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ashes-writing · 1 year

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outer banks ● (not) just friends ● t. thornton

warnings:

idiots in love trope, slight hints of jealous!Topper -blame Rafe, kissing + the saliva that goes along with that, mentions of injury, an awkward first kiss. writer is making an attempt to break out of a rut and clear some rust.

word count:

probably nearing 1k. one shot.

summary:

prompts borrowed from ( this list ) .

You've been fighting the way you feel about your new best friend Topper Thornton for months now and it all comes to a head.

taglist:

-- there is nobody on my outer banks taglist yet. if you wanna change that, add your name ( here )

other links:

masterlist | toppers masterlist | about + rules

“ If there's nothing going on there, you don’t mind if I ask her out, do you? “ the question is a harmless enough one but Topper Thornton tenses up all over as Rafe Cameron asks it.

He looks over at Rafe as Rafe flops down to sit on the sand beside him. Rafe chuckles to himself. Topper hasn’t stopped staring at you for at least five minutes. Not since you made the killer save in the volleyball game being played. ,, he's always staring though, he's not gonna do anything about it." the thought comes and Rafe is smirking about it. Letting his gaze drift to you and linger just a little too long for Topper's liking, he knows this because Topper not only clears his throat but he gives him a dirty look after a few seconds.

Topper snorts in laughter. “She kinda hates you, Rafe.”

“Hate sex is fun though.”

Topper’s fist clenches and he feels his jaw tighten. He doesn’t look at Rafe, choosing instead to focus on you as you jump and bounce around on the sand, trying to get beneath the volleyball when it’s served and it soars over the net. He cringes when you leap up and try to smash it back over the net but you wind up lying on the ground, breathless because the wind’s been knocked right out of you instead.

Rafe knows damn well that he’s struck a nerve, so he keeps going. Because it’s fun and it’s amusing to him, watching Topper Thornton get all riled up but keep his anger bottled up inside. ,, If he’d stop holding back the anger, stop being a damn doormat and actually fight for something..” the thought comes and it has Rafe laughing to himself, a hand raking over his close cropped haircut.

Topper tears his eyes off of you for just a second and gazes at Rafe, a humorless gleam in his eyes. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees your friend help you up off the sand and he sees you gingerly making an attempt back over to your beach towel. He’s on his feet before he even stops to think about it, moving towards you. Approaching Cleo, the Pogue you’re best friends with and he flashes her a smooth grin. “I’ll take her over.”

You’re still fuming, you’re beyond irritated that you couldn’t save the volley and turn it around so that your team scored the winning point. Cleo looks from you to Topper and she’s wary. “It’s fine, Cleo.” you smile a pained smile as Cleo lets Topper move to where she stood seconds before. Topper slips an arm around you and the other one below your knees as he scoops you up into his arms wordlessly. Maybe a quiet chuckle or two at how you’re the only person he knows who is clumsy enough to fall up a hill or flight of stairs.

Once he gets you to his beach towel -not your own, Rafe is grinning that charmers grin, glassy and glazed over blue hues fix on you in the little red bikini with small white hearts all over it and it’s mismatched white bottom with red hearts. He bites his bottom lip, seats himself closer to you. Close enough that Topper’s jaw clenches in a split second.

,, she’s your friend. Not Rafe’s. Rafe just wants to fuck her.” the thought comes and Topper lets it influence him into seating himself so that you can lean yourself against his side. You’re now sandwiched between the two most eligible Kook singles on the island.

And the hardened muscles of Topper’s body draw you in like a magnet, prompting you to lean against him even more without stopping to think about what you’ve done. You’ve rested your head against his bicep and you’re watching your friends as they volley back and forth, you cup your hands and yell out loud when John B completely misses a chance to score a point for the two of you’s team. “If you’d stop staring at your girl, idiot!” you laugh and go quiet. Topper’s staring down at you for a few seconds and you feel your cheeks burn red. You’re lost in his eyes like an idiot and then you make the mistake of glancing down at his lips. And staring just a little too long. You’ve leaned against him completely by now, letting the warmth of his body warm you up because you’re still wet from your impromptu dip in the water to cool off between games a few minutes prior.

Your ankle is swelling and it hurts like hell. Putting even a little weight on sends a dull throb through the bottom of your leg. “Shit.” you grumble, mostly to yourself. Totally unaware of the silent territory war that seems to be going on between two very old -but very competitive, friends through a series of glances over top of your ducked head. To get a better look at your ankle, you wind up putting your legs over Topper’s lap.

He bites back a quiet groan.

Rafe can see the way his friend almost wants to crawl out of his own skin and it’s hilarious. Moreso because Topper won’t grow a pair and take what he wants already. But Rafe isn’t the same.

“I could give you a lift to the lifeguard shack. They’ll have bandages, other shit.” Rafe says it so chill, so nonchalant. You glance up from your inspection of your injury and you gaze at Rafe Cameron, mulling it over, a plump bottom lip caught between pearly teeth. And you realize once you really stop to think about it that a) you don’t trust Rafe Cameron as far as you can throw him and b) if anybody’s going to give you a lift anywhere, it’s going to be your new friend Topper. Because of all the Kooks you’ve met since your family upgraded from a trailer on the Cut to a modest little house in suburban hell on Figure 8, Topper is the only one you really care to get to know. He’s the only one you trust.

Of course, goes without saying that you’ve had a crush on him for weeks now and the more you’re around him, the more its like you torture yourself because you know he’d never choose you, he’s still caught up on Sarah Cameron, but.. A girl can dream, can’t she?

In other words, you’re completely oblivious to the silent territory war that’s been going on for weeks between Topper Thornton and Rafe Cameron over who gets to be your man. A territory war that Rafe thinks he’ll win hands down and Topper, well.. He’s barely fighting because the thing with Sarah ending the way it did has him… wary.

He’s gaslighting himself right into giving up before he even lets himself in the game, in other words.

“Yes? No? Maybe?”

“I’m uh.. I’ll be fine, I guess.” you shrug as if your ankle isn’t fucking killing you and you grit your teeth against the pain. If Topper had been the one to ask, you’d have jumped at the chance.

Rafe scowls a little. “Dumb idea, but okay.”

He’s gone, probably to get a fix from that guy Barry. And you’re actually relieved that he’s gone.

Topper’s still reeling. You have your legs in his lap. Worried about your injury, he gingerly picks up your foot and when he sees how swollen your ankle is getting, he clucks his tongue. “You need somethin on that.”

“I mean it’d be nice but.. It hurts to move right now, Top.”

“Maybe if I carried you?” Topper suggests before he can stop himself. You laugh softly. “If you want to carry my fat ass all the way down the beach to the lifeguard stand, by all means.” you’re leaning your head against his bicep a little more. “I won’t stop you.”

“I can carry you.” Topper smirks as he says it. Chuckling as he stands, letting you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Where are you taking her, asshole?” JJ Maybank looks up from puffing his vape to glare at Topper as he stands with you in his arms.

