#Ethereal Refreshment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafesbabygirlx · 4 months ago

Note

Rafe fucks his secret girlfriend in the pool. Sarah’s best friend. Up to you if they get caught or not

THIS IS SO GOOD 😫

𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚋𝚏!𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜:𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 (𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕-𝚏, 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚟)

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

The house was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had filled it just hours ago. Empty cups littered the floor, the scent of spilled beer and typical frat boy kook cologne lingered in the air. You glanced over at Sarah, who was sprawled across the bed, face buried in the pillow, completely out cold. You, Sarah, Rafe, and Topper all decided to stay the night at Kelce’s afterwards.

Your phone vibrated against your thigh.

Rafe 3:05am - I think everyone’s down out here, what about Sarah?

You smirked, fingers moving quickly over the screen.

You 3:06am - She’s out.

A moment later, your phone buzzed again.

Rafe 3:07am - Good. Put on that bikini I got you. ;)

Your stomach flipped. Even after months of sneaking around, the thrill of it hadn’t faded. You glanced at Sarah one more time, making sure she wasn’t stirring, then quietly slipped out of bed.

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you padded over to your bag, pulling out the bikini Rafe had insisted on buying you last week. It was tiny—blue, his favorite color on you. You changed quickly, shivering slightly as the night air seeped through the open window.

Another text.

Rafe 3:10am - Meet me by the pool.

You bit your lip, excitement buzzing in your veins. Slowly, you cracked the door open, peeking into the dimly lit hallway. Silence. Carefully, you stepped out, shutting the door softly behind you before making your way downstairs.

The backyard was illuminated by the glow of the pool lights, casting an ethereal blue across the patio. Rafe stood at the edge, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching the water ripple lazily. When he heard you approaching, he turned. His eyes raked over you, darkening as they settled on the bikini.

“Damn,” he muttered, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. “Knew it’d look good on you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Shut up.”

Rafe stepped forward, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His touch was warm against your cool skin. “What?” he murmured, voice teasing as he ducked his head to brush his lips against your ear. “You embarrassed? ‘Cause you shouldn’t be.”

Your breath hitched, hands gripping his hoodie and despite your words, you unzip and pull it off his shoulders. “We’re gonna get caught.”

He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “Not if you keep quiet.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he was lifting you effortlessly, making you squeal as he carried you to the edge of the pool.

“Rafe—no, don’t you dare—”

Too late. He stepped off the ledge, taking you down with him. The water was a shock against your skin, cool but refreshing. You surfaced with a gasp, pushing your soaked hair from your face, only to be met with Rafe’s smug grin.

“You’re the worst,” you huffed, splashing water at him.

He laughed, moving closer, caging you in against the pool wall. “And yet, here you are.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. He leaned in slowly, testing, waiting. And when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance, lips meeting yours in a slow, heated kiss.

Rafe deepened the kiss, running his tongue across your lip as you allow him access to your mouth. His hands rub up and down your body, feeling every inch of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in even closer.

Without missing a beat, Rafe grips your waist and lifting you into the edge of the pool. He stands in between your legs, eyes locked onto yours as he caresses your thighs. Slowly, he moves closer to your core. His thumb massages your clit through the bottoms of your bikini. You throw your head back and bite your lip, trying to stifle your moan.

Rafe moves them to the side, his thumb is now flush on your bare clip and his other hand motions you to move closer to the edge. Once you do, he has perfect access and replaces his thumb with his tongue. This makes you unintentionally let out a loud moan.

“Gotta be quiet baby,” Rafe says as he smirks up at you.

He dives back in, switching between sucking and using his tongue. You grip his hair to stable yourself. He moves his tongue with perfected precision. He knows exactly what you like and where to touch. Your breathing begins to get heavy and you feel yourself getting close. Rafe noticed too by the way you try to clamps your thighs around his head. He uses his hands to forcefully hold them open.

With a few more flicks of his tongue, you come all over it. He laps up every little bit of your orgasm. You both catch your breath and you slip back into the water in the same position you were before by wrapping your legs around his waist.

Once you do, you notice how hare he got just from eating you out.

“Want some help with that?” Your voice drips with sultry desire.

Your hands move beneath the water. Once they’re back up, Rafe’s eyes widen as he realized you untied your bottoms. You drop them onto the waters surface and they float away from the both of you. Rafe pulls down his swim shorts and you waste no time slowly sinking onto him.

Rafe pushes you back up against the side of the pool and you lean in it with your elbows for support as he grabs your thighs pulling you towards him as he pushes into you.

Using both of your bodies he tucks into you at a rapid pace you didn’t think was possible under water. All the air has left your lungs from the feeling. The only sounds are the sloshing water, your light moans and Rafe’s deep pants.

You’re such a good girl for me,” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction.

You swallowed hard, your mind hazy, completely lost in the way he was fucking you. Your lips parted, but no words came out—just a shaky breath, your body betraying you.

Rafe smirked. “What’s the matter, huh?” His fingers traced slow, teasing circles along your thighs he was holding. “Can’t talk?”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, frustration bubbling up at how easily he unraveled you. You forced yourself to say something, but your voice came out soft, barely above a whisper.

“Rafe…”

His grip tightened just slightly, like he loved hearing you struggle. “C’mon, baby, you can do better than that.”

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head back against the tile, trying to steady yourself. “I—I’m your good girl.”

His eyes darkened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “That’s right,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours but not quite kissing you. “And don’t forget it.”

It only took a few more strokes for you to reach another high. Rafe continued to fuck you through it as he finally reached his own, spilling deep into you. He pulled out and brought you into his chest. Holding you tightly. You looked up at him and he leaned forward kissing you.

You were disrupted when a noise came from behind you. You spun around in the water and Rafe backed away slightly. It was Sarah.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sarah slurred

“Sar… I can explain,” you spoke to her, worry flooding your tone.

“I don’t know if I’m dreaming or I’m just still too drunk, but it’s about fucking time… g-goodnight.”

Sarah stumbled back inside, leaving you shocked but relieved, but confused because of how drunk she still was. Rafe started laughing moving back to you. His amusement, made you laugh a little too.

“Guess the secrets out.”

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

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natalchartnurtures · 5 months ago

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PAC: What Do People Find Pretty About you?

I'm backk (oh and happy new year, people)

Pile 1:

The reading starts with the message- "marching to the beat of your drum," so I'm guessing you love to do your own thing? This quality/essence of yours is exactly what people find pretty about you. You EXUDE this airy-fairy kinda ethereal energy, laced with an almost Aquarian and Gemini-like quality. You have your own blueprint, set of beliefs, and ideas that you LIVE by, and your beauty is inspired by your individuality.

For example, say you grew up in a culture where most people are fair-skinned, but you have darker skin. You absolutely love and adore your skin for what it is, and because you embrace it, others love it by extension. Whatever stands out about you in the society you live in right now is what people find pretty about you. Say you have long hair when the norm is short hair—well, that's what people find pretty about you. They find your unique features breathtaking. It’s otherworldly.

You know, you give me Maeve Wiley vibes from Sex Education. She had her own style going on, and didn’t we absolutely love her for it? Her edgy vibe contrasted against the more simplistic vibe of the rest of the town. Yeah, there’s something about that which STANDS OUT and beckons for people’s attention (even if you’re not out here actively seeking attention). And boy, is it refreshing AF. You don’t know just how much you bring to the table by being yourself 😊.

You may like to dress "intelligently," or your natural style simply makes you look really smart, and this adds to that Aqua/Gemini quality that others find so pretty about you. Maybe you’re into graphic tees? Or your clothing simply makes people think, you know? Your style is different, and gosh, it’s so, soooo pretty (I really hope you understand that by the end of this read, haha).

You seem to take on a more carefree and blasé approach to your physical appearance, and it’s MAGNETIZING.

Side note: I don’t think you realize the effect you have on people, lmao. It’s so funny because that’s such an Aqua quality, hahaha.

Moving on—it seems like you’ve never let go of your connection to your inner child, and this keeps you fun, joyous, and energetic. This is something people instantly notice about you, and they LOVE IT SO MUCH. You brighten people’s days with your little giggles, pranks, and jokes (even if they’re dark).

Again, there’s something deeply unconventional about you that’s soooo pretty. Like, it’s almost as if you are your own beauty standard, you know? Haha, you’re a trendsetter, aren’t you? It’s reminding me of Rihanna’s energy—how different she looks from Western beauty standards, but boy, does she make WAVES with her presence alone.

What’s pretty about you transcends the material realm. It’s your faith in the divine shining through your eyes when you walk past a stranger on the street, or the endless energy you contain because you’re so connected to source (or whatever “god” you believe in). This openness to anything or anyone that comes your way is what makes you OH so pretty ✨️.

Thanks for reading, sweet Pile 1! Have a good rest of your day/night 😊

If you'd like to further receive customized messages about what people find pretty about you, you can book a reading with me! You can find the details here :]

Pile 2:

Your spirit message to open your reading said- “CUTE AF.” Haha, people seem to find you cute AF, Pile 2! That’s what makes you pretty. You may be the type of person who has the perfect ratio of cute and pretty, like Lisa or Rosé from Blackpink. You have a certain charm about you that people can’t seem to shake off, and boy, it sticks for a while. You’re unforgettable.

You’re incredibly physically attractive too (you might be very aware of this 😏), and boy, need I say more?

Side note: People find your chest area, boobies, and décolletage really freaking pretty 😍.

You have a side to you that you NEVER show people—your softer, mushy, gushy, sensitive, unconditional-love side (for obvious reasons, hello?). And people seem to sense that you’re hiding SOMETHING. Usually, they can’t guess what it is, and they find this super mysterious, enchanting, and ALLURING. They want to know this other side of you. They want to bring it out (and by "they," I mean anyone interested in getting to know you deeper). This makes you irresistibly pretty, Pile 2.

I see that you’re an incredibly humble person, and this only adds to the magnitude of PRETTINESS I already told you about! Sheesh. Could you be any more charming and awesome?

Side note: People really appreciate the random acts of kindness you bestow on them when no one’s looking. If you have a habit of smiling at people (no matter who they are), this is perceived as reeeeeeally pretty 👀. (Also, it makes you all the more lovable?!)

You seem interested in bringing as much kindness as you humanly can into an inherently unkind world, and this honestly takes your physical beauty to another level! Your heart is so generous and pure, kind of like Leo or Cancer energy. You don’t stand for injustice, and you MAKE IT KNOWN (quietly or not 💅🏾). It’s almost as if you have the ability to love people’s hearts back to life again if they’ve been through injustice, which is honestly so precious. You’re a national treasure, Pile 2!

What’s beautiful and pretty about you is how you naturally allow people to feel safely vulnerable around you. You seem like someone who can listen to people’s woes and almost make them disappear 😶‍🌫️. Haha, I love that.

People can slow down around you (because of your energy, bruh) and let down their guard, even if it’s only for a moment. It’s a beautiful gift you have. I’m happy you exist. BIG HUGS, Pile 2!

I love you so much, and have a wonderful day/night!

If you'd like to further receive customized messages about what people find pretty about you, you can book a reading with me! You can find the details here :]

Pile 3:

Message to open your reading- "You GIVE Sabrina Carpenter vibes." "You serve MOTHER vibes." Lol, a lot of people seem to thirst after your maternal vibe, Pile 3. You’re out here taking care of people, huh? Let’s get into it—

What people find pretty about you is your cozy, emotionally healthy, and prosperous energy. It’s almost like people feel “taken under your wing,” as if an angel is taking them in to help heal and rejuvenate them. You have angel vibes, Pile 3, and that’s what’s PRETTY about you.

You might have really pretty (and really watery?) eyes with big natural lashes, and they look very glossy and big—lowkey like anime eyes 👀. Tehe ✨️. Love that!

