly hear, “Have fun, party crasher.”

You whip about, but he’s gone before you can blink, melted into the crowd. You’re left slack-jawed and scanning around for him, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Perhaps you ought to be more concerned by that, but he’d sounded more amused than anything, like he genuinely was wishing you a good time. And he had gotten you in, why would he do that only to go tell security to bring you back out?

Besides, you have a room to look around in awe of.

It’s absolutely vast, almost unfathomably so, the ceilings stretching high up with columns and arches in between, enormous stained glass windows letting in the very last of the setting sun’s light. You can see the vineyard outside each one if you try hard enough and look through the whiter glass, and you think of how gorgeous it must be during the day. There’s floral arrangements on the walls, three gigantic chandeliers (two on either side of the hall and one even larger at the center), and all the warm lighting is multiplied by the reflections in the glass windows and skylights and the marble floor.

There’s easily hundreds of guests inside, talking to each other and dancing at the center and retrieving little hors d'oeuvres from the roaming waiters (each one in the same standard black and white tuxedo and black domino mask). Every person is in an elaborate suit or dress, matched impeccably to an equally elaborate mask. You find yourself inspecting the different dresses, critiquing the silhouettes and the craftsmanship; you might not know much about Venetian masks like they’re all wearing, but you know your way around an evening gown.

You wander in further, taking in the whole room. You notice that the enormous ornate staircase at the far end of the room leads up to a small second story, two balconies on either end, with countless large double glass doors separated by the very same columns continued above open wide to the cool evening air. Eventually, you think, you might just wander up there and take a better look at the vineyard.

As you look around up at the ceiling and walls, however, you find yourself too engrossed in the scenery to realize until too late that you’re unwittingly making a beeline for a guest.

You stumble squarely into a sturdy figure—so sturdy, absurdly so, that he barely moves an inch and the momentum sends you barrelling uncontrollably towards the ballroom’s dense marble floor. Luckily for you, the brick wall of a man that you’ve run into miraculously also has the reflexes of a saint. A strong arm catches you, steady around your waist as the opposite hand finds your shoulder and helps you catch your balance. You’re already talking before they’re removed, voice breathless and apologetic.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention at all, I should have been looking where I was—” you cut yourself off upon finally getting a solid look of him, train of thought suddenly breaking at the sight of his outfit (or, more specifically, what he’s wearing on his face). You grin, laughing slightly as you point at his mask and say, “Hey, we’re matching!”

He’s wearing an impeccable three-piece suit complete with suede gloves—every part down to the crisp shirt and satiny tie is an inky jet-black, save for the intricate gold embroidery swirling across those broad shoulders and etched along the base of the cuffs as well as around the collar and down the lapel. It’s striking, especially in conjunction with his bright red hair (longer, you realize, than you’d initially thought; it’s pulled up high and still brushes his shoulders, clearly well-kept and appearing soft).

But his mask is what made you take note. It’s color-matched perfectly with the gold of his clothes, expertly made just like the suit, and it’s themed like the sun. His left eye pokes out from puffy clouds seemingly illuminated by the gilded glow of dawn, and his right eye is haloed by a fiery sun with rays that fade out to just a hint of the same red as his hair.

The sun to your moon. It’s cute, you think.

Apparently he doesn’t agree, because he doesn’t crack a smile. He doesn’t even speak; he just nods at you and then turns away. You’re left alone and slightly insulted, staring at his large back as it melts into the opulent crowd.

It’s an instance that you’d normally just brush off. Annoying, perhaps, but nothing to write home about; you’re at a fancy rich person party, and fancy rich people aren’t exactly known for being polite, so you’re well used to it at these things.

You busy yourself with a combination of people watching and attempting to eat every type of hors d'oeuvre available, floating around the room nabbing little canapés from platters offered by the servers. You thank them quietly every time, and try not to sound too much like you’re in a porno as you dig in. It feels like every bite you’ve taken has been worth more than you’d make in a month, and you’re not entirely complaining about getting to enjoy caviar and truffles along with all manner of spreads on little toasted baguettes. There’s miniature quiches too, flaky and moist in the nicest ways.

Of course, it is a winery, and there’s plenty of servers around with platters of different wines—red and white and sparkling, and little champagne flutes full of what you’ve been told is Dawn Winery’s specialty dandelion wine. You don’t partake, though at times it feels like the servers are pressing a bit much.

