Light came in softly through the curtains behind you, casting over your relaxed bodies and painting this beautiful picture of being at home.
You always felt at home in his presence. It was just something that Rafayel did, unconsciously maybe, you werenât sure. It was a feeling deep within your chest, something so, so soft and aching yet somehow it was not the ache you sometimes get when you miss him, or the ache that grows in intimate moments shared between you two.
No, this was a blossoming, utterly beautiful ache. It made you feel at peace, being bathed in the golden light. And you felt so warm. You were sure it was mostly because of looking at him rather than the sunlight caressing your skin.
He was, after all, much much radiant than the sunlight.
You looked down in your lap where his head rested, your fingers threading softly through the purple strands, detangling some of them. His hair was soft, as was his face as he nuzzled closer to your inner thigh.
Somehow you ended up in this position because he was in a mood, quite frustrated over the packed schedule Thomas made for him for the upcoming weeks, which ultimately meant he would be a lot busier.
And knowing him, knowing how much he hates being away from you, you kind of expected him to whine a bit about it. Just a tiny bit.
You chuckled warmly when he prompted himself right between your legs as you settled your own body into the comfortable couch. Leaning his head back in invitation, you couldnât help your hands from reaching into the ocean-like waves.
To say he immediately melted into your touch would be an understatement, but now here you were, for the past 20 minutes, listening to him as he hummed a familiar tune. He sometimes hummed you different songs, his face growing so delighted and radiating at your awed expression. Other times you simply heard him hum in the early hours of the morning, or sometimes late into the night when everything was quiet and kind of lonely.
And there it was, that ache again. A feeling you get when you know you have something precious in your hands and knowing not to move too fast or brashly or itâll shatter.
And you want him to sing to you more.Â
His eyes open as the tune comes to an end, the last notes resting on the tip of his tongue, and you catch his gaze with a soft, unprompted smile. A little lopsided, a little too unguarded, but how can you be any other way? Rafayel manages to pull the most unguarded, the most exposed and vulnerable emotions out of you.Â
Aching. Longing. Pining.Â
Missing him. Wanting him close to you. Having him in your arms as your hearts beat in tandem, one next to the other.
Loving him.
There arenât many words you possess in your vocabulary that are worthy of expressingâtruly expressing how he makes you feel. It just is. That feeling.
Your voice comes out soft, achingly so, the sounds almost too quiet for the simple fact that you donât want to disturb this moment between you.
âWhat was that tune?â
He gives you a smile just as tender in return, just as unguarded. The pools of his pink and blue ombre eyes are also much more exposed, and you know itâs part intentional and part just his nature.Â
Heâs learned to be more open in front of you, just as you did the same in front of him, both a work in progress but ultimately worth it.
âA Lemurian song. Something my mother used to hum to me.â
Your fingers slow their movements, just barely. Enough for him to notice but not acknowledge. At least not in words, but his body leans infinitesimally closer, and the tips of your fingers graze his forehead instead, and then his long lashes.
You work around the rocks in your throat, speaking just as gently. "Itâs beautiful." And you mean it, with your whole chest. You made peace with it a long time agoâthat everything about him is just... beautiful. âSing it for me some more?â
You almost feel the faint exhale brushing past his pink, soft lips. Encapsulating your fingers into his own, he brings them to his mouth, leaving a gentle kiss to your knuckles and then your fingertips. He must also feel the way your fingers tremble at the small act of affection, because he does it again, looking back up at you, now with a tilt to that beautiful mouth.Â
Smiling, he starts humming once again, and you close your eyes, unable to stop the sirenâs pull thatâs luring you in. Into his world. Into his life.
Into his own heart.Â
It goes on like that for what feels like lifetimes, because for your own mind, it kind of is. Your brain, prompted by the beautiful tune heâs singing, finds itself thrown into future scenarios of a life together. With him.
Itâs like jumping into the water abyss, knowing youâll end up on the ocean floor yet realizing that you wouldnât mind it at all. Not if it meant a life with him. Many more lives with him, just like this, with two hearts beating steadily, in the exact place theyâre meant to be.Â
Together. A pair.
Sometimes it scares you, baring your vulnerable side to him. The one that daydreams, the one that canât stop itself from building memories upon memories than never actually happened but you find yourself wanting them to happen anyway. Because the first step to making them a reality is accepting the truth as it is. That thereâs a special place in your heart for Rafayel, and itâs irreplaceable.
The place where all memories that never happened go. And where theyâll grow and grow and blossom until itâll overflow. Until youâll be brave enough to let them out of that place and into the shared space between your hearts.
His soul calls to yours, and yours answers just the same. Thereâs no need for words between your hearts in moments like this one, yet you find yourself wanting to speak anyway.
Would it be so bad to just let him witness a piece of your own heart? That delicate piece thatâs too raw and unpolished, but so very honest. In the end, doesnât he bare the same piece in front of you right at this moment?
âI want to learn it. Will you teach it to me?â
He knows. Heâs always in tune with your thoughts even as you try your best to guard them from him. He always knows, maybe because in a way, you both are two faces of the same coin.
Yet even as he knows, his expression changes ever so slightly, and the humming stops. Staring at each other, you feel as if youâre entranced by his gaze, caught onto what heâll say next.Â
He reaches out, his hand covering your cheek in a slightly weird angle, and then to the back of your head, and before you know it, your own body has already caught onto before your mind does. Leaning down towards him feels like second nature, and the way his lips capture yours in a kiss so sweet yet firm... your mind just stops thinking.
Thereâs only feeling with Rafayel. Always feeling. You were scared of it before, of just feeling... but not anymore.
