deepspace never answers

❝ how easily things slip away from us, no matter how difficult they were in the obtaining ❞ I⋆｡°✩writing blog ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ MDNI ⋆｡°✩

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

새벽의 사자...!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WELCOME TO DEEPSPACE !

a blog dedicated to loveanddeepspace ! a sylus main, but equally a lover of rafayel <3 please drop in and say hello, or send me a request !

MINORS DNI - most of what i write is kindly not for younger ones <3

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@darkestnightindeepspace all of my work is my own. do not translate, copy or reuse it without my consent. i do not consent to my works being used to train AI in any way, shape or form.

[pzxce]

sylus says stop wasting water w ai smh

[princesssokphanny]

A once-in-a-lifetime shot — the moon perfectly framed by a rainbow. Caught at just the right time. 🌈 🌕

[kedreeva]

Sourcing the photos as taken by Mark Ham on Instagram, according to one of the replies.

[leebrontide]

Happy Pride month to the moon

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

'I'm hot, got a fever !'

˚⊹♡⋆SYNOPSIS - It's summer break, and you're going to one of the hottest parties of the season. But senior!Sylus is going to be there, and the smoking area is always too quiet... (THIS WILL BE MADE INTO A SUMMER SERIES WITH A FIC FOR EACH LOVEANDDEEPSPACE BOY!)

˚⊹♡ WORD COUNT - 5.6k

˚⊹♡ TAGS - MINORS DNI; smut, porn with plot, degradation (if you squint), mentions of alcohol and tobacco/cannabis, college au, fingering, tummy bulge, unprotected sex, cervix hitting, size kink (!!!), switch!sylus x switch!y/n, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia (if you squint), exhibitionism/semi-public sex, overstimulation, sylus eats you out :>.

The dying gold of a sunset trickles into your room through the slats of your window, the dust motes that intersperse it giving the colour a living quality. You sigh, rolling over on your bed with a groan and cringing when you press your hair, which is stuffed with hair rollers, into your fur throw. Of all nights, why did it have to be offensively warm today? Your plans to don something modest to the party had gone flying out the window.

Through scarlet-painted nails, you peek at the outfit that hangs on your wardrobe. A matching bra and thong in leopard print beneath a crimson tank top, accented with golden jewellery. Black denim shorts, with a pair of baggy, mid-rise boot heels sat beside the splash of red. And of course, a pack of Marlboros. Nowhere near as nice as Golden Camels, but they’d do for a party thrown by a bunch of college sophomores. Especially given that, today, you’d rather ram an ice-pick through your eyes than attend; your stack of smut wasn’t going to read itself whilst stuffing pizza.

Ugh, and he’d be there. The senior you’d had a very brief and very inconvenient entanglement with during finals season nearly two weeks ago. He majored in robotics engineering and oddly minored in criminology, which is how you had met him; he had been in the department library on the same night as you. Your major was Literature, pre-law of course, and you suspected that he was absolutely minoring in criminology so he could learn how to skirt the very thing you were hoping to study. He seemed the type.

You groan again, pressing your face into a pillow. Just his name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that tobacco or espresso will never touch: Sylus. Professional asshole and bane of your crim classes. Bane of the late nights spent studying together and that one night, too, where he had—

No.

Not now. Not tonight. Not before a party where you are expected to conduct yourself like a normal fucking person that has just finished finals and is there to have fun and isn’t still thinking about how a certain delinquent senior has a talented mouth. That would be unacceptable.

So, you haul yourself off of the bed and start pulling on your tiny shorts.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A dizzying haze of cigarette smoke, sweet alcohol and weed hits your nose as you wander through the entrance to the party. It’s being held by one of your girlfriends, another filthy rich girl sacrificing her daddy’s money for a good cause, and is the first in the hallowed series of ‘rainbow’ parties held annually by some of the wealthiest students in your country. Each party has a designated colour and tonight red is kicking it off with a bang.

The sound of the incoming tide crashes faintly beyond the palm trees that line the border of the mansion hosting the party. LEDs in luscious shades of crimson and cherry loop around them and a multitude of similarly red stage lights lend the party a dangerous ambience. That atmosphere has clearly seeped into the guests, who mill about with red cups and laugh near the pool.

You guessed it, that was also lit with a shade of vivacious carmine.

You’re barely two steps into the roaring party when you hear a squeal to your left; seconds later you’re damn near tackled by a girl just a little smaller than yourself. You look down, and are met with a cloud of orange-scented brunette hair.

‘Scarlet,’ You sigh fondly, ‘Good to see you. Party’s looking unreal.’

The cloud of hair bobs as the host grins up at you from her hug. She’s a pretty girl, with catlike green eyes, a smattering of freckles and a perfect smile. Scarlet’s in most of your classes, also pre-law, and a perfect host for the Red party.

Clue’s in the name, you reason.

‘I’m so glad you could make it, Y/N!’ She smiles, dimples showing as she excitedly chugs the rest of her drink, vodka with peach schnapps from the smell of it, and loops her arm through yours, ‘I was so worried that my favourite girly wouldn’t be at my party! But, like, I thought of course she will be, because who else can beat me at drinking?’

‘You’re a lightweight, Scar,’ You raise an eyebrow as she leads you towards a table of drinks, where a bunch of guys you faintly recognise from distant glances over at the sports field linger. A few of their eyes rake over you, and you try not to think too hard about how the tallest one eyes you up. He’s pretty hot, but not as much as—

‘Yeah, well you aren’t! So let’s get you some alcohol, honey,’ Scarlet chirps as she pours you a drink that you are fairly sure is mostly tequila. As she hands it to you, you see her bite a glossy bottom lip.

‘Hey, Y/N,’ She begins, voice sobering a little as you gratefully accept the cup, ‘I just wanna let you know that like, you look really hot tonight. Really hot. And that could be an issue, because he’s here and he’s not gonna be able to resist you. Hell, I barely can and I’m straight. But I know your history with him, and he just arrived, and I tried to—’

You sigh, placing a comforting hand on the shoulder of the worried little host. She plays anxiously with a lock of her hair as you do.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you reassure her, ‘I can handle Sylus Qin just fine.’

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

An hour later, you’re pretty solid for someone that’s drunk as much as you have. You’ve always handled alcohol well, and have been careful to go for the occasional smoke and glass of water in between drinks. Coming to the party having had a dinner is seeming like an increasingly wise choice.

But, when you wander around to the smoking area, telling your friends it’ll ‘only be a quick one’, you wish that you were as wasted as your brunette hostess.

There he stands. All stupidly gorgeous 6’4 of him.

Sylus.

