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fleurdeserre · 3 months ago

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Rafayel: Hidden Shadow [Extended Version]

Abysswalker Rafayel x Reader

Content warnings: explicit sexual content, knife kink / knifeplay, blindfolds, switch Rafayel, brat for brat kind of dynamic, some blood (just a bit), porn with feelings

Word count: 4.7k

Summary:

You feel hot all over, which is weird considering you should be more terrified at the idea of Rafayel of all people being held at knifepoint. But you would never hurt him, you would rather drive that dagger straight through your own heart than ever let it break Rafayel’s skin. Still, for whatever reason you’re ecstatic about the idea of him being wholly and unabashedly at your mercy. This sort of power was never something you craved for, or enjoyed for that matter. Being a princess comes with quite a lot of it after all, anyone could be executed at your whim. But there is something oh so precious in how much Rafayel trusts you to not take his life even when he gives you full authority to do just that.

My take on what was going on in the Hidden Shadow four-star card and what followed right after.

A/N: this secret times audio was giving me the brain worms. I couldn't rest until I wrote this fic. P.S. I've spent waaaay too much time trying to figure out how their leather outfits work and how to get them both out of all those layers.

You can read the fic here or on AO3, whichever is more comfortable

(divider by tsunami-of-tears)

Rafayel has always been a mystery to you, if you’re being completely honest. From the moment you first read about Lemuria, to then being gifted with a living breathing Lemurian, to now meeting him again so many years later. Truly, how could he even be real? Such a beautiful being whose tears turned to pearls, whose voice was able to transfer one into dreamland, whose blood had healing and according to some myths even resurrecting properties.

Back then at Moonbath Lake, when you set him free, you thought it would be your last encounter, even though he said he’d return to find you one day. You couldn’t even dream of it. Why would he even remember about any of it? He probably only suggested you came with him out of gratitude for releasing him. He must have realized you were just as trapped in that palace as he was.

Today is different, though.

Today you’re not a princess. Not really. Rafayel gave you the opportunity to escape for just one evening. You’re out in the desert, in the middle of nowhere, so far from the palace and the ball, so far from Her Highness’s birthday celebration. For now, you’re just you. And you’re with Rafayel.

He’s decided that it would be a great idea to teach you how to stand up for yourself and hold your ground in case something happens. So, now you’re having a swordsmanship practice in the desert. You feel free, ecstatic, with sweat slowly sliding down from your hair to neck, to spine. The sound of heavy breathing and the swish of your swords colliding is the only thing you hear apart from the rising wind. The setting sun is the only indicator to how much time has actually passed since you’ve started.

Rafayel stops and steps aside, looking into the distance and apparently finding something there. “Let’s stop here for today,” he says out of nowhere.

“Why?” you ask, your brows furrowed. Though, your sore muscles groan in response to your protest as if telling you it really was enough for one day. But it’s not like the two of you have all the time in the world, you’ll have to return to the palace very soon.

Rafayel sheathes his blade and looks back at you before replying, “A sandstorm approaches. We must return to our tent.”

True, the wind was getting stronger in the last few minutes but you didn’t think anything of it. Rafayel is far more knowledgeable when it comes to living in the desert, though, so you trust his judgement and follow him. Still, you decide to tease him a bit just because you feel like it, “What, are you scared of a little breeze?”

A sandstorm is no little breeze, you know it and Rafayel knows that you know it. So, he responds with an eye-roll, “Huh? I’m not completely unaffected by the harsh environment.” Then he turns around to face you and walks backwards, his voice is lower than before when he says, “But a competent assassin can still fight despite the sand.”

You get to the tent and he gentlemanly opens and holds the fabric for you to enter it. Only then does he whisper, “Would Your Highness like to try?” You almost want to ask what he’s talking about when he takes out the dagger that was hidden in his boot. He tosses it in the air and catches it by the blade, extending the hilt to you. “With your determination, let’s do it,” there’s a challenge in his voice, a little lilt betraying his serious tone.

You take the dagger without uttering a word, still unsure where this is going, when Rafayel takes out a blindfold—where did he even find one—and ties it at the back of your head, his fingers quick and efficient. Now you can’t see anything and the realization makes your throat go dry for some reason.

“Now, Your Highness’s eyes are covered. How is it?”

He must be inquiring whether it’s too tight or not but all you can say is, “Dark.” Your cheeks flush from how stupid it must’ve sounded. Of course, it’s dark, that’s the whole point of a blindfold.

“Stay calm,” his voice is steady beside your ear and you reflectively turn your head towards it, as if to catch a glimpse of him. You can’t, of course. “When sight cannot be relied on,” he whispers into your right ear, then quickly moves to the left one, “The other senses must be utilized.” Shivers go down your spine for some reason. It’s so weird to be able to hear him, feel his body heat and the touch of his hand, yet be unable to see him, or anything for that matter.

“Try and catch me,” with that Rafayel’s body disappears, leaving only cold air behind. You turn around, blind and disoriented without him. You pause, trying to take in your surroundings with your other senses, the way Rafayel told you to. You know you two are in a tent and it isn’t too big, so it’s not like he can hide too far away. You try focusing on the sounds around you but the wind’s whistle outside the tent is the only thing you can catch, until a rustling noise comes from your right. Without much thought, you throw yourself in the direction of the sound, colliding with Rafayel’s body. With a quiet groan he catches you in his arms but loses his balance in the process, so now you’re both going down.

You land on top of him, still mindful of the dagger in your hand, you wouldn’t want to accidentally stab Rafayel. “Not bad…” he muses, “but it was only a matter of luck.” You can’t help but think if he made the sound on purpose, so that you could find him easier, or maybe it was just a misstep on his part. The latter seems unlikely, though.