You also take in the people, admiring the masks that all seem to be so intricately made. You wonder, though you’re fairly certain it’s the case, if most of them have had the face coverings made in Venice by fine leatherworkers and craftsmen. There are so many different designs, brightly colored, from the manner in which they’ve been decorated to the very way they’re held to the face—many of the women, you note, have theirs attached to poles so that they can easily remove or replace them. It’s smart, and you’d considered it, but then decided that maintaining anonymity is probably more of a good thing in your circumstances.

With all the people watching, you eventually begin to see familiar faces. One of them happens to be Kaeya; you’re pretty sure he finds you, actually, and drags you out onto the dance floor to waltz with him (you tell him that you don’t know how to waltz, and he assures you that he’s good enough for the both of you, which to be fair he is as he leads you through the motions for a good few minutes, but then he seems to give up and the two of you stumble blindly into other dancing couples as you dissolve into laughter).

It’s the waltzing with Kaeya (if you could even call it that) that makes you notice the man you’d run into a while ago.

You’re a little surprised that it takes you so long to do so; he’s so big, and with that eye-catching red hair he seems like he’d be hard to miss. But apparently he has a small enough presence that it takes him glowering at you and your brief dance partner for you to realize he’s been watching you all night.

Kaeya lets you go after you’ve bulldozed through half the people on the dance floor and he disappears just like he’d done after he’d gotten you in. You’re left slightly disheveled and stumbling a little; making your way over to a stained-glass laden wall, you brace yourself against it to fix up your shoes and the body chain around your thigh, and then you shove off to continue your rounds for food. You’d seen people eating what looked almost like a tiny boring taco and you want to try it for yourself.

As you head off, however, you find your eyes gravitating towards that redhead, finding him on the dancefloor now with a woman in a pretty pastel purple dress. For half a moment, your eyes meet, but then he’s turning and you avert your own eyes in an attempt to quell how much it flusters you.

You find your tiny boring taco and find, much to your chagrin, that it lives up to the name you’ve given it—it is tiny and boring, the only notable thing about it being that the shell had a nice crunch. To wash it down, you’re given one of those pretty crystal flutes full of dandelion wine, and though you know you’re not much of a fan of alcohol you take it anyway in the mild hopes that it’ll be tolerable. Upon giving it a cursory whiff, you deem it not, but then you’re left with a full glass of the stuff and you feel awkward putting it down somewhere.

The sun has fully set now. What little golden light that had been shining through the stained glass is gone, and you decide that your next move will be to check out those balconies on the second floor.

You wonder, briefly, if they’re for romantic rendezvous. You know it’s silly, but there’s a part of you that imagines you’re some noble meeting up with an illicit affair at a royal ball; a part of you that imagines there’s a prince waiting in one of those alcoves to sweep you off your feet. It’s a cute idea, but as you scale the grand staircase you’re also glad that there’s very few people up on the second story, and that the balcony you choose is empty.

It’s quiet up on the second story, and doubly so out on the balcony. Despite the open doors (they’re truly massive now that you can see them up close) the sounds are still dampened, and you’re actually fairly thankful for that. The constant chatter and the music playing had been getting to you.

When you exit through the doors, you find yourself on a small personal balcony, a half-circle around the doorway with a wooden balustrade, a wide railing held up by palatial columns. You approach it, leaning forward to brace yourself upon it with your forearms and look out over the edge.

The vineyard below is drenched in darkness, which is only to be expected considering it’s well past sundown. You can barely make out the rows and rows of trellises and grapevines in the inky black. If you focus hard enough, you can see big trees lining the paths through the crops, and in the distance a large, looming structure too far away to see in this light. Despite how dark it is, you can tell that the scenery is gorgeous.

You’re enthralled for a moment, setting your flute of dandelion wine down on the balustrade so that you can lean fully on it and gazing out towards the end of the massive property. It’s too bad that you’ll never get to see it in the daylight like this, up on a fancy balcony like you’re royalty. No, you’ll only get to see the vineyard again distantly on some back road you’ll take to leave the city or something. Despite the fact that they’re audible where you are, conversing and dancing well within eyesight, the other attendees of this masquerade live a completely different world of privilege and ease, and it’s hard to mask the sudden upwell of envy and bitterness that overcomes you.

“Oh.”

A deep, calm voice breaks you from your thoughts and makes you whip around in surprise.

Silhouetted in the doorway stands the man you’d run into earlier. Somehow he seems even taller with the dramatic lighting—you think he’s well over six foot but it’s not as if you have any thing of a reasonable size for comparison, considering how abnormally large the opulent double doors he’s standing next to are—though his towering height might also have to do with the fact that he’s standing stock-straight with the kind of pristine posture you’d ordinarily associate with childish stories where some normal teenage girl finds out she’s a princess and has to be taught with books on her head and a greying old teacher swatting at her hand with a ruler.