You seem very protective of the people you love, and they really appreciate that about you. That’s what makes you so pretty. Maybe when you defend someone close to you who’s been wronged—say you’re arguing with the offender—you might come off really attractive to people. The passion with which you protect is SEXY, baby. Keep 👏🏾 it 👏🏾 up 👏🏾.

You’re like this stable figure in your life to a lot of people. So many of them lean on you for support and come to you with their problems, and you happily help them.

Side note: I hear this incredibly helpful and giving nature of yours is going to bring A LOT of abundance into your life, so keep an eye out for it, hehe.

Also, a slightly off-topic message keeps coming in STRONG—there’s a specific person (romantic) who wants to dedicate a song to you. It’s called “Made For Me” by Muni Long. Maybe it’s how they’re feeling about you right now? Take this only if it resonates :)

Moving on with your reading now, you seem to be a guiding light in people’s lives, kind of like a lighthouse for lost boats, so to speak. Your beauty follows closely with this wisdom of yours, and that’s what people find pretty about you. You wear your wisdom like a warrior wears armor, and gosh, that’s very beautiful, almost in an enchanting way.

You have seer energy about you, and maybe it reflects in how you present yourself? Maybe you seem very calm and grounded? Maybe you have great hygiene or look really put together? If so, this is really pretty, Pile 3 :).

It’s like your energy is medicine to people who are naturally anxious. You allow them to seek respite from their own minds, and boy, does that make you so PRETTTTTAYYYYYY, ugh.

Thanks for reading, my sweet Pile 3. Have yourself a wonderful day/night, and keep being the stable, sexy baddie that you are, hehe 😊🫂. Love you! <3

If you'd like to further receive customized messages about what people find pretty about you, you can book a reading with me! You can find the details here :]

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solxamber · 7 months ago

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The Fairest of Them All || Vil Schoenheit

You've chosen Vil!

Navigating the chaos of Night Raven College, you somehow end up stealing the heart of Pomefiore’s untouchable Housewarden.

w.c: 5.3k

1k Masterlist ; Prologue

It’s the night of the opera, and you’re anxiously adjusting your outfit for what feels like the hundredth time. Vil had invited you—Vil Schoenheit, the epitome of elegance and poise—and you’d spent hours ensuring you looked halfway decent next to someone so effortlessly perfect.

When the knock at the door comes, you barely manage to keep yourself from sprinting to open it. And there he is.

Vil stands on your doorstep, dressed in formal wear that could kill a victorian child, his golden hair tied back with precision that seems almost unfair to the rest of humanity. A soft scent of bergamot and cedar follows him, making your brain stutter.

Your jaw goes slack, and you freeze, blatantly staring like a deer caught in headlights. You’re trying to say something, anything, but the only thing leaving your mouth is the sound of air escaping your lungs.

Vil’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “Good evening,” he says smoothly, clearly noticing your state. His eyes sweep over your outfit, and he nods in approval. “You’ve done well. You look rather lovely tonight.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to squeak, still staring. Internally, you’re screaming: What do you mean rather? Lovely?? Have you looked in a mirror recently?!!

He gestures toward the waiting car. “Shall we?”

You nod dumbly, closing the door behind you before following him to the sleek black vehicle parked outside.

The interior of the car is as polished as Vil himself, the soft leather seats and faint glow of the dashboard making it feel like you’ve stepped into another world. You try to focus on the excitement of the opera, but the quiet presence of Vil next to you is making that exceedingly difficult.

As the car glides through the city, your hands brush accidentally, a fleeting touch that sends a little jolt through you. You glance at him, expecting him to pull away or comment, but he doesn’t even blink. If anything, his expression softens, his gaze fixed out the window.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage, and slowly slip your hand into his.

Vil raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, but his grip tightens around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Excited, are we?” he murmurs, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that signature, knowing smirk of his.

You nod quickly, your heart pounding. “Yeah! I mean, it’s my first opera. I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

“Good,” he says, his voice a touch softer. “You’ll appreciate it more than most.” He pauses, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “And… it’s refreshing to share it with someone who isn’t afraid to show their enthusiasm.”

You smile at that, feeling a little less nervous and a lot more giddy.

The grand opera house is breathtaking, its towering marble columns and gilded details glowing under the warm lights. You almost trip on the stairs trying to take it all in. Vil’s hand at your elbow steadies you.

“Careful,” he says lightly, his lips quirking in amusement. “I’d rather not have our evening interrupted by a sprained ankle.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, your face heating up as you let him guide you to your seats.

The opera begins, and it’s as magical as you imagined. The singers’ voices soar, weaving a story so full of emotion you feel like you’re holding your breath half the time. But despite the beauty on stage, you find your attention drifting.

To him.

Vil sits beside you, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the stage lights. He’s transfixed, his violet eyes glittering as they follow the performers. He’s utterly ethereal, and you’re entirely doomed.

When he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, your gaze snaps back to the stage so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. But you can still feel him looking at you, and when you sneak another glance, you catch the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

Your heart does a little flip.

It's time for the intermission and you slowly stretch out your legs.

“Let’s take a walk,” Vil suggests as the lights come up. You nod, following him out of the auditorium and into the grand halls of the opera house.

The murals lining the walls are stunning, vivid depictions of myth and music that seem almost alive under the flickering chandeliers. Vil walks beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back to guide you through the crowd.

It’s subtle, effortless, and completely unfair. You’re hyper-aware of the warmth of his touch, the gentle pressure that somehow manages to make your brain short-circuit.

“Relax,” he murmurs, leaning closer so only you can hear. His breath brushes against your ear, and you nearly trip over your own feet. “You’re walking like you’re in a dream.”

“I feel like I am in a dream,” you blurt, before immediately regretting it.

Vil chuckles, a soft, genuine sound that makes your stomach flutter. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He pauses in front of one particularly grand mural, his hand lingering at your back as he studies it. You glance up at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he takes in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the mural.

“It is,” he agrees, his gaze flickering down to meet yours. “Though not nearly as much as some things.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by the amused glint in his eyes, he’s thoroughly enjoying your reaction.

The show ends, and you’re still buzzing from the experience as you climb into the car. You hum the aria under your breath, the melody still fresh in your mind.

Vil sits beside you, one arm resting casually against the window as he watches you with quiet amusement.

“You enjoyed it, then?” he asks, though it’s clear he already knows the answer.

“Are you kidding? That was amazing!” you say, turning to him with a wide grin. “I mean, the costumes, the singing, the—”

You stop mid-sentence as Vil leans in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of his skin.

Your heart skips a beat. “W-What are you—?”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. “You’re a mess,” he says, though his tone is far too fond for the words to carry any bite.

He leans back, smirking at your flustered expression. You can practically feel the heat radiating off your face as you bury it in your hands.

Vil walks you to your doorstep, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. He looks so effortlessly regal, so infuriatingly perfect, and you know you’re going to be replaying this night in your head for weeks.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, turning to him with a smile. “I had a great time.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replies, his voice smooth as ever.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you take his hand, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. “Goodnight, Vil.”

You dart inside before you can see his reaction, but as you peek through the curtains, you catch him standing there, a small, genuine smile on his lips.

And just like that, your night feels even more magical.

The evening starts peacefully at Ramshackle, with you sitting on the couch, Grim sprawled on your lap, and a carton of apple juice in hand. The tranquility is shattered by what sounds like a battering ram hitting the door.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“HENCHUMAN!” Grim screeches, bolting upright and scrambling toward the door. “Somebody’s tryin’ ta demolish our house!”

“Calm down, Grim!” you shout, rushing to the door. As you open it, you find Epel standing there, out of breath, his hair disheveled like he’s been running for his life.

“EP—”

“I NEED SANCTUARY!” Epel cries, practically diving inside before slamming the door behind him. “Please, hide me! Don’t let him find me!”

You blink at him, baffled. “What—who—huh?”

Grim squints up at Epel, unimpressed. “What’d ya do this time, farm boy?”

“I didn’t do nothin’! Vil’s gone mad again! He wants me to do some eight-step skincare ritual with somethin’ called snail mucin!” Epel flops onto the couch dramatically. “SNAILS, Prefect. SNAILS. I don’t wanna look like no slimy critter!”

You try to keep a straight face, but it’s impossible. “Epel, you know he’s just trying to help, right?”

Epel grabs a carton of apple juice from the table and downs some of it like it's vodka. “Help? Help turn me into a snail, maybe!”

Grim nods sagely. “Yeah, I dunno what a ‘mucin’ is, but it sounds slimy.”

The atmosphere is almost cozy again as the three of you sit around, sipping juice and joking around. But then it happens.

Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

This knock isn’t like Epel’s desperate pounding. This knock is sharp, precise, and terrifyingly composed.

Grim lets out a dramatic gasp. “IT’S HIM!”

Epel pales. “Don’t open it. Please don’t open it!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you cautiously crack the door open. Sure enough, there stands Vil Schoenheit, looking like he just stepped out of a photoshoot, his expression as serene as a summer lake—but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Good evening,” Vil greets you with a polite smile. “Would you kindly return my wayward dorm member?”

You glance over your shoulder at Epel, who is shaking his head violently and mouthing, “Don’t you dare!”

“Uh,” you begin, already feeling trapped. “I mean… what if—what if he just stayed here for tonight?”

Vil raises an elegant brow. “I see. Is that how it’s going to be?” He steps inside with the grace of a cat, his gaze shifting from you to Epel. “I’m sure you think you’re very clever.”

“Lemme be free,” Epel whines, hiding behind the couch. “I ain’t ready for snails on my face!”

Vil’s smile turns sharp. “Snail mucin is a highly effective hydrator, but if you insist on being dramatic…” He turns to you, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You. Are you willing to try the skincare regimen in his place?”

“Me?” You blink, startled.

Epel perks up from behind the couch. “YES. TAKE THEM!”

Vil tilts his head. “If you’re willing, I’m confident I can achieve better results from a subject who isn’t fighting me at every turn.”

You shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, Vil has looped an arm through yours, gracefully pulling you out the door. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

Epel waves dramatically from the window. “Bless ya, Prefect! I owe ya big time!”

Grim just yells after you, “DON’T LET HIM TURN YA INTO A SNAIL!”

Pomefiore is somehow both intimidating and gorgeous at night, much like Vil himself. He leads you to a lavishly decorated room that smells faintly of lavender and something you can’t quite place but know costs more than your monthly groceries.

Vil gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling slightly like a sacrificial lamb.

“This won’t hurt,” he says smoothly, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, sit still.”

You expect him to just slap some moisturizer on your face and call it a day, but no. Vil moves with precision and care, his fingers brushing gently over your skin as he applies cleanser, toner, and a series of serums that feel more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

“This feels… nice,” you mumble, your eyelids growing heavier.

Vil hums, clearly pleased with himself. “Of course it does. Skincare is an art.”

Somewhere between step five and six, you lose the battle against sleep, dozing off in the chair.

You stir awake to find Vil leaning over you, his gaze soft and almost… fond. He’s saying something about your skin glowing, but you’re too distracted by the feeling of being watched so intently.

“Vil?” you murmur groggily.

“Yes?” he replies, his voice softer than usual.

Your eyes narrow slightly as you sit up, noticing something on your cheek. “Uh… did you kiss me?”

Vil freezes for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. His usual composure slips, and he hurriedly swipes at your cheek with a handkerchief. “Don’t be absurd,” he says, but his tone is unusually flustered.

Except.

You glance at his lips, where the faintest smudge of lipstick is visible. “Riiiiiight.”

Vil notices where your gaze has landed and turns away, busying himself with the jars on the counter. “You’re imagining things.”

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. “If you say so.”

But as he ushers you out of Pomefiore with a distracted wave and a faint blush dusting his cheeks, you know you’ve won this round.

The morning starts off with a buzz of activity at the botanical gardens. Vil, ever the professional, has arranged an elaborate photoshoot in the serene greenery. Props were meticulously placed, outfits were prepared, and lighting setups were already stationed. Vil even allowed himself to feel something akin to satisfaction.

