first installment of mary's first kinktober (slot 5)
The Last Dance
synopsis: you're afraid that you've fallen in love with the court artisan's foreign apprentice, little do you know that fate has other plans for you tw: cunnilingus, cum eating, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, masturbation (f), loss of virginity, pull-out method, pet names (princess, cutie, pretty girl), inaccurate representation of royalty and post renaissance era minors dni genre: royal au, fem!reader is a princess, artist!rafayel, forbidden love au, angst, fluff, drama wc: 9.1k (this is why it took me so long to write) an: this is not a medieval au btw, everything in the fic is quite modern, some time after the renaissance, rafayel is from italy for no particular reason. if you like this fic, pls COMMENT and REBLOG. if you wanna keep reading my fics, pls act like a civilised tumblr user and reblog stuff
The first time you saw him was the day after an intense study session; your eyes were heavy with sleep, body aching from sitting in the library poring over academic books. You awkwardly stood at the doorway to the solarium, the door slightly ajar to give you a clear view of the man perched on a little stool. His fingers moved gracefully over a canvas in prep work, covering it in thick white gesso. He never looked at you once, unbothered by the creaking noise of the door as you slid it open all the way to marvel at him. He probably didn't even notice you, consumed in his work, while you gawked at him like you'd seen an angel. Rather than the painter, he should've been the painting.
You staggered to find your balance, arms laden with books that you would have to finish reading once you reached your chambers. Maybe he heard your scrambling, because as soon as he turned to look back at the little commotion, you bolted. You ran down the corridors in quick, long steps, away from the mysterious painter.
A week later, you saw him again; in the first hours of dawn, a bag slung over his shoulder. It looked like he had just arrived at the Palace, opening pots of paint and arranging his brushes in order. even then, you couldn't pick up the courage to talk to him, preferring to stand at the doorway, watching him fold his sleeves up to his elbow, lean forearms caught in the light.
Just before you could be broken from your reverie, you heard footsteps behind you. Lord Johnathan, one of the Royal court ministers, had arrived; clad in fine silk, no doubt prepared to have his portrait painted. His servants trailing behind him, fussing over the details.
"Your Royal Highness", he immediately bowed. "Didn't expect to see you here this fine morning."
You bowed back to him with a nervous chuckle, stepping away from the entrance to the studio.
"Oh no", you started, "I was just curious to see the new painter. Where is Lord Ilias? The Court painter?"
"He's fallen ill, Princess", he solemnly said. "But he did send his apprentice of two years to help finish with the yearly portraits."
He beckoned you to enter the studio. You weighed your options, better meet the apprentice now than later, you supposed.
"Please take a look at how he works, Princess. I know that you prefer the arts as much as you prefer to stay up to date with the Royal affairs."
You've been in the solarium before; it was the most beautiful room in the Palace. The ceiling was made of glass, light shining through in beams of wonder. Frosted windows of assorted colours reached the ceilings from the floor. One side of the room was filled with artworks and sculptures, most of which were by Ilias and some of yours. The other side of the room had silken sheets draped from the ceiling for a pretty backdrop. The floors were somewhat messy, strewn with broken charcoal, unfinished canvases and streaks of dried paint; a testament to the whirlpool of free thinking that took place in the room. In the middle of it all, stood he.
The first time you locked eyes with him, you didn't expect it to be so intense. His eyes were the shade of lavender, glassy and shimmering. He regarded you and the minister with a deep bow, all the while holding eye contact with you. He was entranced by the mere sight of you, breath punched out of his lungs, he could swear his stomach did a backflip when you entered the room in all your glory.
"Your Highness", he said, walking towards you with an outstretched hand, in which you tentatively put yours. "What a pleasant surprise". He leaned down to kiss your hand, his plump lips pressed to your skin, his touch featherlike. You quickly retracted your hand back with a jolt, heat rising over your features.
"Allow me to introduce myself", he said with another polite bow. "I am Rafayel, apprentice of court artisan, Lord Ilias-"
Rafayel. Rafayel. Rafayel.
A name you didn't know you would be whispering like a mantra in waking and in dreams.
"-and I shall have the honour of painting you, your Highness."
You quickly held up your hands in defense, a nervous smile once again gracing your features. "Oh no, it's not me who you'll be painting." But just as he was about to open his mouth to say something about it again, you shot him a stern look. He narrowed his eyes, immediately taking a hint and busied himself with Lord Jonathan, praises falling from his lips like molten honey. Charmer.
Sitting down on your usual corner of the solarium, you watched Rafayel begin painting. He worked swiftly, laying down the base colours with practiced ease; it looked almost effortless. It wasn't even an hour in, when Lord Johnathan's neck was growing stiff, that Rafayel already got a full picture of his silhouette on the canvas. You sat up from the couth, inching closer to him to get a better view of his canvas.
"That looks amazing!", you cried out in delight. "In all my years of watching Ilias paint, I've never seen him do it so well."
You point to his brushstrokes, "Even the strokes are seamless."
"If your Highness wants, I can show you some of my techniques," he had a small smile playing on his lips. You dared not to look at him, heart quickening in your chest, you stood up to full height, smoothing a hand down your gown.
"Well then, I shall see you next week...Mr. Rafayel".