His hands come to sit on your waist and that is the moment you realize you’re straddling him, which…isn’t ideal—a compromising position for a princess—so, you try moving up and away but he doesn’t let you, tightening the grip around your waist. “Sit down.” He seems so calm about it, you let yourself relax. But when your hands go to untie the blindfold, he stops you. “Don’t remove the blindfold just yet.”

“Didn’t I pass your test? I caught you,” you protest with a pout. However, if having the blindfold on guarantees you can feel his body under yours for just a while longer, you don’t mind it that much.

Rafayel huffs out a laugh. “Even in darkness, one must be able to pinpoint an enemy’s vital points with ease.” He reaches out and takes the hand that you have been meticulously keeping away from him with the dagger’s sharp tip facing upward. He directs your wrist towards his body, so that the dagger is now between the two of you. Your heart skips a beat at the realization that the blade must be pressed really close to his body. Your palm becomes clammy and your throat tightens all of a sudden.

“With a weapon, only some strength is needed to wound the stomach,” his voice is calm and collected but to you this stops feeling like a lesson. His hand is still holding your wrist, steady and unshakable, as if you’re not pressing a deadly weapon into his body. Then he begins navigating your hand higher up. “The chest.” He lets go of your hand and you instinctively pull it away from him, too scared to hurt him. “Not there. Your Highness needs to go lower.” He takes your hand once more and pushes it a bit lower. You hear the dagger’s sharp tip catching on his zipper. “It will be a fatal blow if you stab here.” You bring your free hand up from the floor of the tent and put it on his chest right under the dagger. The feeling of leather and the metal buckle under your palm sober you up enough to realize the dagger is right above where Rafayel’s heart must be. “It ensures one’s victory,” he sounds raspy now, as if it only just occurred to him that you could easily end his life here and now with one swift motion. You wouldn’t, though. And he knows it. So, whatever it is that made his voice go from steady to hoarse, it’s not fear.

He doesn’t stop there, though. Now he’s pulling your hand up and adjusting your grip on the dagger. “The throat is also a vulnerable area,” he croons. You once again use your free hand to feel around the area the dagger is pressing into. Your fingers find the soft, warm—a bit too warm—skin of Rafayel’s throat. His Adam’s apple bobs under your touch and a gentle huff falls from his lips. You almost jerk back at the sound with how unexpected it was. “Scared?” The challenge in his question clearer than ever.

You have never backed away from a challenge in your life, so your left hand goes to hold the back of his neck and your right one grips the dagger tighter. “Never mind, Your Highness’s hand is slightly cold.” You can feel shivers going down his neck and that makes you smirk. You feel hot all over, which is weird considering you should be more terrified at the idea of Rafayel of all people being held at knifepoint. But you would never hurt him, you would rather drive that dagger straight through your own heart than ever let it break Rafayel’s skin.

Still, for whatever reason you’re ecstatic about the idea of him being wholly and unabashedly at your mercy. This sort of power was never something you craved for, or enjoyed for that matter. Being a princess comes with quite a lot of it after all, anyone could be executed at your whim. But there is something oh so precious in how much Rafayel trusts you to not take his life even when he gives you full authority to do just that.

“Try to do what I just said.” You choose to do this your own way, though, so you adjust your grip on the dagger and drag its sharp edge over the exposed skin of his throat. You’re very careful, since you still cannot see anything. It’s a gentle caress, nothing more, but Rafayel’s body shivers once again and you know this round is yours. He arches his back a bit chasing the ghostly feeling of cold metal kissing his skin ever so lightly. He heaves a breath and says, “It’s the correct spot, but Your Highness‘s hand still hasn’t moved. An assassin wouldn’t be this slow.” His voice way weaker than before, lacking bite. Does he want you to move your hand? To leave a fresh cut?

Ignoring his words, you let your hand wander. The tip of the dagger, slowly going down his chest, it ends up back where you started. His stomach. “Carelessness leads to an assassin’s death,” Rafayel warns you, as if this is still a lesson of self-defense.

“Oh?” You curse the blindfold, preventing you from making a show of innocently batting your lashes but you still manage to pout your lips a little to make a point. “So, is this where I should strike?” You press the dagger just a bit closer to his body—somewhere around the area where his navel should be—so that he can feel the danger through the thick layer of leather.

“No, that is not it either.” A half whimper falls from his lips, his breathing is so much faster now that you drag the dagger even lower. When you get to where his lower abdomen should be, he catches you by the wrist, says, “Um… stop right there,” and clears his throat

He huffs out a laugh, trying to regain some semblance of control. “As a rookie, Your Highness’s courage is commendable.” You stay silent, very obviously caught red-handed. “Yet does a simple blindfold excuse a person’s brazenness?”

“I have no idea what you’re on about,” you say, still feeling the weight of his hold on your forearm. It’s burning your skin even through layers of leather. Your face feels hot, too. You’re probably as red as fresh strawberries.

“Your Highness didn’t do it on purpose?” Rafayel coos, much closer to your ear now.

“Nope,” you say and shake your head once, holding it high.

He chuckles. “Your Highness’s acting is lackluster when it comes to being clueless.” Rafayel flicks you on the nose and you—surprised—momentarily lose balance and fall onto him only catching yourself in the last possible moment, pressing your palms into the tent’s floor.

Your face hovers right above Rafayel’s, you can feel his breath on your lips. “Sorry,” you mumble into the tense silence.

“It’s fine,” you hear him say softly before a gentle hand starts caressing your cheek. Then, in a split second, you feel your world turn upside down, as he flips you over, switching your positions so that you’re laying under him and he’s the one hovering above you. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you hear nothing but the thump-thumping of your heart. “I forgot to mention. A good assassin must be able to counterattack.”

His nose buries itself into your neck, inhaling you like you’re a drug that he just cannot get enough of. The dagger lays forgotten beside you, while Rafayel is pinning your hands to the floor. “Is Your Highness prepared for the next lesson?” He whispers into your skin, and this time you’re the one shivering. A gasp escapes your lips, as you feel his wet, hot tongue on your throat.