That is, until afternoon rolls around.

Unbeknownst to Vil, the chaos trio (Ace, Deuce, Grim) and Jack had wandered into the gardens earlier for what they dubbed “a little harmless fun.” What they actually managed to do was:

Accidentally tip over a giant fountain while trying to see if Grim could swim (spoiler alert: he can’t).

Start a “friendly” game of tag that ended with Ace tripping over a prop table, sending vases and floral arrangements flying like shrapnel.

Release a flock of doves intended for Vil’s grand finale by opening the wrong cage ("I wanted to see if they could do tricks!" Ace insists as Deuce facepalms).

Grim, somehow, set a bush on fire. Jack put it out, but the smell of burnt shrubbery lingers ominously in the air.

By the time Vil arrives, the scene looks like a tornado hit. The once-pristine gardens are a disaster zone. Props are broken, flowers are trampled, and there's a trail of muddy footprints leading in every direction.

Vil steps into the carnage, his designer boots squelching in mud. His expression is eerily calm at first, but the sharp inhale he takes speaks volumes. He surveys the devastation with a look that could wilt the few surviving flowers.

“My vision,” he whispers, his voice tight with suppressed rage.

You stand beside him, trying not to laugh because you’ve never seen him this close to a meltdown.

“Vil,” you say cautiously, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s not that bad—”

“Not that bad?!” he snaps, whirling on you. “Look around! This isn’t a photoshoot location; it’s a war zone!”

From the corner of your eye, you spot Cater peeking in, phone out, clearly recording the unfolding drama. You make a mental note to confiscate it later.

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself, “I should have known better. Trusting anything to others. Utter folly.”

“You’re gonna burst a blood vessel,” you warn him, earning a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“Alright, alright,” you say, rolling up your sleeves. “Stop sulking and help me salvage this.”

Vil blinks at you, incredulous. “Salvage? You can’t possibly—”

“Watch me.”

With that, you march into the chaos. You grab what props can be salvaged, rearrange a few backdrops, and even craft makeshift decorations out of the remaining flowers and ribbons.

Vil watches in stunned silence as you hustle, barking orders at a very confused Sebek, who you dragged out of the equestrian club to help.

“Sebek, I need that saddle cleaned now!” you shout.

Sebek grumbles, muttering something about “desecrating noble horse equipment for frivolity,” but obeys when you glare at him.

Within the hour, you’ve transformed a patch of ruined garden into a new set: a rustic, equestrian-inspired photoshoot featuring horses. Vil looks around, stunned, as you pat one of the horses on the neck.

“Well?” you say, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not the flower themed you started off with, but it’ll work, right?”

Vil stares at you, a strange softness in his eyes. “...It’s perfect.”

The photoshoot goes off without a hitch. Vil looks flawless as ever, draped elegantly across a horse in one shot and holding its reins with regal authority in another. You even manage to convince Sebek to lend Vil his equestrian jacket for a dramatic flair.

As you predicted, the photos break the internet. The combination of Vil Schoenheit and majestic horses sends fans into a frenzy. “A SUPERMODEL AND HORSES??? THE WORLD ISN’T READY FOR THIS!” one comment reads.

But what really goes viral isn’t the official photos. It’s a video Cater secretly took of Vil watching you as you worked to save the shoot.

In the video, Vil stands in the background, holding a bouquet prop. His usual composed expression is nowhere to be seen—he’s looking at you with undisguised fondness, like you’re the only person in the world. The caption?

“The real shoot is happening behind the scenes #VilSmittenheit”

When you show Vil the video later, he groans and buries his face in his hands. “Of course Cater would...”

But you just smile, because even Vil can’t deny the truth caught on camera.

The potionology exam looms like a thundercloud, and you’ve made the questionable decision to study with the first-year gang. It feels like babysitting a tornado of chaos.

You’ve got your notebook out, ready to tackle the mysteries of potion ratios and ingredient compatibility. Then you look up.

Ace, Deuce, and Grim are locked in a heated debate over whether it’s morally acceptable to substitute powdered phoenix feather with breadcrumbs.

“Grim, breadcrumbs aren’t even magical!” Jack groans, rubbing his temples.

Grim huffs, waving a paw dismissively. “It’s got crunch! Everything’s better with crunch!”

“Breadcrumbs in a potion?!” Sebek barks, slamming his fist on the table. “Such idiocy would never occur in Lord Malleus’s presence! Do you know the kind of potions he could make? Far superior to this nonsense!”

Epel, slouched in his chair, mutters, “What’s the point of potionology when you can just punch your problems or fly away?”

“Guys,” Jack says, his patience clearly thinning. “We need to focus! We’re all going to fail if we don’t—”

“I’M NOT FAILING!” Sebek bellows.

“Then stop talking about Malleus for five minutes!” Ace snaps.

You close your notebook. You know when to admit defeat. You’re getting nothing done here.

Plan B: The Vil Schoenheit Method

You march straight to Vil in Pomefiore. He’s seated in his lavish lounge, sipping tea and reading a book on advanced alchemical techniques that makes your brain hurt just by looking at it.

“Vil, help me,” you say, dropping dramatically to your knees like you’re auditioning for a tragedy. “I’m going to flunk potionology, and I can’t rely on Ace, Deuce, or Grim because they’ve got the collective intelligence of a soggy paper towel.”

Vil arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And why should I help you?”

“Because you’re the best potionologist I know,” you plead. “And because I’ll owe you one. A big one. I’ll even—” You pause for dramatic effect. “—tell you where Epel is when he runs away.”

Vil narrows his eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, but your desperation is mildly entertaining. Fine. But I won’t go easy on you.”

You gulp.

Vil is intense. He doesn’t just teach you potionology; he micromanages your existence.

“Back straight,” he snaps, tapping your spine with a ruler. “You’re hunched over like a gremlin. And stop stirring like you’re mixing pancake batter. Precision is key!”

You mutter something about gremlins under your breath, but Vil hears it. “I can make this more difficult if you’d like,” he says with a sweet yet menacing smile.

He quizzes you relentlessly, correcting every little mistake with the sharpness of a dagger. “If you confuse Mandrake extract with Mandragora root one more time, I’ll have Rook carry you back to Ramshackle while reciting a poem about your incompetence.”

But by the end of it, you’ve actually learned. You’re tired, your hands smell like sulfur, and your posture is permanently straightened, but you’ve learned.

You ace the exam. You don’t just pass; you get one of the highest scores in the class.

“THAT’S MY HENCHHUMAN!” Grim crows, puffing his chest out like he took the test himself. “We’re unstoppable!”

Ace and Deuce, however, are staring at you like you’ve just revealed you’re a double agent.

“You went to Vil for help?!” Ace squawks. “That’s betrayal! Treason! You’re a traitor to the First-Year Study Group™!”

“You think you know someone,” Deuce adds solemnly, shaking his head.

“It’s not my fault you two were trying to use breadcrumbs in a potion!” you fire back.

“That’s not the point!”

Ignoring their melodrama, you bolt to Pomefiore to thank Vil.

Vil is sitting by the window, gazing out at the gardens with a cup of tea in hand. He looks up as you burst in, all smiles and gratitude.

“Vil!” you exclaim, practically skipping toward him. “I passed! Thank you so much!”

He raises an elegant eyebrow. “Of course you did. I wasn’t about to waste my time on a lost cause.”

You throw your arms around him in a quick, impulsive hug. “You’re amazing, seriously. I’ll thank you properly later, but for now—” You lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

Before Vil can react, you’re already sprinting out the door, leaving him sitting there with a stunned expression.

Moments later, Rook appears, materializing like the cryptid he is. “Ah, Roi du Poison,” he coos, his smile wicked. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

Vil sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Be quiet, Rook.”

“Ah, silence is the language of love!” Rook declares dramatically. “But your face says it all! Mon dieu, how adorable.”

Vil doesn’t even bother denying it. He simply takes another sip of tea, thinking of your smile.

It’s 4 a.m. The witching hour. You’re blissfully cocooned in your blankets, dreaming of peaceful, non-chaotic things, when a sharp tap tap tap jolts you from your slumber. At first, you think it’s your imagination, but the tapping persists, growing louder and more insistent. You crack open one groggy eye, then the other. You blink at the sound’s source.

Your window.

“Window?” you mumble in confusion, still half-asleep. Then you see him. Rook Hunt. Perched precariously on the ledge like some kind of medieval gargoyle but with better fashion sense. He’s waving at you with such enthusiasm you’d think he were auditioning for a cheerleading squad.

Your brain, still booting up, goes: Of course. This is perfectly normal.

Then, a second later: WAIT A MINUTE��WHAT?!

“Rook?” you hiss-whisper, stumbling to the window. “Why are you—” You stop mid-sentence because his face is a mask of sheer panic. “What’s wrong?”

He places a dramatic hand on his chest, his voice trembling with urgency. “Mon amie! It is an emergency of the highest order!”

Heart pounding, you throw open the window. “What happened?! Is someone hurt?! Did something explode?! Is Vil—”

Rook nods gravely. “It is Roi du Poison.”

Your stomach plummets. He doesn’t have to say anything more. If something’s wrong with Vil, you’re going to help. You’re his friend, his confidant, his designated earplug during Rook’s poetic soliloquies.

You don’t hesitate; you grab your coat and shoes and sprint out the door, trailing after Rook, who somehow manages to make a full-on run look like a choreographed ballet.

The journey to Pomefiore is a blur of panic and adrenaline. You’re preparing yourself for the worst. Was Vil poisoned? Did he collapse during some over-the-top skincare ritual? Is it gasp the end of his perfect reign? By the time you burst into Vil’s room, you’re practically on the verge of tears.

“Vil!” you cry, rushing to his bedside. “Are you okay? What’s happening?!”

Vil, propped up against a mountain of silk covered pillows, looks up from his tissue box, pale but undeniably still Vil. His expression is unimpressed, though there’s a faint red tinge to his nose that he’d probably die before admitting to.

“I have a cold,” he says flatly, voice slightly nasal.

You blink. Once. Twice. You slowly turn to look at Rook, who is leaning dramatically against the doorway, one hand over his heart like he’s auditioning for Hamlet.

“A cold?” you echo.

Rook nods solemnly. “Oui! But what is a mere cold to a shining star like Vil? Even the smallest ailment feels like a tragedy!”

Without breaking eye contact, you grab a tissue from Vil’s nightstand and throw it at Rook’s head. He catches it mid-air with a flourish.

“I thought he was dying!” you snap, your voice somewhere between exhausted and hysterical.

Vil sighs deeply, like you’re all inconveniencing him. “Well, I feel like I’m dying,” he mutters, reaching for another tissue with the elegance of a dying swan.

Despite wanting to throttle both Vil and Rook, you stay. Because deep down, you care about Vil (and because Rook is lurking in the shadows, making escape impossible). Armed with tissues, herbal tea, and the resolve of a saint, you declare yourself Vil’s official nurse.

“Do you need anything?” you ask, pulling a blanket higher up his shoulders.

Vil sniffs. “I need… another pillow. This one is too flat.”

You grab another pillow and fluff it to perfection. “Better?”

“No, this one is too fluffy.”

You fight the urge to scream. But you adjust the pillow again. And again. And again.

Moments later:

“This tea is too hot.” You cool it.

“This tea is too cold.” You reheat it.

“This lighting is too harsh.” You dim it.

“This lighting is too dim.” You—wait, what??

For hours, you cater to his every whim with the patience of a saint. Vil complains about the temperature, his blanket, the angle of his tissue box. He’s fussy, demanding, and dramatic, but you take it all in stride.

Why? Because deep down, you know he’d never ask for help unless he really needed it. And because Vil, even at his most irritating, is still someone you care about. Maybe even have a crush on but that's a problem for future you.

Rook occasionally pops in to offer poetic encouragement. You ignore him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Vil falls asleep, his perfect features soft and peaceful. You, however, collapse on the couch in the corner of the room, absolutely spent.