“My apologies. I didn’t realize...” He trails off, half interrupted by you.

“Bullshit.” Leaning back against the railing, you fix him with a glare. “Why are you following me?”

You wait for the other shoe to drop, wait for him to say it—”I know you don’t belong here,” or “You’re party crashing,” perhaps pointing at a loose stitch in your dress or the thrifted stilettos adorning your feet.

Instead, he seems taken aback, stepping backwards slightly and blinking from behind the mask. “I’m not.”

“Why’d you come out here, then?” you snap back, crossing your arms.

He hesitates, glancing back at the ballroom like he wants to leave (you want him to leave, to let you observe the scenery in peace while you have the chance), but then he seems to catch sight of something and takes three quick steps solidly out onto the balcony and then sideways, out of view of anyone inside. His right hand moves to his left, fingers slipping under his sleeve to tug at the edge of the glove tucked beneath it.

You raise an eyebrow, scanning the room within in vague hopes to see what he’s hiding from, but it’s too crowded and the faces are too strange for you to take note of anyone.

“Why are you out here?”

The man’s countering question snaps your attention back to him. He’s composed himself again, spine straight and those broad shoulders rolled back in that same impeccable posture that makes you want to side-eye him.

“I asked you first,” you settle upon saying—it’s childish, sure, but you’re feeling immature.

He seems to ponder your demand for a moment, staring at you stoically while you stand there unyielding. Finally, he moves, turning and peeking just barely into the doorway before seemingly finding what he wanted and turning back to you. “Marie Imunlaukr.”

“You say as if I should know the name?”

Somehow even with the mask you can tell he’s raising an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“I’m new to the city, my guy. You think my first order of business is memorizing the Imunlaukr family tree?” You’ve butchered the name on purpose—the accent’s entirely off, emphasis on the wrong syllable, but your attempt at humor goes over his head, which is a feat considering how stupidly tall he is. He doesn’t even crack a smile over it.

“She has three daughters,” he tells you, like it’s an explanation. The look you give him—despite the mask on your face—apparently says everything you want it to say, because he continues before you can speak. “She’s been insisting I dance with them all evening, one after the other.”

“Oh, how horrible.” You lift your hand, pressing the back to your forehead and tilting your head back as if you were about to faint. “Being forced to dance with beautiful young women dressed to the nines, however will you survive this night?”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Excuse you?” You wrinkle your nose, not entirely exaggerating the offense. “You know nothing about me, maybe I’ve been dancing with beautiful young women dressed to the nines all night—didn’t think of that, did you?”

“You haven’t. You’ve simply been wandering about. You spent a lot of time waving down waiters for food, but,” he looks pointedly at the crystal flute of dandelion wine resting on the wood right next to your elbow, “you haven’t taken a single sip of that dandelion wine.”

“So you have been following me,” you accuse again. “Or watching me anyway, creep.”

Apparently taken by surprise again, he blinks once more, face still so very frigid. “No. I just keep noticing you around the ballroom.”

“Why’s that, then?”

“You’re hard to miss.”

It’s strange. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was trying to flirt with you—or testing the waters to see how receptive you are to it, anyway—but the words aren’t spoken with the arrogant lilt you’re so used to at events like these, and they’re not accompanied by those horrid smirks that men like him love to employ. Rather, they’re said matter-of-factly, as if you should know very well that you’re attracting attention in such a manner. Yet you can’t be attracting that much attention, because everyone else has been ignoring you. It’s only been this fiery-haired man staring at you from across the room.

Apparently, you spend too long pondering over his last statement because he breaks you from your train of thought.

“Your turn.”

“My turn?”

He nods. “I told you why I left the ballroom. Now you tell me why you did.”

You eye him, still not entirely convinced that it had been coincidence and he hadn’t followed you, but he has a point. So you turn slightly and gesture out at the grapes below. “Came to see the view.”

He’s quiet for a moment. You glance back at him to find him staring at you, not unlike the way you’d been catching him doing in the ballroom, but up close you can see how his eyes are locked on the way the body chain on your upper thigh sparkles through your dress and draws attention to your leg through the slit. In the dark, with the golden light of the ballroom behind him, you think it’s probably even more striking.

When he realizes you’ve noticed his staring, his eyes jump to your face and he stands straighter, rolling those shoulders back and clearing his throat. “I can’t say there’s much to see out here at night.”

There’s a quip on the tip of your tongue, a tease about how he certainly thinks there’s a view of some kind from how he’d just eyed you up, but you can’t figure him out well enough to properly gauge how he’d react.