Now youâre just inching closer, tilting his jaw back a little bit so you can kiss him better, and youâre rewarded with a smile into the kiss. You love kissing him, and heâs always so pleased when you take what you want from himâjust like right now. Kissing... more and more and more.
Itâs only when youâre out of breath that he breaks the slow kiss, gaze finding yours again, still upside down. He places another peck to your bruised lips, then his raspy, melodic whisper finds its way to your ears.Â
âIâll teach you anything you want, on one condition.âÂ
You can only nod, restless hands cupping his jaw, thumbs tracing a slow path over his cheekbones.
blinking in confusion, rafayel's hand comes up to his cheek.
"your cheeks! they look so plump these days," you confess fondly. your own hands connect with his reddening cheeks as he quickly turns flustered.
"hey! excuse you who keeps stuffing me with food every day." he sulks, lips already chasing the warmth of your skin against his as he tugs your hand forward to kiss your palm.
your own cheeks are hurting from smiling so widely. rafayel's plump cheeks stretch seeing your eyes are practically sparkling from adoration just by looking at him happy, plump and full of colours.
"they're are sooo lovely, my love. can i bite your cheeks?" you don't bother waiting for his answer as you lean into him, capturing his mortified expression right before you bite his soft cheek.
they're perfectly plump and biteable and delicious just perfectly as you imagine.
"cutie, no! ugh!"
oh he's all talk. with solid arms bracing your waist to pull you closer as he sighs in defeat. his smile is back again feeling your lips replacing your teeth against his cheek.
"you smell so good too."
"yeah?"
"yeah. since you blame me for stuffing you with food every day, you can return the favour by stuffing me next."
the unbelievable groan he lets out bounce off the living room along with your loud cackle.
sae is the type of person who notices *everything* but says almost nothing about it.
heâll clock the tiniest change in your mood, the way youâre quieter than usual or the way youâre fidgeting with your sleeves, but instead of asking directly heâll just⊠adjust.
suddenly heâs sitting a little closer, or he hands you something small like a drink or snack without explanation. itâs his quiet way of saying he noticed and he cares.
heâs not overly affectionate in public, but there are these subtle things he does that only you notice. like when youâre walking somewhere crowded heâll lightly guide you by the back of your hoodie or your wrist so you donât get lost.
he doesnât even think about it, itâs instinctive.
if someone points it out heâll just shrug like itâs nothing. sae has a dry sense of humor that catches people off guard. most people think heâs too serious to joke around, but with you heâll make the most deadpan sarcastic comments.
sometimes you wonât even realize heâs joking until you see the tiny hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
heâs extremely particular about things â his schedule, his training, the way his room is organized. but somehow he never complains when your stuff slowly starts appearing around his space. your hair ties on his desk, your hoodie thrown over his chair, random little things you forget.
he wonât say anything about it but he definitely notices⊠and he never moves them.
sae is surprisingly protective, just not in an obvious way. if someone is bothering you he wonât start a scene or raise his voice. instead heâll just step in, stand next to you, and look at them with that cold expression of his. heâs the kind of boyfriend who listens more than he talks. if you ramble about something you like â a show, drama at school, random gossip â heâll act indifferent but later youâll realize he remembered everything.
youâll mention something weeks later and heâll casually bring up a detail you forgot you even told him.
physical affection from sae mostly happens in private moments. late nights when everythingâs quiet and youâre sitting next to him while heâs scrolling through something on his phone. heâll pull you closer without looking up, resting your head against his shoulder like itâs the most natural thing in the world.h
eâs not big on compliments, but when he gives one it feels really genuine because you know he means it. something simple like âthat looks good on you.â or âyou did well.â coming from him feels like a huge deal because he doesnât say things just to say them.
sae also secretly likes when you challenge him. most people either admire him too much or feel intimidated by him, but you arguing with him about something trivial â like which movie is better or whether heâs being too harsh on someone â is weirdly refreshing to him.
heâll act annoyed but he actually enjoys it. .deep down sae is someone who values loyalty more than anything. he doesnât let many people close to him, but once youâre in his circle he takes it seriously.
even if he doesnât say it out loud often, heâs the kind of person who will always show up for you when it actually matters.
written by - @ysvanielle (me) | please do not copy, steal, modify, repost or translate my content onto any other platforms or tumblr. reblogs, likes and follows are appreciated !
fingering you with his soccer gloves on . . . ; sae itoshi / MA18+
you canât remember how you ended up in this situation. the last thing you can recall is being sat in the locker room, sae in front of you in his soccer gear after he finished training
your eyes immediately gravitated to his gloves, the smooth black material covering his long fingers and veiny hands . .
