This is an olddd fandom, but Saphael & first bite? :D Interpret however you want!
FIRST BITE
[simon/raphael. set post though the truth may vary. @ao3.]
There’s a hole in his chest.
There’s a hole in his chest, and all Simon can think is that he shouldn’t have spent so much on this jacket because it’s definitely beyond saving, and then he’s laughing sat alone with his back against a dumpster that’s probably passing on several communicable diseases every minute.
It wasn’t even a fight. Wrong place, wrong time, and now he’s sat against a disease dumpster with a bullet in his chest whilst a mugger swans off into the night to shoot innocent civilians another day. It’s stupid and pointless and maybe ironic — thanks Alanis Morisette for confusing him about that one — and all he’d wanted to do was take a short cut home for games night with his family.
His family.
Fuck.
Raphael’s going to kill him.
He’s supposed to be home, tucked up on the couch in a hoodie Raphael’s tried to throw out at least three times, laughing every time Maggie accidentally beats them all at something she’s never played and Jagger looks sad and confused, and pretending they don’t see Aarav trying to cheat under Raphael’s approving eye.
Instead he’s going to catch, like, syphilis or something.
If he doesn’t bleed out first. The gunshot missed his heart, he’s pretty sure, otherwise he’d be dust right about now, but that doesn’t mean he’s in the clear. The blood loss to healing time ration does not seem to be in his favor.
Yeah.
He’s screwed.
He should shout out, but if a random Mundane walks into this alley right now, he’s gonna bite them. He’s gonna bite them and drain their blood and maybe kill them, and it doesn’t matter how much he tries not to, the survival instinct is too ingrained. He doesn’t want to kill some poor person who’s just trying to help.
He could call someone, but he’s not sure where his phone is. On the floor somewhere, probably, because he’d been playing Tetris whilst walking like an idiot, and then, boom, gunshot, and, yeah.
There’s probably a few life lessons in here.
It’s kinda ridiculous how he’s died for real but this feels worse. The first time it was some big, dramatic event; players all spread out across the board to win someone else’s game, and Simon had his part and performed it perfectly despite no one asking for his permission. He died and he woke up, and then life kept moving on and on until he took control and carved out a space for himself and the people he’d chosen.
The people he loves.
The people he should be with right now, fuck—
He can practically hear Raphael’s voice, annoyed and impatient and boxed up with worry that Simon’s learnt to unpack and hold close, and God, he feels so shitty for doing this to him, they’d had so many plans, made so many promises—
Simon’s not ready to leave him. He’s not ever going to be ready.
“Simon!” Raphael shouts, and Simon blinks, looks up and, wow, if he’s hallucinating then he’s further gone than he’d thought…
“Hi,” he says, and smiles even though everything hurts because it’s Raphael, even if he is only in his head.
Of course then Raphael’s there, pressing down on the bullet wound, and oh, okay, sure, yeah, not a hallucination if it’s hurts that fucking much, wow.
“How—” he just about manages, because now the delirium’s given way to agony his brain’s a little less capable of processing words, but Raphael understands all the same because of course he does. He always has.
“GPS,” he says. “I’ve had us linked on Find My Phone for months for this exact reason,” he says, which should probably sound a bit stalkerish but mostly just makes Simon love him even more.
God does he love him.
He thinks he should probably say something, give Raphael a rundown of injuries or whatever, but he’s struggling to stay conscious, and besides, Raphael’s already putting pressure on the wound, taking charge the way only a natural born leader can, and Simon wishes he could appreciate it more but mostly he’s trying desperately to just keep what little control he has left and not give in to the dark completely.
“Okay,” Raphael says, and Simon opens his eyes to find him tugging off his own jacket and pulling at the collar of his shirt. “Ready?”
Simon blinks at him.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Raphael says, and pulls Simon’s head to his neck in one sudden movement.
Simon freezes.