The following week, you waited at the solarium; haphazardly sprawled over the couch, lost in thought. The silence of the room rang in your ears. Was this a mistake you were making out of a whim? Perhaps so, but it was hard to rid yourself of the seed of yearning Rafayel had planted in your heart.
When Rafayel enters the solarium, tightly gripping the leather strap of his bag; he sees you staring up at the clear sky from the couch, morning light dancing on your skin, spilling over your dress. His breath hitches at the sight, drinking in your appearance before the heat rises to his cheeks, which has him looking away. Reminding himself of where he rightfully stood before you, he let out a loud cough to alert you of his presence.
As he expected, you sit up immediately, dusting your dress- which he understands to be a nervous habit of yours.
"Your Highness", he said with a smile. "Didn't notice you're here already."
You could almost feel an awkward silence fall over you to, but surprisingly Rafayel beat you to it. He came forward, handing you a a singular round plum.
"Picked this up on my way here", he quietly said. "Thought your Highness would like it."
You let out a laugh. He was such a thoughtful cutie. You held the plum in your fingers, heart warming a little, feeling the initial ice between the two of you begin to break away.
"My father had many plum trees planted in the capital, the day I was born," you smile up at him.
He gave you a sheepish grin, he conjured a little pouch to show you he'd brought some more.
"I guess I'm still learning new things about your kingdom then", he says with a chuckle. "Well, let me set up a few things for practice."
He took a step back from you and set his bag down on the nearest table, the table is overflowing with art tools haphazardly laid out. It's a chaotic mess, but Rafayel moves around the tools like he knows it by heart. You watched him setting up an old easel right beside his own, balancing two empty canvases on them.
He beckoned you towards one of the easels, you sat opposite him on a stool, hands folded on your lap, shyly watching him mix a few paints together with brushes longer than your forearm. He hands you a palette and a few brushes.
"What are we painting?", you ask.
"Oh devils, I forgot we need a subject", he said with a gasp. A small pout formed on his delicate lips; it was endearing.
Just then a few servants burst into the solarium, rolling in carts of tea and a tower of assorted snacks. Rafayel eyed it suspiciously, but you just beamed at him.
"Just in time", you said, dismissing the servants. "I can handle it from here."
You turned to look at him. "Sugar? Mr. Rafayel?"
"Your Highness, I don't want to impose."
"it's just breakfast, Mr. Rafayel", you had a patient smile on your lips, cheeks warming under his gaze.
"One tea spoon is fine," he finally said with a huff, relaxing a little in your company.
You usually performed with grace around guests, you moved like the picture-perfect princess everyone knew you to be; confident and swift. But in front of Rafayel, your hands shook a little with nerves, struggling with the simple task of putting some darned sugar in his tea. As soon as the task was over, handing the tea cup to him you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.
Rafayel watched you with an amused expression on his face, momentarily forgetting what the two of you were here for. He was so consumed by the look on your pretty face, he lazily imagined what it would be like to paint you, put down the colours of your skin, your eyes, your hair onto the canvas; it would capture the hearts of any spectator, to see the final painting. How could it not.
"So uh....the subject-", you trailed off, looking around the room.
Rafayel was eyeing the big princess cake on the little trolley; it had a few finger sandwiches and buttered toasts beside it, but the green cake stood out to him more. "I know just the subject we need", he said with a smirk, setting down his teacup.
You don't know how you ended up in this position. He's standing right behind you, your back to his chest, his hot breath on your neck. You wanted to scream into a void. He gently guided your hand over the canvas, pointing out where the highlights and shadows should go. The proximity left you breathless in his wake.
But as soon as he was there, he was gone. A smirk played on his lips as he sat back down at his spot and went back to painting like nothing had happened. You had no idea how he seemed so unaffected, while your poor heart was beating like you were on a marathon.
The painting session ended much early than you expected, he had other errands to run- he politely told you. You deflated a little on the inside, wishing you could stay in his company for just a bit longer. As if hearing your thoughts, he looked at you with a tilt of his head. "I suppose I'll be seeing you next week, your Highness."
"That would be delightful, Mr. Rafayel", you grinned at him.
"Just Rafayel will do, your Highness."
And here you thought you couldn't blush any harder.
Rafayel came into your life like a storm, brewing with mischief. As graceful as he looked to an onlooker, sweet and charming, he was a devious little imp around you. The more time you spent with him, the more layers of him you peeled back. His little tricks, the pranks he played on you around the palace, it was starting to give your servants a headache. Sometimes, he sent you bouquets of flowers, asked the chefs to cook you his favourite meal from Italy, and you had to hide your face in your hands when you found out each time. The servants were never a bother to you about him but you were cautious to keep your image clean.
You knew how serious the matter could get if word got out that you were getting too close to a commoner, but it was a little game you wanted to keep playing, no matter how high the stakes got.
"Princess, you're invited to a ball", your servant chirps.
It was early morning, your brain was foggy and you had a heap of homework to finish before your Professor's head could explode, as he complained last study session. Books and papers were scattered all over your room in a mess. You knew attending these balls were important, it helped you stay connected with Royal news, more like Royal gossip. Studying is important too, you thought bitterly- these Royal gossips weren't going to do much good for you than fill your brain with useless filth.
"Who's hosting it?", you asked with a yawn, scratching your chin, hand outstretched at your servant to hand you the morning paper.