The next morning, Vil wakes up feeling… better. His fever has broken, his headache has subsided, and for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel like his body is actively rebelling against him. He sits up and looks around, finding you passed out on the couch, still clutching a crumpled tissue in one hand.

He notices the dark circles under your eyes, the way you’re curled up in an awkward position, the slight shiver in your frame from not having a blanket. And for the first time, Vil feels something unfamiliar. Guilt. And a deep affection.

As the morning light filters into the room, he glances at you one last time, his expression softening. “Once I recover,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, “I’ll tell you.”

And with that, Vil Schoenheit makes a silent vow. The next time you nurse him through anything, it will be with him as your devoted partner—and not because of a misunderstanding orchestrated by a certain overdramatic huntsman.

It hits you like a truck in the middle of class: you’re in love with Vil Schoenheit.

Not a crush, not admiration—you’re down horrendous. Butterflies are doing pirouettes in your stomach every time he talks to you, and his slightest smile makes you feel like you’ve been hit by a blinding spotlight.

You try denial. (“It’s just his aura. He does this to everyone!”) You try avoidance. (“If I don’t look at him, I can’t fall harder, right?”) But none of it works. Every time he critiques your posture or gives you that sly smirk, it’s game over.

Finally, you give in. “Okay, fine! I’ll confess!” you announce to Grim, who’s lounging on the couch.

“Good luck,” Grim snickers. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I am about to be sick!” you shriek. “This is Vil! What if he laughs? What if he just… stares at me in that terrifying way he does when Epel says something stupid?”

“Then I’ll eat your dinner as consolation,” Grim says, ever supportive.

You prepare like your life depends on it.

Step One: Flowers. You pick out the most gorgeous bouquet, ones that practically scream, I’m hopelessly in love with you, please don’t let me die of embarrassment.

Step Two: A handwritten card. You pour your heart onto the paper with the eloquence of a poet. “You’re incredible,” you write. “Not just because you’re beautiful, but because of your strength, your kindness, and the way you inspire everyone around you. I… I love you.” You almost combust just writing it.

Step Three: Look your best. You pick an outfit that’s just shy of trying too hard and hope it’s enough to make you look like someone worthy of confessing to Vil Schoenheit.

“Alright,” you say, holding your bouquet like it’s a shield. “Here goes nothing.”

“Don’t trip and fall on your face!” Grim calls after you.

You’re halfway to Pomefiore, sweating bullets and trying to remember how to breathe, when you see him.

Vil is walking toward you, dressed impeccably as always, carrying… a bouquet of his own?

Your heart skips several beats, and you’re suddenly extremely nervous—the kind of nervous that makes your palms sweat, your knees weak, and your brain do somersaults. You feel like a malfunctioning automaton.

“Oh,” Vil says, his gaze locking onto you. He stops a few feet away, his eyes flickering between you and the bouquet in your hands. “Out for a stroll?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, gripping your flowers tighter.

Vil tilts his head slightly, and you swear he looks… annoyed? “And the flowers?” he asks, his tone calm but sharp, like a scalpel. “A gift for someone special, perhaps?”

You freeze. “Uh—”

Before you can answer, Vil’s gaze shifts to the card sticking out of your bouquet. He reaches out and plucks it before you can stop him. Your soul briefly leaves your body.

He reads it silently, his face betraying nothing, until—

“Oh.”

His tone is quiet, and you’re horrified to see a flicker of heartbreak in his expression. “I see.”

“Wait! It’s not what it looks like!” you blurt, waving your hand like a maniac. “The flowers are for you! The card is for you! I just… forgot to sign it.”

Vil blinks, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Then, to your immense relief, he chuckles—a soft, melodic sound that sends your heart into a frenzy. “You forgot to sign it?” he repeats, amused.

You nod vigorously, clutching the bouquet like your life depends on it. “I was too busy panicking, okay?!”

Vil shakes his head, his smile widening. “Of course. Only you would confess in such a manner.” He steps closer, his own bouquet now visible. “It seems we had the same idea today.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he means. “Wait… those flowers…?”

“For you,” Vil says simply. “Though I’ll admit, for a moment, I thought they might be unnecessary.”

You stare at each other, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. Then, Vil takes your bouquet from your trembling hands and replaces it with his own.

“They suit you better,” he murmurs.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, he leans in and presses his lips softly against yours.

The world seems to blur around you, and all you can feel is Vil—his warmth, his scent, the tenderness of his touch. When he pulls back, he’s smiling at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

“Let’s not wait so long to be honest with each other next time,” he says softly.

You nod, dazed and giddy. “Y-Yeah, totally.”

As he intertwines his fingers with yours, leading you back toward Ramshackle, you realize one thing: The first year gang is never going to let you live this down.

But to be honest, you really don’t care. Not when Vil Schoenheit is looking at you like you're the only ones left on the planet.

1k Masterlist ; Main Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit #vil #1k event

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thesunloveschips · 8 months ago

Text

Obsessed - Part 6 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel and Y/n are idiots in obsession and perfectly matched in lust.

Warnings: Azriel & specs, Azriel's chest, delusional Azriel, smut towards the end, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Azriel was always an early riser. He would wake up at five in the morning religiously. The only exceptions were when he’d visit his mother or his two moronic friends.

Today, however, was an exception because he had woken up at. . . what time was it?

He felt quite refreshed but in many other ways than what sleep could do to him.

He blinked a few times and took in his surroundings.

Why was it still dark? Had he slept through the entire day?

Azriel took his phone from the nightstand and checked. Midnight had just passed.

He kept his phone back and turned to the side and saw a silhouette under the light of the moon. A woman.

Azriel took his phone back and switched on the flashlight. It was a woman. Her back, to be more specific, but a woman nonetheless.

He quickly sat up straight.

He had to bleach himself.

Out of what insanity or desperation had he invited a woman into this apartment?

This apartment that he’d purchased solely for attaining his goal of making Y/n his?

He had to buy a new apartment now.

Or a new building.

Wait.

He had to go purify himself first.

And then he could only hope and beg and pray that Y/n would still accept his adulterous self.

Y/n, I have committed an unforgivable sin. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

Now, what did people do to cleanse their sins?

Repentance. But before he could do a Google search on how to regain his virginity, the woman beside him stirred.

Azriel didn’t even want to know who it was. Knowing would make it even more real.

He had to go to a temple, shave his head, and become a monk for a while before he became chaste enough for Y/n.

What if Y/n saw this woman leave his apartment? She’d instantly reject him as a potential husband. The horror of it made it increasingly difficult for him to breathe.

How did people repent for infidelity? He had to know immediately. He had to make Y/n his and be hers in this lifetime.

Maybe he should just go over to her apartment and beg for forgiveness already. Azriel could already see himself kneeling and apologising and begging Y/n to marry him.

He took a quick look behind him to see the woman’s face.

Y/n.

Y/n?

This beautiful goddess with the lovely figure was Y/n?

Was she real? Or just a figment of the uncountable number of fantasies and dreams he’d had of his woman? He calmed down a little.

Azriel hesitantly poked her cheek. Fuck, she was so adorable.

And then he pinched his cheek and pulled it until he felt the pain.

Oh. She was real.

Y/n was real.

He nearly melted into the bed, now watching her carefully.

Thank fuck he hadn’t cheated on her lest his conscious haunt him forever and beyond.

Memories of the previous night flashes before him. Kissing her. Undressing her. Devouring her on the dining table.

Fuck, fuck, that pretty mouth had been so good for him, taking his cock so well. And he’d tasted her again and then, he’d found himself inside her.

How was it that he’d lost himself to this world again and again, only to find himself with Y/n? Was this what home meant?

Her hair spread behind her in soft dark waves. Such lovely hair. So easy to grab and pull so that he could manoeuvre her body.

Azriel dared to move closer to this ethereal being. And as if she’d sensed him, she snuggled closer to him, as if she was seeking him out.

He checked whether they were wrapped properly in the blankets and watched her. Her legs were pushing and poking his own, trying to be sandwiched between them.

His hand on her back felt like a dream. Such supple skin.

She was so beautiful, he had to tell his mother of his intention to marry her.

He felt his brain become mushy as he watched her.

His perfect Y/n.

Such brilliance.

Such a blessing.

His phone began vibrating and Azriel suddenly felt murderous.

Who the fuck thought they would interrupt his time with his woman and get away with it?

It was Rhysand.

Of course, it was Rhysand.

The asshole had no consideration about the time difference ever since he was hell bent on acquiring Hewn Inc.

Azriel’s Umbra Industries and Rhys’s Velaris Corp. were all set to acquire Hewn Inc. and they were mapping out all their plans for its future.

The acquisition was on its way with their lawyers working on it but when Rhys had an idea (which was usually a brilliant one), he also made it a point to be a menace.

He cancelled the call and texted him. His arm was already missing Y/n’s skin from when it was draped over her.

Why did he have to hold a device when Y/n was sleeping next to him? This was utterly ridiculous.

Rhysand’s reply was interesting enough that he left the bed, took out his laptop, and returned. Now, he was absolutely determined to get this done before he could return to holding Y/n.

And if the sun rose before he could get in a good amount of cuddling time, he’d definitely thrash Rhys.

****

Y/n had woken up feeling rather refreshed. Her body turned and stretched on the bed itself before she properly opened her eyes and. . . where was she?

This wasn’t her fluffy furry blanket on her. The windows bringing the moonlight were on the wrong side of the room. There was another source of light in the room coming from the other side of the bed.

She turned around and saw a toned body lit up by the screen of a laptop.

That body, inked in swirls and patterns unknown, belonged to Azriel.

She looked up at that face and found him wearing glasses.

So, overall, logically speaking, her neighbour, this man, had nice abs, tattoos, tanned skin, a perfect face, curly dark hair, and glasses.

Y/n buried her face under the sheets quickly, knowing that the movement would definitely catch his attention.

Because she couldn’t look at him for too long.

She’d faint.

Of course, she’d faint.

Why was this man so ridiculously, otherworldly, erotically, fictionally hot?

This should be illegal.

But when she realised that he hadn’t initiated a talk with her, she shyly took a peek. Only to see Azriel’s face close to hers.

Y/n squealed as she hid under the blankets again.

He was still wearing glasses. So unfair.

“Y/n?” What was with that bedroom voice?

Was this man determined to not let her breathe in peace?

Could he take a break from being so hot?

“Sweetheart?” Somebody, have some mercy already. Lord or Lady or Satan, somebody better help her soon else she’d die of bliss and fuck off to the afterlife.

Nesta.

The only one who could help Y/n right now was Nesta. That woman could manipulate men whereas Y/n was definitely the opposite if anyone could see her right now.

And what the fuck was that world-rocking, toe-curling, mindblowing sex?

Did anybody warn her that her endlessly handsome neighbour, with a build as if the devil had personally sculpted him, was going to be some kind of a sex god?

The man had literally picked her up like she’d weighed nothing and thrown her on the bed.

He’d thrown her.

The goddess of dark romance and smut had finally, finally, answered her prayers and blessed her.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank–

“Y/n?” While she was busy with her gratitude, Azriel had pulled off the blankets from her.

She looked up at him, embarrassed at her own behaviour. “Hi?”

“Hello.” And he wrapped the blanket over her excluding her head. He was now laying sideways, resting his head on his hand with the elbow propped up. “Why were you hiding?”

“Nothing.” And she moved to turn her body but Azriel grabbed her waist, pulled her closer, and secured her.

“Nothing?” Why was his delicious chest in front of her? She shut her eyes tightly to control herself. Do not lick. No matter what happens, do not lick his chest.

Y/n felt him closer as he laid down properly, his arm now extended and placed beneath her head. The other hand played with her love handles, gently pinching and poking them.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was sincere and affectionate and Y/n couldn’t help but look at him. Under the moonlight, Azriel looked like he adored her the most in the world. “There’s my girl.”