“To get her ankle looked at.” the answer aimed at the platinum blond who’d asked, it comes out a little annoyed. Tense. Because Topper knows that JJ and John B have been your best friends since you were a little girl, but he can’t stop the jealousy. It always feels like JJ is a little too protective over you and that bothers him.

“JJ, jesus christ. It’s fine, alright? Totally fine. You act like he’ll fucking kidnap me, doofus.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.” JJ deadpans.

John B nudges JJ and shakes his head after glancing in your direction. “Let ‘em go, man.”

“Fine, alright.”

“Thank you, father!” you’re joking and you flip JJ Maybank off from Topper’s firm grasp on your body. The bright and blinding glow of the sun overhead sends you to seek out solace with your face in the crook of Topper’s neck and you can feel his fingers squeeze against your skin. He falters a little, trying to keep you from slipping out of his grasp because he wasn’t expecting you to bury your face in his neck.

,, it’s just to hide her eyes from the sun, man.” the thought comes and a note of bitterness creeps in along with. Topper pulls himself together as he seats you carefully onto the back of the sleek and fast ATV he’s parked between the atv’s belonging to his friends Kelce and Robert.

“You’re gonna want to hang on tight.” he tells you as he fires up the engine and the ATV takes off. You do as you’re told, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your forehead against his bare back. Topper has to work to focus on paying full attention to his planned path.

And too soon, the ride to the lifeguard shack at the end of the beach is drawing to an end. As he untangles you from his body and slips off the ATV to pull you off and back into his arms, you’re pouting a little and he notices it. This makes him frown.

“Something wrong?”

“I,uh..” you’re fumbling for words. And you’re so damn tired, you can’t keep fighting the way you’re feeling.

Your hands raise, one catching in frosted blonde strands and the other resting at his broad shoulders. You pull him down to your level just a little, enough to just barely graze your mouth against his awkwardly and it’s all happening so damn fast that Topper Thornton doesn’t have time to think straight, let alone react. As your tongue pushes past the barrier formed by his lips, it slowly starts to sink in that you’re kissing him and a reaction of some kind is… probably necessary. But his mind is blown and he’s seeing so many sparks as you tug at his hair, melt into him -all with your injured ankle raised behind you so you’re not standing on it- that he just.. Doesn’t do it right away.

You pull away, back of your hand dragging across your mouth and you’re staring at him and the only coherent thought in your brain is one.. “Run. Run now before this gets awkward. Because he obviously did not want to kiss you.”

And so, run is what you do.

You’re tearing off down the beach ignoring the sear of pain in your ankle and the fact that you just know you’re making a bad sprain worse and you’re making fair progress in your rush to get away from the awkward situation you created seconds before until it happens.

You trip over a hole some kid dug into the sand earlier and you go down.

Topper had been running after you because his brain finally unfroze and he realized quick that if he didn’t do something, he was going to give you the wrong impression.

He spots you just as you’re sitting up and raking sand off your chest and arms. And he’s grumbling to himself because if he’d done something back, if he hadn’t been an idiot just now, you would’ve still been kissing him -possibly, and you wouldn’t have run off.

He pulls you up off the sand and wordlessly, he carries you back down to the lifeguard shack. The tension between you both thick enough that the air is popping, crackling and alive with it.

When he pauses to sit you on the ATV so he can finish brushing the sand off your body, he steps between your legs, each one squeezing one of his hips or the other before you can stop yourself from doing it. Topper fixes golden brown eyes on you and bites his lip, pausing.

It’s like he’s thinking about something really hard and right now, he is.

“You kissed me..” he laughs at himself and shakes his head, but he asks the question a second later, “Why?”

You take a deep breath. The first time you try to answer, you just can’t. The words won’t come. But he’s staring at you intently, holding a breath he doesn’t even realize he’s holding. You’re looking down, at your swollen ankle, your scraped knee, anything but directly at him.

You take another deep breath. And this time, when you open your mouth, it finally comes out.

“ I wanted to kiss you. I've been wanting to kiss you for quite a while. “

Topper blinks in surprise and then he’s laughing. Grinning bright enough to outshine the sun. And that slight cockiness is back as he bends to scoop you off of his parked ATV. “You did,hm? I hope you don’t hold that failed attempt on my part against me. Trust me, I’m a way better kisser than that.”

“Oh you are, huh?” you’re teasing. Pretending to pout as you stare deep into his eyes when he stops, sits you on the steel guard rail edging the deck of the lifeguard shack. He steps between your legs and you slip your arms around his neck and lean against him heavily. The pain in your ankle, at least for the time being, is forgotten. “I kind of thought you didn’t like me.”

“Can’t let you think that, now can I?” Topper’s hand settles against the column of your neck as he leans down, into you, his mouth on a collison course with yours. The kiss is full of teeth and tongue, you come away with lips that ache and they’re starting to bruise. A small circlet of marks at the base of your throat too and you’re giggling to yourself about this as you pull apart to breathe.

“I don’t want to be just friends.”

“Me either.” you mumble, giving him a smile. His forehead rests against yours and he caresses your cheek, laughing quietly. “You’re covered in sand, babe.”

You wrinkle your nose.

He laughs again.

“Let’s get your ankle wrapped and your knee cleaned up, alright?”

You nod. Smile and melt against him completely. “Then will you take me somewhere else?”

“Where do you wanna go?” he asks, pecking the bridge of your nose.

“Anywhere I can be alone with you.”

“I think that can be arranged, princess.”

#topper thornton #topper thornton fanfiction #topper thornton fanfic #topper thornton imagine #topper thornton x you #topper thornton x reader #topper thornton x y/n #outer banks ● topper thornton #<- my writing ● topper thornton #<- warnings ● idiots in love trope | sprained ankle | kissing and saliva | jealousy | mutual pining #-- so ig i am trying to make an active and full comeback now ft. my latest fixation.