“Well, I won’t have another chance to see it, so I’m not wasting this.”

His brow furrows beneath his mask. “If you got an invitation for tonight you should be on the guest list for future events. Not all of them are this late.”

You hum lightly, not really wanting to conjure up an excuse so instead choosing to turn your back on him and lean over the balustrade again. Behind you, your newfound companion shifts, then approaches the barricade about a foot away from you to mirror your position with forearms leaning against it and hands laced together.

“I mean it,” he says quietly. “This is nothing compared to how it looks in the daylight, especially at sunset.”

“You come often, then?”

He reaches over with his right hand to tug at his glove again. It’s the second time he’s done it; your eyes are drawn there, quietly wondering what his hands might look like beneath the lavish suede. They’re large, with long fingers, and you’d imagine soft and fairly well manicured from the rest of his appearance; you wonder if the gloves are a part of his normal wear. He seems like the type.

“You could say that.”

“That has got to be the most vague response you could possibly give, big man.”

“I do,” he corrects, then glances down at the flute of dandelion wine. “You really haven’t even tried a taste of that.”

“I’m not much of a wine person.”

“I wouldn’t say I am either. However, dandelion wine is unique.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then I stand by my decision. Besides, I meant I’m more of a designated driver than a drinker—less about it being wine and more about it being alcohol.”

“Ah. I understand.”

“I just took it to be polite, and it was in fancier crystal so I just decided it’d be more interesting. I think it suits me.” It’s true; the flute sparkles in the light not unlike your jewelry. It almost matches. “Not entirely sure why, but I’m not complaining.”

“The Dawn Winery is known for its dandelion wine,” your companion says simply.

You almost feel condescended to, so perhaps that’s why you wrinkle your nose and hold up the glass in your hand as you look out over the vineyard below. “Okay, but you don’t use grapes to make dandelion wine, right? Like, it’s just dandelions.”

It gets you the closest thing to a laugh you think the man is capable of. The corners of his lips quirk up subtly, just the tiniest hint of a smile, but it somehow seems genuine rather than snide. “They make traditional wine, too. That would be why they’re serving it.”

You turn to him and raise an eyebrow, forgetting that he definitely can’t see your expression due to the mask, but he seems to get the gist as he takes three long strides to stand next to you leaning on the balcony and point out over it, into the dark night, where you finally catch sight of a large, looming building beyond the lines of sturdy trellises.

“The dandelions are grown there.”

A greenhouse, then. You wonder what it looks like—likely not some aesthetically appealing, pretty glass-paned thing with blooming flowers, but a commercial one, likely made of plastic.

“I don’t get it,” you announce.

“You don’t get what?”

“The appeal. I’ve had dandelion wine—real dandelion wine, homemade with the weeds my parents and I dug up from the garden.” You tap your fingers on the wood balustrade, resting your other elbow upon it to perch your chin within your hand as you frown at the scene before you. “We’d harvest them from our yard, the whole thing’s edible you know. Leaves in salads or sauteed depending on how old they were, roots as tea, and yeah we’d make wine from the flowers but I always thought it was a waste because what they really belong in is fritters.”

“So you don’t get the appeal because… you think a winery should be selling dandelion flowers covered in batter and hand-fried?” He really is amused, voice thick with something like endearment.

“No,” you say, though you’re not entirely annoyed that he seems to be letting loose even just a little. “I just think fritters are a better use for them. But what I really meant was, like, dandelions grow everywhere! Just pluck a bunch from your garden—freeze ‘em if the first harvest isn’t enough—and make your own! What’s the point in buying some overpriced artisanal whatever when you can make it yourself?”

“Well, I’d say the point is to buy some overpriced artisanal whatever.”

He copies your exact intonation, and you might take issue with it but you’re kind of liking how clearly enamored he is by you and your little rant. Still, you roll your eyes, a smile remaining on your face.

“All right, rich boy. I see now.”

“See what?” He’s faking innocence, widening his eyes behind the mask and slackening his mouth in a picture of faux question.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can there’s a mild commotion from behind you. You turn back, attention drawn by a pair of women—one middle-aged and the other a bit younger than you, perhaps just out of high school—speaking as they storm past the balcony you’re currently on.

Next to you, your companion lurches backward, stumbling just slightly as he takes a large step and presses his back to the wall. You raise a single eyebrow at him. Inside, you hear the two women speaking.

“He’s probably working, mom,” the younger of the pair is saying.

“He’s probably in some dark corner with his tongue down the throat of one of the maids.” Her mother huffs.