That silver hair glints like gunmetal in the vicious crimson lights of the party. His faintly cracked leather jacket bears a pattern of thorns in much the same shade, although they’re interrupted by a rich vermillion that twists through the fabric and matches those eyes. Eyes that flit swiftly up from the unbranded cigarette he’s lighting. You assume they’re ludicrously expensive.

You can’t turn around and scurry back to the party, no; he would see that as cowardly and so would you. You’re almost certain that this man can smell fear, anyway.

So, you look him up and down with what you hope is an unimpressed sneer and withdraw your Marlboros from your purse. Sylus’ eyes track you carefully whilst you bring your lighter to the end of your cigarette. He takes a draw of his own, and blows the smoke in your direction.

‘Are you serious?’

You glare at him as you bring your own to your mouth, the acrid scent of his smoke curling closely around your own hands.

He grins at you as you speak, a white canine flashing at you as he grins and takes his cigarette between his teeth. The strobe lights emanating from beside the pool pulse gently over his face and you could swear that the left one flares a little too brightly in response. Vaguely, you notice how they flicker to your throat ever so briefly.

‘Maybe,’ Sylus replies far too casually, ‘Maybe not. I’m as serious as you want me to be.’

‘Unbelievable,’ you seethe under your breath, turning away to look over the balcony at the ocean as you bring your cigarette to your painted lips again. Of course he’d pull the cryptic shit now. It was practically his MO by now.

Suddenly, you feel his presence beside you. Huge and warm, in the crimson light of the party that thrives beneath you, you think he looks like some sort of mythical creature. Perhaps a dragon, with the way smoke blooms from his perfect lips and his eyes glint like perfectly-cut rubies. What does that make you, you wonder? Prey, or an equal?

‘You think I’m unbelievable, sweetie?’

His voice is a deep rumble. The baritone of far-off thunder.

It’s bait, clearly enough. Of that, you were damn near certain. You knew it like you knew the Hamlet monologue by heart, like you knew the sky was perfectly dark right now.

But you still rose to it.

‘I think you’re a prick,’ you hiss, tapping the embers of your cigarette to land on that leather jacket, ‘You’re an asshole with no regard for anyone but himself, and you’re arguably the greediest one I know. So yeah, unbelievable.’

He laughs at you. Laughs, that one that confirms to you he owns at least three separate houses.

‘Feisty little kitten, aren’t you? It’s good to see our little spat a fortnight ago hasn’t taken the fight out of you.’

‘Fuck you,’ you spit, whirling around to face him head on. His eyebrows quirk up a little and you notice a subtle parting of his lips.

‘You were in the wrong. You’re the one that kissed me that night, Sylus, and you’re the one that didn’t speak to me afterwards. So yeah, you are a greedy prick, and an unbelievable one. As such, fuck you again.’

Then, his hand is on your hip. It’s so large that damn near covers the entire thing and you have to work to suppress the shiver that skitters up your spine. You try to take a calming drag of your cigarette, but you don’t trust your hand to stay steady. You settle for statue-stillness instead.

‘What a roundabout way to ask me, sweetie,’ Sylus mumbles into your ear, ‘If you wanted to have me, you should’ve asked sooner.’

‘I—I don’t want—,’

‘Please,’ he snorts, even that sound somehow radiating wealth, ‘You were begging for it that night in the library. And…’

He trails off, and your breath catches in your throat as his lips move from your ears to your neck. Sylus hesitates for a moment, as if trying to gauge permission, before he nips lightly at your pulse point. Nothing hard, but substantive enough to stop your breathing nearly entirely.

‘I can hear your heartbeat fluttering like a little bird.’

You don’t know why you do what you do next. Maybe you are drunker than you thought (untrue) or maybe the cigarettes have gotten to you in some new way (also untrue). But, you feel as light as a cloud when you toss the cigarette to the ground and reach up to weave your perfectly manicured nails into Sylus’ silver hair. It’s soft, feathery and perfect when you tighten your grip and tug.

His own cigarette falls to the ground, fizzling out with a tragic last flare beside his large boots. That’s the least of your concerns though, because he lets out a low rumble and leans into where your hands tightly grip his perfectly styled hair.

‘My heartbeat doesn’t speak for me, Sylus Qin,’ you sneer up at him, noting the way that left eye burns a violent shade of carmine, ‘My mouth does. And my mouth says you have one fucking chance to redeem yourself. Do you understand me?’

Sylus grins sinfully, that ruby gaze skating over you and lingering slightly on the plush expanse of your thighs that are shown off by your denim mini-shorts. You could swear you hear leather stretch somewhere, but shrug off the feeling.

‘I would be a fool not to.’

The taste of expensive cigarettes and whisky blurs your world as Sylus’s mouth crashes into yours. Your left hand remains entangled in his silver tresses, but your right migrates to gently scratch his name. A groan erupts from his throat and within seconds those huge hands cup your ass as he sweeps you clean off of your feet, turning the two of you around and pressing you against the wall of the mansion. The grit of the wall doesn’t bite into your back like you expect, because Sylus holds you slightly away from it, strength thrumming through what you now categorically know are arms absolutely shredded with muscle.

A nip to your bottom lip has your hand tightening against his neck and your hips unconsciously rolling into his torso; he’s so tall that your own body cannot reach further down. And he’s damn aware of that, because he huffs in frustration when his own do the same and find no friction.

Well, Sylus has always been a man of action.

Your denim shorts are being unbuttoned moments later, and you gasp in surprise into his mouth as you squirm slightly in his grip. The two of you are in the smoking area; anyone could see you both here!

‘Sylus,’ you hiss against his lips, which simply secure themselves to your jaw as he finally succeeds in getting your shorts off, ‘Sylus, we’re in a public smoking area. Anyone could—’

‘I don’t fucking care,’ Sylus replies roughly yanking down your shorts so that they rest just below the curve of your butt. He lets out a gravelly exhale when he lays eyes on your leopard print thong, snapping the side string against your hip before grinning slowly as he looks back up at you. He’s holding you up with only one arm now.

‘What are these, hm? Little kitten trying to be a big one?’

‘Hey, these are my favourites.’

‘I think they’re mine too, sweetie.’

There’s no time to respond. Before you can so much as draw another breath, his hand cups the heat seeping from your thong. A fingertip presses against your clothed cunt, and you feel the vibration of Sylus’ chuckle against your throat as he finds you soaking through the leopard print. He wastes no time with a sarcastic comment, no, those large fingers navigate to their prize with desperate urgency. Meanwhile, he’s begun nipping and kissing at your throat with renewed vigour.

Electricity buzzes from where he rubs tight circles over your clit. You squirm against him before your hips settle into a gentle bucking rhythm that matches the pace he sets down south. Sylus grins against your throat, before biting it harder than he had previously. The sensation of his fingers skilfully massaging your needy cunt paired with the delicious sting of pain from his teeth has a tightness curling in your gut that you welcome like an old friend. Your fingers tighten in his hair as the feeling balloons into something uncontrollable.