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that-jack-kline-bestie · 30 days

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when the cracking of your bones is louder than the floorboards creaking

#my ankle usually #step-CRACK step step step step-CRACK step step...#loud joints run in my family lol #can crack my wrists my hands my outer two knuckles on all of my fingers my toes my feet my ankles my elbows my shoulders my jaw my neck my/#/back in multiple places my shoulders in 2 other ways my knees multiple ways my ankles in another way and occasionally my leg sockets #not only on purpose but also just doing normal things i creak and pop like an old man #gimme a joint and 90% chance i can pop it at will #tw joint cracking

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chloelouygo · 19 days

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I think my parents are having a joint midlife crisis; they are buying a motorbike to ride together-

#small amount of context #they always used to ride bikes together #like my dad had bikes from when he was like 16 #and they rode together until just before i was born #and my dad kept going until i was 7ish #he stopped because his friend's son died in a bike accident #and i think it hit a bit too close to home #but i grew up watching him race bikes and watching trackdays and stuff #i spent a lot of afternoons beside a racetrack lmao #and he was in a few accidents (he sheared off both his outer ankle bones which is... yikes)#but kept going back to it #and uh i guess the midlife crisis has brought the hobby back around again :')#they're already talking about going on holiday to france on it like they Used To In The Nineties #help me lmao i want no part in this #also fun fact that my mum can tell you the make of a bike just by hearing it #it's incredible #ANYWAY #bear wittness to this ridiculousness with me i will keep you updated 😅

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madnessofmen · 1 year

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the problem with wearing a flight suit as casual daywear is that none of your pockets are in normal places

#i have breast; shoulder; inner thigh; outer thigh; and ankle pockets #but none at the hip #because that's where a parachute harness goes

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gwyoi · 1 year

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I don’t know what happened but my ankles were hurting all day yesterday and they still do…

#it’s weird it doesn’t feel like a twist but rather there’s #tension on my outer ankles? and it hurts a little bit to move my feet inwards #it’s not insanely painful but I’ve been avoiding standing tok much but even lying down it just feels off.#gwon

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mariespen · 4 months

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Rocky Beaches ☾ ⋆

rafe cameron x reader - hurt/comfort ⊹˚.⋆ Summary: Rafe takes care of his girl after she gets hurt at a bonfire party. content: fem!reader, hurt/comfort, frustrated but gentle rafe, bonfire party warnings: mentions drinking, mild description of injury involving blood, hurt/comfort

⊹˚.⋆︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵⊹˚.⋆

The smoke rising from the bonfire was burning your eyes and you winced at the feeling, trying to cover your face from the dark clouds. Your boyfriend, Rafe, sat idly by, talking with Topper while his thumb absentmindedly rubbed the skin of your thigh.

You were already in a bad mood. Rafe pulled you out of bed to go to what was supposed to be a small get-together but turned out to be a crowded bonfire party. Rafe had been shrugging you off all night, small touches here and there to keep you close, but you’re sure you could count the number of words he’s said to you in the past hour on one hand. Shifting uncomfortably, you were ready to beg your surprisingly talkative boyfriend to take you home.

“Hey!” You heard to your left, a voice approaching you. You squinted, smiling as you realized it was your best friend, Kiara.

“Hi!” You replied, shifting your legs to leave Rafe, standing up to greet her, happy to be away from the smoke.

You could feel Rafe’s look of disapproval burning into the back of your head but you chose to ignore it, walking off with Kiara when she suggested getting another drink. You knew your limits, and you also knew how pissed Rafe would be if he had to deal with you drunk after he specifically told you not to drink. So, you sip from Kiara’s cup to try and lower Rafe’s suspicious gaze.

After a few minutes with Kiara, JJ and John B start stumbling towards the two of you, both a little drunk. You looked up, hearing their slurred laughs and uneven footsteps.

“Hi ladies..” JJ slurred, trying to keep a straight face and almost breaking when Kiara turned to give him a dirty stare. You giggle with them, happy to escape the suffocating smoke and your distant boyfriend. It wasn’t until about a minute later that you felt a hand on your hip and you turned, realizing that your boyfriend wasn’t as distant as you thought.

“C’mon, let’s go home.” He said, being stern but still gentle, eyeing your current group.

“No baby..” You said, squirming out of his grip to turn around and press a hand to his chest, “just keep talking about important stuff with Topper.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out as snarky, but when Rafe quickly pulled you to the side, you realized that you probably said the wrong thing anyway.

“No, let’s go now, yeah?” He said, lifting your chin up to his face so you kept your eyes on his commanding face.

“No Rafe..” You whined, your hand coming up to hold his wrist as you looked at him innocently.

He gave up a lot quicker than you expected, dropping his hand in sour defeat.

“A’ight.. we can stay. Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” He waited until you nodded eagerly, “need to talk to Top anyways.. j’st don’t get hurt.”

He hesitantly walked away after leaning down to give you a soft kiss on the forehead and stared down John B, JJ, and Kiara, warning them to be careful with his girl.

You, of course, skipped happily back to the group as they watched Rafe leave. Eventually the mood lightened, and you laughed as JJ and John B pushed each other around, sand kicking up at your face from their quick movements.

“We should check out the waves.” Kiara noted, a small slur to her voice, too.

Naturally, you all agreed and found yourselves crashing through the ankle-high waves of the Outer Banks. The sand under you was sharp with rocks and it hurt your feet to step on, but you laughed it off with Kiara while you watched JJ and John B try to drench each other in the salty waves. After a while, the cold inevitably got to the four of you and you started to drag your feet back to shore.

You couldn’t help but wince at the feeling of pointy rocks on your feet, the water pulling you back. One step after the other you pulled yourself closer to shore. The last few steps remained and you decided to look back at the waves behind you. One more step, but you felt your leg hit a particularly sharp rock, feeling it pierce your skin. Crying out, you fell forward, scraping your body on the rocks and painting it with the messy red salt water. Kiara and JJ rushed to your side, helping you up and out of the water while John B grabbed a sandy towel.

You weren’t far off from the party, so when your cries caused commotion, Rafe stormed down to the waves. His furrowed brows softened when he saw your tearstained face and ripped tank top and he rushed to your side.

“Fuck..” He whispered, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you bridal-style.

He didn’t say a word, leaving the party without hesitation and taking you to his BMW, sobs racking through your chest. He winced when he saw the real state of your injuries, grabbing anything he could find to cover you up. He settled on a pure white towel, applying pressure to your wounded stomach and wiping the wet hair from your face.

“S’alright..” He mumbled, walking quickly to the driver's seat.

The ride to Tannyhill consisted of your breathy sobs and his soft cooes of ‘shhh’ and ‘y’got it, baby.’

Rafe carried you into the oversized house, setting you up on the kitchen island before he quietly grabbed the homemade first aid kit. He peeled off your shirt, sighing at the severity of your injuries.

“God… what did I tell you baby,” he sighs out, cleaning the sand from around your wounds, “I said ‘be careful’ and ‘don’t get hurt’ hm?” He quoted himself with a stern tone, but his shaky voice showed how cautious he really was.

“M’sorry!” You forced a whisper out, having spent all of your voice on your pained sobs.

He sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed the disinfectant and a cloth to treat your deeper scratches.

“Just remember you love me, yeah?” He murmured and you started to nod before wincing in pain at the stinging feeling of the disinfectant.

“Rafe!” You whined out, your hand finding his free one as he kissed your knuckles.

“Y’got it, baby.” He said softly, bandaging your stomach and thighs.

“M’sorry..” You repeated with a sniffle once he finished.

“Yeah, shoulda listened to me, hm sweetheart?” He said, rubbing his hands down his neck before washing them.

He brought you to the bathroom, holding your head and wiping the sand off of your body, trying to clean you off the best that he cold. He guided your chin up to brush your teeth, telling you when to spit.