There’s a part of him — the part born in the Du Mort, born of fear and hunger and action — that knows precisely what to do. The same part that’s singing at the very thought, his veins itching for it, and the haze of animal instinct insistent in its drive for survival. It wouldn’t be the first time. It won’t be the last.
But—
It’s Raphael.
“No,” he says, and tries to push away. He can’t, which says a lot about his health right now, and Raphael holds him tight.
“Yes,” he says, like it’s easy. Like this isn’t rocking Simon’s world to the core. “Baby, I know. I know. But if you don’t feed in the next two minutes I’m going to be taking you home in an urn, and I won’t be the one to tell Aarav you died because you were too sentimental to just fucking drink.”
He’s shaking, Simon realizes. The fingers at the back of his neck are running through his hair, and oh, his heart’s beating so fast. He’s scared, but not of Simon, for Simon.
If everything else wasn’t going to shit, Simon thinks he’d be overwhelmed by that level of trust.
“What if I can’t—”
“You will,” Raphael says, total certainty in his voice, and Simon wants to hold him and kiss him and tell him it’ll be okay.
He also wants to taste him. Needs to.
His self-control can only last so long.
“Now,” Raphael says, and Simon does as he’s told.
The skin gives under his fangs, the slightest push, so careful not to tear, and then there’s blood on his tongue, running down his throat, and he’s drinking as fast as he can, feeling his body respond as his chest begins to thread itself back together. He drinks and he drinks and he drinks, and through it all he can hear Raphael’s slowing heartbeat, feel him like fire under desperate, clinging hands.
He thinks this might be what heaven feels like.
Or hell.
He’s not sure it matters either way.
When his strength returns just enough, he swallows one last time, savours the taste of blood, of life, of Raphael, and forces himself to put his fangs away. Laps at the split skin and then presses his mouth there instead, under his ear and up his jaw, searching until he finds Raphael’s lips, slack and a little blue, and Simon kisses him over and over until Raphael’s breathing’s back to normal, his heart steady and loud and every lullaby Simon’s learnt to love, and he kisses Simon back, digging his nails into Simon’s scalp and holding on as tightly as he can, like he’s scared to let Simon go.
“Food,” he says eventually, leaning away, and Simon chases him for one more, two more, three more kisses. “I need food and water and warmth.”
“Yeah,” Simon says, and lifts Raphael to his feet, wraps his arm around his shoulders so they can hold each other up. “I’ve got you."
“Home,” Raphael says, leaning his head on Simon’s shoulder.
Raphael’s blood is still on the back of his tongue and in his veins, like coffee and magic and life.
Home, he thinks, and knows he’s finally tasted it.
MIGHT NEVER GET TO HEAVEN (BUT I’VE BEEN THERE BEFORE)
[SHADOWHUNTERS. ~2.4k. SIMON/RAPHAEL.]
“Simon’s betrayed us,” Raphael says, and Simon sees the flash of hurt behind his eyes before they harden, smirk in place around his fangs. Clary straightens up next to him, Camille already in battle mode, and he can see how it plays out as the vampires get ready to move.
“No, stop…” Simon says, and then the wall behind him explodes as the world tilts on its axis and he’s stood outside Pandemonium holding a can of spray paint and feeling his heart beating too loudly inside his chest.
@AO3
a/n: season one. for the trope_bingo prompt: time loops.
IN POISONED PLACES
[SHADOWHUNTERS. SIMON/RAPHAEL. “FORBIDDEN FRUIT”. @AO3.]
“I want that cup,” Camille says, and so Raphael’s following the Shadowhunters, obeying orders even as his blood sings with anger and frustration and the seeds of anarchy. The Mortal Instruments are dangerous, he knows that, understands what it means in the greater scheme of things, sees war and bloodshed ahead. He also knows Camille is the last person they need leading them into that mess.
Heaven forbid she actually gets the cup.
The girl’s apartment is clean. Not as clean as it should be; there’s magic threaded in the corners and the faintest scent of Downworld clinging to the walls, but the cup’s not there, and for all he can tell the girl and her mother lead a boringly mundane life.