it made you wet just thinking about them
âmy eyes are up here you knowâ
saeâs smooth voice cut through your explicit thoughts. you rubbed your thighs together, eyes still hyper focused on his hands
â âm awareâ
your voice barely above a whisper but laced with something seductive
sae stepped towards you, the scent of his cologne invading your senses. you felt the cool material of his gloves grazed you thigh before pushing them apart slightly
your hips shifted attempting to gain more friction against your throbbing cunt
âfuck, soaked already hm?â
his voice dripping with condescension, his hand slowly traveled to the button of your jeans to slip them down just enough
saeâs fingers rubbed the soaked patch on your panties just enough to make you whine, bucking your hips forward
the cold air of the locker room hit your pussy as he pulled your soaked panties to the side
âsae pleaseâ
your voice cracking slightly, tears welling up in your eyes and his aggravatingly slow pace
âwhat was that angel?â
his fingers teased your clit while his hot breath hit your neck
âplease i need you saeâ
you could feel his lips curl into a smirk as his gloved fingers slide against your glossy pussy
âmm yeah i bet you do babyâ
his fingers quickly pushing into your cunt without warning making you moan loudly at the sensation, your hand gripping his forearm
saeâs fingers worked quickly hitting that spot inside you that made your knees weak and your stomach feel hot
your eyes squeezed shut as you felt your orgasm approaching quickly
sae shoved a second finger inside of you which only tipped you closer to the edge
âfuck!â
you gasped trying to catch your breath while his thumb toyed with your clit, your hips grinded against his hand desperately trying to get yourself off
âshit! oh my god! âm cuming sae!â
âyeah? go onâ
the sensation in your tummy snapped and your eyes pressed shut, forehead falling against saeâs chest
your breaths laboured as sae pulled his fingers out from you his eyes focused on the glossy cum covering his glove
his other hand lifted to stroke your hair
âtired?â
saeâs voice cut through the comfortable silence
âa little . .â
your voice slightly hoarse, your head lifted to look up at sae who still had his glove covered with your cum on
you watched as he brought his hand to his lips licking the cum off
notes: nsfw, mdni, established relationship, early stages, oral (mostly receiving), if youâve seen me upload this on the prev blog no u didnât <3. lapslock formatting. title is from this song by cocteau twins | 742 words
being with sae is unexpectedly easy. itâs surprising to see how quick your walls crumble as he steps his foot into your life and slowly lets you into his. like sugar cubes in a hot cup of tea, everything dissolves and melts.
which was exactly how you felt when you first kissed, skin sparked with heat like painless prickly needles before you melt, every cell of yours coalesce. you forgot your own existence for a minute, if not for his breathy voice calling out to you. a hand on the lower back, another cradling your face closer, pulling you in, eyes locking and never leaving yours. he makes his presence known through gestures that seem small but gratifies you back down to earth, tethering you into its axis.
"do you trust me?"
he says. so casually in its earnestness, head dipping between your thighs, wanting you to open up to him, to be completely bare. he wants you to let him in. he wouldnât beg though, wouldnât have to anyhow, you quickly understood everything he wanted to say without words. you knew from how his eyes would look at you, comforting as they are intense, reassuring as they are assertive, a constant narcotic wave of push and pull that always weakens you. how and why would you ever refuse the words you see written in his ocean-kissed eyes?
so you let him, you open yourself up. vulnerability suits you, he thinks. he takes his time, meticulous as he would, tongue lapping at each and every part of you, not wanting to miss a spot, not wanting any part of your skin left untouched. a slow, deliberate tease, he tastes you everywhere but the point where you needed him the most. it makes him full, to hear your desperation, to hear your moans turn into whiny gasps of breaths. it satisfies him to see you impatient, to see you needy, to see you need him, weaving your fingers in his hair and muttering a string of incoherent pleases under your breath. he likes to be the one who gives you anything you ever wanted and needed.
so he licks you up where youâre open, a slow nudge upwards before closing his mouth on your sensitive clit, nerves alight with every contact and caress of his tongue. he couldnât take his eyes off you, not when youâre panting and helpless like this, not when you gasp as youâre stretched around his fingers, not when all your want painted all over his mouth and drenching his fingers down to his wrist.
he drinks you up like sugared water, each raspy moan and sighs melting his insides. he likes seeing his own spit on your glistening core, like seeing the insides of your thighs smeared with the sheen of your own mess like caramel, swirling his fingers into the ridges of your wall. he gently bites into the flesh of your thighs as you cry, wishing he could eat you over and over again. wishing he could drink up your moans like spilled juices of nectarines.
itâs so easy to grow into each other, you think, to consume one another with equal depth and intensity. tenderness that bites into your marrow. like the firm hands he holds you with at the curve of your hips as he helps you get dressed afterwards, and the gentle brush of skin to skin as he pulls your panties up your bare legs. your limbs loosening once again at the soft burning kisses he places on your knees, red from when you'd kneeled before him moments ago.
his mind wanders to the image of you kneeling, the tears on your eyes and the marks they leave on your cheeks, the cry of choke with each thrust as he hit the back of your throat. how consuming it is, he thinks, to be loved like this. he could never forget the look in your eyes each time you look up, he could drown himself in you and he might never want to swim back up. he felt like he would pick his ribs apart open to keep you there to himself forever if he could.
a smile paints itself on your face as he kisses them once more one by one. so he smiles softly back at you before he licks what remains of you on his lips, and reminds himself to make you hot tea with a little sugar afterwards.
The first thing you notice is warmth. The second thing you notice is that you cannot move. At all.
Your back is pressed firmly against a solid chest, one arm locked around your waist like a bar of iron. Your legs are half-tangled with his, one of his thighs hooked over yours possessively. The blankets are a mess somewhere near your feet.
You try to shift. Nothing. You try again. Still nothing. A low, sleepy sound vibrates behind your ear. ââŠDonât.â You freeze.
His voice is thick with sleepârough, quietâbut unmistakably him. ITOSHI SAE does not even sound fully conscious, and yet his grip tightens slightly when you test your freedom again.
âSae,â you whisper, trying not to smile. âI have to get up.â A pause.His arm tightens. You swear you feel his fingers flex against your stomachâslow, lazy, but impossibly strong. Even half-asleep, he feels like he could hold you there forever if he wanted to.
âNo,â he mutters into your hair. You huff. âNo?â âNo.â You attempt to peel his arm off. You might as well be trying to pry steel from concrete. âSae,â you protest, squirming a little. âWhy are you so strong this early in the morning?â
A faint exhaleâalmost a scoffâbrushes your neck. âSoccer player,â he mumbles. Right. Of course. Even unconscious, heâs competitive. You manage to twist slightly so youâre facing him. Big mistake. The moment you move closer, his arm slides fully around you, pulling you flush against him. Your forehead bumps his collarbone. His chin drops lightly on top of your head.