‘There we are, Y/N,’ Sylus purrs into your jaw, ‘Feels good, doesn’t it?’

You try to nod, try to agree. But you feel like you’re somewhere else, where you’re as weightless as the wind and as intangible as a breath. Through the haze that settles upon you, you wonder whether the size of his fingers has any bearing on what may be yet to come.

But that’s all it takes. You soak his fingers, cunt clenching as you drop your head down to whine into his neck.

Just then, you hear a gasp from across the smoking area. You’re too blissed out to look properly, but from the half-assed glance you shoot in that direction, you spot the little hostess, Scarlet, standing there with a guy of her own. He’s tall, with black hair and hazel eyes set in a shocked expression. You’re fairly sure he’s pre-med.

Instead of a berating the two of you for leaving what damn well could be a puddle on her patio, she merely shoots the two of you drunken, grinning thumbs-up and takes her man by the hand. As she retreats back into the house, she calls out over her shoulder: ‘There’s a guest room on the top floor!’.

Sylus grunts in acknowledgement, before he looks back at your dazed face.

‘Can you walk, sweetie?’

You nod.

You’d crawl, if it was needed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

As soon as the guest room door slams closed behind you, Sylus is upon you. He makes extraordinarily short work of divesting you of your crimson tank top and you exert similar efforts into helping him shrug off his leather jacket. You fumble with the button and zip holding closed the black turtleneck beneath it; Sylus chuckles lowly against your ministrations.

‘Eager, kitten?’ Sylus hums, large hands coming up to grasp your own as he smirks down at you, ‘I didn’t know you were so greedy.’

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore how the pupils of his own encompass nearly all of his crimson irises, ‘Tit for tat, Sylus.’

He laughs at that, shaking his head faintly in defeat as he pulls his black shirt over his head with large arms. The breath that you had been withdrawing was sucked into you at the sight that he revealed.

Sylus was raw strength; that much was painfully evident. His body was a masterpiece of perfectly defined muscle, with a tantalising V-line that extended beyond the limits set by his belt. Veins accented the flesh there, ending in the same place but having a much more dangerous effect on your legs and cognitive function.

He went still as you reached out to brush your fingertips over his torso. The muscles there contracted, perhaps involuntarily, and before you knew it, you were being scooped up and tossed on the bed. Again, your shorts were gone in seconds and you could feel the low vibrations of a muffled laugh as he peeled off your thong and tossed it decisively over his shoulder.

You raised your eyebrows as he hitched your legs over his broad shoulders.

‘Sylus, don’t you want me to do som—’

There was no time to finish that sentence. Sylus had lowered that mass of silver tresses to your centre and his tongue made contact with your puffy cunt, already overstimulated from the orgasm he’d given you on the patio not five minutes ago. A high keen tears itself from your throat and your back arches like a taut bowstring; the man beneath you does not care, no, if anything the reaction invigorates him. Sylus’ hands tighten over your thighs, his face pressing further in between them until you feel that gorgeous nose bump against your clit. His tongue moves with the grace of a seasoned veteran through your dripping folds and you groan lowly. Your senses are too far departed to consider his precise movements, but if they had remained with you then you would realise that he’s spelling his name.

A brief kiss to your now-trembling thigh punctuates the intensity he has wrought between them, and you feel that luscious vermillion gaze pin you down like a butterfly. You don’t want to look, no, you’re too afraid you’ll lose the peak he has beckoned you to.

‘Kitten,’ he rumbles. His voice is deep and far rougher than it had been earlier.

You swallow, but don’t look down at him.

‘Kitten, look at me,’ Sylus’ voice is more demanding now, and some force of nature compels your head to look down at him.

‘Good girl,’ he croons, and you feel your pussy spasm at the praise, ‘I want you to look at me when you come. Can you do that for me, sweetie?’

What a request.

You nod dumbly, vaguely praying that such a promise doesn’t strip you of any more cognitive ability than you have already lost.

Sylus simply smirks up at you, his gaze levelly holding your own. You notice as he lowers himself back down to your soaked cunt that his chin is glistening. A small swell of pride balloons in you at that, however you don’t get to revel in your pride for too long, because he’s slipped one long finger into your hole.

‘You’re doing so well for me, kitten,’ Sylus purrs, adding another finger and curling them just right, ‘You’re going to be able to take me just fine, aren’t you?’

You don’t dwell on the implications of that statement as you whine, hips writhing at the pleasant stretch of his fingers and the obscene squelching that now fills the dimly-lit guest room. Sylus knows precisely where to hit; when he breaks eye contact with you for half a moment to suck gently on your clit, you cry out and fall over the edge he had wanted you to.

A kiss is pressed to your trembling thighs as Sylus gently lifts them from his shoulders  and places them back down on the bed. His hulking expanse of muscle comes to hover over you, braced with one strong arm. You look up at him, lashes fluttering from the high he’s just brought you to. Your juices coat his nose and chin.

Sylus kisses you again, this one deep and slower than the one that kicked this whole night off. You moan into his mouth and he echoes the sound back to you in a deeper timbre. A hand snakes into his hair, and as you did earlier, you tug at it insistently. He takes that as a sign to stop, the man he is, and you use the distraction to hook a leg around his lower torso and flip the two of you over. You suspect that he conceded this position, given the stark strength inequality between you both.

Now, you straddle him. Your puffy folds and swollen clit rest against the stretched leather that covers his bulge; just then, an idea strikes you. You begin to rock your hips against his solid bulge, groaning at the implicit confirmation of his size as the leather catches against your already overstimulated cunt. Sylus throws his head back against the pillows and makes a sound that doesn’t sound entirely human. That only encourages you further, as you speed up your pace and feel him twitch beneath the leather pants.

‘Now who’s doing well, kitten?’ You croon, gaze flickering down to watch the bobbing column of his throat work as you move on him.

Another thirty seconds is the period that your insolence is tolerated before Sylus’ large hands grasp your hips. He cups your ass as he prevents you from moving anymore.

‘Fucking undo my belt, Y/N.’

You raise an eyebrow and grin cheekily down at him as you jolt your hips one more time. He groans gutturally, cock twitching beneath his pants again.

‘I think you forgot to say please—’

‘Please.’

Satisfied with the desperation in his voice, your hands fumble with his belt buckle and undo it. Sylus’ cock springs free from the confines of his pants. It’s all you can do not to bolt for the door.