“Rafayel—” you moan breathless, not even you know what you’re asking for but somehow he seems to understand.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ll take good care of you, Your Highness.” With that his lips finally find yours. It’s as if your whole body has been ignited. Every little touch, his body weight, every point of connection with him feels ten times more intense with your vision still blocked by the blindfold.

However, you have had enough of darkness, so when he finally releases your hands, you use them to take off the blindfold. A second to adjust to the light and refocus your vision, then you see Rafayel taking his leather gloves off with his teeth. Your lower abdomen makes a backflip at the sight.

Rafayel tsks. “Ah-ah, I don’t remember telling you to take it off. Your Highness is taking waaay too many liberties. What should I do in retaliation?” He taps his chin with his index finger in mock ponder. “I know.” But before you can ask him anything, his now bare hands reach your legs. Slowly, gently they make their way from your thighs to knees, to calves where Rafayel’s quick fingers undo the laces of your boots and take them off. He then starts trailing slow, deliberate kisses from your ankle up.

When he gets to your inner thigh, you reflectively try closing your legs because his breath tickles you but you just end up bracketing his head and trapping it there. Rafayel chortles which tickles you even more, so you huff out an embarrassed “Stop!” and push his head away. He has other plans, though. He resumes the kissing and you gradually melt into it again.

“I can’t stop,” he says after a peck. “Not ever.” Another one. “How could I?” This time he sucks the skin into his mouth and leaves a little bite on it. “Your Highness is the definition of perfection. I could never get enough of you.” He then hooks his finger under your thigh garter, pulls it away then lets it snap back into place, you hiss in response and send a sharp glance his way. “Oops,” he drawls.

“Rafayel, please—”

“Please what?” he asks with his cheek pressed to your thigh. His brows are furrowed—the picture of innocence—as if he doesn’t know what it is you want him to do.

“Take off your clothes and get down to business,” you have no problem with using the petulant princess tone right now. Your patience is wearing thin.

He smirks, clicks his tongue and bows his head. “Your Highness’s wish is my command,” he replies with reverence, you can still hear the smirk in his voice, though.

Rafayel is quick with unbuckling the belt of his cloak and taking it off, his boots follow it to the opposite corner of the tent. You look at him mesmerized as he’s undressing himself bit by bit. When you catch him staring back at you smugly, you look away, self-conscious. “Is Your Highness waiting to be undressed by yours truly? Or am I just too distracting for you to do it yourself?”

“You have truly worn me down with all those sword practices,” you complain in a needy voice. “I guess you have to help me out of my clothes now.”

“At your service,” Rafayel says, taking one of your hands and leaving a gentle kiss on it. Then he starts unbuckling and unzipping your garment from neck down. When you’re finally laying completely bare under him, he looks at all the parts of you that were inaccessible to his gaze before like a man starved. Next thing you know there’s a hot wetness on your nipple, he’s licking it, then playfully grazing it with his teeth, then back to licking again. He sucks at your skin—every inch he can get to—like a cat playing with a ball, impatient and eager, easily distracted by some other yet untouched part of your body.

His own body—so warm and sticky after a whole day in the desert—weighs down on you. You let your hands run through his hair, carding through the strands damp with sweat, massaging his scalp, then getting down to the back of his neck. Your gentle caresses turn to scratches, as you feel Rafayel hump into your leg faster and faster with each passing second. Arching your back does nothing to loosen you up, to bring you some friction, relief, so you huff in frustration and pull Rafayel’s hair demanding his attention, as if he’s not the one currently painting your upper body into all the shades of red imaginable.

“Your Highness is sooo greedy,” he whispers into your skin wet with saliva, his breath making you shiver. He presses his knee between your legs and you wheeze, cursing under your breath. “Maybe I should make you beg for it…” his voice deepens.

Oh hell no, he does not get to tease you, to now just taunt and torture you. Not on your watch. So, you use one of the techniques he taught you to overpower and throw him off of you. You land on top of him with a grin, as he stares at you speechless. “Guess it’s time for the student to surpass the master, don’t you think?” As you say that, your gaze lands on the dagger discarded beside Rafayel. You reach out and take it before you can even think of a reason why. All you know is you want to see him this time, just hearing him get all hot and bothered by the threat of a knife at his throat was not enough.

“Be a good boy, yeah?” You put the blade to the side of his neck and Rafayel whimpers. His breath audibly hitches and his eyes—oh those eyes—there’s fire in them. Not just sparks, fireworks lighting up in the eyes so reminiscent of the sea you have only seen in your dreams. “Easy now,” you shush him, gently cupping his cheek with your free hand, “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

You really want to feel him inside already but you can’t resist the urge to tease him just a little—not exactly revenge but retribution—so, you let your hand roam his body. His chest is rising and falling in quick succession but he doesn’t say a word. You don’t need words to know he’s enjoying this very much. His body is telling you all there is to know. He’s looking at you with pure devotion but the lower your hand gets, the hazier his gaze becomes. When you finally encircle his length he sighs, screwing up his eyes, apparently unable to continue looking at you. He must really be on the edge, huh.

Rafayel is lucky you’re not in the mood for more teasing, so after a few pumps you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink onto him. Moans intertwine and mix in the pent-up space. You leisurely start moving up and down, more focused on his face than anything else. Eyes devouring every little detail, every small, subtle shift in his expression. The way he bites his lip trying not to whine when the reminder of a dagger at his throat comes in the form of increased pressure.

He’s enjoying this. But that is not the realization that shocks you. What does come as a surprise, though, is that you are enjoying this no less. Oh, God.

“Please,” Rafayel pleads, his voice pulled tight.

“Please what?” you can’t help but return his jab from before.

“Your Highness, please let me touch you.” Desperation in his hazy gaze, as if he might combust if his fingers don’t at the very least lightly brush your skin right about now.