He is still asleep. But he has you secured like you are his most prized possession. ââŠYouâre ridiculous,â you whisper. His eyelashes flutter just barelyânot fully awake, but aware enough. His fingers slide up your back, slow and absent-minded, then settle between your shoulder blades.
âCold,â he murmurs. âYouâre not cold.â âYou are.â And thenâhe tugs you even closer.
Your nose presses against his chest now, his heartbeat steady and warm beneath your cheek. His hand spreads across your back, large and grounding, thumb rubbing a lazy line up and down as if soothing himself.
You test his grip one more time. You fail. Again. ââŠSae.â A hum. âI canât breathe.â âYouâre breathing.â You pause. Okay. Fair.
You feel him shift slightly, his leg hooking more securely around yours. He buries his face in your hair this time, inhaling softly. His voice drops even quieter.
âStay.â Not demanding. Not sharp. Just sleepy. Honest. You feel your heart melt a little. âYouâre going to make me late.â Another pause. ââŠFive minutes.â âYou said that yesterday.â âFive.â
His hand squeezes your waist onceânot painful, just firm enough to remind you that escape is impossible. Even half-asleep, Itoshi Sae doesnât loosen his hold. If anything, he pulls you closer the more you try to leave. Like his body refuses to let you go before his mind wakes up.
You sigh dramatically. He responds by pressing a soft, drowsy kiss against your temple. You blink. That was unfair. âSae.â âMhm.â âYouâre clingy.â âNo.â âYou are.â Silence. Then, quietly: ââŠOnly in the morning.â
His hand drifts down to rest over your hip, thumb drawing lazy circles. His breathing deepens again, evening outâbut the grip never weakens.
You realize something. Youâre not actually trying that hard to leave anymore. His warmth. His steady heartbeat. The way he subconsciously shields you with his entire body. You relax. His arm tightens instantly in responseâlike he felt it. Like he knows.
A small, satisfied hum leaves him. You smile into his chest. ââŠFine. Five minutes.â âGood,â he murmurs, already halfway back to sleep.Â
And even in his dreams, his hold stays firm. Safe. Unbreakable.
âౚà§ËâĄË àŁȘ
â âđ aika's letter !! this oneshot is for those who are hungry for sae because wow the amount of sae requests ive been getting.. (UHM YES some are from last year and like⊠some are just yall being hungry for sae i love you guys) tysm for reading !!! also this fic is inspired by @umbreakeer fic!! LOVE YOU AISEEE âĄâĄ
You and Rafayel danced far too long around each other.
He wants you, loud and clear.
"Hey," he rasps, pausing his gentle trail of kisses down your ribs, stomach, waist, hips. His goal that night was to make sure you knew he wanted every square inch of you.
"This isn't casual," he declares.
You're not surprised by the finality in his voice.
Rafayel negotiated with others. With you, there wasn't any room. Not in any way that harmed you. He just. would. not. budge. On carving a space into your life.
"What, not a pump and dump kinda guy?" You joke, nervous and deflective.
Rafayel frowns. He gets up, drags you down his silk cushions until you're flush against his knee. The pressure lights up a fire in you, and you moan. He drags his nails from thigh to calf, bites your inner ankle, hard, before soothing it with a kiss.
"I'm more of a one and done, rest of my life kinda guy." His stare is grave. You gulp.
"Is this too much for you?" He kisses your toes.
"No," you whisper.
"Then are you nervous, or do you not like me?" Did I read you wrong? For the first time, he worries his plush lips.
You found it scary how his resolve was simple, honest, intense since the beginning. At first, you let your disbelief color his commitment comical. But now...
Could it be that easy? To give your whole self, shamelessly.
"It's just hard for me to believe," that someone as well-loved as you would look at someone as normal as me.
He bends down, covering you from the rest of the world. He guides your chip upwards so you have no choice but to look at him. The silence is heavy.
He looks a bit sad, conflicted.
"Like, I'm dreaming or something. Too good to be true." You fill in, realizing the effect of your own insecurities.
In the rain, a small flame ignites in his eyes, and he lets out a shaken breath, as if there had been frost ready to shatter his throat. The relief you hear brews a bit of guilt in your stomach.
"I like you more than I can handle, Rafayel."
He exhales fully, closes his eyes, touches his forehead to yours, slowly opens his eyes.
"Me too. I like you more than you can imagine, if you couldn't already tell."
You nod, emotions flaring up, courage rising.
"You scared me," he says, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. You feel soft, pliant lips leaving raging marks on your throat.
"I'm sorry," you say, wrapping your arms around his back, pulling him in for a hug. It's meant to comfort and console, and Rafayel stuff his unchecked temptation down to caress you.
"Don't be," Rafayel groans, the position too tempting. He lifts his head and plants a kiss on you. You return the kiss, half-mindedly unbuttoning his shirt on the way down.
Another moan. "You're gonna be the death of me. But as long as it's you, I'm happy to go out that way."
A few days ago.
No-hunt zone 47-C.
"Accompany me to Italy."
Rafayel's sunglasses slid down his nose. The invite was nice and all, if you two weren't currently on-the-run from someone off Rafayel's hitlist. His vendetta cross the line of some unhappy third parties.
Rafayel, the nerve, just shrugged when very unplanned guests filed into your negotiation room. Guests who donned scary looking suits and illegal cyber-kinetics twisted into their necks.