It’s huge. Ridiculously so, with a head flushed an angry pink and veins thrumming up nearly the whole thing. You manage to manoeuvre your hands down to caress it, and it twitches abruptly in your grasp. A trail of well-groomed, silver hair surrounds the top half of the base and ghosts up to his navel, which flexes as you palm him. Precum beads at the head, and you slick your hands with it before giving Sylus’ cock one firm pump.

His hips jolt into your hand, and his hands tighten at your ass in a way that implies bruises may be seen the next day. You don’t care, because you’re too busy trying to convince yourself that you’ll be able to take him.

‘You’re going to— fuck – take me just fine, sweetie. I’m gonna to make sure of it.’

And just like that, the dynamic shifts again. Whilst you blink in shock at his accurate guess of your doubts, Sylus angles your hips to align with his weeping cock. You moan as the mushroom tip prods demandingly against your entrance; just the tip feels large, and you absolutely dread to think how you’re going to manage all of it.

Luckily, the two previous orgasms had done their job, and your pussy is sopping as his head nudges against your entrance. You gasp, and Sylus props himself up slightly, with one hand still firmly grasping your hip. The other caresses your jaw softly, pulling you in for another kiss before that vermillion gaze flickers over your face.

‘Shit, protection?’

‘Pill,’ you manage to gasp out as you take another inch of him. Already you feel full, and as you look down you see that you’re only a third of the way there.

‘Good girl,’ Sylus rasps, and this time your cunt clenches excitedly at the address. Another deep chuckle reverberates through the big chest that your hands are now braced against.

‘You like that, Y/N/? Do you like it when I praise you, sweetie? When I tell you how well that pretty little pussy is taking my cock? Hm?’

You whimper into his neck as you sink down another inch or two; at this point you’ve lost track. The only thing that exists in your world is the fat cock stuffing you full to the brim. Your thighs tremble with the effort of keeping you up, and you finally relent and sink down to the base of Sylus’ cock. A weak moan emanates from you.

‘There we are,’ Sylus rumbles, one large hand coming up to gently palm your left breast, ‘Did so well for me, didn’t you?’

He gently rocks into you and you keen at the sensation; he’s so deep, deeper than anyone has ever been, and the feeling is immense. Electricity and an odd sense of safety ripple through you. Your mouth widens into a pretty ‘O’ as your own hips begin to match the pace Sylus sets, and you’re shocked by the absence of pain. Clearly, you were horny and well-prepped enough for it not to be an issue.

‘Sy-Sylus—,’ you whine as his hips flex upwards again, his cock spearing through your gummy walls to hit the sweet spot that makes you genuinely see stars, ‘Y-Yess— like that—!’

Your cockiness from earlier evaporates as Sylus quickly scans your face before flipping the two of you over again. He’s going faster now, making your head swim with syrupy pleasure and your cunt clench enthusiastically. Hands holding your legs over his shoulders, Sylus has you in a position that amplifies his size tenfold and makes you cry out with every powerful thrust. The gentleness had clearly been a prelude.

‘F-Fuck, kitten—,’ Sylus growls, hands tightening around your thighs as he nips and kisses the inside of one, ‘Taking me so fucking good, sweetie. I can feel your greedy little pussy milking me— shit, you want me, don’t you?’

You blink up at him through lashes that are suddenly wet with overstimulated tears, managing to hiccup out a whiny ‘yesssssss’ through the blinding pleasure. As your gaze flits down to where the two of you are joined, you can see the outline of him in your lower stomach. The sight only makes you clench harder, and when Sylus notices he curses under his breath and picks up the pace once more.

‘Look at you, all stuffed full of me. Crying like this isn’t precisely what you begged for, hm?’ Sylus murmurs, as one hand comes down to press on the obscene bulge in your lower abdomen. The effect is immediate, and you squirm in his grasp at the sensation. Already, you feel like you’re going to cum.

Sylus holds that pace for a whole minute before he moves his hand from your lower stomach to your soaked cunt and begins rubbing tight little circles on your poor clit. It spasms along with your legs, and you cry out as you come around him again. There’s a frothy ring of cream where the two of you are joined and you could swear that Sylus’ left eye glows at the sight.

‘Come on, kitten— come around my cock again like a good girl—,’ Sylus grunts, the rhythm of his hips stuttering. He’s close, but he’s taking his pretty girl down with him. Literally.

You mewl, living up to the nickname he’s given you, as pleasure rips through your body like lightning. The combined feeling of his huge cock bullying its way through your well-fucked cunt, combined with his large fingers rubbing your clit are enough to send you over the edge. A cry wrenches itself from your throat as your orgasm overtakes you in precise tandem with Sylus’. Hot ropes of cum shoot into you as Sylus firmly hilts himself, eyes locked with your own. You can see his chest glistening with sweat in the dim cherry light of the guest room; the strobes from outside leak in like freshly spilled blood and paint the man that has just fucked you utterly senseless in a salacious hue.

A few seconds pass in the crimson-dark before Sylus drops your legs with heartbreaking gentleness. He leans down to kiss your forehead, and you would respond if you had not completely taken leave of your senses.

‘Well done, sweetie.’

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Two hours later, you’re in the same position.

Well, not the exact same position, to be precise. For starters, you and Sylus abandoned the party soon after he’d fucked you in the guest room, and he had driven you back to yours on his motorcycle. You’d held onto his waist the entire way, unable to peel your brain from how your cunt was soaking through your shorts or how your legs weren’t quite working right.

Now, you sit astride Sylus, riding him gently and whining at the almost pornographic bulge in your lower tummy from where he moves in you. The two of you are lazily sharing a cigarette as you fuck; right now, it sits in the huge hand of Sylus.

‘It’s not faiiirr,’ you whine as he hands you the thing and you take an uneven drag, ‘Why are your ones so fucking good?’

‘Because I enjoy only the best, kitten,’ Sylus replies in a self-satisfied tone, punctuating hist statement with a sharp thrust that makes you squeak, ‘The same can be said for everything I enjoy, truthfully.’

‘You’re such an asshole—’

‘I can fuck you there too, sweetie.’

Your frustrated groan soon morphs into one of unabashed horniness as he plucks the cigarette from your mouth. Sylus maintains steady eye contact with you as he places his lips exactly where yours had been and takes a deep drag, before his free hand snakes up into your hair and gives it a sharp tug.

Much to your (dis)pleasure, you come instantly.

Sylus gives that stupid, wealthy laugh again as he stubs the cigarette out on your bedside ashtray and flips you onto your stomach. His hand remains in your hair, sliding down to loop the ends around it so that he may use it like a pair of reins on a disobedient mare.

You’re in doggy in seconds, and cry out when Sylus introduces it with another sharp thrust to your poor, syrupy pussy. She’s been through so much today! So much has been through her!