Instead of gracing him with a verbal response, you take one of his hands and put it on your waist. He doesn’t need more permission than that, so his other hand is quick to follow. The next thing you know his hands are guiding you up and down, building up the tempo to his liking. The friction picks up speed and intensity, and you start panting in earnest.

You try staying focused and minding the dagger still at your lover’s throat but he knows just how to unravel you. When Rafayel’s fingers find your clit, you are truly and utterly gone. Head thrown back, body pulled so tight, it’s akin to a string on the brink of snapping, you’re almost ready to let yourself go, fall into the abyss. That’s when you hear a sharp hiss, your eyes fly open and find Rafayel’s. His fingers are still working you towards that release but you forget all about it, your heart drops when you notice blood trickling down his neck. The dagger—its blade red and shiny—falls from your hand, you catch Rafayel’s wrist and pause all movements.

Your throat is tight, as you stare at the cut on his throat. It doesn’t necessarily look deep, but it’s there nonetheless. You shake your head in disbelief. How could you let this happen? “I—” your voice gets caught in your throat halfway through. “I’m so sorry, Raf—”

“It’s nothing,” he reassures you and tries resuming his movements but you don’t let him.

“It’s not nothing, Rafayel, you’re bleeding!” you try not to let panic consume you but you’re doing a poor job of it.

“Hardly,” he scoffs but when he notices how terrified you look, he’s quick to sit up and pull you into a hug which comes off awkward in your current position. “Hey, shh, I’m fine,” he soothes you, as apologies keep falling from your lips repeatedly, the last one dying on them, as you’re cut off by a kiss. Confused and still kind of in shock, you freeze at first but when Rafayel doesn’t tone it down, you respond in kind, forgetting about everything else, just losing yourself in him wholly.

You blink once and find yourself under him once again, he flipped you over so gracefully you didn’t even notice. When he finally draws back and lets you take a breath, he cups your cheek gently and says, “I trust you.” With that he kisses your fingers and puts the dagger back into your hand again. Your grip on it is unsure, timid, hand shaking as he holds it tightly and pulls it towards his chest. The sharp tip grazing hot skin. The red outlines of the fish—your bond mark—glowing softly in the dim light and reflecting off the blade’s surface.

Rafayel starts moving inside you again, breath getting heavier with each circling motion. But all you can think of, all you can see is the dagger in your hand. He trusts you, you remind yourself and put your free hand over the fish imprint, covering it with your whole palm, securing it. Now, even if the dagger gets too close to him, it’ll have to get through you before it ever reaches him. You will never let anything touch him. That right is only reserved for you.

His thrusts pick up the pace, his hands are all over your body but he doesn’t touch your arms. He pinches your nipples, rolling them with his fingers, drawing circles all over your skin. The howl you kept trapped in your throat slips out, when those sneaky fingers of his find your clit once more. “Your Highness, this is your last lesson for today, so listen carefully,” his voice comes through the haze of your mind. “A good assassin should also know when to rely on their partner and let go. So, do it,” he dares you.

Your vision whitens, something pulling hard at your navel, as you do what you’re told and let go. Mouth falling open in a loud gasping moan, as you feel Rafayel coming undone inside you with a moan just as loud as yours. You grunt a little, when his exhausted body falls onto yours, completely spent. Thankfully, you had the foresight to throw the dagger aside.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and lets himself fall to the side and off of you.

You only realize you have cut the back of your palm in the process of it all, when Rafayel takes your hand into his. He frowns looking at the small cut, then pulls it closer to his mouth. First, he kisses it—a soft, there and gone touch—then he licks it once, twice. The cut stings a bit at the contact with saliva but it’s kind of satisfying. “Your Highness isn’t above licking up wounds, are you?” A challenge. Again. It hasn’t even been a whole minute since the last one.

You push him down by the shoulder and bring your own mouth to the cut on his neck. It’s not even bleeding anymore but you lick up the maroon stains on his skin, the metallic taste hitting your tongue. You swipe it across the cut a few times, then start kissing and sucking at it, hoping to leave a love bite on top of the cut, surely that’d make up for the fact you accidentally hurt him. Rafayel moans and you’re glad to hear him sound so utterly wrecked instead of in pain.

Pulling away, you hear him scoff. You look at him quizzically and he just shakes his head, taking your wounded hand again and showing it to you with a smirk. “Ta-da!” There’s not a cut in sight.

“How—” you want to ask but then the realization hits you, your eyes widening a bit. Did he just trick you into drinking his blood for it to heal you? That’s ridiculous, it was only a scratch. You huff out a laugh and hit his arm lightly just to be petty.

“Your Highness is so easy. We should probably work on that next,” there’s a lightheartedness in his voice.

“So, when’s our next lesson, Master?” you ask teasingly.

He tries not to show what that nickname does to him but you still see it and take note for the next time.

“Any day,” he replies. “Every day.” He kisses the corner of your lips. “Any time.” A kiss on the other corner. “Tomorrow, or the day after that.” A deep kiss on the mouth. “You say it. I am yours whenever.”

#my fanfiction #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #rafayel love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x mc #qi yu #qi yu love and deepspace #fanfic #lads fanfic #lads smut

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fleurdeserre · 4 months ago

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so ur telling me....... this guy killed ppl.....??

#lads #fan art

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fleurdeserre · 4 months ago

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Artist Turned Muse

Fandom: 恋与深空 | Love and Deepspace (Video Game) Category: F/M Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Main Character/Qi Yu | Rafayel; Qi Yu | Rafayel/You Tags: One Shot, Crack Fic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Third Person, POV Rafayel, POV Second Person, Light Angst

Summary: Rafayel knows you're lying to him but he doesn't know what the reason behind it is. So the best logical conclusion he comes to is that you are seeing someone else.