That night was painful for the both of you, but Rafe wrapped you in all of the comfy blankets on the bed and held you close, drawing shapes in your thigh with his fingers while he lectured you.

“Shoulda listened.. can’t believe you went into the ocean with those assholes.” He said, looking at the outline of your legs through the blankets.

“Rafe..” You start to try and protest, but he kisses you to silently remind you that you both knew he was right.

⊹˚.⋆︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵⊹˚.⋆

#outer banks #rafe cameron #hurt/comfort #obx #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron hurt/comfort #obx fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #mariespen

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rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months

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flashing lights

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ only, brief smut, p in v sex, model!reader (a bit of influencer too but primarily a model), soft rafe, marriage, pregnancy

“so thats your new girl?” topper asks, eyes on you as you twirl to the music, long legs on show in the simple black dress.

“yeah, shes here for a month on vacation.” rafes also looking at you, unable to let his gaze stray, in case a man comes up and attempts to dance with you. you may not be an official item yet, considering you only met a couple days ago, but rafe is determined to spend the entire month that you’re here with you, and not let any other men pull your focus away.

“she looks so familiar.” the voice rings out before rafe even realizes that there's other people now sat in the circle of chairs and couches, too wrapped up in you.

the girl, who rafe recognizes from high school, begins to tap on her phone. “wait, shes a model.” “yeah, she told me.” rafe shrugs it off. he could have guessed your profession anyways, with how naturally stunning you are, and your height almost rivaling his, only a few inches shorter.

“no, like really famous model.” the girl turns her phone towards rafe, and he hates having to drag his eyes away from you to look at the screen, pulled open to a google search of your name.

“holy shit!” topper says for rafe, taking the phone from the girl as he clicks the first link to open up your instagram. “she has 20 MILLION followers, rafe.”

rafe glances from the phone to you as you turn to smile at him, still dancing to the music, glad to be free of all the attention and camera flashes. its why you chose the outer banks in the first place, somewhere more tucked away to take a month away from the spotlight.

“why are you so surprised, look at her.” rafe states before standing up, tired of letting you dance alone as he joins you on the makeshift dance floor, his hands coming to your waist as you give him a dazzling smile.

-- two years later --

camera lights flash and shouts ring out, but rafe is used to it now.

he smiles and waves, shocked that anyone would care about him, a nobody from north carolina, his only claim to fame is being your boyfriend, for a little over two years now.

rafe walks inside, having enough of the screaming and crowds as he takes in the area, chairs set up along a runway, a large prada sign on the white wall. your prestige has only grown since rafe began to date you, despite coming back to the outer banks several times to take a break and visit him. since rafe began to travel with you, you’ve gone from paris to milan to new york to london, gracing the covers of magazines and walking runways.

he tries to attend every show, taking on a pseudo-management role himself. your favorite part is dressing rafe in the mornings, having received clothing from so many brands, both mens and womens fit. rafe lets you choose, knowing you have the eye for fashion, and he loves to see how happy you get when he wears your outfit.

rafe walks through the seats until he finds the one with his name on it, front row. he sits down, scrolling on his phone as people begin to file in until the room is packed full.

he waits as the show begins, models walking down the runway. they don’t shine to him, not like you do when you step out, your face blank in the typical model expression as you strut down the runway, dressed in all denim with a pair of chunky sunglasses on your nose.

rafe is in awe every time he sees you work, whether its watching your fluid poses during a photoshoot or your long legs stomping down a runway.

he waits with bated breath for your second outfit, changing into a slouchy menswear-esque ensemble, only pulled in at your waist as the fabric swishes around your ankles.

he claps when everyone steps out for the final walk, but he doesn’t cheer for the designer, even if it is prada, as he makes eye contact with you, only ever a brief glance while you're walking the runway, knowing if you look for too long you will become entranced with his handsomeness.

rafe waits for you after the show along with some of the other family members or partners of the models, long after all the celebrities have gone, either to an afterparty or on to a different show.

“hey baby.” rafe smiles when you step out, hair still slicked up in a ponytail, face caked with makeup, but now in a pair of loose jeans and a plain white crop top.

“hi handsome.” you coo, pressing your lips against rafes. “did you like the show?” “i liked you in the show.” rafe says pointedly, making you blush. “are we going to the afterparty?” “nah.” you shake your head. “i have that carolina herrera show in the morning, and i want to spend some time with you.”

“i’ll never argue against spending alone time with you.” rafe says, slotting his arm around your waist as you exit the building, surprised when photographers are still waiting outside. you wave briefly before rushing towards the car, knowing the picture of you and rafe are bound to be spread all over instagram and pinterest before you even make it back to your hotel room.

“rafe, i’ve got a question.” you hum, stepping out onto the balcony, eyes looking to the ocean. you’re on a paid for vacation by a makeup brand, simply wanting a couple instagram story posts using their products in a get ready with me. you are supposed to be relaxing the rest of the time, but you crept onto your phone to read the latest email from your agent.

“what is it babe?” rafe asks as he pulls you down onto his lap, scantily dressed in only his swimsuit, not that you have worn much other than a bikini this whole trip.

“what would you think about me doing a lingerie photoshoot?” you haven’t accepted any jobs that would call for you to show off a lot of skin or be paired with a male model since you started dating rafe, lucky to be in a place to reject jobs.

“who is it for?” rafe asks.

“calvin klein. i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t them.” you admit. you find their style of black and white classic photos far more tasteful than traditional lingerie pictures.

“as long as i can be there during the shoot.” rafe says. he’s taken the role of your advocate and protector during photoshoots, easily able to read your face and speak up for you if needed, considering sometimes the models voice gets drowned out.

“of course.” you nod.

“then absolutely.” rafe pulls you in closer to his body. “i need a new lockscreen anyways.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you as you turn towards the ocean, watching the waves roll onto the sand.

you step out behind the curtain, a tight fitting sports bra contrasting the loose jeans, slung open and zipper undone to show off your underwear as well as the calvin klein jeans.

you look over to rafe, who has his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes skate down your bare torso.

you most over to the white backdrop as the photographer begins to test the lighting, taking occasional snaps as things are adjusted.

the photoshoot is run just like any other and you’re finished faster than expected considering they’re solo shots and no change in location or background.

you keep the underwear and jeans on, simply throwing on a sweatshirt before getting into the taxi home with rafe, this time to your new york city apartment, having collected various homes and apartments around the world, depending on wherever you were doing business at the time. you consider the outer banks home though, returning every extended break with rafe.

“did you like the shoot?” you ask when you get home, rafe laying on bed while you tug the sweatshirt and jeans off, leaving you in just the calvin klein bra and panties.