The hand on her waist trailed up to her side, his thumb grazing the underside of her breast before the hand came to cradle her head. Azriel leaned in and kissed her forehead softly.

Once again, Y/n felt a veil fall on her. She didn’t understand what it was except that she felt immensely comforted. “Az?”

“Hm?” He stroked her hair.

“Mhm.” Y/n snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. “You’re so warm.” Yes. Focus on the warmth and fluffy things. Cleanse thyself from filth.

“You like that?” Y/n had read this line in a smutty romance. Jesus had probably abandoned her after seeing her reading list.

“Mhm.” She snuggled deeper against him. A few minutes of contented silence passed before Y/n realised why she’d woken up. “Az?”

“Hm?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Oh?” Y/n could hear the filth in his tone and she pinched his arm.

“For food.” She added, hoping to heavens because she definitely needed more energy before even kissing him.

Azriel kissed her temple, her cheek, her jaw, and descended to her neck. “Sure I can’t convince you otherwise?”

“I really don’t have the energy. And I didn’t have anything after lunch.” At that Azriel stopped his attempts at seduction.

“What do you want to eat?” He sounded quite serious.

“Do you have some snacks?”

“You’re a healthy eater, sweetheart. Will snacks be enough?” It wouldn’t. He knew her eating habits by now.

“Cooking sounds tiresome.” She caressed his cheek. Gods, this man was so warm, she’d keep him as a personal heater.

“Then let me take you somewhere.”

“To that place you said earlier?” He did mention that right after they’d started kissing against her front door.

“You paid attention to that?” The hand that snaked around her waist did not have any innocent intentions.

“Food, Az. Or I might faint.” Y/n desperately wanted to ride this man while he wore specs. Gods, that was a wonderful fantasy.

“When we return, I’m having you all to myself.” Azriel grumbled, not liking the idea of being away from their cuddling session.

Who was she to say anything when she was least interested in leaving bed where he was keeping her warm?

Once they’d somehow escaped the temptation of a warm bed, Azriel told her to dress warm and borrow his clothes as needed.

He grabbed his keys and they were in the car, en route to some place her hot neighbour did not divulge.

They reached a quaint fast food outlet from where they had burgers and fries and finally moved.

****

“Tell me we’re going home.” Home? Gods, he loved hearing her say that. Home. What a beautiful place to be. But he was already home since she was next to him.

“Not yet. I wanted to show you something.”

“Those mouthwatering burgers weren’t it?”

“I planned to bring you there anyway but this is something else.” They were headed towards the outskirts of the city. At some point, Y/n had fallen asleep.

Such an adorable woman. He really needed to marry her.

They’d reached their destination soon. He stepped out of the car, opened the door to the passenger seat, and gently shook her to wake her up.

“Y/n? Sweetheart?” And she mumbled something incoherent and weakly pushed his arm away. He tried again and again and again before she finally woke up.

“Az?” It was the softest he’d ever heard her. Now, how difficult was it to get a marriage certificate? It was certainly not difficult but Y/n and his mother would team up to kill him if he tried that.

“We‘re here.” And it was a viewpoint in the outskirts of the city from where the city and the stars were an incredible sight. He watched Y/n as she admired them, awe on her features.

“They’re so pretty.” She sighed, her head against his arm. “When did you find this place?”

“I went on a midnight drive a couple of days ago. Thought you’d like it.”

“I do like it.” She affirmed. Azriel noted that. He needed to tell his PA to search for properties in the area. They leaned against the bonnet of the car for all of five minutes maybe before Y/n yawned loudly.

“Let’s go back.”

“But we came all the way here.” She protested sleepily.

“And you’re sleepy. We need to rest. We’ll come back another night.”

“Promise?” She was so fucking adorable.

“Promise.” He pinched her cheek.

Azriel helped her settle in the passenger seat before entering the car himself. Y/n had once again fallen asleep on the way home.

He had to wake her again since it would’ve been difficult to carry her and punch in the security code for the building and then open his door.

During the elevator ride up, she stretched her arms like a cat waking up from sleep. By the time they reached their floor, Y/n was more awake than she was downstairs.

They made it to the bedroom and Azriel knew they would undress. He knew they would go to bed. And yet, as she removed his jacket, he was consumed with need.

If he removed his pants right now, he’d lose restraint and definitely beg for another round. He watched as she gathered her hair and secured it with a hair clip, claw, whatever that was.

And she then removed the shirt he’d lent her for the night. It was one of his favourites but it looked so much better on her. Y/n gracefully removed it, giving him a spectacular view of her back and neck.

The purple blots on her neck felt like his personal branding on her. Pride bloomed as he noted those hickeys. Those hands deftly unclasped her bra and she turned to keep the clothes on the chair.

And Azriel, being the man that he was, was a goner as soon as he caught sight of those plentiful breasts. He was hard. And with good reason.

And then, Y/n saw him staring shamelessly at her. She raised a brow. “What?”

The plan was to reach the bed.

The plan was to cuddle and sleep.

The plan was no more.

The new plan was to get her naked and fuck her silly. “Don’t seduce me if you’re not going to do anything about it, Y/n.”

How stupid did he sound? She was undressing. Just as he knew she would. She wasn’t even fully naked and he was already aroused. The bulge on his pants was enough proof of his lust and shamelessness.

Y/n was tired. Or was she? Since she’d been stretching in the elevator. But her gaze right now. As she watched him and her own eyes mirrored his desire. “Or what?”

It was a challenge.

Maybe his woman was not so sleepy after all.

Her nipples were already hard and ready for his mouth and Azriel was looking nowhere else.

He marched over, a hand rising to her throat and the other playing with her breast, fingers pinching her nipple. “How about we see if you keep behaving like a brat once I’ve edged you for some time?”

“Or shall I go to bed and you can take care of that in the bathroom?” She touched his hand on her throat and brought it to her cheek and leaned into his touch.

Oh fuck.

That confidence of hers did things to his belly, all of which shot straight to his cock.

“And you’ll just sleep?”

“Maybe I’ll take care of myself here while you’ll be occupied with your cock.”

“Really?.” Azriel lifted her and carried her to bed. He removed her jeans swiftly and sat right next to her. “Should I come on your tits?” Azriel kissed her, moving so that he was hovering over her. He moved to suck on her nipple and remained there for a while.

“Or on your belly?” He kissed right above the pelvic bone. Her hands scratching his neck and back was a wonderful sensation. With that much, he was ready to fuck her.

Azriel moved to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. “Or inside that pretty pussy?”

“Are you going to wear all that to bed?” She lazily asked, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. His clothes were cold against her topless body.

“No. I think I like being naked around you.” He responded with a playful smile.

“Then, strip.” It was at this moment that Azriel once again realised that he was entirely fucked.

He thought he was wholly hers from the moment he saw her but there were more parts of him. Parts that submitted to her when they kissed.

When he ate her out.

When she touched his cock for the first time.

When he thrusted into that warm cunt.

Every single time, a new part of him he didn’t know about became hers. “You’re making this hard for me.”

“Your cock is hard for me?” She coyly rephrased and shot back, a sultry smile gracing her lips.

****

The way she wanted this man to rail her hard—it was honestly not funny. At this point, Nesta would be more proud of her sexual enthusiasm than Azriel.

“Yes, it is. And what a fucking temptation you are.” He grabbed her throat and kissed her. It was heavenly—the feel of his mouth pressing wet kisses to her neck.

She caught hold of his hair and let her nails through the scalp as Azriel brought some relief to her nipples with his mouth.

For all her hunger, Azriel gave and gave and Y/n really wanted more and more. She sighed. “Az.”

“I know.” He growled. Frustration didn’t even begin to cover this.

Azriel brought her leg above his and slowly thrusted into her, eliciting a moan. Her body curved, neck exposed for his mouth.

“Now, sleep.” Wait. What?

He pressed a wet kiss to her throat.

“Can’t sleep.” It felt so warm. And now that his cock was inside her, she couldn’t help her need.

“It’s the only relief.” He kissed her shoulder.

“It’s not.” She whimpered. It was torture not to be fucked by that perfect cock. “Please.”

“Like that?” Azriel thrusted once.

“Oh yes.” And he thrusted again. The slow thrusts began, pace never faltering. Y/n was feeling more and more and she wanted to take more.

“Dirty girl. I thought you were tired.” Azriel was now setting a slow, steady pace.

“I thought that too.” She sighed. “Az!” She nearly shrieked his name when he sped up for a few seconds. “Wait.”

Azriel paused, examining her face. “What happened?”

Y/n bent her leg and pushed herself up so she was now straddling Azriel.

“Fuck me.” He sighed, hands coming to her hips.

Y/n felt her sensuality bloom. It felt good to know her effect on him. To know she had control. She rose and descended on his cock twice. “Like this?”

She then rotated her hips and rose and descended. “Or like this?”

Azriel’s eyes were shut tightly, grip on her hips tightening. “Fuck.”

This was liberating. To be sexually empowered. Especially when Azriel made his pleasure known, thereby making her feel like she was good. She felt wonderful. And she felt beautiful and sensual and so many things.

“Or like this?” And she willed herself to clench on his cock.

Azriel opened his eyes instantly and moaned—moaned.

Pride zapped her in the chest. To know that she could pleasure her man and find pleasure in it was such an empowering feeling.

And when she loosened her hold on him, he pulled her by the hand and let her fall on his chest. “My dirty girl.”

Azriel bit her ear and Y/n felt him move his legs. His thighs moved and her face was suddenly pushed closer to his. “Az?”

“Prepare yourself.” That was the only warning she received before Azriel thrusted into her like that. He was now rigorously thrusting inside.

Y/n then realised that he’d planted his feet on the bed for this position. She lifted her neck, floating high above the clouds in pleasure, waiting to fall and shatter.

She couldn’t control her sounds. Whether it was a man or sigh or a groan, neither of them cared. She loved that both her and Azriel made their pleasure known and loud.

Her head fell against his shoulder, incoherent cries leaving her as she tried to beg Azriel. She didn’t even know if she wanted him to stop or continue.

Everything felt too good. The feel of his skin against hers. The sweat. The sounds. The hurried kisses. The grip on her hips. Being on top. And most of all—his cock.

The harsh slapping of wet skin against skin contributed to her pleasure, reminding her again and again exactly what was happening. With a lewd moan, she found her pleasure.

Azriel continued his unrelenting thrusts, his grip tightening as he came. He began stroking her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. “My perfect girl.”

They laid there in silence before Y/n began shivering. She was on top of him with no blanket covering her and the cold was getting to her. Goosebumps rose and she shivered before Azriel came out of his post-orgasm haze and realised what was happening.

He immediately pulled the blanket over them, ensuring she was covered and she snuggled against him like a cat.

Gods, she’d keep this man.

Not just because she had real feelings for him or because the sex was fucking fantastic but because he was a great source of warmth.

The warmth was a cosy feeling but his body in general was quite like a pavement. So once she gained her strength, Y/n moved to the side, choosing to settle there, curled against Azriel. He turned and caged her in his arms.

“What are you doing to me?” Azriel whispered against her ear.

Y/n looked him in the eye and replied. “Probably whatever it is that you’re doing to me.”

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200

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lkblackham · 24 days ago

Text

I want to update No Time To Apologize. But unfortunately it's Yearly Review Season over at my university. So I will content myself with this very sad but also very fluffy fic I wrote (very slowly and sporadically, over the course of several weeks) and illustrated instead.

There's a lot of hugging in it, which I think we could always use more of, even when the world isn't on fire.

I also would like to mention that I very accidentally wrote this right around the time @dragonracer's fic, The Moments Between, came to a very similar point in their story with their most recent chapters. It's really really REALLY great and it destroys my heart and makes me sob uncontrollably and I highly recommend it.

Read mine below the cut or on AO3. But also read The Moments Between. Very important. They actually have, like, a consistent long-form story. I just randomly drop chapters as it occurs to me.