One hand in your hair, one hand reaching down to take a pebbled nipple between his fingertips; you’re in seventh heaven as Sylus stretches you out so that no other cock will ever feel as satisfying as his. Despite having had about seven orgasms in three hours, your cunt was still tight as a vice and milking his cock like it was the last one on earth.

‘Sylussssssss—’

A gentle kiss to the side of your neck, followed by a cheeky nip, ‘Sweetheart?’

‘F-feels so good— Please don’t stop—,’ you beg. For fuck’s sake, where has your dignity gone?

‘I won’t, kitten. Planning to – nngh – make you mewl and cry for me again. Think you can do that? Or do I need to play with your cute little clit again?’

You accept the task like it was decreed by God. You arch your back like a pornstar, and blink your eyelids faster; they’re already blurry with tears from the overstimulation, but it makes your mascara run down your flushed cheeks. Sylus groans lowly at the sight when you turn your face sideways lightly and give a soft hiccup.

‘Just like that, good girl—’

It doesn’t take much, after that. Sylus’s heavy balls draw up as he fills your pussy up with cum for the second time that evening, a low and animalistic sound coming from him as he releases. You sigh happily, convinced on some level that this is where you’re supposed to be.

The two of you stay there for a moment, and you revel in the feeling of his hot seed spreading inside of you. When he reluctantly pulls his softening cock out of you, you hear him inhale sharply and gently palm one of your cheeks. The sight of your cunt dripping with him is evidently a palatable sight.

Sylus flops down beside you, and to your shock, draws you in beside him. The night is hot and your room is stuffy with the scent of sex and smoke, but you find that you don’t care. You’d much rather be here, in the arms of Sylus Qin.

Despite all that, you can feel the edges of your world darken as sleep beckons you. You’re hesitant to follow but powerless not to. As you succumb, you feel that hand in your hair one last time, stroking gently; the way one would soothe a beloved creature as it settles down to rest.

Before, sleep claims you fully, you hear him mumble.

‘Sweet dreams, Y/N.’

taglist !

@boldlyirishluck @madama-buttterfly3 @arcticmonkeys2011 @dilemm3 @myurlismissing @jadeprouductions @mia-menaceinaction @starlitgg382 @urbeautynevereverscaredme @kissedpixel @unsxnee @amaveon @palletaegoo @plushyprincess @sealovessummer @ihatetmblrclassifyingthings @heyofellowweirdos @insidious-innocence @a-thief-of-many-books @seashellsshine @bioluminescenceblue @xavibunbuni @kuroyurishion @for-hearthand-home @weirdothatwrites @lostintheladssauce @lady-wallace @remnantsofgildedcages

tysm for reading to the end, my lovelies ! i hope you enjoyed and are looking forward to the other fics I have lined up. this is the first fic of my summer series; if this one does well and you all enjoy it, then i will write one for each LaDS love interest with their own au :D

if you have any suggestions/requests/things you would like to see, please send me a request! i love receiving them <33

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

my loves !!

i have a VERY spicy and decently long summer Sylus smut fic being posted tonight! i am super excited to be posting again after my law school finals (it's been brutal) but knowing i have such amazing followers to return to makes it all worth it <3333

that said, if you would like to be added to my taglist, please let me know! I will be doing one of these for each of the LnDs guys, so if you like the Sylus one and want to be kept up to date then please do let me know my lovelies <3

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

post-finals requests are open!

‧₊˚ ⋅ hello, my lovelies !

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ your girl is officially free of first-year law school finals! yay! as such, i will be going back, after a long hiatus, to loveanddeepspace ! <3࣪

requests may take a little longer than average for me (+1 day or so) since i'm working on a publication right now and have a boring legal secretary job ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა

but i would still love to see all of your requests!! i want to write some smut pieces for summer, and would love some inspo to combat the burnout. sooooooooooo...

we would like...

summer vacay smut 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

l&ds guys: stress relief during finals season ⋆｡°✎ᝰ ˎˊ˗

criminal!l&ds x lawyer!mc smut ˚˙✧˖°⚖︎⋆｡ ˚

other (leave below or in my dms/requests!) ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

Voting ended onMay 23

i am also considering taking requests with custom MC x L&Ds guys! if that is something you're interested in, shoot me a dm with a character profile of your MC and a request outline (NOTE: these will take a little longer) <33333

my masterlist can be found here !

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ taglist !

@boldlyirishluck @madama-buttterfly3 @arcticmonkeys2011 @dilemm3 @myurlismissing @jadeprouductions @mia-menaceinaction @starlitgg382 @urbeautynevereverscaredme @kissedpixel @unsxnee @amaveon @palletaegoo @plushyprincess @sealovessummer @ihatetmblrclassifyingthings @heyofellowweirdos @insidious-innocence @a-thief-of-many-books @seashellsshine @bioluminescenceblue @xavibunbuni @kuroyurishion @for-hearthand-home @weirdothatwrites

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

procrastinating civil negligence revision <3

go check out this picrew here <3

Mythic Boyfriend - Across Time

You keep meeting him. In ancient deserts, ruined cities and even the deep ocean. As if your souls are bound, you will always meeting again.

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

just finished 20hrs straight of a contract law exam.

zayne would be proud of me i know it

(fics should resume in a week or so but would appreciate asks because i’m going to be so burned out from finals 🫶)

[tokamiart]

Exclusive tutorial🎱

A bit late, but I had to draw that pic of his coser as Zayne❄️

I hope we will see more in the future because I loved the coser content!🌟

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Spring Break !⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

˚⟡˖ ࣪SYNOPSIS: It's spring break, and you're the most desired girl in your sorority. You plan to make the most of it, but fratboy!Caleb has to teach you that sleeping around doesn't befit his meimei !

˚⟡˖ ࣪WORD COUNT: 5.4k

˚⟡˖ ࣪TAGS: MINORS DNI, smut, porn with plot, use of gege and meimei, possessive!caleb, fratboy!caleb, slutshaming, degradation, mentions of alcohol and one-night stands, frat/sorority au, sorority reader, virgin!caleb x virgin!reader, finger, tummy bulge, breeding, slightly dubcon but not massively, cervix hitting, mentions of panty stealing, oral (fem!receiving), caleb being jealous asf.

˚⟡˖ ࣪A/N: based on an ask from @fangbangerghoul ! it took me ages but i got this out in the end :) this is a slightly early valentines gift for my hunters, and i surprisingly enjoyed writing it despite not being a caleb main! i hope you al enjoy mls <3 also, if you want to be discluded from/included in the taglist for future fics, let me know! and don't be shy to send in an ask, because ily all sm <3333

Springtime.

New life, new weather, new resolutions. A time of transience and change that was to be revelled in during spring break. All of the girls in your sorority are ditching old situationships and ancient wardrobes alike; you are no better.