“get over here.” rafe says, not caring about your question. he’s been desperate for you since you appeared from behind the curtain, not even trying to hide it as he watched the photoshoot, your eyes occasionally moving to him, giving him reassurance you were still good.

rafe makes you keep the underwear on, simply pulling it to the side once he’s got your back against the mattress to slide his cock deep inside of you. you push the sports bra up to let your breasts free, rafes palm instantly coming to cover your tit as he thrusts into you.

“i think you should do more shoots like that.” rafe says with a moan, cock pulsing inside of you.

“its nice to be back home.” you sigh, quickly applying some makeup, mostly just mascara and a glowy primer.

“agreed.” rafe kisses your shoulder, watching over your shoulder as you finish and then adjust your white dress, having decided to take a couple pictures on the beach for you to post as well as just enjoy a walk on the sand.

“alright, i’m ready.” you hum as you slip on your sandals. you lace your fingers with rafes before stepping out the back door. “you look handsome by the way.”

the suns golden light illuminates his skin. his outfit is simple, closer to what he wore before the fame. a simple white button down, loose fitting and you are sure would look delicious unbuttoned, showing off his muscles.

“thank you baby.” rafe presses a kiss to your cheek, leading you down the beach until you come across a picnic set up. you glance around before realizing its for you.

“oh my god, its just like our first date!” you gush, stepping away from rafe to look at the spread.

“before we eat, i have a question to ask you.” you turn around to realize that rafe is on one knee, a velvet jewelry box in his hand.

“oh, rafe.” you press your hand to your mouth, tears already coming to your eyes as he opens the box, revealing a sparkling diamond ring. “will you marry me?”

“how am i supposed to look good next to a literal model?” rafe asks as he looks towards the camera, looking almost nervous for once in his life.

“we’ve taken pictures together before rafe.” you roll your eyes, adjusting your wedding dress. it’s actually four weeks after your wedding, but you wanted to get professional photos done with your new husband and asked one of your photographer friends who was more than willing to let you into their studio if they could post some of the photos on their instagram and website.

“mirror selfies and shit, this is more serious.” rafe says as you tug him over to the backdrop.

“you look so handsome, babe. don’t worry.” you smooth your hands over his shoulders. “just think back to our wedding day, we took so many pictures then.”

“i was too distracted by how excited i was to marry you.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, the oscar de larenta dress you ended up deciding on being off the shoulder. it was a simple dress, but the closer you got you realized how intricate the lace detail is. “you look just like you did on our wedding day though, baby. the makeup artists did a great job.”

“just tanner.” you joke, having gone on your honeymoon already.

you look as the photographer begins to set up their lens, before you turn to whisper to rafe. “you can’t tell?” you question, pressing your hand to your stomach. you know there’s no way you’d already begin to show, considering your baby is no bigger than a seed, but that doesn’t stop you from getting worried about your pregnancy being discovered early.

“not at all.” rafe shakes his head, but can’t hide the smirk that comes to his face, knowing your tummy will soon swell with his child, having made sure of it many times on the honeymoon.

“i was thinking about how we could announce the baby.” you tell rafe as you pad into the kitchen. he’s still making the decaf coffee you were absolutely craving, more syrup and milk than coffee.

“how?” he hums, glancing over at you as you lean against the counter, rubbing your stomach, bump now obvious as you’re over 6 months along. you have managed to keep it a secret so far, saying you were taking a break from modeling to focus on your new marriage. there is of course a lot of speculation that you are pregnant, but it is to be expected.

“calvin klein shoot. like before, except i’ve got a big ol’ bump.” you laugh as rafe finishes you coffee off with some whip cream before sliding the mug to you. “and you can be in it too.”

rafe rolls his eyes as you giggle. “come on! the girls love you, you’re so handsome.”

“i’m not a model.” rafe argues back, but he already knows he’s going to agree, he’d do anything for you, his pregnant wife.

“yeah, but you’re hot like a model.” you shrug, taking a sip of coffee.

“i think this is just an excuse to get me shirtless and in underwear.” rafe laughs, pressing a kiss to your upper lip, cleaning off the whip cream that sat on your cupids bow.

“yeah, and what about it?”

“you know theres some hormone to make women forget the pain of birth?” you hum to rafe, keeping your voice soft. “because if you remembered then no one would never do it again.”

“really?” rafe whispers, his voice also hushed as to not wake the sleeping newborn cuddled up in his arms, wrapped in a soft hospital banket.

“yeah.” you nod. “but i don’t wanna forget a moment of this.”

“im sure you wont baby.” rafe kisses your head as your tiny daughter squirms in his arms, letting out a yawn in her slumber. “i suppose i need to use a different name for you now that we’ve got an actual baby.”

you giggle, resting your head against rafes shoulder as you look down on your perfect little girl, already an adorable mixture of you and rafe.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #obx fic #outer banksoute

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pocketseizure · 1 year

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TofK Ganondorf Design Notes

The character design for the Ganondorf who appears in Tears of the Kingdom is extremely interesting. This is just speculation, but I don’t think he’s dressed like a villain.

The golden ornaments on Ganondorf’s topknot, chest, arms, and ankles reference the common portrayal of Fudō Myōō, one of the most widely venerated deities in Japanese Buddhism. Fudō was originally a minor Hindu deity called Acalanātha, who is an avatar of the wrath of Shiva, the god who destroys so that new life may emerge.

Like Fudō, Ganondorf wears long hair bound into a topknot, golden sandals, and loose pants gathered at the knee. These are sartorial traces of Fudō’s South Asian origins, and they serve to connect Ganondorf to the Gerudo of Ocarina of Time and Breath of the Wild, whose designs are inspired by various cultures along the ancient Silk Road.

Fudō was especially venerated by the warriors of Japan’s medieval period, so perhaps it’s fitting that Ganondorf’s costume alludes to the dress of medieval warlords. His robe, with its embroidered hem, crimson lining, and golden sleeve weights, would have been extremely expensive to create and would only be worn by a wealthy domain lord.

The matte black of Ganondorf’s outer robe is an indicator of high rank, as is its colorful interior. Toward the end of the medieval period, black robes were sewn with gorgeous inner linings in order to demonstrate wealth, power, and prestige. To me, Ganondorf’s robe reads as something that would be worn by Oda Nobunaga, one of Japan’s most notorious warlords.

What’s interesting about Ganondorf’s design is that he doesn’t come off as a deity or a warlord. A god would have no need for such a sumptuous robe, while a lord would not reveal his skin or wear sandals. I’m strongly reminded of the sort of rōnin famously played by Toshiro Mifune in The Seven Samurai, a skilled but aging warrior who retains his dignity despite his debased circumstances.

Ganondorf’s lower torso is wrapped in a haramaki to reinforce his core strength, and his right arm is bare so he can wield his sword without impediment. These are both very human touches, as is the cloth covering his shins and soles so that his skin doesn’t chafe. A more godlike character would not need these concessions, and a more aristocratic character would not bother with them.