He’s ready to give up, head home before sunrise rather than rifling through strangers cutlery drawers, when it hits him, faint at first and then strong enough to make him dizzy.
He hasn’t felt like this in decades, not since he was first Turned and Magnus took him in and talked him through the concept of bloodlust and self-control. The way his blood’s burning in his veins, vision a little hazy, makes him feel young and naive and so out of control that he wants to find the offending item and tear it apart with his hands.
(Wants to drink it in, bathe in it until it’s the only thing in the world to fill his senses.)
The sweatshirt’s flung behind the couch, a ratty thing with a hand painted design on the front and holes in the cuffs where someone’s pushed their thumbs through. Raphael barely resists holding it to his nose.
Get it together, he tells himself and leaves.
+
“We need leverage,” Camille says, and once again Raphael’s sent out to do her dirty work whilst she drinks from crystal goblets and ignores the vampires under her care.
The Shadowhunters are untouchable, of course, and the girl’s mother’s missing. Taking the girl herself seems risky given the Institute’s interest in her, and Raphael’s not stupid enough to have missed the scent of wolves at the apartment but he’s also not willing to get his people into an unnecessary fight.
“Anything?” he asks, and Lily nods, all business. He likes that about her. Thinks she’d make an excellent second given the chance.
“There’s a friend. A Mundane.”
“Where?” Raphael says, and goes to do some recon of his own.
+
He knows it’s the right place three blocks away. The scent’s so strong here it almost sends Raphael to his knees, his fangs pushing through against his will and his mouth watering in a way he’d be embarrassed about if he could form coherent thought.
It takes him too long to get himself together, and he stands and breathes it in, lets it wash over him until he’s able to push the flood of desire to the back of his mind. He’s better than this, has more control than any vampire he knows, hard fought under Magnus’ watch a lifetime ago, a fact he’s always been proud of and always relied on.
He’s not going to let some random Mundane take that from him.
Raphael watches everyone that passes, trying to place them, a terrible, useless part of him eager and wanting.
“Okay, Mom,” a boy says, leaving a house down the block. “See ya!”
He has dark hair and glasses, dressed like anyone else his age and draped in the same awkwardness, excess energy practically vibrating through his skin.
Raphael had always intended to follow him; that he does so without any conscious thought just makes him mad.
He’s heard other vampires talk about this before, the humans they’ve been unable to resist until they’ve drained them or Turned them. Raphael doesn’t want to kill the boy — young man, really, but everything’s comparative — hasn’t killed anyone outside of battle since he become who he is today, and certainly not before. Every primal part of him wants to taste his blood, though. Feel it drench his tongue and set his veins alight.
Raphael shakes it off, drags his control back into place.
He definitely doesn’t want to Turn him. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
It’s overwhelming, though, this need he has to pull the young man to his side and keep him there come hell or high water. Raphael’s never needed anyone or anything. He hates that some mark up of chemistry or magic or that same Fate that’s clamped him under foot since he was born might change all that.
That doesn’t mean Raphael doesn’t want it.
The young man’s phone rings.
“Simon!” someone says on the other end.
Simon.
Simon.
Okay.
+
“Bring him to me,” Camille says, and Raphael hates himself for following the rules so carefully and can’t stop the buzz of excitement under his skin.
He makes a show of it because of course he does.
The clan has a reputation to uphold.
The girl’s mad, the Shadowhunters more concerned with their bruised pride, and Simon—
Simon doesn’t stop talking.
He throws a knife at him and ruins his new jacket.
It’s possible he’s the most annoying person Raphael’s ever met.
(Raphael wants to bury himself in the curve of his neck and not let go.)
Camille tries to use Simon as a pawn, the way Raphael knew she would, and the Shadowhunters show up in force, battle ready, with Camille leaving her most loyal to die in her stead.