A/N: disclaimers: - english isn't my first language, so sorry for any potential mistakes - this is a crack fic written purely for funsies with a pinch of angst (cause it's Rafayel), don't take it too seriously - the fic begins with Rafayel's POV and then it changes to reader's POV

you can read the fic here or go to ao3 (hyperlink in the title)

Rafayel knows his girlfriend has been up to something as of late. He just couldn’t figure out what exactly it was.

At first, he ignored it. Well, no, he didn’t actually ignore it, more like he just pretended it didn’t bother him—a tactic he was very well-accustomed to.

How did he know something was off, you might ask. Well, first of all Rafayel knows his beloved, thank you very much, so it’s no surprise that the first thing to tip him off was her lying to him. He knows she couldn’t lie to save her life—unlike himself, of course.

So, naturally when he asked her what plans she had for the weekend and she pulled out a half-assed excuse about some kind of reading she needed to catch up to, he knew immediately it wasn’t actually the case. This girl is so bad at lying, Rafayel has no idea why she still even tries. The birthday preparations she tried to make in secret should’ve been proof enough to discourage her from ever trying to lie to him again.

Rafayel, guided by that logic, has tried jogging his memory to remember if there were any anniversaries or other special occasions worthy of celebration and came to the conclusion that there were none. That realization frustrated him to no end because that meant he had no clue what was actually happening with his girl.

Days, then weeks kept going in that same manner with her always making excuses and disappearing for several hours, not answering her phone and keeping her text messages short. He thought he did something wrong and she was just pissed at him but that also wasn’t the case because there were no indications of that apart from her disappearing all the time.

Then it finally hit him.

She must be seeing someone else. The betrayal he felt the moment that thought settled in his head was like no other. It was way worse than her forgetting him back when they first met because, here she is now clearly remembering him, being with him and yet still disappearing on him several times a week. Oh, this is unbearable.

What will he do if that’s truly the case? What can he do, really?

It’s not like Rafayel isn’t giving his all to this relationship. What more could she possibly want and why wouldn’t she simply ask it of him?

If we’re being completely honest, Rafayel is having a full-blown breakdown over this.

Like, if she wanted someone else to spice things up a bit, she could’ve just told him. Sure, Rafayel would’ve probably cried over it but at the end of the day he’d suck it up and do whatever she wanted hoping it was just a phase. If, on the other hand, it was the worst-case scenario and she fell in love with someone else…

Well, that’s not something Rafayel wants to consider. If push comes to shove, he’ll just improvise like he always does praying for the sea to have mercy on him.

He tries not to overthink all of this but it is getting more and more difficult with each passing day with each excuse and lie even though when she’s with him, she’s no different than she’s always been. She’s loving, teasing, and caring. She cuddles with him like she used to, makes sure he doesn’t starve to death while working on a new piece, and makes love with him like it’s their last day on Earth.

Rafayel loses sleep over the predicament he’s found himself in. And worst of all, he can’t even paint—he can’t put his emotions into art, the one thing he’s always praised himself for being good at. Every time he tries, he just stands there for a while with the paintbrush held mid-air, unable to make the first stroke. Then when he finally makes himself move, do something—anything—he is left with a bitter sense of disappointment.

It’s all just…not right. He truly feels like a fish out of water (pun intended).

Not only is she blatantly lying to him, she also hides stuff from him now. She never used to do that before and Rafayel is oh so ready to start ripping off his hair if she continues whatever it is she’s doing now. He’ll go bald at the ripe age of twenty-four. It’d be plastered all over all sorts of billboards too… “An artist gone bald: the downfall of the infamous Rafayel’s hairstyle” or something like that.

Okay, dramatics aside, it is weird. A few days ago, she was on her phone and he dropped onto the sofa right next to her. The moment his head touched her shoulder she locked her phone and put it aside. She thought she was being so nonchalant about it too, but Rafayel isn’t crazy, it wasn’t his imagination playing tricks on him. When he asked her what she was doing she said she was making a list of groceries. Rafayel obviously wasn’t dumb enough to buy that because she wasn’t even typing.

Maybe she was reading someone’s messages? was all Rafayel could think of that sleepless night.

There was that other time, a week ago, when he went to visit her unannounced just because he felt like it and was around the area (not really). He had to wait for her to open the door for two minutes! He knew she was home—the lights were on—but she still made him wait outside the door to her apartment. When she finally let him in, she said, “Oh, sorry, I was making a smoothie when the blender’s lid malfunctioned and the contents were all over my shirt, so I had to change into something else.”

Sounds valid but here’s the catch. When he went to the kitchen it was perfectly clean and the blender was full. It didn’t look like even a drop of its contents was spilled. Weird.

Also, she didn’t let him go anywhere near her bedroom. It’s not like they usually have a habit of hanging around there when her living room is way cozier and much more spacious. It was still weird…