You tossed a flashbomb. Rafayel stamped a few men wrist-to-wall with daggers he could depart with, and off you two sped in his lambo. After crossing the no-hunt zone, you opened the sunroof to blast the tires of some unlucky bastard.
Sinking back into the leather seats was only a temporary relief.
"You don't think they'll plant some hitman on the plane ride over?" You kick your feet up. Rafayel monitors his rear and side view mirrors.
"Nah, they couldn't afford the seats I got us," he jokes, taking an exit.
You laugh, but it trails off. White noise from the tunnel becomes deafeningly loud.
You and Rafayel weren't dating, but you guys were somewhere on the line.
Willingly lingering around Rafayel's schemes turned into a sticky web fast. Each one meant you had roles to play. Enemies, co-conspirators, traitors, partners, strangers, every act carried some tension.
Often, you'd end up either at each other's throat, or his heat would radiate behind you, hands pinning your wrists to some wall in a hostage act.
And Rafayel picked up on your lingering gazes.
But he kept this knowledge discreet. Let you slip out of his fingers, just to observe and take his time reasoning why you would reactively distance yourself. Additionally, he couldn't surrender the key to seeing you beg him to cross the line.
His hesitation made you run off with assumption. Figured he wasn't really interested.
"What's the event?" You ask.
Rafayel shifts gears, dutifully responds to your questionnaire.
"Two weeks. Venice Biennale Preview Days the first weekend, Private Viewing at Galleria Borghese the second, and few parties in between. Villa Medici, Roman Palazzo." Rafayel's eyes are on the road, proud of his offer.
"As your bodyguard? My international rates are pro-rata to how far I am from my 24-hour noodle shop."
Rafayel hums, hiding the disapproval of your incredulous question. He frowns, shakes his head, but entertains your deflection.
"As my plus one. So this one's off the books. Your rates aren't even a topic of discussion."
You gulp.
Out of all the days, you didn't expect Rafayel to pick this moment to add Lovers to the list of your fake identities.
Banquet attendances were always professional with Rafayel. Despite the heavy attention Rafayel paid you throughout the night, your employer-employee guise was real and required upkeep to other guests.
Which mean you've spent plenty of nights watching beautiful, beautiful women -intelligent, funny, well-spoken, and down to earth women- bring laughter, clever quips, philosophical revelations, and sustained touches to all but seduce Rafayel. He would entertain conversations. You weren't sure what else he entertained.
You reason the world is unfair and call it quits towards feeling any type of way. It wasn't worth shaking your confidence over. These women were extremely qualified suitors.
"Can I ask, what made you think this was the right time?"
"It came to me just recently," Rafayel comments breezily. You shoot him a look and he explains, "I was struck by inspiration."
You contemplate.
"It's strange," he begins musing, tunnel lights brushing over you two intermittently.
"I know how to draw a bath to your liking. I know when you've cried because you'll ask me for late night drives and someone to spar with. I know when something good has happened because you'll ask me to try your cooking and invite me to the best dates," he corrects, "best outings of my life. I know the memes that make you laugh, what infuriates you, what scares you, what motivates you, and you know all of these things about me, but I don't know what you're thinking right now."
Only later would he tell you that the inspiration was an undying sense of love, and purpose. He'd woken up to the two mug sets you made for him, plate and spoons and all in his sink, and decided he never wanted to see them back in your cupboard, or separated. Rejecting him would be the equivalent of beaching a whale, a death by stranding.
"I'm thinking about how many important families you'll be offending." You joke. It was a half truth.
"You told me once that these parties are full of connections, sponsors, potential leads. Is it really a good idea to show up with an outsider on your arm? The employer ruse hasn't failed us yet."
You're not fully sure how high society works, but you know reputation weighs more than diamonds and gold in his circles.
Rafayel tilts his head and thinks about your concerns seriously. You exit the tunnel to a beautiful sunrise.
"Hold this," he says, and you're confused by the abrupt halt. But you comply, open your palm.
He slips his fingers in between yours, places a kiss on the back of your palm.
You laugh in shock, bright. "Rafayel?"
He smiles.
"Don't worry about the politics. Think of it as another adventure. A new experience? If you don't like it, we can still put it down in the books. Another story to tell."
When he puts it that way, it was no different than any other time you spent together.
Rafayel pulls into a non-descript garage, opens your side of the door, extends a gentlemanly hand.
He's switching cars, cutting off any stray followers.
"My lady," he offers, and you take his hand and step out.
"Okay, yeah, that sounds fun. Let's go drink some mummified wine and die from excess cheese." Rafayel's eyes light up, and he kisses the back of your hand.
24 hours later.
Florence, Italy.
You're drinking a lot of wine. The first weekend is an extravaganza.
Rafayel is busy striking conversations with collectors, some who you think aren't really collectors. You've read the whole catalogue prior and trade cursory remarks about each piece's history. His hand never leaves your waist, never stops caressing your arm, tracing lines down your forearm.
"Thank you for attending," the organizer, and older woman, shakes your hand.
"It's an honor," you bow and return the favor.
She's one of Rafayel's long-time informants. You admire the crows feet impressed around her eyes, softly drawn on. Her warm greetings leave an open path throw the crowd.
Just then, a bit of ice chills your neck.
"Rafayel!" An elegant voice chimes from the crowd. You turn and hope for the best. It feels like walking onto a stage.
Eloiette, the banquet's swan, as beautiful and unique looking as her name, floats across the banquet hall to you both.
You pull away from Rafayel's grasp.
Uh uh, leaving me now? he whispers, pulling you back.
Your internal self's jaw is agape, pausing momentarily to yell at him. He doesn't budge.
She's already taken survey of you, splitting her eye contact between you two on the way over.