It was a bright, sunny day in the Crossroads. But then again, it was always a bright, sunny day in the Crossroads, at least in Haven.

“Looks like the Antaam have mostly cleared out,” Atash remarked, shielding her eyes from the sun as they walked through the deceptively serene tropical landscape. “Think we scared them off for good, or they’re just waiting until we stop checking?”

“Until those who control them are gone, I imagine they’ll continue in their attempts to take the Crossroads for the gods.” Emmrich’s thoughtful voice drifted over from where he knelt nearby, closely examining a group of ethereal green butterflies fluttering about a small tree. “But there have certainly been fewer of them as of late.”

“I’ll bet their resolve’s breaking.” Bellara declared. “They never liked being in the Fade, and they really didn’t like working with the Venatori. Now the Dragon King’s gone, and the Butcher’s losing steam, I’ll bet most of them are jumping ship. Only the really crazy ones are staying.”

“You know, you might be right there.” Atash said thoughtfully, stepping through a particularly thick patch of shrubs covered in pink flowers. “But I feel like officially saying that out loud might jinx it, so we’ll stick with ‘they’re just regrouping’ for now.”

“Wise words, in such a place.” Emmrich reappeared at Atash’s side, but was clearly ready to bolt off again at any moment. He never seemed to tire of their journeys through the Crossroads, even if they walked the same paths over and over again. It was a bit like walking with a child down an alley of sweet shops.

Atash didn’t mind. She quite enjoyed traveling with Emmrich and Bellara. After traveling with so many hardened travel veterans like Varric and Lace, it was refreshing to be around people who got so excited over everything. Even if she didn’t understand half of what they said, despite being a mage herself.

Bellara halted ahead, causing Atash to nearly crash into her. “Rook,” she said, voice tense, “there's someone big up ahead. Behind the trees.”

Atash looked to where she indicated. Hidden behind a jumble of thick green foliage, she could see a large, hunched figure shuffling through the shadows, about ten meters or so ahead. Squinting, she could discern the outline of a Qunari with flat-filed horns, arms bound together at the hands by thick metal cuffs, chains dragging in the dirt.

She felt her heart drop.

“That's-”

The figure raised their head, suddenly made aware of their presence. Sunlight glinted off of the eyeless golden mask obscuring their face, ears twitching. They rose to their full height, and Atash felt the energy rush around her towards them as they rose into the air, curling their limbs into their body.

In a beat, she grabbed Emmrich and Bellara and dragged them back, Fade-stepping through the air as far as she could go before the chained Qunari mage released the power he had gathered.

She managed to get them away from the worst of it, but not far enough to escape the blast radius completely. She had the presence of mind to release Emmrich and Bellara, pushing them clear of her as the blast caught them.

They were thrown several feet forward, Atash landing face-first into the mercifully soft sand. Ears ringing, she quickly scrambled to her feet, looking around for her companions.

To her relief, they hadn't been thrown too far, or too hard. Bellara was already on her feet, bow at the ready, and Emmrich wasn't far behind, brushing himself off as he whirled his staff around into a defensive stance.

Atash turned back towards the origin of the explosion.

The Saarebas.

He was now some distance away, a large, hulking figure kneeling on the ground, hunched over his bound arms. His blast had decimated the plant life around him, flattening the trees and shrubs, dislodging massive rocks from the dirt, creating a small crater in which he now knelt.

If they had been caught in that blast, they would have been mush.

Atash stretched out an arm, wordlessly telling Bellara and Emmrich to stay behind her.

“Rook-” Emmrich started.

“Wait.” She stepped forward cautiously, eyes narrowing as she looked around. “Where's his Arvaarad?”

“His what?” Bellara's voice chimed.

“Arvaarad - leash holder.” Atash took a few more cautious steps forward.

The Saarebas didn't move. She could see his broad shoulders rise and fall with his heavy breathing, the slight tremor in his muscles. He wasn't crouched, ready to spring up into another attack - he was sunk to the ground, arms limp, head bowed.

Exhausted. Depleted.

She could tell that he heard them, though. His ear twitched, and he had tilted his head ever so slightly in their direction.

But there was no sign of the Arvaarad. And as Atash moved closer, she could see the ring on his collar, where his leash would be attached, was broken. He had no leash.

He had no Arvaarad.

Atash halted, still a good ten feet away from the Saarebas. He didn't move.

“... Saarebas?” She ventured.

Still no movement.

“I am Vashoth.” Atash said, in Qunlat. “I am with two others. We did not know you were here. We have no wish to harm you.”

Stillness again, for a moment.

And then he burst into flames.

“NO!” Atash ran forward, calling ice to her hand, throwing all she could into it, to quench the flames, to stop him before he was beyond reach-

But the fire was too intense. Her ice evaporated in the air the moment she conjured it. Where's Neve? she thought desperately, as she leapt forward, abandoning the ice for soil that she ripped from the ground in a wave to cover him. She barely registered her companions behind her, Emmrich yelling something -

-and then she was thrown back once again by a blast of hot, hot air, her wave of soil splattering to the ground. She felt searing pain on her outstretched palms and fingers, down her arms, on her chest and face, as she slammed into the ground.

The sand was still soft, but with such force it might as well have been rock, as it knocked the wind out of her, leaving her gasping for air, vision blurry.

“ROOK!”

Hands grabbed her shoulders, dragging her back. She gasped, trying to get air back in her lungs, trying to get back to her feet so she could save him-

“Rook - ROOK. STOP.” Hands that had been pulling her were now holding her down. They were surprisingly strong.

“Can't…” Atash wheezed, “He- I have to-”

“Rook. Atash.”

Emmrich's voice spoke softly, but firmly, above her head. There was a slight tremor to it, though, as he said, “He's dead.”

Atash fell still. Her body suddenly felt like it was made of lead.

She didn't save him.

She couldn't save him.

“Rook.” Emmrich's voice spoke again, tone urgent. “We must get you back to the Lighthouse. Quickly.” She felt hands underneath her arms, attempting to pull her up.

“What-” her lungs were still struggling to hold on to air. She coughed, gasping.

“Rook, come on!” Bellara joined Emmrich in pulling at her shoulders. With their combined strength, and life slowly returning to Atash’s legs, they managed to get her to her feet.

As her vision cleared, Atash saw the smoking, blackened remains of the Saarebas. The fire he had conjured was so hot, it had killed him and torched his body in an instant. The sand around him had been melted into a warped circle of glass.

She had been incredibly lucky that she didn’t get torched herself, she realized faintly, barely able to collect her thoughts amidst the sudden and intense searing pain now radiating from her face, chest and hands. She hissed, shutting her eyes tightly.

“Here.” Emmrich's thin arm threaded around hers, guiding her without taking her burnt hands. “Bellara-”

“Right here.” Atash felt Bellara's arm, made bulky by her elven gadgetry, on her other side. “Come on, let's go. Quick.”

Atash was pulled forward, her companions guiding her somewhere in the direction of the Caretaker's ferry. She managed to blink her eyes open, her eyeballs mercifully intact but the skin of her cheeks and nose blistered.

“You don't have to help me,” she said faintly, “I can-”

Emmrich tightened his hold on her arm. “You,” he said, voice uncharacteristically hard, “for once, will listen.”

That stilled her. She fell silent, head lowering - like she was twelve again, being scolded by her teacher, Tide.

Tide. An ex-Saarebas.

Her chest now ached, along with the blistered skin.

Emmrich took a deep, steadying breath beside her. “Let’s… let’s go back to the Lighthouse, to my laboratory. Quickly.” He shifted himself a little under her weight. “Lean on us, dearest.” he said, voice soft. “Please.”

The hackles rose immediately under Atash’s skin. Her whole body tensed. Her mother’s voice spoke in her mind: don’t be a burden, Ataashri. You’re a lot bigger. They can’t carry you.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Her skin burned, the white-hot, searing pain radiating all the way out from her front to her spine, down to her toes. She couldn’t bear to open her eyes. Her limbs could not move properly, bound up by the agony of the skin that covered them.

Neither can I, ‘Ma.

He placed his hands on either side of her face, his touch light and gentle. She felt the cool, soothing touch of his magic flowing over her, taking the edge off the burning itch of her blistered skin rapidly healing all at once.

She allowed herself to droop, her weight now held up by Emmrich’s and Bellara’s hold. Together, with surprisingly little effort, they were able to help her limp forward, towards the direction of the dock.

***

“There.” Emmrich said quietly, running a thumb over the soft new skin of her cheek. “I'm afraid you've lost a bit of your tattoo, but there shouldn't be any scarring.”

“Small price to pay, I guess.” Atash sighed, opening her eyes, blinking through the blurriness to see Emmrich's tall, lean form standing before her in his warmly lit laboratory.

“Hm.” Before his face could come back into focus, Emmrich had turned away from her, walking over to one of the shelves beside his desk, which appeared to hold various herbal concoctions in a variety of mysteriously labeled bottles. “A small price, indeed, for such a dangerous act.”

His tone was even, calm, but Atash’s heart sank further in her chest to hear it. She looked down at her hands in her lap, blistered palms even more horrific looking than she had thought.

“I know it was stupid.”

Emmrich paused, hand on the jar of elfroot balm. He looked over at her, sitting on the stone table, hunched over, staring at the burned flesh of her palms.

He silently took the balm down from the shelf, and walked over to the table, setting the jar down beside Atash. He sat down on the stool in front of her, and cradled one of her hands in his, barely even touching her skin. With his other hand, he neatly dipped two fingers into the balm, and with great care began to smear it over the burns on her palm.

She hissed a little under her breath, but otherwise did not react to the balm’s initial sting.

“Then, why did you do it?” Emmrich asked, quietly.

His voice wasn’t angry, not even rough. He just sounded… sad.

Atash closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of the balm numbing her burns, taking away the searing hot pain as he spread it over her hand.

“I wanted to save him.” she said.

There was a pause, as Emmrich seemed to be waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he spoke carefully: “I have seen you act when lives are immediately at stake many times. I have never seen you act so… desperately, as you did today.”

Atash took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through her nose. When she spoke, her voice was barely controlled, a slight tremor threatening to give way at any moment.

“I did it because…. I didn’t see him. I saw me.”

He halted, looking up into her face. She wasn’t sure what she looked like right then, but she did know tears stung at her eyes, threatening to fall. She was clenching her jaw, heart pounding, trying so desperately not to let out the terrible tsunami of emotions roiling within her.

If she gave even a little, she would lose herself completely. And she couldn’t do that. Not now. Not in front of him. Not in front of anybody.

“Atash.” Emmrich’s voice was low, and soft. She couldn’t see his face, as the tears blurred her vision, but she felt his hand slide up to cup her cheek, taking care not to get balm on her face.

“You wanna know what my greatest fear is, Emmrich?” Atash said, voice tight and rough. Don’t fall apart, don’t fall apart, don’t- “That. What - what they do to the Saarebas. I’m afraid of that.”

She felt his other hand on her face, warmth framing her cheeks. She shut her eyes tightly, feeling shame burn her insides as the tears trickled down her face.

“Kadan.”

The word, so familiar to her, yet so strange in his voice, stilled her tremors for a moment, as surprise briefly overtook everything else.

“Let go.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “There is nothing to fear here. You are safe.”

“I-I don’t…” she brought the back of her wrist to her eyes, trying to cover her face, “I can't… not… i-in front of…”

He slid a hand to the back of her neck, reaching with his other around her back, gently pulling her down towards him. She found herself burying her face into his shoulder, tears now soaking into his crisp shirt.

“There.” He whispered. “No longer in front of me. I don't see anything.”

These words, with the warmth of his arms around her, the soft green smell of him enveloping her, cracked through her decimated defenses. She went limp against him, sobbing uncontrollably, mercifully muffled by Emmrich's shirt.