"Princess Mirabel of the southern province," the servant responded with a patient smile, watching you slump your shoulders in defeat. "But you need not worry, Princess, she's hosting the ball at her summer mansion. It's just a day's journey from here. All the princesses and noblemen of our kingdom are invited."
Summer mansion, it sounded silly to you at first. But Mirabel was all about grandeur, she was the most influential princess of the kingdom, asking for anything on a whim and having her wish granted. It was always like this ever since you were younger, you hated her guts more than anything. However, this ball sounded like it was more than just idle gossip. It was something serious...maybe something to do with marriage? You wondered.
You tried to pick up on clues about the ball around the palace, but no one knew anything. Or maybe they just refused to tell you, a stupid ball couldn't be this secretive. You were beyond pissed. Attending this ball meant you'd miss a lot of study sessions with your Professor. He was always sweet and understanding of your duties as a princess, but you wanted to enjoy an earlier winter break to write a book; right before you could join the royal court next summer.
The book; you've always wanted to pen a book ever since you were young. Hence, all the hard work to learn more about the world, to write something that could change the lives of people for the better. Ever since you met Rafayel, you felt even more inclined to write something of your own. He always painted such elaborate pieces that had you yearning to create something just as beautiful, in your own way.
You sighed, looking out the window. You missed him a lot. He hasn't visited you for a month, taking off without a word when Lord Ilias came back. It pained you a lot. Deep down, you wanted to believe he would come back, even if it was just to see you. You neatly folded the newspaper away from your table, watching your breakfast get colder by the second; you recounted your last meeting with him. It was in the forest. The two of you stole away from the Palace on horseback, deep into the woods until the bustle of the city dimmed away in the quiet afternoon sun. He led you to places you've never been to before, even with your trusted knight, Xavier.
It was thrilling, having Rafayel all to yourself, tying the horse away on the hollow wood of a felled tree. He was so close to you that day, you bitterly recount the memory. His face was so close to yours, his lips just inches away, when he held you to break your fall from a tree. You could smell the scent of lavender and the ocean on him.
Had you some courage, you would kiss him, you would hold your hand over his heart, and promise your life away to him. But alas, poor you. The only thing you had to deal with remotely concerning Rafayel was to bury this immense guilt of loving him, wanting him in the most twisted of ways. The more you thought of him, the memory of seeing him without his shirt resurfaced in your mind. How he gracefully swam in the forest lake, like a gliding fish surrounded by the sweet water of its home.
He had never looked so relaxed; it overwhelmed you as you watched him from the quiet banks of the shimmering lake, gathering flowers in your hand. Even then, you remember yourself wondering if the wildflowers could fit onto your wedding corset. You had to shake the idea away; marriage for you would be a nightmare in the coming years, betrothal to some prick of a man of another kingdom they would have the nerve to call prince.
You dismissed those whirling thoughts away; no man would measure up to what Rafayel meant to you. How he managed to change your life in just the stretch of one long year. He made you feel like you've known him since childhood, like he knew you like the back of his hand. Even so, he was so far away- the free spirit of an artist.
Though your love for him was purer than anything, your actions could have made a saint faint, had you dared recount it to anyone. It was the root of all your guilt, the root of sinful pleasure brewing between your legs that had you gasping out his name in the dark of the night. Your cheeks warmed at the thought, sin bleeding into your veins as you imagine his lithe figure, amethyst hair crowned by the sun. How he looked at you, an iridescent glow in his eyes.
You run across your room to lock the door and shut the windows. It was the wee hours of the morning, and you didn't have anything particularly important to do that day; no one would notice if you started your day a little later than usual. You shimmy off your nightgown, carefully placing it at the edge of your four-poster bed.
Your mind is a mess of lewd thoughts and wanton need as you lie yourself down into the silken duvet. Heart hammering in your chest at the fear of getting caught in such unholy act, you look around the room, careful to assess whether you'd forgotten to pull any of the curtains.
The coast was clear, so you tentatively parted your legs, spreading them delicately over the bed, your heels dipping into the softness of the four-poster. You wet your fingers between your tongue and let them wander over your core in tender movements; was this how Rafayel would touch you? Or would he marvel at your breasts first, you put your other hand over the swell of your breast, gently pinching your nipple.
"Raf...Rafayel..", you said his name in a breathless whisper.
Your fingers slowly dipped into the soaked slit, slippery juice spilling out of you in silent prayer. Every fibre of your being was calling out to Rafayel, a fire lighting in your body in his name, in worship of him.
You pushed your finger inside in a crazed frenzy, heart choking in pain, the more you thought about him. How cruel were the hands of fate, for no matter how much you begged the heavens or the stars, Rafayel was still a commoner. A mere commoner who happened to come by the Palace for commissions.
Your core was warm, stuffed with your finger; it always felt so good- like the finger was the missing piece of the puzzle. Your other hand parted your folds, a little too hastily to pinch the nub just above your finger-stuffed slit. Your back arched off the bed, a loud moan tumbling off your lips. You slowly worked both your hands, one pumping in and out of you, the other circling over your clit feverishly.
His name was like a magic spell falling from your lips, like a prayer.
"It feels so good", you cried out to the stale air of your bedroom, eyes shut, imagining him. "So good, Rafayel, so good."
The orgasm comes to you like a tide breaking at the shores of an unexplored ocean. You threw your head back with a cry, hands stilling between your legs. The sharp pleasure burst inside of you like a firework and settled over your body. Juices spilled out of your hole, sticking to your fingers. Your temples were beaded with sweat at the effort of your orgasm.