The darling of your sorority, your spring break is beholden to your whims. Your phone is full to bursting with propositions, date requests and party invites, each applicant desperate to get their hands on your hot little body.

You sigh, stretching out on your plush bed as you sit up and take inventory of your room. All looks to be in good order; you spring-cleaned last week, meaning there are fresh diffusers and incense at various points, a new pastel colour scheme, fresh flowers and new fairy lights. The flowers had been arriving steadily for two days now – attempts to win your favour for this season.

Hopping out of bed, you shuffle on your new fluffy slippers and wander to your ensuite. It’s luxurious; the largest in your sorority. Only the best is afforded for the golden girl.

You look into the mirror as you stretch lazily. In all honesty… you look great. Your hair is soft and perfect despite not yet being styled, your eyes bright and well-rested, skin completely immaculate and body in a shape you had strived for since last fall. Spring break wouldn’t know who hit it.

After brushing your teeth and applying some makeup, you change into your outfit for the day. Cute, effortless and eye-wateringly expensive. As you survey your full wardrobe, you hum quietly. Thank goodness you’re going on a shopping spree today with your girls; you have almost nothing for the holiday!

Grabbing your purse, you stride from your room and down into the hallway. Your friends, Tara and Simone, are dressed similarly nicely to you and both chattering away over their phones. They’ve both had a number of offers for spring, although nowhere near as many as you.

“Girls! You ready?” You call out, voice high with excitement.

Both of them turn to look at you, and Tara lets out a high-pitched shriek.

“Y/N! Oh my god, you look so cute! I love your bag—”

You giggle as you pull them into a hug. Simone smiles back.

“Yeah, you do look good,” Simone grins, before rolling her eyes good-naturedly, “Jeez, we’re gonna be fending off the frat guys this spring, huh?”

“Don’t be silly,” You reply happily, looping your jewellery-clad arms in theirs and walking out of the sorority’s foyer, “I’m going to be good. It’s my first spring break, after all, and I want to spend it with my girlfriends.”

Tara raised an eyebrow at that, although her joyful expression remained, “Out of trouble? Y/N, you’re the golden girl of this spring! Don’t think no-one knows about the prize money you won for that global essay on—”

“Ssshhh!” You shush Tara with a perfectly manicured nail, looking around the landscaped quad. People mill around, enjoying the weather whilst utterly oblivious to your conversation.

“Tara, don’t! I don’t wanna seem like I’m bragging,” you scold her, “Anyway, it hardly makes me a ‘golden girl’. I don’t think spending six months on a jurisprudence essay makes me hot.”

“Girl, please. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the boobs, butt and cinched waist you’ve grown over winter is probably helping,” Simone interjects, “The only thing missing is attitude.”

“Attitude?” You quirk a brow as Tara hops into her car and starts the engine. You follow suit, calling shotgun whilst Simone takes a seat in the back.

“Attitude!” Tara chirrups as the car roars to life, “You’re like, way too sweet to people. Not that it’s a bad thing, of course, but guys like it when you play a little hard to get. They enjoy the chase.”

“I’m not trying to get guys, though.”

Simone raises an eyebrow.

“Not trying sounds about right,” she scoffs, “After all, when was the last time you replied to that hot-ass brother of yours?”

Your cheeks go pink as you look awkwardly out of the window. Beyond it, the sights of the street in its full spring regalia flashes past you.

Simone was right. You had been ignoring Caleb for almost a fortnight, despite his constant texts. You wanted to prove to him that you aren’t a baby anymore, no longer the little meimei that needed his coddling all the time. You’re independent! You’re doing a law degree and have a life and friends and—

Miss your gege.

Deep down, you do miss him. And you do know that you’re trying to show him you’re grown for a reason. But you aren’t ready to confront that.

Yet.

“I—He’s my stepbrother,” you clarify indignantly, “And besides, he’s busy too. He’s got his own fraternity and his own business. I’m sure he doesn’t want me poking around in his business.”

“Whatever you say, honey,” Simone shrugs as she applies lipgloss, “But either way, you’re gonna wanna have more of an attitude this spring break, because you’re defo getting scouted out this spring.”

You sigh. Truthfully, you’d been the outlier during the first week of the semester. You hadn’t been sleeping around, although you’d had plenty of eager offers. But every time a guy approached you…it just hadn’t felt right. You know they won’t care about you, will leave you.

Unlike Caleb Your Caleb would never do that.

“Let’s just…see what happens,” you respond, sliding down in your seat, “Surely not that much can happen in two weeks?”

. ݁⋆ִ ࣪⋆｡⭒˚⋆˙⟡.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Sometimes, you wish you would think before you speak.

Your careless approximation yesterday had led to yourself, Tara and Simone running into a group of old friends at the boutique you were shopping at. It had taken them all of ten minutes to extend an invite to a toga party to the three of you. Now, dressed in an ivory toga that hugs your curves and displays a very generous dosage of thigh, you look at yourself anxiously in the mirror.

Makeup meant to model that of a Hellenistic deity has been painted to perfection on your gorgeous face, and your hair has been beautifully coiffed. Golden laurels thread through it, matching the glittering powder that highlights your collarbones, face and shoulders. You look absolutely ethereal.

As you finish spritzing some perfume on, you check your phone. Usually you get about three messages a day from Caleb, asking after you despite your radio silence, but today you’ve had none. A little shard of hurt prods at your heart as you scoop up your phone to finally open your chat with him.

You frown as you shoot back your messages with a defiant frown on your face. Of course Caleb had been preoccupied with trying to tell you what to do. Clearly, he still sees you as the little girl he grew up with, and not at all the independent person you have matured into. You turn your phone onto ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode and shove it deep into your purse.

As you look back into the mirror, a feeling of resolute determination wells up inside of you. Caleb thinks all you do is stay in and stay safe? Fine.

You’ll just have to go and prove him wrong, then.

. ݁⋆ִ ࣪⋆｡⭒˚⋆˙⟡.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The party is in full swing when you arrive with Tara and Simone.

The frat house it’s being held at reeks of beer and spirits, and the ping-pong table has already been requisitioned for a drinking game. Everyone is clad in togas, some so sheer you look away with a blush, and some of the guys have clearly already marked out the girls they want for the night.

You swallow the thoughts that insist you’re out of your depth as the three of you forge further into the house. Loud music shakes the paintings hung up in the hall, the deep bass thudding in your chest with every step you take. As you walk, you feel the eyes of the frat boys sticking to you.

Tonight should be interesting.

The three of you are soon handed a bright blue drink each. It smells faintly of raspberries, and tastes like them too. Clinking your glass bottle with Tara and Simone, you all giggle as you down the drinks in one go. The girl that handed them to you, a pretty blonde called Paris, cheers and hands each of you another. Those vanish with similar alacrity.