"It took me forever to find you." Eloiette swivels her head. "Oh? I don't know you. You didn't attend Academy with us." She states, emphasizing facts clear as day.
Ah, this game.
You shake your head, "No, I'm a hunter." Her lack of response forces you to add, "Combat specialist." Rafayel smirks, a newfound pride swelling.
"Best gal around. Not a single scratch." Rafayel gently compliments. You feel warm, you know that's a bold exaggeration.
"Oooh, well..." Eloiette trails off, interest fading quick. "Rafayel, come meet my parents? They'd love to pick up the last conversation."
Intentionally vague. Check.
He smoothes a thumb down your waist, irked at the overlooked introduction. Before he can fill you in, you pat his shoulder and mouth, Just go.
His eyebrow ticks, but he sighs and let's go.
"I'll find you," he promises.
"You're fine, have fun," you wave. Give him a genuine smile.
You turn around to sigh, only to come face to face with another. His slicked back hair, features sharp and dark, suit jacket low cut and staged to be inviting to his broad frame. Next to him, a genetic copy, but shorter in stature and fairer in features.
They're intimidatingly attractive, yet all you can think about is gossiping about this fact with Rafayel, wishing he was beside you right now. The face sits like a stone in your chest.
"I don't think we've met before," the handsome man greets, voice attractive. He extends an open palm to you.
"No," you exchange a professional, swift shake, "We haven't."
Before you can let go, he places a quick peck on the back of your palm, and your brain freezes.
"I'm Baron. This is my sister Ilena. She designed your dress, and I have to say - you are more than what either of us envisioned."
"Aha..." You're not sure if hand kisses are customary, so you drop his hand, and deftly maneuver over to Ilena, extending your hand.
His sister can't watch any longer, rolls her eyes.
"Sorry about my brother. But it's true, you're just what I imagined in my designs." Ilena eyes you up and down, light flashing off her crystal headdress.
Thankful for some semblance of normal conversation, you smile. "Well, it's an honor to meet you. The dress fits like... silk beds sheets. I could fall asleep in it."
"Oh, you know how to whoo a girl. I don't believe in suffering for beauty." Ilena banters.
"Would you join us at our villa? I'd love for you to model. Paid commission of course." There's fire in Ilena's eyes. You can only assume inspiration has struck her.
She flicks her brother's shoulder. "Drag Emmanuel out for a photoshoot, will you?"
"He's been in a creative slump for weeks," Baron comments, fixing his shirt.
"Well tell him I'm here to save him," she declares, "He'll recover."
You couldn't help but latch onto her energy. Maybe you two could be friends, but right now, all you saw was an opportunity to make yourself useful, accepted even by this crowd of strangers.
You had a couple mornings free.
Rafayel didn't want to overbook you, and while he extended invites to meet his clients, you politely declined, wanting to roam stone streets and soak in the sun.
"Where and when can I meet you?" An embossed business card finds itself in your palm.
"Studio address is on the back. Tomorrow, 3pm. I'm here for the week before we drive back." You nod, studying the address.
"So you'll come?" Baron reiterates. You nod, polite. A charming smile slips onto his face. You wonder how many women have been pulled in by his magnetic charm, yet all you can feel is the opposing, repelling charge.
Your heart sinks. Man, you have it bad for the fish.
"I look forward to seeing you tomorrow-" Suddenly, two waves crash into each other.
"Ilena," Rafayel's voice, amiable, pulls your attention. He steps into your space, eyes the card, smiles, gives you a squeeze.
His tone swiftly grays out when he greets, "Baron."
"Rafayel," Baron returns. He offers an arm to Ilena, clearly signalling that he'd like to make an exit soon. Ilena grabs on, but she's affixed to the floor.
"I didn't think you'd make it," Rafayel remarks. Ilena grimaces.
"Oh, you know, I was feeling quite gray but found enough vigor at the very last moment." She waves him off, airy as always. Rafayel laughs.
"I see you two have met." Rafayel turns to you, "Academy," he supplies. You make an O shape with your mouth. Of course they were all talented.
"I'm stealing your friend for a small favor," Ilena asserts, keeping the details mysterious.
Baron glazes you up and down once more before announcing abruptly, invisibly drifting Ilena away, "Lovely meeting you."
And they're gone.
The air is crisp between you and Rafayel. He waits until they're out of hearing range before turning to you. "Two things. One, dance with me? Two, 'see you tomorrow?'"
The orchestra gently murmurs in the back, their tuning session slowly morphs into the main show. You nod to both, resting a palm on his chest. Rafayel degloves, clasping your hand.
You've been to enough dress rehearsals to recite a basic waltz.
"I'll be Ilena's dress-up doll" Rafayel warmly leads you through the six-step box pattern, "Baron will be there, I guess."
"Mm," he responds, gears turning in his head, "She designs, he crafts. Family business." He has an important meeting with the organizer of tonight's event, tomorrow. Inside, he's sad he won't make it.
He twirls you, and once you're back in his arms, the light catches you in a new way. The shimmer of your eyes, dewy makeup making the fair angles of your face glow, blushed cheeks, lip in a new color that makes you look divine.
You're stunning.
Rafayel can only think about you in this moment.
He decides against dissuading you spending time with Baron. Instead, he simply returns with a calm, "You'll look great. Call me after and tell me which ones you like. I'll get them for you."
You tune out the strings and flutes and buzzing chatter of the other guests around you.
"What? Rafayel, there's really no need-" you can't imagine how much unreleased, custom-made clothing must cost.
"It hurts my feelings if you reject my gifts," he pouts.
You pout back, and he laughs.