You sit up to clean your hands of the filth that covered your fingers, mind clouding with sleep and a little hint of regret. Usually, guilt would eat you alive every time you gave in to your desires; but this one time, it was sadness that enveloped you. You fell back to the bed, curling in on yourself.
"Rafayel...", you choked out his name in a pathetic wet sob, giving yourself up to the calming hands of sleep.
A loud knock on the door woke you up in the afternoon, you scrambled out of bed to throw on your nightgown, deciding at the last moment to part your curtains. When you open the door, it's Xavier, holding a large paper box with floral patterns on it. He bows at you, a small smile playing on his lips.
"You have a parcel from Lord Rafayel, your highness."
"Where is he? Did you meet him?", you cried out immediately. Xavier gives you a pointed look like he was expecting this reaction, nudging the box towards your door in silent permission.
"He requested you to wear it to the ball," he said with a sigh, putting the box out of your reach when you tried to take it from him instead.
You parted the door to let Xavier in. He put the box on the ottoman beside your bed, walking out of the room as soon as he walked in.
"This really doesn't make sense, Xavier," you whined at him, "First he disappears for so long, and now he's tailoring outfits for the ball?"
His face broke into a devilish grin, like he was in on a joke you can't understand. He adjusted the sword at his hip for a brief moment and turned sombre again, flashing you the smile you've come to trust for years on end.
"I hope my lady is prepared to start for the summer mansion tonight."
You groaned at that, almost making up your mind to grab Xavier's silken collar and shake some answers out of him.
"Send in my servants, I'll be done packing in an hour," you said waving him off him a scowl. "You can start loading the carriages as soon as I'm done."
Xavier leaned against the doorframe, smirking at you.
"You know you fret too much."
"And you're getting out of line, mister."
"Just start packing now, all will reveal itself in due course."
You narrowed your eyes at him, but then broke out in a breathy laugh. Yet, the stone that formed in your stomach at his words didn't seem to go away.
The damn little summer mansion, it's not little at all; at least, it's not what you had in mind when you first heard of it. It's a beautiful place with the most lush garden, decorated with all the flowers from around the kingdom, spelling out Princess Mirabel's name. It was a rainbow of colours all around. There was a vast field behind the mansion, and it was surrounded by wisteria; lavender wisteria hung so low you could almost taste it. It was a dreamy backdrop for all the rush of festivities.
A part of you was hoping to see Rafayel when you arrived there. But you quickly washed those thoughts away, settling to poke fun at Xavier, who was blushing like a tomato when one of the stable girls came to talk to him. You'd never seen him look so bashful before.
The day of the ball rolled around, and by then, you've met almost all the princesses for tea. You haven't seen most of them in years; there's hardly ever a ball to tie you all together.
"I'm sure none of you know why I gathered you all here today," Princess Mirabel said, standing up with the glass of champagne in hand during lunch. "This ball is to strengthen our sisterhood, to make a decision amongst ourselves before the kings of the provinces can bring forth their orders."
Loud murmuring fell across the dining hall, and you sat there even more confused. What was she exactly talking about? Everyone seemed to have the same question, looking around all their faces, you supposed they had an inkling...only you were in the dark.
"The Crown Prince of Italy has run away", she started, you groan under your breath and try to fight an eyeroll. International Royal gossip now, fun. "Apparently, he ran away years ago."
Mirabel paused for dramatic effect. Everyone gasped, only you folded your arms, wishing you could disappear altogether. The medium-rare steak was getting cold in front of you, so you decided to take a bite as she kept talking, dipping it in some honey glaze for good measure.
"But now the King wants him to return home, apparently...he's fallen ill."
Another collective gasp.
"Word has it that he's residing in our Kingdom, sheltered by good people."
The entire room erupted. Princesses stood up from their seats to argue the matter, some looking terrified, and you had to stop eating. None of this sounded good at all. This gathering was starting to unfold like a nightmare. When Mirabel waved at everyone to sit down, only Princess Dolly kept her ground, calmly staring at Mirabel.
Out of all the princesses, you somehow liked Dolly the best. She was the most level-headed person anytime chaos broke out. She was also the sweetest of the bunch, which is why you preferred to stick to her during balls or tea parties.
"Does this mean war, Mirabel?", her voice reverberates through the room.
Everyone stayed dead silent, your heart was hammering against your chest. But Mirabel broke into a grin and threw her head back in loud laughter.
"Noooo, no, no. In fact it's quite the opposite", she laughed, wiping her eyes of the tears that escaped her. "I heard the King has sent an envoy for the Prince, he has to find a bride by the next fortnight to return home and reclaim his Crown and forgiveness."
You slumped in your chair, all that dramaticism for what? You watched them excitedly talk about it as you decided to sip on some water. Unfortunately you had to choke it out when you heard the next words Mirabel said.
"That is why I decided to send out a messenger to Italy to request for the Prince's hand in marriage; if he doesn't find a bride by the next fortnight, he'll surely choose me!" she squealed loudly, flipping her hair. You rolled your eyes. Pig; you thought.