“Take the others,” he tells Lily, keeping his voice low. “Steer clear.”
It’s not Raphael’s best plan but it’s the only one he has. The fact that it so largely relies on the Shadowhunters not being as trigger happy as they usually are isn’t the best odds, but if everything plays out the way it should then he couldn’t have written it better himself.
He traps Simon between his chest and a knife, sees the girl’s whole body go tight, and tries not to accidentally draw blood.
He’s not sure he’d be able to control himself if he did.
They follow him out easily enough.
“You mean nothing,” he says when Simon thanks him, throwing him to the light. It’s not a lie. Simon is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. The Downworld is on the brink of war and one bright-eyed boy who talks too much and vibrates with anxious laughter is a nobody.
Raphael has a hotel full of vampires waiting on his word, has Camille to put a stop to before she can incite even more damage, and Accords to reset lest punishment be handed out. Even without Valentine’s shadow on the horizon it’s enough to give him a stress headache.
There’s not time for Simon, the Mundane who’s so clearly and terribly made for him that Raphael wants to laugh and scream and go back to his grave.
No, the Mundane is off-limits.
Raphael’s responsibilities are too numerous and too important, and there are too many souls relying on him to make it through the coming days.
I had a dream about a burning house
You were stuck inside
I couldn't get you out
I lay beside you and pulled you close
And the two of us went up in smoke
I️ just finished my very first song fic! It’s a short Saphael fic based on the song Burning House by Cam. I️ hope you give it a read and lmk what you think!
Struggling to fully come to terms with being a vampire, Simon Lewis is left feeling like a monster. Meanwhile, Raphael Santiago desperately tries to get him out of his downward spiral and save him from himself.
I️ finished it. After almost three fucking years of not updating, I️ finally finished. I’d love if you gave it a read!
“YOU KNOW THAT YOUR BOOK IS UPSIDE DOWN, RIGHT?”
[fic meme. SIMON/RAPHAEL, COLLEGE AU, ENEMIES TO LOVERS. for @hoechlder. @ao3.]
+
“Okay,” Raphael Santiago’s saying, leaning back smoothly in his chair in a way that would absolutely have Simon unbalancing onto the floor, and offering his trademark smug smile at the poor girl across the table, “but madness as a trope has been at the base of the ghost story at least since Shakespeare…”
Simon tunes him out. It’s probably a really good point and he should be making notes, but he just….can’t. Raphael starts talking and Simon automatically switches off; it’s been that way since approximately nought point two seconds into their freshman year when Raphael had eyed Simon’s ironic Care Bears t-shirt with disgust and asked him if he wasn’t confusing college with elementary school.
Simon hates him.
+
“You don’t hate him,” Jace says later, when Simon’s finishing up rant number 1458 on why Raphael Santiago has been put on this earth specifically to torture him. Clary shoots Jace a sceptical look so Simon doesn’t have to. “He’s part of your college experience. Everyone needs a good nemesis.”
“Um,” Clary says, “who’s yours?”
“Your father,” Jace says, like it’s obvious. “I didn’t say it had to be another student. Izzy’s is the conservative dress code, and Alec’s is every obnoxious heterosexual couple he knows.”
“That’s us,” Clary tells Simon with a smile.
Jace salutes. “It’s worse because he has to spend all his time with us, but better because he can tell us to our face how gross we are.” He wipes away a fake tear. “He’ll look back on those memories fondly.”
“Okay, I get it. You guys get off on tormenting Alec,” Simon says, “but just so we’re clear, Raphael Santiago really is the worst.”
“We know, honey,” Clary says, patting his leg.
Simon feels very patronized.
+
Magnus decides that a Wednesday night is a totally reasonable time to throw a party, which is patently untrue but they all go anyway.
They lose Alec almost immediately, taking up his place at Magnus’ side as his boyfriend holds court, and Izzy disappears shortly after, followed by the eyes of roughly a million admirers Simon can’t fault for a second.
“You good?” Clary asks, and Simon waves a hand.