"Thank you," you whisper, smoothing down his already pleated collar, letting him lead you into a new phase of the dance.
"So. Cute." he says almost absentmindedly, not at all minding your agape jaw.
You deflect.
"So, are you gonna tell me about your Academy days? What was apprentice Rafayel like? Was he studious, serious, rebellious, the model student, a slacker?"
Rafayel gives you a playfully disapproving frown.
"Me? Slack off? Those two concepts don't exist together."
You raise a suspicious eyebrow, remembering all the times he'd call you for spontaneous walks, breaks. A new cafe spot to check out, a new development in the family of squirrels by your favorite park, walks on the beach.
You open your mouth, and he presses a finger against your lips.
"I take it back," he smiles, tapping your nose.
"Oh I know, I'll go and ask Ilena instead. But she might sugarcoat all the fun details. Maybe Baron? Eloiette even-"
"Tsk tsk, who cares about them? You should be focused on dancing with me right now."
You sweep your gaze upon the dance floor. Moments like this were rare. Dolled up as your were, officially in Rafayel's arms, enjoying a dance that was too intimate it suddenly made you nervous again. You shake the thoughts out of your head.
"You're right," you admit. Rafayel's surprised he doesn't hear you press him for more information. You know you can coax it out of him later. For right now, you relax and lean back, letting him sway you to the pulse of strings.
No Eloiette. No pressure about not having enough status to be deemed worthy by the people in Rafayel's circle.
Any other day, you would have challenged him to lead the dance, make him do a little twirl and dip him. He would let you have your fun before faking you out, and the two of you would tussle on the ground. Yet, there was something nice about letting him take care of you like you were precious in his arms.
Just for tonight.
"Can this not be our only dance for the night, then?" You close the distance, perching onto his shoulder. He lifts you easily in another twirl.
"Beceause this is fun," you say when he dips you, "Now that we're good at it."
He grins, pulling you in tight to glide through the next steps. "The orchestra's set to play for an hour. We can dance for as long as you want, beautiful, but I think you might step out after 20 minutes."
You stay airy, getting lost in the natural fluidity, a few curls untucking themselves from your ear as he twirls you. "Nuh-uh, I've been to enough of your dress rehearsals. And I recall someone being the first one to ask for a break."
Rafayel frowns playfully, "And if I recall correctly, it's because my toes were suuuper sore," he shoots back, and you burn with embarrassment, memories of many clumsy lessons sparkling back into memory.
You feel his lips near the shell of your ear.
"I can go all night otherwise."
The heat on the back of your neck doesn't leave.
"Tell me when you want to stop."
"Okay," you say, unable to manage another quip.
In his embrace, the world closes in to just the space between you, time slows to imprint this memory.
When the orchestra slows, you lean on his chest. You give into your selfish desires.
"Rafayel," you say.
"Mmm?" He runs a hand up your back.
"Don't dance with anyone else." It comes out as a whisper.
His hand finds your jaw. He tilts your chin up, looking for answers in your eyes to several unspoken questions between you two. You're too afraid to lean in, or close your eyes, so you smile. Blink a few time innocently.
"Do you mean it?" And you breathe.
"Yes."
...
That night, Rafayel doesn't get much rest. He sent off a courier to Ilena with your measurements. A preventative measure to protect you from, what Rafayel assumes, will be Baron's excuse to get up close and personal under the guise of a mere tailor intaking a new client.
The picture of Baron touching you, an accidental slip over measuring tape, causes him to flinch. He tosses an arm to cover his eyes from the moonlight, bed cold and empty, wishing you had stayed.
You insisted on using the spare room, stating that you needed some down time to recover from the all the night's events.
After the banquet, you two found a pool hall and settled a mean score, walked the gardens, stealing glances in between exchanging stories about Rafayel's academy life, your night, and the upcoming days. You two sat on the rim of the water fountain.
He takes the opportunity to tell you about Eloiette. A long time ago, her father had decided they were the perfect match for each other. Rafayel didn't entertain it until their family name appeared in trafficking deals, and he figured the connection, the bridge, was already formed.
The night extended to lounging by his hotel room's fireplace. Yet after another hour, with a yawn, teary eyes, and full body stretch, you had announced it was time for bed. You two lingered by his door, stewing in the silence after saying goodnight.
He unwillingly fades into unconsciousness.
In the early morning, the singsong of birds and a gentle knock wakes him up. He still had a whole six hours, it was that early. He tosses a shirt on, opens the door and comes face to face to you in your pajamas.
"Good morning," he smiles, tired, and pulls you in.
"Oof," you catch yourself from tripping by his swift pull. "Morning, Rafayel, I just wanted to say... hi before getting breakfast."
He gives you a questionable look, knowing that service doesn't start for another two hours.
"Really?"
"Not really." You confess, "I just woke up and wanted to see you."
Suddenly, you're in the air bridal style. You go along with his antics, since you're not making much sense yourself. You could have avoided this whole interaction, waited until night to see him again.
"Perfect, you can 'see me' by taking a nap with me before the day starts."
He drops you onto the king bed. His own lean frame comes after, pressing his full weight onto you.
"You look like you didn't sleep well," you smooth his undereye and card your fingers through his hair. He murmurs something, but it's muffled by burrowing his face into your chest.
You figure this isn't a good time to bring up the revelation you had last night about your relationship.
When you take a peek, he's fast asleep. The birds are still chirping, shadows from tall trees speckling across the bedroom, hinting at a fresh breeze. It's warm weather, and you want to cry.
In the morning quiet, you admire the peace he's created and has always created for you. Your consciousness slips away as well.
When you two wake up, it's the best sleep you two have gotten. Neither of you bring up that it's the first time together. You're cocooned against his chest.