“I doubt that. It’s fine, you made us dance three times already. I don’t think one more will have an impact.”

“The final one before the night ends will be the most memorable. He can’t hide for that long.”

With that slightly ominous end, they get too far away to hear. Across from you, your companion (who you’re certain is the very man they’d been discussing) lets out a sigh of relief, though when he turns back to you he still seems a bit stressed.

You lean in slightly, speaking in a stage whisper loud enough for him to hear. “Why didn’t you tell me you had your tongue down a maid’s throat this whole time? I would have given you some privacy.”

While you’d been trying to simply alleviate the tension, what you get is far better. He laughs.

It’s not a full laugh, just a quiet exhale from his nose, but combined with that slight upturn at the corners of his lips (and the way he’s looking at you) it’s unmistakable. You can’t help your own smile, both at the action and at the way the tension in his shoulders eases.

“I assure you I’ve never done that in my life.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt it.” Now that you’ve turned around, though, you’re feeling the effects of standing still for so long. You sigh regretfully. “Wish they’d put a bench or something out here. My heels are killing me.”

“There are chairs inside if you want.”

“Aww, but it’s so loud in there.” You pout at him. “We wouldn’t be able to talk.”

“A pity. Suffer, then.”

You blink, surprised, and then you giggle at the joke. “Rude. I’ll just sit on the ground.”

He lifts an eyebrow at you, and though you’d been partially joking you decide from the look he’s giving you that you’re going to go through with it. Carefully as you ease down, you maintain eye contact as a challenge to make him watch you fall to your knees and then rest fully on the ground with your skirt billowing around you, back against the wooden railing behind you. He’s clearly more than amused, fighting back a larger smile than you’ve ever seen from him before.

“You snuck into this gala, didn’t you?”

Okay, that’s a reasonable assumption to take from that. He says it confidently, firmly, like he knows he’s right—yet he doesn’t sound accusatory at all. Rather, his voice is full of that endeared tone, and he’s still struggling to keep back that big smile.

“Maybe,” you reply coyishly, moving your leg subtly under your dress if only to watch how his eyes, as if he can’t help it, are drawn to the sparkle beneath the fabric and the teasing glimpse of your thigh. “You gonna tell on me?”

Those eyes dart back up to you, mouth slack like he’s dazed as he leans back against the wall behind him. “No, I don’t think our host has to know.”

“What a bad boy, helping a party crasher. You like me that much?”

“I suppose you’re a bad influence.”

“Mmm, perhaps. But if you’ll let me influence you further, come sit down with me.”

You’re kidding mostly, not expecting him to comply, so you’re delightfully surprised as he shakes his head and obeys your request by easing himself down across from you. How that exchange managed to convince him and all his prim and proper appearance to join you on the floor you don’t know, but you’re more than thankful. Though he maintains his impressive posture, he lets his long legs stretch out before him, bent slightly at the knee so as not to crowd you or invade your space. You find yourself shifting, moving your own legs to lay tucked next to you with the left overtop and the gown’s slit exposing just enough skin to be tantalizing.

His attention is drawn there, but he plays it off well, gaze rising to meet yours and gesturing at you. “You paid for a ball gown and a mask just to sneak in?”

“Oh, no, I made this ol’ girl. Took about four months, but it would have been faster if I hadn’t had to move. Not to mention I kinda procrastinated by making three other dresses… those are more casual,” you rush to say, laughing. “Two began as attempts at a draft for this and the other was made from scraps.”

“If they’re anything like the one you’re wearing I’m sure you look just as ravishing in them.”

Somehow, that sentence bowls you over. You’ve decided that he truly is flirting, but it takes you aback every time—it’s the strangest thing, because any change in the way he’d said it might have turned you away, but he’s so genuine that you can’t help but be flattered. For whatever reason, it’s obvious that he means it, and it’s odd that you’re so affected by the idea that he thinks you’re “ravishing” in your dress.

You think about it so long, probably staring bug-eyed and slightly gaping at him, that he pipes up before you can respond.

“So…” he trails off, tugging at his left glove again—you’ve lost count of how many times he’s done it. “You snuck in to show off your work?”

You blink at him, not entirely comprehending what he means until it suddenly hits you. “Oh! Like to gain customers? Man, that would’ve been smart…”

Your face is hot, embarrassed at making a fool of yourself in front of him, but that statement gets you your second laugh of the night.

It’s still that soft, quick exhale from his nose, nothing you’d really enjoy from someone who wasn’t a stoic, unsmiling motherfucker like the man before you. And though it’s at your expense, the warmth in your face is solidly not caused by embarrassment anymore—you find yourself almost fantasizing about making him laugh for real.