With the room taking on a pleasant, hazy glow, you look towards the other two girls. Simone has seen the guy she’s dating at the moment positioned at the beer pong table, and Tara has spotted the girl she’s pursuing. Soon, the latter has melted into the crowd.

Laughing as you wave her off, you wobble after Simone.

“Come on, Y/N! I’m sure Andrew and the others won’t mind us joining the game,” Simone insists, plucking a pair of cocktails from a well-decorated table and handing one to you, “Just remember what we said about attituuuuuuude, honey. It’s what matters!”

You giggle into your new drink at her odd delivery of words, downing the one Paris had handed you to move on to the cocktail. Simone leads you by the hand towards Andrew and his friends, and despite your determination to prove Caleb wrong, you feel nervous. You’ve never so much as kissed a guy, and now you’re approaching a whole group of them with the vague intention of a hookup!

You swallow, the taste of tequila burning your throat. Surely, it can’t be that difficult. People have sex all the time. This is no different.

The guys cheer as you and Simone arrive. Simone yells happily in response, doing a little twirl at Andrew’s behest before pecking him on the cheek.

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you all again! This is my best friend, who I’m sure needs no introduction, Y/N! She’s in my sorority!” Simone excitedly explains as she reaches up to ruffle Andrew’s hair.

A collective of introductions and greetings soon follow, and you feel at least four sets of eyes on you. Nervous despite the alcohol, you can only manage a grin and a wink. Apparently, it comes off as flippant and cool rather than odd and a little socially awkward.

Simone laughs, and gestures to a large guy sat across the table. He’s pretty built, with close-cut blond hair and a pair of green eyes that examine you appraisingly.

“This is Ethan,” she tells you with a conspiratorial smile, “I’ve told him all about you, and he’s been super excited to meet you.”

Much to the disappointment of the other guys playing, you nod thankfully and stand at Ethan’s side, still clutching your drink. His arms are corded with muscle, you see up close, and he’s fairly tall. In fact, he’s actually cute, with his dimpled smile and sandy hair.

“So, honey,” he asks you as he tosses a ping-pong ball and sinks it squarely in a red cup, “What brings you here?”

“Aside from an invitation?” You reply coyly, taking a sip of your cocktail. God, it’s strong.

Ethan laughs as Andrew is forced to down the cup he sunk.

“Yeah, apart from that, smart-ass. I’ve heard of you, but never seen you around.”

“Hm, thank god you’re getting the privilege now then, huh?” You shoot back.

“Thank god indeed,” Ethan grins down at you, taking in the expanse of smooth skin that your toga fails to hide, “In fact, I might convert if he’s the one that’s put you in front of me. What’re you looking for tonight, gorgeous?”

“Depends on what I find.”

You look u at him through your lashes and take a hearty sip of your drink. His pupils expand as they track the movement, watching your throat bob with the motion. It could be your eyes playing tricks on you, but you could have sworn you see his toga shift over his groin.

“Let’s say you’ve found somethin’ valuable,” he drawls, voice dropping a little as he angles himself away from the game of beer pong, “Would you be willing to take a raincheck?”

“Perhaps,” you reply, “Perhaps not. Maybe what I found needs to prove its value, first.”

At that, Ethan takes your hand and gives a quick nod to Andrew as he begins to lead you away. Simone smirks as you retreat back into the throng of the party with Ethan. It’s gotten busier since you arrived a little while ago, and someone’s replaced the main hall lights with neons that glow all over the wall. The room you were just in clearly has some catching up to do.

As you walk through the hallways and approach the staircase, you hear moans emanating from the doors that line them. The alcohol-induced flush in your cheeks only worsens. All of a sudden, the warmth of this boy whom you don’t even know against your hand feels overstimulating and slightly frightening. But you push through anyway; this is what all the other girls in your sorority do, right?

As you reach the landing, you hear Caleb’s voice in your mind. He’s asking what the hell you’re doing, where you’re going, who is this guy—

Oh, wait.

That voice isn’t in your head.

It’s right behind you. It’s a strong, steady hand looping around your waist and jerking you away from, ah, what’s his name, Ethan and plucking your drink from your hand.

It’s Caleb.

You blink, mind heavy and fuzzy from the alcohol as you groggily twist your head t see that it is Caleb now holding you upright. He’s dressed in a plain shirt and pants, not a toga, and confusion hits you. Why not? Why is he here if not for the party, if not for—

Through the haze of your drunkenness, you remember.

This is Caleb’s frat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ to her, huh?” You hear Caleb snarl. You’ve never heard your gege so angry before. A small bubble of vindication wells up inside of you.

“Hey man, don’t get upset. We were just going to mess around—,”

“Mess around?” Caleb’s voice takes on a downright dangerous timbre, “I dunno who you think you are, but no one touches my little sister. ‘Kay?”

“Wait – shit – she’s your sister?”

“Adoptive,” Caleb rumbles, holding you tighter at the waist, “Doesn’t mean she’s any less precious. Way too precious for your filthy hands to be touchin’ her all over.”

“Listen, can’t I just have her for toni—”

Ethan doesn’t get to finish his sentence. The hand holding you up vanishes for a moment, and you see through blurry vision as Caleb levels a punch squarely in his jaw. There’s no one else on the landing to watch as Ethan crumples to the ground, blood trickling from a dislodged tooth. His jaw swells rapidly.

As Caleb stands over him, wide shoulders heaving and violet eyes ablaze with violence, you feel a stirring in your lower abdomen. Why has your gege always looked so good when he’s standing up for you?

As he turns back to you, your eyes widen. You now remember just how tall and imposing he is, and it makes every other guy here pale in comparison. You open your mouth to speak, when you notice something on his neck.

A hickey, smudged with lipstick.

Your eyes narrow as that heat coiling low in your gut becomes pure, unadulterated jealousy. Caleb is an adult, you know that, but the thought of him sleeping with the other girls here sends your thoughts into a possessive frenzy. He’s your brother, your Caleb. Not someone else’s one-night-stand.

Instead of expressing your happiness at his presence, you fold your arms and pout. Remembering Tara and Simone’s advice you turn your nose up him as best you can.

“I didn’t need your help,” you assert, having sobered up unpleasantly quickly after seeing his hickey, “I wanted him, and now you’ve ruined my fun. Now I’ll have to go downstairs again and find another guy.”

Caleb’s eyes thin to slits at that statement.

“You’ve been ignorin’ my texts, haven’t you pips?” He asks, voice suddenly calm and even despite his outburst just moments ago

You glare up at him as he moves closer to you.

“I muted you, asshole. I never wanna read the messages you send,” you snap.