The dress Rafayel requested you to wear to the ball was an intricate ball gown. It had a lavender bodice, tailored perfectly to your size. It was sleeveless with a low neckline, one that you quickly realised would show a little cleavage when the servants helped you into it. The look was paired with white satin gloves that went all the way to your elbows. The skirt was elaborately decorated with diamonds and silver threads, thick embroidery of wisteria that ran over your thighs, carefully pleated along the sides.
You couldn't look away from the mirror in your room, heart swelling with a feeling you couldn't quite place. You decided not to wear any jewellery; the dress was going to speak for itself.
When you walked into the ballroom, you could almost swear everyone was stunned for a little moment. Or perhaps it was all in your head, because right in the middle was Rafayel; when your name was announced, you've never seen him whip his head around to look at you so fast.
His eyes locked with yours, and you almost tripped over yourself in his burning gaze. He was looking majestic in the blazing firelight of the ballroom. He wore a lavender and silver tuxedo with intricate embroidery of wisteria along the chest and sleeves. His hands were gloved, and his amethyst hair was swept to one side; a tad different from his usual style. He looked perfect.
"Princess," he breathed out, bowing deeply. "You look like a masterpiece."
He always called you that, rather than it being a formal way to address you; he said it like a nickname. When no one was around, he called you his cutie, his little artist, his, his, his. Heat crept up your face at his confession, cheeks warming with the fire of untamed love for him. Yet you decided to politely smile at him, offering your hand so he could press it to his lips in greeting.
"I really didn't expect to see you here", you murmur at him.
"It's my last commission as apprentice to Lord Ilias, princess", he said with a nod of his head, waving around the room so you could get a better look. You frowned at him, eyes following his beckoning hands.
The ballroom is an elaborate hall, floor decorated with black and white chequered tiles, windows that reach the ceiling from the ground, and French doors leading to the garden outside. The room is decorated with wisterias, enveloping the nooks and crannies like a dream, just as you'd seen outside. Long mirrors lined the walls in intervals along the windows, reflecting the light from the fires of the candlesticks.
"I'm in charge of administering the whole ball, you know", he said with a grin, running a hand through his hair.
"Is that why you've been busy tailoring ballgowns for Royalty now?", you nudged him playfully, holding back a laugh.
He leaned down towards you, eyes turning dark.
"If you pay attention, it's just for you, cutie"
Before you could ask another question, a servant came up to him for help with the crystal glasses. Rafayel gave you an apologetic smile when he was dragged away to fix the problem.
You fanned your face with your hands, walking towards some of the princesses who were chatting at one of the corners. The room is packed with people, noble people mostly, some who you've talked to before, some who you've only seen at the palace.
When Princess Mirabel saw you, she pulled you to her little gathering.
"Here is our little Princess of the capital", she announced, waving at you. "Looking dashing as always."
She's wearing a pale yellow dress, embroidered with golden thread, a stark contrast to the theme of the ball. You idly wonder if Rafayel had to do with any of this, connecting the dots- it clicks in your head, and you look around the circle closely. Everyone is wearing colours that somehow don't match the theme.
Naturally, you'd think there was a theme, given the fact that wisterias were hanging in every corner of the mansion. Besides, Rafayel and you ended up matching with the lavender tuxedo and dress.
You hid your face behind your hand, groaning internally.
"And she shall be joining court with us next summer!", Mirabel rambled on. Everyone nodded their head, beaming at you. You shyly shook their hands and took their advice about attending court.
"Can't wait to see you in court, I've heard so much about you already", a tall man beside you spoke up. He had dark onyx hair, hazel eyes framed by silver spectacles, boring into your soul; it was quite mesmerising.
"I'm Zayne, Duke of the Western Province", he introduced himself with a little bow, and you bowed back, offering him a smile. The musicians had already started playing a little music, soothing your nerves; you half hoped Zayne would ask you to dance, but he decided to settle for some polite conversation.
Unfortunately, Mirabel had to cut you off a little too rudely, pulling you by the hand.
"I saw you with Lord Rafayel earlier, don't act so intimate with a commoner around so many courtiers", she hissed in your ear, mouth a thin line. "It can cause a rather big scandal and bar you from attending court."
She walked away just like that, leaving you breathing heavy, anxiety wracking your mind. Zayne must've heard some of it; he gave you a sympathetic smile, raising a hand to...soothe you? You were downright horrified, your heart feeling like a heavy burden in your chest. You moved away from Zayne with a sob stuck in your throat, tears pricking your eyes.
You walked out and away from the ballroom. You were a mess, breathing heavy, tears freely spilling over your cheeks. Mirabel was either looking out for you or threatening you. You knew how brutal competition was; one mistake and you were done for life.
Skirt bunched in your hands, you walk towards the wisteria decorated field, it's illuminated by the last light of the evening, casting a serene glow over the scenery. You plop down on the nearest stone seat and sniffle loudly, wiping the tears away with the back of your hands.
People in the ballroom would think you're crazy, especially Zayne, after he'd seen the matter unfold right in front of him. Here you were, getting lectured by a petty Princess who would eventually marry the Prince of Italy, while you'd be perpetually stuck loving a man who just happened to be a commoner. You sniffled again, eyes roaming over the wisteria. The scent of earth and flowers overwhelmed your senses when you breathed in. Yet, it also made you a little calmer.
Suddenly, Rafayel dropped himself beside you on the little stone seat. The shriek you let out is blood-curdling, tumbling off the seat, not expecting to see him in the moment. But he caught you, graceful hands settling over your waist and pulling you up to himself. He threw his head back in laughter, and you placed frustrated thumps on his solid chest.