Today is the day he puts an end to all of this. He can no longer live like this. If there’s something she doesn’t want him to know about so as not to hurt him, he needs to know what it is because staying in the dark hurts him even more. He’s starting to second-guess every single interaction they are having these days.

~~~

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that these past few weeks have been a lot: with all the wanderer fighting you had to combine with spending time with Rafayel as well as working on your secret project. Still, you’re proud of yourself for putting your mind to doing this. And it’s going pretty well if anyone asks you; you were expecting it to turn out way worse.

It’s been a while since the thought first came to your head. It happened when you were finally able to convince Rafayel to show you his true form: tail, scales, and all. He was absolutely mesmerizing, it felt as if you were witnessing the eighth wonder of the world. Quite frankly, you were stunned and unable to find words for a good minute. His tail was such a beautiful rich shade of blue and sparkling with droplets of water that it felt downright criminal he was keeping it a secret for so long. Still unable to voice anything coherent you ran your hand down the scales in wonder.

“Do you think I’m a monster now?” he asked when the silence stretched for too long, with a level of uncertainty that broke your heart.

A monster? You couldn’t believe your ears weren’t deceiving you.

“Rafayel, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” you said with no hesitation.

This silly man, you thought to yourself. He has no idea how truly amazing he is inside and out in any and all his forms.

You had to show him just how stunning and gorgeous he was. And just like that your mission under the code name “Artist Turned Muse” began.

Then came his drawing lessons…

You asked Rafayel to teach you because of an assignment for a work-related event that you totally didn’t make up. It was all a lie, of course. However, you soon found those lessons to be counterproductive and your teacher quite distracting. So, you had to find some other way to make it work.

A friend of yours who frequents all kinds of workshops has been recommending to you quite a few of them for a while now. When she started listing them all, one of them hit close to home.

“That’s it!” you exclaimed, then hummed to yourself. Paper mache was something you could work with; you were pretty good when it came to working with your hands. Though, it’s been a while since the last time you did anything of the sorts, so you were probably really rusty. That’s why you decided to go to that workshop your friend suggested.

Fast-forward four weeks later, you’re very close to finish and the mini merman Rafayel seems quite close to how the real one looked. You’ve spent quite some time on research, buying materials, and crafting and painting, of course. Additionally, you somehow managed to keep it all a secret from Rafayel, which, truth be told, was the most difficult part of this but you really wanted to make it a surprise.

One day he even showed up at your place uninvited; your hands and clothes were all covered in glue and you had to change and wash up as fast as you could. When he dramatically asked why it took you forever to let him in, you made up an excuse—the first thing that came to your mind—Rafayel seemed to believe it though, because no additional questions came.

Now you’re looking at your creation, it’s almost done, only some finishing touches left. You trace the prominent fleshed out scales of the tail with your fingers. It probably needs some glitter, though using the glue gun to make beads reminiscent of water droplets was a great idea. The goofy little smile you drew on mini Raf’s face makes you huff out a laugh.

That’s when you hear the door to your apartment open. Right away you jump off the chair you were sitting on. There are only two options here: either someone’s breaking in to rob you, or it’s Rafayel who has keys to your apartment, and at this moment you’re not sure which one is worse.

In case it’s really a robbery—which is highly unlikely given that it’s still daytime—you pick up your gun before stepping out of your bedroom. Seeing Rafayel with his hands crossed across his chest in the middle of your living room, you exhale closing the door behind you and putting your gun aside.

“Hello? What happened to knocking?” you try to lighten up the mood with a joke but Rafayel is still frowning for some reason.

Rafayel heaves a deep sigh and says, “I know you’ve been lying to me for weeks. And I know what you’ve been doing behind my back.”

Oh-oh. How did he even find out? That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is he’s upset, like, really, really upset. You weren’t expecting him to take it this badly, though.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t really mean to lie to you…” you say looking at your feet guiltily. Man, surprises are truly exhausting, you’ve spent so much time and effort to keep it a secret and now you’re being reprimanded like a kid for it.

“But you did. I hate it when you lie to me, I’d take a knife in the heart over a lie to my face any day,” Rafayel sounds serious, like never before.

He’s being a bit too dramatic considering the circumstances, in your opinion, however it is true that he’s very sensitive, so it hurts to hear him this vulnerable. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back.”

Somehow, Rafayel looks even more hurt after those words leave your mouth. “So, you weren’t even considering the option of not doing it in the first place?” He looks like a puppy that’s been repeatedly kicked in the gut and you’re starting to regret every life choice that has led you to this point. This little project of yours was supposed to empower him and make him feel accepted and loved by you but he just looks like he’s witnessed the biggest betrayal of all.

“I—I didn’t think you’d be so against it, to be honest.” The guilt is swallowing you whole at this point; you just want to hide your head in the sand.

“Why—how could you think I wouldn’t be against such a thing? I mean, I probably could deal with it but at the very least you should’ve said something to me beforehand!” And he’s angry again, huffing and puffing. His cheeks are flushed and you’d say he looks cute if not for the hurt etched into every inch of his face.

“Can we at least talk about it honestly now?” he sounds resigned. “Can you tell me the whole thing from the start?”

“Okay,” you nod and finally get closer to him sitting on the sofa beside him, so that you’re face to face. “I first thought about doing this when you showed me your tail,” you start and hear Rafayel’s breath hitch. He looks teary-eyed—though not a single tear falls—and more vulnerable than ever. Oh God, you knew he was very self-conscious and insecure about his lemurian form, you should’ve never tried anything like making a replica of it. “I’m sorry, Rafayel, I should’ve asked you if you were comfortable with me doing anything like this, it was stupid.” Considering how much of a touchy subject Lemuria is for him and how for centuries humans have been using lemurians for all sorts of purposes.

“So, you decided to find someone else because I’m not human?”

What?

No, that’s not right.

“WHAT?” That’s more like it. You sound absolutely appalled at the idea. How—where did this even come from—

Oh.

Oh no, this is a disaster. A complete disaster.

“Rafayel, please tell me what exactly you thought I was lying to you about?”