“Why did you come, then?” he asks you. He tilts his head slightly, like a confused puppy. It’s kind of cute.

You shrug, a simple toss of your shoulders as you stare out into the ballroom where the party is still in full swing. “I finished the dress and I thought it’d just be a shame not to wear it out. This masquerade seemed like as good a place as any—I mean, everyone’s wearing masks. Plus, well, you weren’t entirely wrong when you first came out here. The food’s a draw.”

“You like good food?”

“I do, quite a bit, yeah. And I don’t really get opportunities to have the kind of fancy stuff they’re serving here.” You cross your arms playfully. “Why’re you asking me so many questions about myself, then? Finally gonna turn me in to whoever’s running this show?”

“No.” There’s amusement in his voice, and you like it a lot, the way he’s letting his guard down slightly. “I just want to know more about you. You’re… enthralling.”

Something about the way he’s staring at you, and the way his mouth remains quirked in that charming little smile, makes the heat in your face intensify. You have to avert your gaze, still so very unused to him, but you can still feel his eyes on you and you’re not entirely opposed to it.

“You’re getting bold, big man,” you say, biting back a smile.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.”

The two of you fall quiet for a moment—nothing uncomfortable, exactly, as you shuffle just slightly closer to him and his eyes seem to inspect your face.

A brisk breeze rustles the trees nearby. It sweeps through the layers of chiffon that brush your ankles, caressing your bare left arm as it catches the long cape sleeve of the right, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Inadvertently, a shiver rushes down your spine, and you’re suddenly disappointed that it’s nighttime for another reason—you haven’t dressed for the weather.

“Cold?”

You blink, having to purposefully snap yourself out of your daze at your companion’s question. “Mhm, a little…”

Shifting across from you, he pushes off the wall, and you’re mildly surprised as he lifts his hands to his lapels and shrugs that finely made dress coat off his broad shoulders. He then leans over and closes the gap between you to hover over your body and drape the heavy fabric around your torso. He’s notably chaste about it, gloved fingers only just briefly brushing your shoulders as he lets go and then pulls back to settle back down against the wall again.

You reach up to hold the garment around you, more than thankful for the warmth that it immediately provides and admiring the intricate embroidery that you’ve now been granted a closer look at, running your thumb over the gilded thread. You’re so used to his type dousing themselves with absurdly expensive cologne, but the jacket really just smells clean, with maybe a little hint of hair product. It’s unexpectedly nice.

“Ah, so he’s a gentleman. They teach you that move in boarding school?” you tease, voice lilting. It’s only half a joke, though; you really do appreciate the gesture, not the least because the garment is heavy and nicely made and feels really good on your shoulders, cutting through the wind’s soft chill easily.

“No,” he replies simply, right hand sliding over to tug at his left glove. Now that he’s been left in just his dress shirt, you’re awarded a peek at a sliver of skin, his wrist, and you find yourself wondering about his hands again.

Maybe you’d been wrong about them being soft and hidden beneath gloves at all times; maybe they’re calloused, maybe you’re selling him short and he has done some manual labor in his life. He certainly seems fit enough.

“What about your mask?”

Your attention snaps from his hands to his face. “What about it?”

“You made your dress, did you make your mask, too?”

You nod.

“Then you can work with leather, too? Awfully multitalented.”

It takes you a moment to follow the question, not really understanding how he got to leather from your papier mache mask, but then you realize that his must be leather and you’ve done such a good job with yours that he’s naturally assumed it is, too. “Oh! No, no this is papier mache. I’m flattered you thought otherwise, though.”

He blinks. “It is? That’s incredible, I never would have known.”

“Thank you. I wish I could work with leather, though.” You think back to all the masks you’d seen around the ballroom earlier that night. “I kept looking at everyone back inside and wanting to take a closer look.”

Shifting a little, your companion tilts his head slightly, gesturing up at his own face. “Would you like to see mine?”

Your eyes widen in surprise and excitement, lips parting as you sit up and shift your own posture so your sitting on your heels. “Would I? Please!”

He lifts his hand to remove the mask. You reach for it giddily, rising up on your knees to get closer. That small half-smile graces his lips as he hands it over, and you take it from him as if it’s made of glass, marveling at it as you turn it over to inspect the craftsmanship.