"You scared me, idiot", you whined, melting into his touch. Hands snaking around him, you hugged him tighter and broke into tears.
"Woah woah, cutie", he gently hushed you, cradling you. "What happened?"
You tentatively detach yourself from him, hiccupping. He ran his hands over your face and hair, soothing you and wiping you tears away with his stupid gloved hand. His eyes were shining, face solemn when you looked at him. You sighed, "I was being stupid around Mirabel, she's such a stuck-up."
He snorted. "Tell me about it."
You grinned at him, breathing out a laugh. "Aren't you working for her or something?"
"Not for long", he said, tucking some hair behind your ear. "Tell me, what did she do to upset my pretty girl."
His pretty girl?? You were trying not to grab his face and kiss him.
"Nothing", you lied, deciding to leave out the part where she mentioned him. "Would you know? The Crown prince of Italy ran away?"
He gave you an incredulous look.
"What does have to do with me", he cried out.
"I don't know, isn't it your kingdom?"
He rolled his eyes at you. You sighed again, leaning against his chest.
"Anyway, Mirabel sent a messenger to Italy to ask for his hand in marriage."
"Well, that does present some problem," he hummed, fingers gently caressing your scalp.
"Ohh, now you care."
"Can't see her win, can we?", he grinned at you. "Not when she's got you crying your pretty eyes out. He pulled you to your feet. The moon was already out, beams of light falling across his face, illuminating his features. His amethyst eyes, the ridge of his nose, plump lips wet with his tongue. He extended his hand to you, in which you put yours in. He brought it to his lips again, kissing it several times. You let it, you didn't care if someone saw you in that moment. You didn't care if you were barred from attending court. You just wanted to be with Rafayel.
Moonbeams bathed your corner of the field in a pale, silvery glow, spilling through the wisteria like lilac tinged mercury. Rafayel’s fingers were warm around yours, grounding and steady. The glimmer in his eyes was enough to distract you from your ultimate fate.
“You know,” he murmured, still holding your hand against his lips, “I don’t really know how to dance.”
You gave him a skeptical look. “You’re an artist, Rafayel. I'm not buying what you say so easy.”
He smirked, then stepped closer, slipping one hand around your waist. “Fine, fine. If I mess up the dance routine, just pretend it's how we dance in Italy.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t resist when he gently pulled you into a sway. The music from the ballroom wafted into the steady air of the night, snaking its way into your heart. You could smell him, the lavender and ocean scent intoxicating you. You breathed him in, hoping you could stay here forever, holding him like this.
“You still crying, cutie?” he whispered into your hair.
“No,” you mumbled, your cheek pressed against his chest. "Your dancing is awful enough to distract anyone.”
He lets out a chuckle, twirling you around, pulling you closer than you already were. "That's my girl." Your breath hitched at that.
His girl. His, his, his.
You looked up, really looked at him; eyes locked onto his.
“Rafayel” Your voice was small. Your heart pounded in your throat. He hummed at you. “What did you mean this was your last commission?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just held you tighter, slowly swaying you beneath the stars. With a long breath, he answered, “I'm going back.”
Your breath caught. You didn't need to ask where; you knew. But you wanted to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. Get him to answer you, to clarify for you. Because it didn't sound like he was going to come back.
"Why?", the word is punched out of you, his face falls at your quivering voice.
"I've been away too long."
He didn't say anything else, and you stayed quiet.
"I love you", you blurted out, unable to hold back anymore. If he really was leaving, you wanted him to leave with a piece of you in his heart. The world stopped. The field around you rang with an eerie silence. Rafayel blinked at you, once, twice; then his brows furrowed, like he was confused. But a shy smile broke across his face. He cupped your face in his hands, pressing his soft lips against yours.
Tears brimmed again, but this time they're a little more melancholy. You were finally kissing the man you loved so dearly, a man who just happened to be leaving you forever.
You kissed him back with a quiet, desperate fervour. You've been waiting too long, holding yourself back in his wake. His arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. It was slow, consuming your soul. A fire ignited in your chest. His tongue poked against your lips, gaining access to your mouth; dancing with your tongue, tasting you.
When you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, you were both breathless. A thin line of saliva connected your lips together.
"Don't leave me", you whimpered, short, ragged breaths puffing against his lips.
“Never,” he whispered, like it was a prayer, like he couldn't believe himself. "I'll always be with you, no matter what comes our way."
Rafayel had you sprawled underneath him on the bed in the room you were staying in. It's dimly lit by a few candles and the moonlight shining through the sheer white curtains. He was kissing you with low groans, hunger evident in his eyes every time you pulled away. His tuxedo is in a little pile with your dress. You're in your undergarments, feeling naked under his gaze.
"Rafayel, I've never done this before", your confession hangs in the quiet air of the room. He sat back up to look at you, one hand undoing the buttons of his shirt, the other hand running over your thighs to comfort you. There's no mirth on his face, a tinge of lust in his eyes, and a willingness to please you.
"Let me take care of you, cutie", he whispered, his shirt coming off, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and shoulders. You whimpered at the sight, placing your hand on his shoulder; running it over his pecs, thumb brushing over his nipple. Shivering at the contact, he grabbed your hand to press kisses to the palm. "I'll make you feel so good, I promise."