"Morning," he greets you again, this time fully rested.
"Rafayel," you return, gazing into his eyes.
The two of you stay in that moment, unsure who moves first into a soft kiss. It's just what you imagined. He moves, soft and malleable and sweet, against your lips for some time. You pull back for a breath.
"How do you feel?" He asks, caressing your cheek with a hooked finger. He's trying really hard to remain grounded, but all he wants to do is kiss and hold you.
"Nervous. Calm." You press a kiss on his finger. "I didn't expect that to happen so suddenly."
"Is that bad?" A hint of concern flashes in his eyes.
"Not at all."
"Maybe this isn't the right time, but..." You try to find your words, breathe out. "I don't want to pretend with you anymore."
As the weight of your words fully settle, the sun brightens, reflecting his mood.
"Good, thank god," Rafayel sighs against your lips. " I don't want you to pretend either, so this is the perfect time, a little late even."
"Do you trust me?" He tilts your chin up. You nod and lean in, unable to contain yourself anymore. He meets you halfway, eskimo kisses you, before getting lost in your lips.
Rafayel files through all of your potential worries. He lands on one unspoken fear of yours that you had mentioned in passing.
the city glowed gold outside the hotel window, fireworks waiting in the cold night, but saeâs attention never drifted past you.
you felt it in the way his fingers slid up your bare arm down to your hips. he was memorizing the year through your skin and it had you shivering.
âlook at me,â he murmured, velvet-dark.
you did⊠and he stepped closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his hand settling at your waist like he had every right to hold you this way.
ânew yearâs with you,â he said, âmight be the only thing worth celebrating.â
the countdown throbbed faintly from the streets below. ten, nine, eight. each number matched by the lazy drag of his thumb along your hip, the slight tilt of his head, the way his lips hovered just above yours, not touching, teasing.
three⊠twoâŠ
âcome here,â he whispered, mouth finally brushing yours, claiming and possessing you.
midnight tasted like him, and so did the new year.
rafayel always talks a big game beforehand. says shit like âyouâll be lucky if you can walk after this,â or âyou gonna act all shy until i fuck that outta you, huh?ââall ego, big hands dragging down your waist, mouth on your neck like heâs trying to leave a signature there. heâs good at it, too. knows how to rile you up, how to tease until youâre gasping and pulling at his shoulders like please, just fuck me already, and when he finally gives in, itâs rough. desperate. like he has something to prove and youâre the only person he wants to prove it to.
but afterwards? after he cumsâdeep, hard, with a low groan into your throat and his hands gripping you like heâs losing control of his own bodyâeverything changes.
he doesnât say a word. just lets out this shaky little breath, like the windâs been knocked out of him, and slumps forward, forehead resting against your collarbone, chest still heaving from how hard it hit him. he stays inside you for a second, still twitching, his hips barely moving, like he canât stand the idea of pulling away yet. like being even an inch out of you would ruin everything.
you try to moveâgently, not even to leave, just to shift your leg or reach for a blanketâbut his arm snakes around your waist, and he pulls you right back in with a soft grunt.
âmm-mm,â he mumbles, voice low and wrecked, lips brushing against your skin. âstay.â
and he means it. not in that possessive, cocky way he does when heâs teasing. this is different. softer. itâs like everything that built up inside himâthe tension, the bravado, the needâspilled out in that moment and left him a little hollow. and now the only thing that fills him back up is you.
he nuzzles into your neck, nose cold, breath warm, and presses a lazy kiss to your jaw. one of his hands strokes absent circles into your lower back, the other hooked tight around your thigh, like heâs trying to touch every part of you at once. heâs still coming down from it, but now itâs not about the sex anymore. itâs not even about the high. itâs about being close. about feeling your skin on his. your heartbeat under his cheek. your fingers carding through his hair like youâre calming him down from something he doesnât even know he was holding.
âyou okay?â you whisper, voice soft.
he nods without opening his eyes. âyeah. justâfuck. gimme a second.â
and he means it. not just to catch his breath. he needs a second to be here. to exist in this space where youâre warm and soft and still letting him hold you. where he can press lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder and not say anything and still feel like everything is understood.
because he might not be the best at talking about itâabout feelings, about what this is, about what you mean to himâbut this? this part? where his body says what his mouth never can? this is where he gives himself away.
he gets clingy. embarrassingly so. he pulls you closer even though thereâs nowhere left to go. rubs slow circles into your hip. mutters shit like âyou feel good like thisâ or âdonât move yetâ under his breath like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he opens his eyes.
and when you shift just enough to kiss the top of his head, his grip tightens again. vulnerable. like youâve got his whole heart and he doesnât even realize it until heâs already handed it over. heâll be cocky again tomorrow. probably say something dumb like âyouâre obsessed with meâ just to watch you roll your eyes.
but tonight? right now? heâs the one obsessed. and he doesnât want to let go. not even for a second.
A flint striker token for the boy who tried and seemingly failed to ignite the rebellion but would go on to mentor and ensure the girl on fire succeeded where he failed
NO CLUE IF THIS IS ANYTHING BUT SOUKOKU IS BACKKKKK!! ADA!SKK THIS TIME. This doodle is absolutely a reference to The Road Not Taken by TopHat69 that fic is so so so amazing. @tophat-69 if you find this piece YOUR FIC GIVES ME LIFE I LOVE IT SO MUCH đđ Also! the ADA Chuuya design was very inspired by @originalartblogâs rendition of this auâs chuuya⊠Both of these people are so cool yâall better go find em and show em some love
Anyway yeah I hope the lighting here makes some amount of sense I was struggling icl </3