In previous games, Ganondorf was covered from chin to toe in ornate armor or belted robes, signifying a lack of openness and vulnerability. Meanwhile, the Ganondorf of Tears of the Kingdom literally bares his chest as he reveals a number of contradictions. He is ornamented yet barefoot, and his regal black robe has been peeled back to showcase a bright lotus pattern.

Even despite his stern frown and clenched fists, I don’t feel that Ganondorf is visually coded as a villain… or, at least, he doesn’t seem completely inhuman.

#Legend of Zelda #Tears of the Kingdom #Ganondorf #I just think he's neat #I’m intrigued by the Buddhist imagery #maybe he can end the cycle #as a treat #don't get me started about the magatama on his crown #but maybe I'll write more about the lotus mandala on his inner robe

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ectologia · 5 months

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♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒫𝒰𝒮𝒮𝒴 𝐸𝒜𝒯𝐼𝒩𝒢 ؛ 𝓀𝒶𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓀𝒾 𝒷𝒶𝓀𝓊𝑔𝑜𝓊

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ cunnilingus ﾉ fingering ﾉ profanity

Katsuki loves it. He’ll take you in any position available, backwards, forwards, upside down, right side up, from the back. He doesn’t care as long as he’s getting a mouth full of his baby’s muff.

He asks you to tease him, pull away and circle your hips in the air while his tongue slithers out of his mouth like a serpent, just barely brushing the outline of your juicy slit. Blunt nails tear at your legs and ankles, tugging you this way and that way, dragging you through the valley of his bedsheets to suck your pussy into the concave of his mouth as you try to escape his voracious appetite.

His tongue quickly probes your outer lips for access, slicing through your folds with a stiffened peak while jabbing at the crease of your hood throughout it’s endeavour.

Two fingers follow the outline of your spread open cunt to meet your clit, already puffy and twitching and flinching beneath the calloused pads he uses to squeeze at the sensitive bead.

“Ouch, ‘suki! Not so hard.” You scold, shooing the invasive digits away while he inspects the ring of slick pooling above your urethra.

He grumbles a gruff snarl, knitting his brows at the pair of smaller hands flapping below his nose. He dismisses your squirms in favour of suctioning your soft mound into his mouth, practically eating away at the folds before releasing you with a drawn out groan, swishing his head side to side as if he were a predator ripping flesh from bone.

He loves the little sigh you do when he does that, so breathy and elongated as you battle between the choices of doubling over to hug his head or falling back against the cloud of pillows propped beneath you. You choose the latter, practically collapsing against the mattress, your back bending and arching like a willow tree as he teethes on your sex, smacking his jaw over your pert little clit.

A pair of knuckles pump themselves past the first ring of taught muscle guarding your pussy hole, popping in and out with a wet click as he massages the tender spot nestled right against your bladder.

“Oh, not there..” You mewl, fearing the inevitable.

Katsuki hums, thumbing the crest of your labia. “Yeah baby, right there?” He punctuates his sentence with a curt flick to your G—Spot, tapping the tiny groove with the hard edge of his forefingers.

You squeal at the sensation before the tip of his nose bumps the chub of your slit once again, prickling your hair and bouncing you on the balls of your toes, lurching off of his big shoulders as his tongue laps against your cunny.

“Stay still.” This time it’s his turn to scold you, pinching your swollen sensitive pussy lips closed until you fall limp once again. “I’m tryna’ clean this sloppy little pussy up.”

#mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha smut #katsuki bakugou #bakugou smut #katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x female reader #katsuki bakugou x female reader #bakugou x female reader #bnha

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florencemtrash · 4 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Five

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Gore, violence, some angst

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Meryl struggled forward, trying to keep from tripping on his floor-length robes. A head of ivory hair trailed out after him at a leisurely pace. A blood red hand at her side gripped a slick shortsword. The blade mimicked the cruel curve of her horns.

You remembered her from the party.

Teal silk and blood and the lake.

Koschei.

His hand dove into the folds of his robe, withdrawing a dull knife. You caught her smile before she dodged Meryl’s swift kick, sword arching down in a swing that cut cleanly through his back leg.

You didn’t stay to watch the second swing that nearly separated Meryl’s head from his shoulders. The street was still eerily silent.

Meryl hadn’t gotten the chance to raise the alarms.

You ran to the other side of your apartment, knocking one of the windows open. The smell of smoke, acrid and bitter, flooded your nose. Your stomach turned, nearly emptying itself of your dinner.

A blanket of haze covered the bottom floor, the flickering of flames beginning to lick up the outer edges of the massive room.

The Alcove - your home - was on fire.

Your apartment was built separately from The Alcove with no direct path linking the two together. Normally you would simply walk down the stairs and enter through one of The Alcove’s main entrances with its hand-carved archways and stone pegasuses. But with the murderous female lurking outside, that was simply not an option.

You pulled the neck of your sweater up and over the lower half of your face, ignoring the stinging of your eyes. You steeled your nerves and slid your foot out, finding purchase on the decorative molding that lined the walls. Many times you’d thought about scaling the walls instead of trekking down dozens of flights of stairs. You’d never actually done it.

The soft skin of your palms protested as you shimmied your way down and then jumped the last ten feet onto the walkway. There was no grace in your movements, and no time to dwell on the rough landing before you began flying down the stairs, begging the Mother and Meryl to give you time to cross the expanse of the library.

Meryl’s apartment lay on the opposite side of The Alcove on the first floor, and unlike your apartment, had a door leading directly to the stacks. The white rune, carved into Meryl’s door, stared at you like the eye of a god.

Some vague myths about ancient giants crossed your mind. They’d been worshiped in these lands before the rise of the High Lords with brains so vast you could climb in through their ears and walk amongst the grooves like a child in a corn maze. You felt like that child now, the familiar turns and patterns of the atheneum slipping away into mist.

You had no patience to walk the last flights of stairs. You threw yourself off the lower walkway, ankle twisted painfully beneath you as you crumpled onto the floor.

Just make it to the door. Just make it to the door.

The first duty of a Librarian was to save the atheneum. Always.

Again that white rune stared at you from across the floor, winking with the flashes of firelight as the flames gorged themselves on book pages.

Save the Alcove.

You ignored the pain in your leg, running towards the door with gritted teeth. Three bodies littered the floor, blood blossoming around colorful robes like roses in springtime.

Save the Alcove.

You wrenched the knife from the sliver in the wall, slicing your palm open with a sharp intake of breath. Warm blood spilled out, dripping onto the floor and then down the wall as you pressed your palm against the rune, muttering the words all Librarians knew by heart - words that would seal The Alcove from the outside world and draw all oxygen from within.

“Beali tchnemonon aschzernai belar-” The rune began to glow, rivers of white light tracing the carving on the door. The doors began to groan as threads of magic shot outward, weaving through the stone and preparing to seal it shut.

“Stop. Say nothing.” A voice said, soft as velvet and hard as scales.