He had a thin gold necklace sitting at his collarbone, a ruby pendant dangling before your eyes when he leaned down to take your blouse off. The moment it came off of you, his breath caught in his throat, mouth hanging open dumbly. You tried to cover your chest with your arms, feeling shy in his wake.
He grabbed your hands, pulling them to your head, sweetly smiling at you. "Don't hide your pretty body from me, cutie." He sharply took a breath, eyes raking over your breasts. "You're so beautiful." The confession had you whimpering his name like a prayer.
He let go of your hands, which found purchase in his hair, when he leaned down to kiss your breasts; kneading them gently, kissing and sucking on them to leave a mark. When you let out an especially loud moan when he flicked your nipple, he repeated the action, watching you fall apart on his hands.
"Moan for me, pretty girl", he groaned, "Let everyone hear how I please you."
He sat back up to pull your stockings down, eagerly parting your legs with little resistance with his knees.
"Fuck", the word sounded crass on his tongue, you didn't know if you were blushing because he said it or because he was staring at the flower between your legs. "So pretty, all for me?" You nodded at him, blush dusting your cheeks. He placed his big hands on your knees, pushing them further apart, looking up at your ruined state.
A growl rumbled through his chest, a vow to devour you forming on his tongue. You whimpered at him, the burning between your legs overwhelming you more than anything.
"Rafayel please."
"Shh", he whispered, one hand pressing down on your stomach, the other running over your virgin slit, weeping for his touch. He gathered the wetness on his fingers, bringing it to his face to inhale the scent, popping it in his mouth for a quick taste. The action had you gasping, somehow it was more crass than hearing him curse, but you loved it.
"Wh-what.."
"You taste so good", he said hotly, still sucking his fingers, wetting them with his saliva. He leaned down to kiss you, all the while his saliva-slicked fingers found purchase between your legs, teasing your clit, which had you jolting with a yelp. Then it slid lower, until his middle finger slowly pushed into your warm, wet heat. You moaned into his mouth, feeling him slowly thrust the finger in and out of you.
"Adding another one", he broke away from you to whisper, which had you nodding eagerly. He looked down between your legs to push another finger into you, no doubt preparing you to take the stretch. This time it hurt a little. You bit your lip to distract yourself from the burning feeling. When Rafayel turned to look at you and saw your eyebrows furrowed, he quickly pulled out.
"Wait"
Feeling agitated at the sudden loss of contact, you whined at him. He shook his head sweetly, kneeling between your legs. He pushed you back onto your pillow, tongue poking out between his lips. "Be patient, cutie."
He slowly brought his head to fit between your thighs, hands harshly gripping your hips in place. He inhaled your scent like a starved man who's never tasted good food before. "Fuck, you'll be the death of me, cutie."
He experimentally licked up your slit, to gauge a reaction from you- only to have you moan so sweetly for him, he thought his heart could combust. He rutted his hips against the mattress, his bulge throbbing to break free from his dress pants. Deciding to ignore his needs, he placed kisses to your clit, tonguing the entrance to your wet heat. Soon, he was making out with your cunt, eating your, slurping up the juices that dared escape you. It sounded obscene, slurping noises paired with your loud moans reverberated through the bedroom. You closed your eyes, feeling a familiar knot form in the base of your stomach. He pressed two fingers to put pressure on your clit as he kept ramming his tongue into your heat.
Your moans started to get high-pitched. "Raf-Rafayel, I'm so close"
He picked up his pace, fingers feverishly circling your clit, tongue eating you out like a delicious meal until you were shaking under him. Your legs turned jelly, spine arching off the bed, a loud moan ripping from your throat at his final push. You could swear you saw stars and fireworks behind your eyelids.
Rafayel sat up to look down at you. There was a boyish grin on his face all the while your juices dripped down his chin. He looked like he'd conquered the world, the hazy look in his eyes intoxicating you as you came down from your high. You thread your fingers in his hair to kiss him, pulling him down to taste yourself on his tongue.
"Wait", he said, sitting back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You intently watched him undo the belt of his dress pants, slipping his pants off. You didn't notice the bulge before, your eyes almost popping out at the sheer size of him. You can't help but gasp when he removes his underwear and throws it away on the pile of clothes on the floor.
His cock stood tall against his clear cut abdomen, oozing creamy milk-like substance like a sinful fountain of lust. You're unable to take your eyes off it, mesmerized by the way it bobbed against gravity, its pink tip swollen and sensitive. It was such a pretty sight for you to behold; he'd never looked so vulnerable before you. You looked up at him to see that he was watching you with a smug grin on his face, watching the way you marvelled at him.
"You're so pretty", you choked out, fingers tentatively running over his cock, which had him sucking in a deep breath. "But, I don't think you'll ever fit." You sounded unsure, voice wavering a little.
He tilted his head at you, biting down on his lips to hold back a moan.
"You were made for me, pretty girl", he groaned, leaning down once again to kiss you. His cock rested hot and heavy against your inner thigh, smearing cream haphazardly over it. You let out a moan, hand snaking down his body to wrap it around him, slowly jerking him off with unsure movements. You gathered the milky substance from his slit and pumped him with eased gliding.
The action had him hiding his face in your neck, letting out little moans, and bucking his hips into your hands. You grinned triumphantly, utterly delighted that you were bringing him pleasure. However, your bold actions were cut short when he grabbed your hand and pulled you off of him, cutely huffing out, shaking his head.