“Go. Find a corner to make out in. I’ll be fine.”
“Great, thanks,” Jace says, tugging Clary away before she can change her mind.
“You’re blocking the door,” a horribly familiar voice says, and Simon squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment before stepping aside.
“What are you doing here?” Simon asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t care, he really doesn’t, except that he absolutely does and it’s going to drive him crazy for the rest of the night.
Raphael shoots him a look that says he knows exactly how Simon feels. “Unfortunately, I live here.”
“Uh,” Simon says, and wonders if he knew that. He’s ninety-percent sure he didn’t, in which case he and Alec are going to have a serious chat. “Since when?”
“Since the start of the year.” Raphael rolls his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Magnus is technically my guardian. Was my guardian. Obviously that stopped being important when I turned eighteen, but the damage was done.”
“And by damage,” Simon says, “you mean emotions?”
He thinks Raphael may actually growl. It’s fascinating. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be studying? You looked a little lost in Monday’s seminar…”
“Wow,” Simon says, and wonders where the alcohol is, “A, not all of us feel the need to take over discussions. And B, fuck you.”
Raphael smirks, and Simon wants to scream. No one in the world is able to get under his skin this much, and that’s saying something considering he and Jace accidentally became friends in sophomore year.
“I’m walking away now,” Simon says, and ignores Raphael’s mocking laugh behind him.
+
Simon’s drunk. Very, very drunk. Possibly the most drunk he’s ever been.
“Nope,” Clary says, pointing her glass at him. Half of it sloshes over the rim. “Remember prom? We were wasted.”
“God,” Simon says, scrunching up his nose. “That was bad.”
“So bad,” Clary agrees. “Where’s the vodka?”
Simon passes her a bottle that, actually, may be tequila? Honestly at this point he’s not sure it matters.
“Did you know Raphael lives here?” he asks out of nowhere, and Clary gasps.
“No! Here here?”
“Yep!”
Clary blinks and drinks her tequila. “Wow. So weird. You should go say hi!”
Simon snorts. “I already did. Sort of.”
“Well go say it again,” Clary says, pushing ineffectively at his arm. “With sexy eyes or something.”
Simon’s brain shorts out. “…What? Why?”
Clary laughs. “Because you like him, doofus. You like like him. You want to kiss him and marry him and be shouty about…comic books and that show only you two watch forever.”
“You liar,” Simon says, because all of that is blatantly untrue. Clary has no idea what she’s talking about. Absolutely none. Simon hates Raphael. Hates his stupid smug smile and his expensive jackets and his perfect hair and the way he always makes Simon feel hot and awkward and like he’s the only person in the room.
“Oh shit,” he says, and Clary nods, patting him on the shoulder.
“S’ok,” she says.
“It really, really isn’t,” Simon says and snatches the bottle of tequila back.
+
It’s very possible he’s dying. Everything’s both very loud and very bright even though his eyes are definitely still closed, and it tastes like something’s died on his tongue.
“Fuck,” he croaks and rolls over only to crash promptly to the floor. “Fuck.”
When he finally manages to open his eyes, Raphael’s staring down at him, wearing a heavy brocade robe and holding a truly giant mug. “You okay down there?”
“Your couch sucks,” Simon says, and Raphael shrugs.
“Magnus chose it, blame him.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Simon asks, attempting to sit up and failing spectacularly.
“They, like normal house guests, went home when the party finished.”
“Ah,” Simon says. “And, uh, I…didn’t?”
Raphael frowns. “You don’t remember?”
“Nope,” Simon says with a wince. “Too much…I’m gonna guess tequila based on the throbbing behind my eyes.”
“…Right,” Raphael says, and if Simon didn’t know better he’d say he was upset. He’s probably just mad that Simon’s still there, taking up his couch on a Thursday morning and stopping him reading the entire works of Tolstoy or whatever it is Raphael does for fun.
“I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can, you know, stand up without breaking something.”