“I’ve always loved leatherwork,” you sigh. The mask is expertly made, not that you expected anything less. You’re certain it fits his face like a second skin. Allowing yourself to trace your thumb along the features, you turn it over and look at the back—the leather is brown underneath whatever treatment had been done to make the outside gold, and the skin of your thumb catches on the painted clouds and sun as you run it over the outward surface. It ties with two red silk ribbons—the same color as his hair, certainly to blend in when he has it on—attached to eyelets on either side. You thread your fingers through them, wistful, because you’re sure the ribbon alone probably cost more than everything you currently wear.

For a moment, you debate removing your own mask and trying it on. That thought is dashed from your mind, however, when your gaze lifts from the gorgeous paint and falls upon your companion.

His eyes are locked on where your hand is still tangled in the ribbon, which you take advantage of to inspect his face. It’s kind of amazing how much the mask concealed considering just how fitted it was to the man’s facial features. He’s handsome. Annoyingly so—you’re so used to these rich, arrogant men attempting to flirt with you being ugly as sin, thinking an expensive suit and cufflinks can make up for their rancid personalities and receding hairlines. Just like all those bold yet courteous comments that seem to be his brand of flirting, he breaks the mold by looking like a goddamn model with thick lashes and sculpted cheekbones and that jawline (which, admittedly, wasn’t covered by the mask but it’s hard not to take note now that you’re inspecting his appearence). Without the mask you can see how nicely his bangs frame his pretty face, and you think that the high ponytail he’s pulled his hair up in—which has stayed so very pristine for all the hours you’ve been seeing him—looks so nice now that the facial covering has been removed. The attractiveness matches his stupidly large frame, you suppose, in that they’re unusual for men you find when you do this kind of thing. Rich people shouldn’t be allowed to be hot.

You realize then that he’s dropped the stiff, perfect posture he’d been retaining even when the two of you first sat down—instead he’s shifted, one long leg sprawled out and stretching so close you could place a hand on his calf, the other bent so that he can rest one arm across it as he seems to lean in towards you.

And his eyes (they’re such a pretty deep brown now that you can see them) still haven’t moved from your hand.

He apparently seems to realize that you’re staring at him then, because his gaze suddenly averts and then comes back to meet your own eye, blinking silently as if breaking himself from a daze. His mouth parts slightly, Adam's apple bobbing thickly.

“We should—” He breaks off, clears his throat, shakes his head—then pulls that extended leg back towards his body. “We should probably go back in. It’s getting late.”

You pout (mostly because you like the way his eyes are drawn to your lower lip, the way they stare at it), but nod in agreement. Expecting him to ask for you to return the mask you’re still holding, you’re surprised when he simply rises to his feet. It takes you a moment due to your gown and the brainpower required to make sure you don’t flash your companion, but you manage to maneuver yourself to a position where you can follow his lead. By the time you’ve untucked your legs from beneath you his hand is before your face.

You look at it, then divert your gaze upward to meet his eyes. He’s standing taller than you remember (those legs are freakishly long) but it’s probably not hindered by the stark-straight posture you’d forgotten about. The hand before you is palm up, clearly an offer to help you to your feet, and the other arm is tucked neatly behind his back. It’s almost like he’s offering a dance.

Taking it, you’re not surprised when he effortlessly pulls you to your feet, considering the way he’d so easily caught you during your first encounter this evening (damn, it feels so long ago). A giddy feeling still rushes through you at the thought of his strength, though—that’s new, you hadn’t felt like some blushing high schooler when you’d run into him before.

You are surprised when he doesn’t let go, though. His fingers feel large against yours, wrapped around them like he’s some fairytale prince. That comparison is only hammered home when he leans down and kisses the back of your hand.

It’s stupid how much it affects you. You’re entirely flustered, face burning hot as your mind fogs up in surprise. He doesn’t abandon that pristine posture, back straight as he bows at the waist and presses his lips to your hand. Your skin is set alight by the touch. He glances up at you through his eyelashes and you’re terrified that he might somehow be able to hear your rapidly beating heart.

“Diluc,” he says finally, lips brushing against your skin when he speaks.

“Huh?” All too focused on the hand he’s still holding and the lingering feeling of the kiss, the word makes no sense to your addled brain.

“Diluc Ragnvindr,” he repeats, that now-familiar subtle smile gracing his lips (they’re soft—so soft, unbelievably soft, what the fuck) as he straightens up to his full, substantial height. “My name.”

“O—Oh,” you stutter out. The name rings a distant bell, but your mind is still too foggy to fully think it through.

You’re still slightly dazed and more than a little flustered when he—Diluc—still doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he turns around and maneuvers his grasp on it to fully hold it. He leads you through the doorway and starts off… somewhere, you don’t know where, but the steady hold he has on your hand and the way he guides you through the ballroom with ease make you decide to follow him wherever it might be. It’s certainly down on the first floor as he makes his way to the grand staircase and pulls you down the stairs after him, moving gently and slowly so that you don’t fall.