"I want to take care of you", he said. "Please, let me." You nodded at him, lacing your fingers with his, heart pounding in your chest in anticipation. He pulled your legs around him, leaning down towards you. His form on top of you, in the moonlight and the flickering fire of the candles; he shrouded you in quiet darkness, casting a cool shadow over you. You gulped. His lips were an inch from yours, and you could see the little mole on his nose, which you decided to press your lips to.
He grabbed his cock, slowly guiding it towards your cunt, smearing both of your juices by gliding his tip over your slit. The action had you bucking your hips forward, impatiently waiting for him to claim your virginity. "You know, it'll hurt a little," he said, nuzzling his face on your cheek. You hummed at him, holding your breath. "Tell me if it hurts too much, tell me to stop if you're not feeling comfortable." You threw your arms over his shoulders, digging your heels into his back; "No."
His breath stuttered unevenly when he slowly pushed himself into you; the cockhead barely made it past your tight ring of muscles, when you let out a loud moan. That familiar burning feeling ignited between your legs, though it was soothed by your earlier orgasm and his tip leaking thick cream. You waited with bated breath as he kept pushing into you, bullying himself into your poor, stretched hole. It stung and hurt, but you bit down on your lips to not give yourself away. Rafayel must've felt you clenching too hard, because he started sucking on your breasts, distracting you from the pain before it bled into molten pleasure.
When he's fully inside you, your juices spill over his balls and onto the silken bedsheets. His eyebrows are furrowed, a hazy look in his eyes like he's pleading with you, mouth agape, short moans tumbling from his lips. "C-can...I move?", you could tell he was holding himself back, you let him adjust inside you for a moment before you erratically nod your head.
He started with slow experimental rutting, barely pulling back to thrust himself forward. The action had your entire body jolt with pleasure. He thrusted again, a little harder than the first time, which had you yelping. Your grip on his shoulders tightened to hold yourself steady when he rocked his hips against yours.
The more you moaned, the more he slowly picked up the pace; his cock dragging in and out of you, cockhead kissing your cervix every time he slammed himself back inside. Pleasure quickly brewed in your stomach when he added a finger to rub tight circles on your clit.
Soon, the room erupted into the noise of unfiltered moans from both of you, sounds of erratic slapping of skin, and the smell of sweat and sinful intimacy. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, overwhelmed by his body on top of yours, pleasure bled through your entire body like poison. You held onto Rafayel desperately, body smacking to his in tandem with his thrusts.
"You're squeezing me so tight, cutie." He was groaning loudly now, no doubt approaching his high, you clenched down on him harder. "Come for me, cutie. Come for me." Your breath stuttered, feeling the way his cockhead battered your cervix deep inside you.
A deep moan shattered through you, shivers wracking your body when you completely let yourself go for him, shaking uncontrollably underneath him. He kept thrusting in and out of you through it, despite your cunt forcing his cock out as your juices gushed all over the sheets. He sat up before you, fisting his cock, hand gliding over it feverishly. He looked dazed, mouth agape, staring at the flower between your legs, leaking with your juices.
You marvelled at him, watching his jaw go slack, eyes closing in ecstasy, a deep guttural moan ripping out of his throat. His hips buck into his hands a little too hard and he completely stills. You watched with bated breath, ropes of thick milky cream shooting out of his tip right onto your stomach, it's scalding on your skin, the contact making you moan. He keeps milking himself of every drop he could offer, balls emptying on your stomach, some of it haphazardly landing on your breasts and cunt.
You've never felt so warm and happy before, watching your lover in the throes of pleasure. Rafayel peeled his eyes open, coming down from the high; there's a lovesick smile on his face, content and just as happy as you felt inside. He collapsed on the bed right beside you, one arm snaking around you to pull you closer to him. Both of you were taking short breaths, unable to say a word, just basking in each other's presence.
You grabbed ahold of the ruby pendant on his neck and pulled him even closer until he was squished to you completely. It was sweaty and messy, with no room for anything holy but sinful love. He watched you quietly examine the pendant, watching the gears in your head turn, likely making sense of what you saw before you. It couldn't be.
You looked up at him, eyes wide, brows knitted tightly together. But he just ran a soothing finger over your cheek, pressing soft kisses to your lips.
"Yes, yes, I am who you think me to be.'
"B-but how? This entire time..."
He took your hands in his, forehead touching yours. His eyes were full of love and now you could see the truth in them.
Your heart stuttered, “But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was a coward, but please, let me make it up to you, please," at his begging, you couldn't believe your ears, a sob creeping up your throat, a happy one; relief and awe flooded through your veins. You gripped his hand harder, afraid he would fade into the moonlit night like a dream. But he looked very much real, and very much in love with you.
He took off the ruby pendant and placed it in your hand, his voice trembling just slightly. “This has been in my family for generations… and now, I want you to have it.”
You stared at him with teary eyes, " Rafayel..."
"Will you marry me? Will you be my bride, my queen?”
The night around you hummed with the sound of crickets and swaying wisteria, the serene quietness broken by your happy sobs against his chest. Of course, you'd happily be his bride, as long as it meant you'd always have him by your side for the rest of your life.
banner and pics are not mine, credits go to owners.
do not copy or use my work to train ai
tagging: @9ealms