He still looks distraught as he tries to say, “That you were…” inhale, pause, exhale, “seeing someone else?” his voice uncertain now.

Oh hell no.

“Of course, I wasn’t,” you say as you cup Rafayel’s cheeks. He looks into your eyes and your heart breaks all over again. This silly man thought you were cheating on him and still didn’t say a word until today? And he said he could “deal with it” if you warned him about it? Oh, you need to put an end to this right now.

You don’t even care that the figurine isn’t quite finished yet, you take Rafayel’s hand and lead him into your room. “Ta-da,” you jokingly half whisper, motioning your hand towards the mess that is your desk and workspace in general. The mini Rafayel proudly laying in the middle of it all.

“What’s this…” Rafayel looks around the room, probably still expecting another man to jump out of the closet.

“I was making a paper mache figurine of you, you silly man! There was no other man I was seeing,” you say reassuringly and then add a little sly remark, “Well, if you don’t count this little fishie as one.”

And finally, there’s a glimmer of life in Rafayel’s eyes. “So, you’re not having an affair?”

“Of course, I’m not,” you say one more time, squeezing his hand tighter.

“Thank goodness!” Rafayel exclaims, scoops you up and spins you around, a yelp of surprise escaping your mouth.

“How could you even think I’d be interested in anyone else when I have you?” Your head spins a bit and you can’t stop a little giggle from coming out because, honestly, this whole interaction and misunderstanding is ridiculous. “I don’t need nor do I want any other man when I already have the one I love,” is what you choose to say instead of mocking him. (Though you absolutely will tease him relentlessly and will never let him live this down)

“Yeah, I know…” he says, avoiding your gaze. But does he really?

“I love you, Rafayel.”

“I know,” he repeats.

“No, you don’t. I love you. I am in love with every version of you, in every way, shape, and form you come,” you say because he needs to hear this. “I love you yet I feel like that word can’t even come close to what I feel towards you. It’s so, so much bigger than what words could convey. Please don’t ever doubt that.” You peck his lips to emphasize your point.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he says but he doesn’t look guilty, in fact, he finally looks like himself, grinning from ear to ear and pecking you in return.

“Don’t be,” you reply. “But…”

“But?” Rafayel lifts one of his brows up.

“Don’t you wanna say something in return?” you teasingly drawl the last word.

Rafayel smirks and clears his throat before saying, “Oh? What could that possibly be?”

“I don’t know, maybe something that would correspond with what I said to you earlier?” Your fingers creep up his arm to his shoulder and then flick his nose.

“Ooooh, you mean that,” he articulates exaggeratedly. “Yeah, sure, cutie. I love me, too.”

You playfully slap his arm and pinch it hard.

“Ouch! That hurt!” he exclaims but that doesn’t deter you. You keep pinching him, then start tickling him all over his body, as he falls onto your bed and wheezes. “Okay, fine, I yield!” A pause. “I love you, too.” He’s holding both your hands by the wrists, so you can’t keep tickling him. Then his breathy laughs stop, his eyes growing softer, more sincere. “I have loved you my whole life. And not just this one. I’ve loved you in every lifetime before this one and I will keep doing so in every following one.”

Now it’s your turn to hold your breath. Sometimes he just says the corniest, cheesiest, most romantic things in the world out of the blue and you’re just left there to pick up the million pieces it shatters you into.

You’re fiercely blushing, so you clear your throat and try to joke your way out of this. “Can you maybe pretend to forget about the mini fishie over there until I finish working on it?”

Rafayel laughs out loud and kisses your forehead. “No problem, cutie. Sorry I ruined your surprise,” he says. “But you should probably stop ever trying to lie again, you really suck at it.”

#my fanfiction #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #rafayel love and deepspace #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x mc #qi yu #qi yu love and deepspace #fanfic

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fleurdeserre · 4 months ago

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caleb u should listen to your true feelings >u<!!btw the blobs truly so cute hehe

#these are my mains I fear #lads #fan art

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fleurdeserre · 4 months ago

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ROTTEN

Fandom: 恋与深空 | Love and Deepspace (Video Game) Category: F/M Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Main Character/Xia Yizhou | Caleb; Xia Yizhou | Caleb/You Tags: One Shot, Angst, Self-Harm, Phantom Limb Pain, POV Third Person

Summary: What if Caleb wasn't being entirely honest in Painful Signal? What if he was experiencing phantom limb pain on a regular basis after losing his arm? (Set some time after Painful Signal)

A/N: disclaimers: - tw: self-harm - english isn’t my first language so if something seems wrong or doesn’t make sense that’s probably the reason - i am no expert in phantom limb pain, i just read an article, so like…i’m not a doctor and all my limbs are currently intact, so i am not sure what it actually feels like to experience such a thing

you can read the fic here or go to ao3 (hyperlink in the title)

Over the years, Caleb had found his ways of coping with shit the universe threw his way. Sure, they might not have been exactly healthy but to be completely honest, his own well-being was never really something he’d taken into consideration.

She would always reprimand him about his chapped lips or nails bitten to the quick. He’d tried quitting for her sake but that never really worked. Then came the a little too hot showers he took. The skin of his back would get red and itchy, the burning would feel good, though. Distracting enough to just forget…even if just for a moment.

Forget the blank stare she’d give him. Forget all those moments he had to tell himself it would be okay, that she would come back eventually, just like she always did. She wouldn’t remember him; she’d look at him with zero recognition in her eyes but that was fine by him. As long as she came back, he’d reintroduce himself to her over and over again for all eternity if that was what it came to.

Caleb couldn’t deny the irony of the Toring Chip being implanted in his brain, mocking him, laughing in his face as if saying “Weren’t you look for a way to forget? Why are you backing off all of a sudden?”

He’d wanted to forget all the pain she’d gone through, all the ways in which he couldn’t help her back then, was never able to save her. He would’ve been glad to forget about all her suffering, just as she did. But not her…never her. He would cherish the memory of her forever.

When Caleb first came to after the explosion, he didn’t even notice anything was amiss, apart from the fact that he was once again surrounded by white lab coats. They made him sick but he gave no sign of it.

It took some getting used to the new modified mechanical arm. In his life Caleb had considered quite a few scenarios of him becoming disabled due to his chosen field of work. He’d even considered and made his peace with the possibility of one day not making it back home to her after that one dreadful flight in the Aerospace Academy. He had to look up quite a few articles on all sorts of disorders considering how bad his dissociative amnesia got afterwards. But for some reason he’d never researched what losing a limb might feel like. He’d assumed it would just be like having a void where a limb used to be; he’d never taken phantom pain into consideration.