Your tongue froze up, the rune dimming as teeth sank into the soft flesh of your mind and began to tear through your mental shields.

___________

Azriel chewed carefully, washing down the meat with a swig of sweet wine. All throughout dinner Helion had been glowering at him, one hand gripping the golden hilt of his steak knife like he was prepared to aim it between Azriel’s eyes.

“Did you spend the whole day with her?” Feyre had asked him when he’d finally arrived for dinner twenty minutes late.

Everyone else was dressed in their court attire. Even Cassian had changed out of his leathers and was currently pulling at the high collar of his shirt. But not Azriel. He’d arrived late in plain clothes, hair disheveled and face impassive. He gave a nod in response to Feyre’s silent question before settling down beside Cassian. His brother threw him a knowing wink.

Rhysand looked pleased with himself. Feyre looked pleased. Everyone was pleased… everyone but Helion.

“Finally! The Shadowsinger arrives!” The comment rolled off his tongue and fell flat, “Now we can eat.”

“I apologize, Helion. I lost track of time.” Azriel said truthfully. He had lost track of time. He wished he’d lost track of it for longer. Then he might still be in your living room, dreaming about kissing you.

Dinner was a business affair. Theories about Koschei’s next plans punctuated by the appearance of roasted chestnuts, soft-boiled quail eggs, honey rolls, and stuffed duck on the table.

“He can’t escape the lake.” Rhysand said, “Though the gods know he’s trying.”

“He can’t escape yet.” Helion countered, brows furrowed in concern, “There’s a piece we’re missing to this.”

“The Cauldron.” Feyre ran a lazy finger over the lip of her wineglass to disguise the unease settling in her stomach, “He’s searching for it.” She tilted her head towards Azriel, “Az found evidence that some of Koschei’s followers have been breaking into the temples further up north.”

Helion shook his head, “It wouldn’t do them any good to search an old hiding place. And it’s not like the legs of the Cauldron are with the priestesses anymore. They must be looking for something else.”

“What else is in the temples except old books and ceremonial artifacts?” Cassian asked.

“Old books can sometimes be the most powerful objects in the world.” Helion said with a small smirk, “I wouldn’t look down on them so much.”

“Tell that to a sword.”

“Tell that to a two-thousand page text thrown at your head.”

Cassian grinned, “I would dodge it. Easy.”

“With that inflated head of yours, I’d hardly be able to miss.”

Azriel smiled inwardly. That sounded like something you might say. Not even four hours since he’d last seen you and he was missing your gentle smile, the crease in your brows when you read, the occasional jangle of your bracelets when you shook out the cramps in your wrist.

Feyre thought long and hard, staring at the surface of her wine like the answers might materialize there. She couldn’t get her mind off the Cauldron. The most important events that had taken place in the last fifty years could be tied back to its magic. The magic that currently flooded through Nesta and Elain’s veins.

With its power anything seemed possible - even separating a deity like Koschei from the lake where he’d been confined for centuries.

“What if they’re not looking for the Cauldron itself?” Everyone looked at her, waiting to hear the High Lady’s next words. “What if they’re just looking for something tied to it?”

Cassian dropped his knife to the table with a clang.

“Nesta.” He breathed. He immediately reached out across the bond, feeling Nesta stir on the other side. She was still safe in Velaris, although he pitied any poor soul that tried to go after her.

“Or Elain.” Feyre continued.

It’s no secret they were Made. They wouldn’t need to break into a temple to figure that out or to find out where they’re staying. Rhysand sent his bonds down the bond, one hand reaching out to rub her thigh.

Nesta and Elain could handle themselves, but that didn’t mean Feyre could shed the protective nature she’d developed through her formative human years.

Who else then? Who else has taken power from the Cauldron?

Jurian.

He’s human. He has no magic that Koschei could want. And the human queen has been long dead too.

Helion glanced at Cassian who only waved him off. Rhys and Feyre did this often - getting lost in their private conversations and only sharing their thoughts at the very end.

Meanwhile, Azriel was having his own private thoughts.

Immunity, the innate biological process of recognizing and protecting against foreign entities, is a phenomenon that can be extended and applied to magic.

“How does it apply to mating bonds?” Azriel asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the room.

The fire crackled steadily, warming your back as you sat hunched over a volume titled “An Exegesis on the Works of Bhenaui The Stone Giant”.

“Hmmm?” You mumbled.

He pointed to the last page of your paper where an introductory sentence on mating bonds had ended abruptly.

“You didn’t finish your thought.”

“Well, that’s because I’m not completely sure what my thoughts are… at least not yet.”

“Would you tell me your thoughts? Even if you’re not sure?”

You motioned for him to hand it over, the papers floating over to you on a phantom hand made of shadows. You flipped through the pages absentmindedly, your previous thoughts coming to mind as you held your work.

“Parents, children, siblings - they all tend to have similar forms of magic. Magic that recognizes family members the same way that blood does.”

Azriel nodded. He’d already read that section of your paper. Although the thought of sharing some magical connection with his half-brothers and father made his stomach turn, he couldn’t deny your logic.

“I always thought that mating bonds must be some special extension of that. Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.”

“Like the difference between two sets of keys, versus a key and a lock.”

“Maybe? I suppose that’s not a terrible analogy to make, but I’m not sure.” You shot him a smile, “You’re beginning to think like a Librarian, Azriel.”

His heart sang in his chest, shadows flurrying around him. You’d quickly learned that his shadows gave away more than his face ever would.

“What an insult to Librarians.” He quipped.

You snorted and shook your head, tossing a pen at his head. He caught it easily, just as you knew he would.

A faint flutter of panic grew in the background of his mind, unprompted and unexpected. He pushed it to the side, focusing his attention back on what you’d told him back at your apartment.

“Magic that recognizes family members the same way that blood does.”

Koschei had been brother to The Weaver and The Bone Carver - both dead after centuries, if not more, of confinement to The Prison and The Cottage. It didn’t make sense for him to be searching for them. Perhaps he wanted the Cauldron to bring them back from the dead, but even that seemed like the stretch. Koschei didn’t strike Azriel as the kind of being to care for the safety and life of his siblings.

If Azriel were in Koschei’s position, he wouldn’t be after the Cauldron. Not necessarily. The thing he’d really be dying to know was who had separated him from his power, and how.

“Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.”

Like a lock and a key.

“Uh… Azriel?” Cassian gently grabbed Azriel’s shoulder, shaking him.

Inky shadows climbed up his hand, the light of his red siphons swallowed up by the darkness that had begun to pour off of Azriel.

That panic was steadily growing into something he couldn’t ignore and he couldn’t stop thinking of you. You with your brilliant ideas and a theory that he still couldn’t quite grasp, like he was trying to hold salt water in his hands.

“Something-something feels wrong.” Azriel gasped out, a scarred hand clutching at his chest. “Cass, something’s not right. Something’s not right.” He repeated the words until he finally recognized what was wrong.