Raphael sighs. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
+
The kitchen’s a disaster zone, bottles and empty cups everywhere, and Simon doesn’t want to know what he just stepped in. Still, the smell of fresh coffee manages to take away some of the edge and Simon goes through cupboards until he finds a mug almost as large of Raphael’s.
“So,” he says, when Raphael follows him as far as the doorframe, “did you, uh, need help cleaning up, or…?”
“You really don’t remember anything about last night?” Raphael says, ignoring the question, and Simon frowns.
“I mean, I remember getting here and you telling me you live here, and I remember Jace starting up a game of beer pong, but after that…nope, not really.”
“Do you remember the party Magnus threw for Isabelle’s birthday our freshman year?” Raphael asks, which is completely out of left field, wow.
“Sure,” Simon says carefully. “Not the specifics, but I remember it was a fun night.”
“So,” Raphael says, and Simon’s not so hungover he doesn’t recognize the danger in his tone, “you don’t remember finding me on the balcony and telling me that you, and I quote, found me ‘super hot, especially when I do that smug asshole thing.’?”
Simon blinks.
“And,” Raphael continues, “you don’t remember the fourth of July when you brought me melted ice-cream and told me you liked my voice? Or the time you kissed me in the garden at one of Isabelle’s stupid sorority parties?” He takes a step forward and Simon swallows nervously. “Or last night when you found me in my room and told me you wanted to marry me and have shouty arguments forever?”
“Um,” Simon says.
“I see,” Raphael says. “It was just the tequila, then.”
He turns to leave and Simon finally remember to actually do something.
“Wait,” he says, and Raphael pauses. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Raphael looks at him like he’s an idiot. Which…fair. “Because you didn’t.”
Which—
Fuck.
The thing is, well, okay, yeah. Simon’s had a crush on Raphael since he insulted his Care Bears t-shirt and proceeded to start an argument over the benefits of new media in literary studies. He knows this. Sure, he tries to keep it buried as far down in his own denial as he can, but it doesn’t help when he spends most of every shared seminar they have staring at the sharp jut of Raphael’s collarbone beneath his stupidly expensive button-downs.
It’s a thing.
He just…hadn’t known that maybe it was a shared thing.
“I woke up on the couch,” he says, which isn’t at all what he’d meant to come out of his mouth but at least it’s a full sentence.
“Obviously,” Raphael says. “You were wasted.”
“So I didn’t kiss you?”
The corner of Raphael’s mouth tilts up, just a little. “Oh, you did.”
“So you didn’t kiss me back?” Simon says, piecing events together slowly but surely.
“I never do,” Raphael says, and Simon frowns, feeling confused and a little hurt. “I always tell you to kiss me when you’re sober. You never do.”
Simon, it turns out, is the biggest idiot on the planet. Clearly college is wasted on him.
“Right,” he says, digging the last remnants of his bravery out from his pounding skull. “Right.”
It’s probably not super romantic that he steps in the wet patch again, but as first kisses goes it’s…well. It’s pretty fucking excellent, actually.
Right up until Raphael pulls away.
“God, you really need to brush your teeth.”
“Yeah,” Simon says, backing up awkwardly. “Yeah, I’ll just—”
“There’s spare toothbrushes under the sink,” Raphael says, rolling his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks gives him away.
“Be right back,” Simon says, and tries to remember where the bathroom is.
+
Raphael’s doing the leaning thing again. Simon wants to try it but he’s not going to risk crashing to the floor whilst they’re still in the honeymoon phase. Besides, he doesn’t think he’d look anywhere near as cool.
Raphael’s embroidered jacket is draped over the back of his chair and his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and Simon has no idea what conversation the professor’s just struck up.
Which isn’t too different from normal, really.
Raphael catches his eye and Simon’s heart does a truly embarrassing skippy thing in his chest.
“You know that your book is upside down, right?” Raphael says, smirk sliding into place, and Simon sighs.