When confronted by her, he said “I barely feel any pain unless it’s under repair.” And even though it was true—the electric shocks going through his body while the arm was under repair were quite painful—he didn’t want her to worry, so he decided not to tell her the whole truth.

For the most part he’d learnt to ignore the phantom pain, he’d tune it out, leaving it somewhere in the background. It’s not as if he’d never dealt with pain before. But other times he’d jolt awake and not be able to go back to sleep for the rest of the night. Sometimes he’d just stare into a mirror for a while in an attempt to make his brain somehow understand and accept the fact that his arm was no more.

It felt like some new intricate type of torture if he was being completely honest. Feeling the pain but not his arm, it was maddening. He’d picked up the habit of scrabbing the area surrounding the mechanical arm—where the seam of it met his torso—red while showering, and subconsciously scratching it whenever he was stressed and felt a phantom pain spike.

Sometimes it felt as if there was an infesting rot under the surface of the mechanical arm, it was burning and throbbing threatening to spread through his whole body. Caleb couldn’t help but think if the rot was eating away at him, if one day he’d wake up to being rotten to the core—nothing human left of him, just some machine with no thoughts, feelings, or emotions of his own. No flesh left to sense her with, just metal and wires.

He’d still love her somehow. Even if only just a fraction of his consciousness was left, he’d find a way to hold on to her, cling to the idea of her.

For the time being, Caleb tried not to think of those things. He had to protect her whatever it took, whatever the price may be.

One day she caught him, though. He was careless; he got lost in his thoughts staring into space in his bedroom. He just got out of shower and didn’t put a shirt on yet.

“What are you doing?” her voice came from the door. “I knocked but you didn’t answer…”

How deep did he have to sink into it all to not even notice? He’d huff out a bitter chuckle if there was any strength left in him to do that.

“What happened to your shoulder?” worry palpable in her voice. Great. She was moving closer, not waiting for his permission to enter the room now that she saw the crime scene because of course she wouldn’t. Caleb tried to cover it up by putting his shirt on. He wasn’t fast enough, though. She caught him red handed. “Caleb?” her beautiful voice laced with worry once again because of him, it made his stomach turn.

“It’s nothing.” He tried but she was already inspecting the reddish area.

She gave him one of those angry frowns she was really good at. “You big dummy,” she said pushing him to sit back down on his bed. “Don’t move.” Then she left the room.

Caleb wasn’t about to disobey her; she’d be even more mad and something was telling him he was in big enough trouble already.

When she came back, it was with a first-aid kit in her hand. She didn’t say a word though, silently getting to work, disinfecting the raw skin around the mechanical arm and gently blowing on it even though Caleb gave no indication of it burning. He never would in front of her. She was probably aware of that, too.

A few minutes later Caleb found himself bandaged and she was looking at him with such intense that he couldn’t bear it, so he glanced away in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Her endeavor to see through him fruitless, she decided to ask him, “Where does it hurt?”

Of course, she realized it wasn’t a question of whether or not it hurt but of where exactly it hurt. Sometimes Caleb hated the way she knew him so well.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and loudly exhaled through his nose, still not looking at her. She wouldn’t have it obviously, so her hands came to his cheeks to hold his head up. There was hurt in her eyes and the knowledge of being the one to put it there broke him.

“I—” he tried; his voice raspy. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say, once again feeling like he was failing her. The rot bubbling up under the metal, gradually trying to overcome him.

“What are you sorry for?” she asked, tenderly caressing his cheeks with her fingers. “Please tell me.”

“I lied.” Her expression became confused but she stayed silent giving him time to elaborate. “It hurts all the time,” Caleb’s voice broke, his vision blurry and he knew what that meant, so he had to push the lump in his throat down and will the tears back. They had no place here.

She leaned into him, pressing her forehead onto his own, the tiny bit of pressure grounding for Caleb. Then he felt one of her hands go down from his face to his neck, to his clavicle, to his bandaged shoulder then down the mechanical arm. Caleb could swear he was able to feel the lightness, the warmth of her touch, the gentle way her fingers ran over the metal. It wasn’t true but he could still feel it, a breathy exhale falling from his lips.

When she drew back, he was barely able to hold in a whimper. Don’t go, please. Don’t leave me, he wanted to beg. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She got on her knees beside his right arm and took his mechanical hand into her own. The metal most certainly way colder than her flesh and blood palm.

Looking him straight in the eye, she pulled his hand towards her mouth and left a light kiss on one of the fingers. Caleb’s breath hitched and he was ready to burst into tears right then and there. The softness of her gaze—not leaving his even for a moment—combined with the little kisses she was peppering onto the metal surface made his heart swell with love for her. There was not a single thought of rot left in head. How could there be any? When she was touching him so gently, with such careful attention, as if he was something worth cherishing even with a cold piece of metal instead of an arm.

Her lips gradually made their way up his forearm, making sure to meticulously leave kisses everywhere she could. Finally, she got to the seam of the metal and pressed her lips onto the bandages before moving to the exposed skin of his torso and neck. Caleb’s breath—an erratic chaos by that point—got caught in his throat, as he felt hot air from her mouth hit his jugular.

He moved his hands to her back to press her body as close as possible to his own, slotting their mouths together, stealing the whimper of surprise off her lips. The kiss messy but short. His left hand came up to cup her cheek.

She was looking at him with her brows furrowed. “Don’t ever lie to me again,” she said with a light hit to his chest. “If you’re hurting, I’ll be right there with you, hurting by your side.”

“I don’t want you to hurt,” was all Caleb could master in response.

She looked at him with pity. “I’ll hurt anyway. Even more so if you hide your pain from me for my sake.”

And it sounded so familiar. Caleb huffed out a bitter laugh, realizing she was just like him at the end of the day. Even thinking and feeling about him the same way he did for her.

“Okay then,” Caleb said. “We’ll hurt together.”

“Deal,” she replied and took both his hands into hers intertwining their fingers.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #lnds #l&ds #fanfic #caleb x you #lnds caleb #xia yizhou #l&ds caleb #my fanfiction

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