Atash hadn't cried in over twelve years. Not since her mother had died. She had been so proud of that. Thought it meant she had moved beyond needing to cry at all. That the tears she shed at the side of her mother's corpse during the nightlong vigil had been all the tears she could ever possibly have in her body.

But now, crying like a child into Emmrich's shoulder, getting tears and snot all over his beautiful Orlesian-made shirt, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs… she realized she hadn't evolved out of crying. She had just been saving it up. Every disappointment, every heartbreak, every injury - it was all still there, packed away tightly in some dark corner of her heart.

But after the last year and a half - a series of near-death experiences, pain, failure, and constant, never-ceasing fear eating away at her…. there was no more room in that corner to pack away the Saarebas. It was just too much.

It was all just too much.

Emmrich was quiet throughout her weeping. Until she started to hyperventilate.

“Here, breathe, darling. With me: slowly, in-,”

“I…c-can't… b-breathe-”

“Yes, you can, Atash. I promise you, you can.” He brought his hand down from the back of her neck to her chest, which was rapidly going in and out with her short, gasping breaths. “Trust in me. Here, in….”

She attempted to draw in a deep breath, gasping a few times along the way - but getting the air in her all the same, following along with Emmrich as he breathed in.

“...and, slowly, out…”

She let the air out, her breath stuttering only a little.

They went through the exercise a few more times, him breathing along with her, until Atash's breathing had settled. She now drooped over Emmrich, completely drained of tears, energy and fear. For the time being, anyway.

“‘m sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Whatever for, darling?”

“Everything.” she sighed. “Gods’re my fault. Blight’s my fault. Saarebas’s my fault.” She took another deep, shuddering breath. “Brought you here to be a Fade expert, instead you got Harding needing to be stitched up every other day and me crying all over you. Pretty raw deal.”

“Hmm.” He stroked her back in small, soothing circles. “There are, indeed, many aspects to this role I did not anticipate, and I'm all the happier for it. Hardly a “raw deal”.” He gave her shoulder a light pat. “And I have it on good authority that you are not, in fact, the one who decided to singlehandedly end the world.”

She allowed herself to let out a small, drained chuckle. He tightened his arms around her.

“Atash… there was nothing you could have done for him.” he said, voice low and serious. “Not without his willingness.”

“.... I know.” She let out another breath, closing her eyes. “Part of me does, anyway.”

Emmrich's arms tightened a little further. He shifted, so his forehead rested on her shoulder. She could hear him more clearly in this small, warm, muffled space they made with their bodies, as he murmured, “You never stop trying, do you?”

Another tiny, tired tear dropped down her nose and on to his shirt. “He was alone.” she whispered. “He was so scared. He probably thought he'd been infected by demons already, without his Arvaarad.”

“There was no sign of any possession that I could see…”

“That doesn't matter to them.” Atash sighed. “You know what Saarebas means, in Trade?”

“Hmm.” Emmrich gave the question serious thought. “Bas translates to ‘thing’, yes? In reference to foreigners?”

“In reference to those who do not follow the Qun.” she said, dully. “Those who are useless things, until they accept the Qun. Unless you're born a mage. Then it doesn't matter. You're doomed no matter what you do.” She took another deep, shuddering breath. “Saarebas means ‘dangerous thing’. The second a kid under the Qun manifests their magic… they're chained up and put in a pen. They aren't taught how to use their magic. They have to figure it out on their own, just to survive. All they ever learn is how to…” her voice caught in her throat. She took a breath, tried again. “How to… blow up. Or… make things blow up. They're literally living bombs that can set themselves off over and over again. And that's why the Qunari allow them to live. They're useful. Except they're still bas. No matter what they do.”

The sharp bitterness that entered Atash's voice surprised even her.

“That…” Emmrich took a deep breath. Even though she couldn't see his face, she could tell he was horrified. “I… had heard rumors, read many histories, but… the stories of what the Qunari do to their mages, I had assumed to be exaggeration. Born of prejudice and propaganda.”

“Might be true of some stories about the Qun.” Atash said dully, “But not these stories.”

“Maker's breath.” Emmrich whispered. He hugged her even more tightly. “Atash.” He said, with grim determination, “I swear, as long as I live, as long as any of us live, that will never happen to you. We will not allow it. Even after I draw my last breath, I swear on my life and any un-life I live that I will not allow any such thing to happen to you.”

She felt her body go stone still. Felt her usual compulsion in such circumstances, to dismiss it with a smiling affirmation that she was okay, she was just tired and overworked. Cover up that deep inner ache with a dumb joke, to make it seem like it didn't matter to her as much as it did.

Because to show that this mattered, meant showing that soft, vulnerable, weak side of herself she couldn't bear getting hurt. Couldn't bear putting it on display, to be used against her later.

But this wasn't a display. This wasn't Gisela. This wasn't her Lords crew. This wasn’t the team gathered at the library table planning missions.

This was Emmrich, in his laboratory, letting her ruin his lovely linen shirt with her crying. Hugging her still, even after all that. An elegant beanpole of a man half a foot shorter than her, arms wrapped protectively around her, shielding her heavily scarred, hard-muscled form from the world.

“.... You promise?” She heard herself say, in a voice she hadn't heard in well over a decade - the small, quiet, uncertain voice of teenage Atash, the one she'd thought died and buried with her mother.

He turned his face to her cheek, breath warm against her skin as he spoke.

“Always.”

She drooped against his shoulder, body sagging with deep relief.

She hadn't ever told anyone about her greatest fear, she realized. By this point, everyone knew about her fears of thunderstorms, of drowning, of small dark spaces, but no one knew about this, about the Saarebas. About being stuck in a slaver's brig. About being trapped and alone.

Except now Emmrich did. And he was still here. Warm and green and kind and loving and good.

I love you.

“Thank you.” she whispered.

He kissed her cheek. “Always.”

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angelhyun · 18 days ago

Text

back to sleep - ldh

[a/n]: happy birthday to my gemini twin ayyy

pairing: bf!lee donghyuck x reader

[wc]: 626, short n sweet

-> cw: none, just pure fluff :)

prelude: Hyuck never got days off. Everybody knew that, especially the poor man himself, working harder than anyone you've ever known. That’s why it catches you by surprise when you wake up with him in bed next to you, making you feel like it was your birthday instead of his. TLDR: A cute, lazy morning in bed with Hyuck on his birthday.

11:59pm

You anxiously waited until midnight, a minute going by way slower than it would on a normal day. Your fingers danced over the keyboard as you prepared to hit the send button, your message already typed and ready to go.

12:00am

happy birthday baby!!! i love u so much more than words could ever express and i hope u never forget how unconditionally proud i am of u. you’re truly my full sun in a world that can be so gloomy :,) hope to celebrate with u soon my love, sleep well <3

You stay on your chat for a bit, hoping to see him typing, but you knew he was likely with his members. It didn’t upset you, as you knew they loved and cared for him just as much as you did. Content with the thought, you put your phone down, curling up into your blankets as you drifted off to sleep.

His hands were running through your hair as your head laid comfortably on his lap. He was leaning against a cherry blossom tree, the petals drifting through the wind, surrounding you both in a peaceful pink haze. “Hyuck,” you started, looking up at him. He looked ethereal, dark brown bangs resting beautifully on his honey skin—the laidback look in his eyes as he gazed down at you, albeit full of love. He didn’t answer, eyes simply boring into yours. “I love you.” you say softly. He remains still, as if he already knows, the words having no drastic effect on him.

Your eyes suddenly open, the sun beaming through your windows, casting a bright light that you assumed woke you up in addition to your dream. You dreamt of your boyfriend quite often, which he found very endearing. He’d cockily tease that he was always on your mind, though you’d never admit he was right. Despite feeling quite refreshed, you felt like you hadn’t even gone to sleep—as if time didn’t pass since your head hit your pillow.

You decide to turn to grab your phone, wanting to check the time. What you didn’t expect, when you turned, was to have a figure laying next to you. That same dark brown hair from your dream was the only thing that was visible above the covers, making you sit up in surprise, waking the man with your sudden sharp movement. “Baby…” he croaks, voice hoarse from the sudden awakening.

You furrow your brows. Was this still part of the dream? You pinch yourself, concluding that it wasn’t. “Hyuck?” you question softly. He turns to face you, now hugging your waist. “Go back to sleep,” he whines. “It’s too early to be awake.” You immediately lie back down, snuggling yourself closer to your man. You were so surprised. He was home earlier than expected, meaning you’d get to celebrate together.

“Happy birthday, baby.” you whisper into the crook of his neck, a smile adorning your face. “Thank you, honey.” he says sleepily. “Did you get my text?” you ask, clearly not reading the room. He yawns before nodding. “It was cute. Thank you again.” he puts on a tired smile, eyes still closed.

“Since you’re here, does that mean we can celebrate later?” you ask, clearly excited about the day to come. “Yes, later.” he croaks again. “I’m jet lagged. Let’s just cuddle and go back to sleep, yeah?” he asks. You nod and give him a gentle kiss, him reciprocating. “Okay, Hyuckie.” you grin, happy with the compromise. “I’m so lucky,” you coo, fingers playing with his hair like he did in your dream. “It’s not even my birthday, yet you’re surprising me.”

“I know, I’m just perfect, aren’t I?” he teases, earning a playful flick on the forehead from you.

[a/n]: literally just got home now (at 1am) and felt the urge to write smth for haechan’s birthday 🙂‍↕️ i’m dedicated to my craft. anyways, please stay tuned for partition part 2–not too sure if i’m going to give it another name yet or just call it that LMAO also i’m posting on mobile for the first time so sorry if the layout is scuffed. as always, thank u for reading ^3^

#lee haechan #lee haechan x reader #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuk x reader #haechan #haechan x reader #haechan fluff #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck fluff #happy birthday haechan #nct 127 drabbles #nct dream drabbles #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader

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just1cefor4ll · 1 month ago

Text

—Tavo akys

Lukas Radzevičius x f!reader

summary. as a storm began to form you stumble upon a band in desperate need of a producer

translations. Tavo akys yra nežemiškos = your eyes are ethereal. Mylimoji = Beloved, Brangioji = Dearest

It was a rainy day, the clouds were turning a dark grey as the approaching thunderstorm only worsened.

The streets of Vilnius were full with panicked mothers who were scrambling to get their children home so they wouldn’t catch the worst cold of their lives. However some teens were laughing, enjoying the beauty of nature’s chaos. One young adult in particular stood out with her unique umbrella in hand— the old sun designs with a ‘hippie’ look to it added to her charm as she tried to get the attention of the passers by, however few acknowledged what she had to say.

You had just opened a small studio for upcoming artists— or even big artists to record their music in, and currently you were on the hunt for said artists— in the worst weather possible..

A group of people also decided to go out in this pure hell of a weather, approaching from behind you as they seaked shelter as soon as humanly possible. You noticed them from the corner of your eye— and as they were about to pass you decided to try your luck one last time. “Excuse me—“

The four of them turned, their sudden attention making your heart stutter. You froze for a second, realizing you’d caught them mid-hurry, and scrambled to get your words out. “I— hi, sorry, I just opened a music studio a few blocks down, and I—” You quickly lifted your umbrella, tilting it to try and shield them from the rain as best you could. “I was wondering if you could maybe take these?” You held out a small stack of flyers, the paper trembling just a bit in your hand. “If you know anyone who might be looking for a place to rehearse or record, I’d really appreciate it. I’ve got, um, a pretty open schedule right now.”

They all looked at you like they’d just seen an angel, exchanging quick glances you didn’t quite catch. The blonde with the slightly long hair took the flyers, his eyes meeting yours for a beat that made your heart feel a little unsteady.

“How much do you charge?” he asked, voice low but curious.

You smiled, trying to keep your tone light. “25€ an hour, but I’m flexible depending on how long or often you want to use the space.” You pulled out your phone, opening Instagram before handing it over. “Here, follow yourself. We can figure something out when it’s not, you know, pouring.”