You’ve left your glass of dandelion wine out on the balcony, you realize suddenly, but you don’t care enough to go back and retrieve it. It’s not as if you’d been drinking it, anyway.

When he reaches the bottom of the steps, Diluc stops abruptly. You very nearly run square into his broad back, but he reacts quickly, moving his arm to pull you next to him rather than letting your momentum carry you. You wonder for a brief moment why, but then you see him looking directly at a blonde woman currently making a beeline for the two of you. She’s not dressed for this kind of party, in fact you think she’s in a maid dress, but her focus is locked on your companion.

Next to you, he sighs in mild chagrin. “It seems I’ve been sorely missed.”

“Who’s that?” you ask.

“She’s in charge of the event,” he tells you smoothly, as if you should know why the event planner would want to talk with him.

It hits you when he lets go of your hand and meets the woman halfway. You vaguely hear him greet her as Adelinde, too preoccupied by the sudden realization of why his name sounded so familiar to even attempt to eavesdrop.

Diluc Ragnvindr. The owner of the damn winery you’re currently in. You’d just spent the night talking to the host of the party you’d crashed.

You think you might have to sit down again. Had he been leading you out, then? Is he intending to make you leave? Sure, the exit’s in the general direction of where he’d been headed—but, damn, you’d been having such a nice time. And you’d thought he agreed. He’d kissed your hand like a Disney prince, he’d given you his jacket and it’s still on your shoulders now.

He keeps looking back at you periodically, even as Adelinde urgently discusses some presumably party-related topic with him and forces him to tear his eyes from you every time he allows himself to peek.

Why? Is he making sure not to lose you so that he can truly escort you out? Or… does he want you to stay? You can’t tell at all, dumb stoic bastard.

The best choice, you decide, is to leave of your own accord. If he really is trying to make you leave, then you’ll save the embarrassment of being escorted out. But if he truly has been returning your affections like you swear he was all night, then well… a mysterious masked stranger showing up, stealing his heart, and then disappearing into the night is awfully memorable, right?

Plus, well, you’ve always been a sucker for drama.

You feel kind of like you’re in a movie—like you’re a hot superspy escaping after successfully seducing and poisoning their target or something. With his back turned, you quietly slip back into the ballroom, moving swiftly and on your tip-toes so he can’t hear the tapping of your heels against the marble floor.

By the time he realizes you’ve left, you’re already at the other side of the hall. You watch him turn away from Adelinde to find you gone and then immediately attempt to search for you, whirling about almost desperately to scan around the room. Then he catches your eye, and a thrill rushes through you as he stills, rolling those broad shoulders back to stand tall, that perfect posture returning like he wants to impress you. You bite your lip, the giddy grin stretching across your mouth impossible to contain. Blowing him a farewell kiss, you turn heel and dart out.

There’s half a moment, as you exit those enormous double doors and open into the hall, where you think you might get lost in this huge manor. Then there’s half a moment where you want to do it on purpose—lead Diluc out of the ballroom for greater privacy than even the balcony provided. But instead you turn towards the main entrance and dart out, dashing down the steps toward the main road.

You keep going a good few blocks, solidly far enough away that you can pause for a moment and take off your mask to call an uber. Even as you stand and wait, even in the car on the way back to your apartment, it hasn’t fully sunk in; you’re still buzzing with adrenaline, and your hand is still tingling (the palm and the base of your fingers where Diluc had taken hold, and the back where his lips had touched it). You feel like goddamn royalty in your hand-sewed dress and thrifted accessories.

You burst through your front door but, upon realizing that it’s far too late at night and your roommates are most definitely asleep, you hush yourself, stifling the giggles that are bubbling up within you like some high schooler coming home from prom as you make your way to your room.

Resting your weight against your closed door, you reach down to remove your heels. It’s then that Diluc’s jacket shifts on your shoulders, and you realize you’ve apparently fled without returning the thing. You pull it off to look at it, shoving off the door and letting your shoes disappear into some forgotten corner of your room.

This time, as you stumble to your bed and flop down on it, you don’t bother to hold back the giggles—you muffle them with the fabric of the black suit jacket you’ve stolen, running a thumb over that intricate gold embroidery.

Well, you’ll have to give it back at some point.

[ishikawayukis]

bee is nice, I am not, jaebum or brian and u HAVE to pick

youngk

send me 2 idols and i'll choose which one is more of my ideal type!