It wasn’t his panic that he was feeling. It was yours.

___________

You screamed, thrashing about on the floor as you gripped your head between your hands.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

You pulled at your hair, slapped your skull like that would be what it took for the female to relinquish her hold on your mind.

She was buried inside like a parasite - a virus slowly taking over the cellular machinery, copying it all down as she rifled through your memories as easily as a picture book.

You shrank away from her as she lingered on one memory in particular.

It was your fortieth birthday, although you didn’t look any older than eight. Helion sat on the floor, long legs extending beyond the cramped space between the fireplace and the couch. It was a small apartment you shared with your mother with its pale green walls and yellow daisy curtains.

He filled every inch of it with light. His smile was so dazzling you thought he must have been one of the fairytale knights you’d spent every night obsessing over. He certainly played the part, gifting you a wooden pegasus with wings that hovered a foot above the ground when you asked it to.

“You can’t keep doing this, Helion.” You’d stayed hidden at the top of the stairs, your pegasus nuzzling into your side and then going still.

“She’s my daughter, Leda. What am I meant to do?”

“You’re meant to leave us alone.”

“Leda-”

“She’s growing too slowly. You saw her today, she should be fully grown by now.”

“...I know.”

“If anyone finds out who she is… the power she possesses. Mother help us…”

“I know. I’m-I’m sorry, Leda.”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

That was the last childhood memory you’d had of him, and when the pegasus’s magic had worn off, leaving him stiff and immoble, the novelty of having a knight for a father had worn off too.

You were crying now, tears streaming down your ash-stained cheeks as the female above you clicked her forked tongue. Her eyes were two chips of moonstone split by wide, rectangular pupils.

“A High Lord’s bastard.” She sang with pleasure. “How fun.” She leaned down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking it up so forcefully you had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming. “No. No.” She clicked her tongue in disappointment, “Don’t stop. I want to hear you scream. Scream.”

With a roar of anger you latched onto her arm, immediately feeling a flood of memories and emotion pour into your mind.

Sick, twisted satisfaction. Pleasure. Meryl’s decapitated body hastily hidden behind a pillar. When she’d gone down into the lower levels of The Alcove, searching for the diary, she hadn’t expected to see him there. Hadn’t expected him to give her a hard time. Hadn’t expected him to fight back.

The three other fae, slaughtered in haste. Koschei would not be pleased. He would not let her join him on the lake. But she had the book. She had the book.

The female hissed, the disorienting motion of being in your mind while you were in hers causing panic. She’d been trained to keep others out of her mind. She’d endured far more training than you had. So why couldn’t she kick you out?

More memories. More emotions. Rising fear. You soothed it using the training she’d received. She wasn’t the virus. You were. You felt all her memories. The terrible aftermath of war on the continent. The feeling of being burned alive.

The female was trying to break away from you now, but you wouldn’t let her, not even as the smoke grew so thick it clogged your lungs. You felt her memories as if they were your own, and so long as she was in your mind, she was forced to experience it all as well.

His power is beneath the lake. Trapped. Buried. He can’t leave his soul behind. Can’t diminish himself any further. He can’t leave the lake.

Koschei.

The lake. What’s buried beneath the lake?

Andrian. ANDRIAN!!!

Get the key. Get the key. Get the key.

The scream of her brother’s voice as Koschei splits his head in two.

When your eyes burst open they’re so bright the female turns her face away, sobbing. Your blood soaked hand searches the floor for the knife you dropped, the knife you can see is less than a foot away. But you’re not looking at it. She is.

She registers what you plan to do. Every thought of hers reflected in your mind like a ghostly afterimage. But it’s too late.

You grip the knife in your hand.

Slam it through her eye and out the back of her skull.

It’s a strange feeling to be in someone’s mind when they die. To feel like it’s your body slowly fading from existence with one final breath.

The female’s body slumps motionless over yours, and her final memories of her brother play out one last time.

…Then it’s just silence and the crackling of the ever approaching flames.

When Azriel reaches The Alcove, the windows have all burst, angry tongues of fire licking the sky and gasping for breath.

“Y/N!” Azriel roars, shooting off towards the door so hard the cobblestones crack beneath his feet. “Y/N!”

White lights begin to splinter up the stone walls, filling invisible cracks that begin to take the shape of ancient runes. Swirls, symbols, repeating lines trace their way over the windows, sealing them shut as the flames start to hiss in protest, eating up the oxygen faster than they can draw breath.

The door has been blown apart, the inside of The Alcove nothing more than a hurricane of ash and smoke. But when Azriel reaches them, he slams into an impenetrable wall of magic.

“NO!” He crashes against the barrier. Light scatters outward, but holds against the shadows that burst forth from Azriel’s body. Power explodes from his siphons, but still the magic holds.

“Y/N! Y/N!” He flies up to the windows and tries again to no avail.

The bond is still there, burning away in his chest with a passion.

He will not lose you. Not like this. Not today.

He touches back down on the ground, legs braced on the street as blue light begins to wrap around his chest and arms. His shadows mix in with them like ink in a tumultuous sea.

He’s about to let his power flood out when he sees it - two dim pinpricks of light that pass through the barrier as easily as sparrows diving through the air.

You’re nothing more than a gray shadow, your knees and hands coated in a mixture of ash and blood, as you emerge from the roaring flames. Your eyes gleam a pale yellow, seeing and unseeing at the same time. You make it to the front steps and when you stumble, Azriel is there to catch you, one arm looping around your waist and you’re immediately thrust into another memory.

It’s dark and cold in the cellar. So dark that even after two days the most Azriel can do to prove he still exists is to slap his legs, then his arms, then his face. Then he knows he’s still alive. It’s the pain that helps him remember.

“Y/n. Y/n. I need you to look at me.” Your eyes are unfocused, still glowing as Azriel helps you walk forward, one hand clasping yours close to his chest. “Y/n. Y/n. Please. Darling, please.”

His mother sings to him, a gentle, sweet melody that’s filled with more sorrow than words. His hands are heavy with gauze and ointment, the lingering pain magnifying and shooting through his small body whenever he moves them to touch his mother’s face or to wrap his arms around her neck.

But this is the only hour he’ll get with her this week. So he ignores the pain. He savors only the feeling of his mother’s arms around his weak back and the song she sings, hanging onto every word and committing them to memory.

You’re vaguely aware of Helion’s deep voice shouting your name. When he touches you, you can feel his relief as acutely as the rumble of thunder before rain. The emotion rolls over you, calming your heart.

For a brief moment you’re still the little girl he placed on top of the pegasus on your fortieth birthday. For a brief moment your mother is still alive, suppressing the smile on her lips as she watches the creature wobble to life, shake its wings, and begin to fly.

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Author's Note:

We're getting into the action/plot now folks! Hold on tight because I have IDEAS! It's going to take time for me to explain it all in the story, but I promise you I have a plan

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