He nodded, tapping a few buttons before handing your phone back. The group gave you a final nod before turning back to their path.

“Thanks,” the girl of the group called over her shoulder. “We’ll let you know.”

Just a week later after he had sent you a message, they showed up at the studio where you discussed the details of when and what times they’d want the studio and how much you’d charge which all got settled pretty quickly, they weren’t picky at all to your surprise because that was one trait almost all artists had when you worked as an assistant in a studio. It was refreshing to have a few humble people in after a while.

The weeks with them in went smoothly, their style of music was admireable and you soon found out it was very similair to your own music taste which was amazing to hear that you wouldn’t have to endure some bad rappers for who knows how long.

You pressed record as Emilija played the bass of the song, getting lost in the tune. It sort of reminded you of the time you first met— a song you’d listen to in that kind of weather and chaos. Curiosity got the best of you and after 2 weeks of recording you decided to ask. “So, what’s the song for? An album, a single?” You spin in your chair as Emilija sat down with the rest of the group behind you on the dark orange couch, Jokūbas being the only one sitting on the red samira carpet— the worn out designs of it telling stories of the many others doing the same thing— the kind of old thing you’d find at your grandmas house.

“Eurovision, actually. We’ll be competeting against other Lithuanian artists first to see if we even get in next month.” Your jaw was on the floor as Alanas explained. You were producing a song for Eurovision— the biggest song contest in Europe? “Wow— I, uh expected anything but that.” You smiled awkwardly, the others chuckling at your reaction. “Yeah, we’re just a band with a dream.” Alanas jokes but the others just side eye him. “Out of all the jokes he could’ve made..” Jokūbas sighs, but breathes out a laugh nonetheless.

For about a month, you had perfected the song—every detail sculpted into something meaningful and beautiful— memorable even. But as the audition date neared, you were hit with unexpected news; the song needed to be altered, and not in a way you could fix overnight.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Alanas sighed, leaning against your recording table. “Why didn’t they say anything sooner? Are they that dim witted?” Jokūbas added, making you rub your temples. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to think of the fastest way to alter a song this drastically on such short notice. But really, there was no way—you needed time.

With a sudden burst of determination, you grabbed your phone and started scrolling, Emilija standing up to peek at what you were doing.

You dialed a number she didn’t recognize, and after a few rings, a man’s voice picked up. “Hello, this is Rimvydas Černiauskas.” They all froze, eyes widening as if you’d just summoned a ghost. “Holy shit,” Lukas whispered, the group instinctively clinging to each other like a makeshift human shield.

You took a steadying breath before speaking.

“Hello, Mr. Černiauskas, this is [Name] [Last Name], songwriter and producer. I’m currently working with Katarsis on a track we’ve been perfecting for the upcoming selections. We were just informed, quite unexpectedly, that the song requires significant changes. Given the nature of these adjustments, I’d like to respectfully request a delay in the selection process, if at all possible.”

The group continued to clutch each other, silently praying as they awaited his response, their nervous energy crackling in the air.

“I understand your position, but you must realize we’re working on a tight schedule. These selections are already on a strict timeline.” You tightened your grip on the phone, sweat forming on your palms. “I completely understand, sir. Believe me, we wouldn’t make this request if it weren’t absolutely necessary. We just want to make sure the song is the best it can be, not just for us, but for the integrity of the selection itself.”

Another pause, the kind that feels like it stretches for hours. You could practically hear Alanas and Emilija holding their breath behind you.

“I appreciate your commitment to quality,” he said, his tone softening just a fraction. “How much time are you asking for?” You glanced at Lukas, who held up 7 fingers. “Ideally, an extra week would give us the time we need to polish the adjustments properly. But even a few days would make a significant difference.”

You heard the rustle of papers on his end, and the faint creak of a chair as if he was leaning back, weighing the request.

“Alright,” he finally said, exhaling a bit as if making the decision had relieved some of his own tension. “I can extend the deadline by four days, but no more. I expect the final version to be nothing short of impressive.”

A wave of relief crashed over you, nearly buckling your knees. “Thank you, sir. We won’t disappoint.”

“See that you don’t,” he replied, the hint of a grin slipping into his voice before the line clicked dead.

You lowered your phone, a long sigh escaping your lips as you wiped the sweat off your palms. “We have four days, not a second longer.” You looked up to see Lukas coming to hug you with the others. “Shit, [Name] you’re amazing.” Alanas praised. “Yeah we could’ve said goodbye to Eurovision if you didn’t just save us like that as if it was nothing.” Lukas pulled away and put a hand on your shoulder. “Thanks širdutė.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you smiled softly— not knowing what to do and so you put a hand over his that was on your shoulder. “Of course.” He then awkwardly put his hand back in his pockets, making you clear youe throat. “Okay, chop chop we have work to do.” You clasped your hands together and everyone nodded— getting their instruments and walking into the recording room.

sunnystudios

liked by lukas_radz, eurovision, user772631119, katarsisgyvas and 1.7K others

sunnystudios recording sesh w/ @.katarsis :D

210 commented

katarsisgyvas 👍👍 lmao

sunnystudios replied 👍👍👍

That day, you never even thought for a second that you'd be packing for Eurovision, flying to Basel for the semi-finals just two months after Katarsis won the auditions. It all felt like a dream—you hadn’t even expected them to ask you to come along. But then Lukas messaged you, basically announcing that you were coming with.

“But what about the studio? I need money for tickets and hotels which I currently do not have, and my family..” you stammered over the phone, nerves crashing in. But it was like he’d already planned a solution for every worry you might have, and before you knew it, he’d somehow charmed you into saying yes.

Once in Basel, you met so many amazing people. You found yourself spending late nights in Sissal’s hotel room with Miriana, JJ, and Kyle. They were all so sweet and welcoming, treating you as their equal even though your role was a bit more behind the scenes. “Without people like you, our songs wouldn’t come to life,” Sissal once said, her smile warm and genuine, and the words wrapped around you like a comforting hug, washing away your lingering doubts.

You’d head back to your own room afterward, lying on the stiff, unfamiliar bed, thinking about how lucky you were to have met the quiet band. Without them, you’d still be back in Lithuania, hoping for clients to walk into your little studio, just trying to get by.

sunny_y/n

liked by sunnystudios, emoon_bass, ziferblat_band, erikavikman and 4.8K others

sunny_y/n introverts in a room full of extroverts raise your hands ✋

328 commented

emoon_bass ✋✋

lukas_radz ✋

ageofadonxs bye why am I so tall compared to eveyome

bara_vaeb were serving in this pic bro dm it to us

Once the second semi-finals came around, you were nervously fiddling with your fingers, clutching the lithuanian flag in your hands as if it was the last thing you’d ever hold. Everyone seemed so much more relaxed— and even if they were nervous, they didn’t let it show. “Hey, breathe. Even if we don’t get in the finale, we at least got to meet you through all of this.” Emilija smiled softly, putting a hand around your shoulder and listened in for the results as the first qualifier was to be announced.

“The first country to qualify for the grand final is..”

“Lithuania!”

You jumped up in excitement, and Emilija followed a second later as you all celebrated the unbelievable achievement. You hugged each of them tightly, your heart still racing with the rush of it all. But when you reached Lukas, he grabbed you by the waist and put a hand on your cheek, pressing his lips to yours before pulling you into a tight hug. “We did it, Brangioji.”

The others erupted into whistles and cheers, making the whole thing feel even more surreal. You slid back into your seat, now wedged between Lukas and Emilija, your face burning as you stared straight ahead, too stunned to say a word.

As the final country was announced, you noticed Adonxs standing off to the side, clearly devastated. You quickly crossed the room to him, pulling him into a hug. You'd spent a lot of time together during this whirlwind, and you hated to see him like this.

“I’m so sorry, Adam. I know this meant a lot to you,” you said, squeezing his shoulder as you pulled back.

“I’ll be okay,” he managed, offering you a sad smile. “I’m glad your gang made it to the finals. I’ll be cheering for you.”

Before you could say more, Sissal, Miriana, Erika, and JJ swarmed you, still buzzing from the announcement.

“[Name], we saw what happened with you and Lukas! What the hell are you doing go get your man hoe!” JJ teased, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a playful hug.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’m just—I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think he liked me like that.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Lukas smiling softly with the rest of your bandmates, catching your eye as the crowd started to thin out. The night felt like a dream, the kind you hoped you wouldn’t wake up from.

sissaljo

liked by sunny_y/n, ageofadonxs, johannesjjpietsch, nemothings and 47.8K others

sissaljo so happy to have been able to meet all these wonderful people 🤍

19K commneted

sunny_y/n :,) <33

johannesjjpietsch why am i not on any of these pics ????? haha okay

sissaljo replied shut up twink love you the most

(A/N: in the second pic, the blonde is sissal and the brunnete is you, but of course you can imagine yourself however you want <3333)

sunny_studios

liked by alanas.brasas, lukas_radz, emoon_bass, jandriulius, schkodraelektronike and 3.2K others

sunnystudios so so so so proud of my lil gang :,) <3 @.katarsisgyvas

111 commneted

You soon said your goodbyes and headed to your hotel, but in stead of going to your room— you turned to the groups room which was just a floor higher then your own.

With a gentle knock, you patiently waited for someone to open up, and just a moment later Jokūbas opened the door.

“Hey, the lover boy has been going crazy over you. You should talk.” He stepped out for a second, giving you a hug. “I’m glad it’s you. We’ve all taken quite the liking to you, [Name].” He ruffled your hair and opened up the door. “Lukas! Someone’s here for you!” He yelled into the room and smiled at you one last time before going inside, letting Lukas out before closing the door behind him.

You stared at your shoes, unsure where to look as you walked down the hotel corridor. Lukas walked beside you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes fixed ahead—probably just as nervous as you.

He cleared his throat, glancing down at the carpeted floor. “I’m sorry if what I did was.. too much. Too public, if you know what I mean. I should’ve told you how I feel in private.” He muttered, stepping out into the cold Basel air. “I hope you’re not upset. I noticed you ran off after what I did, and I’ll understand if the feelings aren’t mutual.” He met your gate, his blue eyes contrasting with your own. Reaching out, he took your hands in his, as if about to recite vows for your wedding. “But if you do happen to share these feelings with me, it would be an honour for you to let me be your boyfriend.” He breathed out, his hands cold and slightly shaky as he smiled softly.

You stared at him, speechless as he let go of your hands, giving you some space. His words slowly started to sink in— he liked you, and he was confessing it.

It would have never crossed your mind, but as you let yourself think about it, there’s always been some feelings lingering for him in the back of your mind, you just never let yourself feel them. But now, as the cold air swept through his hair, his eyes staring deep into yours, it all came crashing down on you. It was as if a stronge sense of longing had overcome you— and now it felt impossible to let go. “Tavo akys yra nežemiškos.” He cupped both of your cheeks, rubbing comforting circles on them.

You put your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest. He didn’t hesitate to pull you closer, wrapping you in his jacket to shield you from the cold— and then you finally spoke. “I don’t know how it happened, nor how you managed to slip into my heart but I think I’ve loved you this whole time.”

You look up at him, a soft smile forming on your lips and when you did he let himself smile too, probably the brightest you’d ever seen. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, cupping your cheek

“I love you more Mylimoji.” He leaned closer, pressing soft kisses against your lips, and in that moment— you knew you were down bad.

lukas_radz

liked by sunny_y/n, emoon_bass, jandriulius, alanas.brasas, ziferblat_band and 9.4K others

lukas_radz @.sunny_y/n 🤍

206 commented

jandriulius i knew itttt

emoon_bass <33333

sissaljo feeling like a proud mother

——————————————————————————

#⚖️just1cefor4ll #lukas radzevičius x reader #katarsis x reader #katarsis #eurovision 2025 x reader #eurovision x reader #esc x reader #esc 2025 #eurovision 2025 #eurovision fanfiction #eurovision

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