Just as you’re thinking you were far too harsh, Caleb grabs your wrist and loops another hand around your waist. You wriggle slightly, complaining, but your limbs are still pleasantly pliant from the alcohol earlier. Your mind is clear, but your body is burdened.

“This is what I get,” Caleb bites out as he walks towards his door with you in tow, “For tryin’ to protect you, pipsqueak. You’re always so ungrateful.”

You gasp and protest at that, but the sticky warmth that has returned to your lower abdomen burns insistently. Why didn’t this happen with Ethan?!

Pulling you into his room, Caleb slams the door behind you and locks it with a curt snick. It’s like a time capsule in there – startlingly similar to the one he grew up, sans the abandoned beer cans and – is that a thong?

You squint at the offending underwear like it’s personally harmed you (which, it kinda has), and are just about to throw even more of a tantrum when you realise it’s the one you lost before you moved into the sorority. Your white lace one, embroidered with red apples.

Why Caleb have those?

You turn to him, planting both of your hands on his chest and pushing him. He barely moves, but you like to think it’s the thought that counts.

“Why did you do that? I haven’t seen you in a month, and when I do you ruin my—,”

“I don’t ruin anything, pips,” Caleb replies, his voice hard, “It’s not a crime to protect my little meimei from the horny weirdos at a frat party. Why are you even here? And dressed like that, you’re practically bait.”

You hiss through your teeth, and shove him again as fury and heat boil up inside of you.

“Oh, tell me you did not just pull the ‘you’re asking for it dressed like that’ line. You’re just as much of a horny weirdo as that Ethan guy, with that huge hickey.”

Caleb’s hand goes to his neck, and he shrugs as though he forgot it was there.

“That’s different. I didn’t fuck her, and I didn’t plan to. And girls can dress how they want, as long as they aren’t you.”

Hurt blooms in your chest. “Why can’t I dress how I want? That’s so unfair, you can’t just dictate how I live my life!”

Then, Caleb’s large form is pressing against your much smaller one. His hand slides up your side, skimming your breasts, to cup your face. When he speaks, his voice doesn’t sound like your gege’s.

“You can’t dress how you want,” he begins lowly, “Because you’re mine, pips. Do ya really think I want the other guys ogling your pretty tits through that toga, or imagining how those thighs would look wrapped around ‘em?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You had hoped for this, but—

“In fact, I don’t believe Ethan was the first one. I bet you’ve been sleepin’ with half my frat, huh? Am I gonna have to check you over, like we did before you left?”

You gulp at that, your mind suddenly thrown back to that day you were all packed and ready to leave before your first semester nearly six months ago. Caleb had checked your sensitive parts, had made sure you were going off to college a good little meimei.

“Hm. Judgin’ by that expression, I think yeah. Get on the bed, pips, you know the drill,” he instructs you, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt as you hesitantly obey.

Caleb shortly follows you, crawling towards where you lay and holding himself up and over you. You look up at him, your nerves sharpening themselves into cruel wit.

“You’re smaller than I remember,” you snipe, hoping the barb lands.

It doesn’t. Caleb only quirks a dark brow as his large, warm hand comes to rest on your chest.

“Am I now? Interesting. Are you measurin’ by a specific metric there, pips?”

“Maybe.”

At that, Caleb’s indigo eyes cool. The hand that rests on your chest now moves to palm your breast through the toga. After your interactions with him so far this evening, they’re uncomfortably peaked and sensitive. As such, you cry out at his actions. Caleb cocks his head, almost as though mentally calculating something. At your reaction, he tuts and sighs as he gently pulls away the fabric.

You wriggle and complain, but you’re tiny compared to him and hold no authority. When the toga exposes one breast, Caleb hums beneath his breath.

“Aw, she’s all hard and sore,” he remarks, voice a gravelly whisper, “Now, is that because she’s happy to see me, or because I’m not the first to touch her like this, huh?”

You whine as his long fingers trace the curve of your tits and cry one when he rolls one between them.

Back lifting off the bed slightly, your body presses into his with more force. You can feel that your snide comment is wholly inaccurate; if anything, Caleb is bigger than you remember.

Caleb hums as he palms your breast a little more, and presses a kiss to your neck. It’s gentle, at odds with the way he cages you in and forces you to submit to whatever he pleases. His mouth travels down the column of your neck and latches at the base, sucking slightly to leave a purplish mark.

“Good to see no other marks here, pips,” he murmurs, hand moving from your tits to rub your waist, “But what about down south? Is she untouched there, too?”

Through your breathy sighs, you fix him with a hard look. You want to give in so very badly, but Tara and Simone’s advice rings through your mind again. Surely it would work on Caleb, too? Surely he is just as fallible as all the others?

“Stop naming it, jeez,” you have the nerve to roll your eyes, “And besides, it doesn’t matter. What I choose to do with my body is my business.”

Caleb’s hands migrate from your waist to the hem of your toga, his long fingers dancing dangerously along the ivory edge. You go to pull your thighs towards yourself, ready to throw yet another tantrum, but he’s too quick for you.

A large hand secures itself around your thigh and yanks you close, so that you’re now sprawled out rather than propped up on the pillows. Within moments he’s nudging your legs apart. Those bright eyes darken, his pupil swallowing the vibrant lavender of his iris as he catches a glimpse of your slick entrance beneath the shadow of your toga.

“C-Caleb—!”

Yet again, he ignores you. That large hand slides down to your inner thigh, loitering over the soft, plush skin as he glances up at you.

“You’re already wet, huh pips? Is that for me, or for the blonde guy I damn near killed for you outside that door?”

His voice brooks no contention. You gulp as his fist bunches around your toga, scrunching up the fabric to expose your unclothed cunt to the warm air of his room. If you thought his eyes were dark before, then they now resemble a wholly starless sky.

“Paint? Pips, tell me this isn’t what I fucking think it is,” Caleb demands.

Despite the thrill of fear and attraction that rockets to your core, you sniff haughtily, “So what? All the girls planning to hook up with guys put gold paint on top of there during toga parties. I simply followed suit—”

A cry leaves your lips as his fingers find your slit, slick and ready for him. They tease along your folds and his thumb harshly circles your clit, smudging the stripe of golden paint that rests on the skin above it. His expression sours as the paint smudges. Not that it matters to you – the fight has gone out of you at the first hint of contact he gives you. A whine leaves you as his fingers venture deeper, burrowing into the tightness of your untouched pussy like it’s what they were designed for.

How pathetic of you, to have given into the grip of your gege so quickly.

“Think she likes it, baby,” Calem rumbles, his free hand reaching up to play with your tits absentmindedly as he lowers himself down to face your leaking slit, “Already drippin’ honey for me. I don’t think you’ve let anyone near her, have ya?”

You moan as his fingers plunge deeper, making a half-hearted effort to shake your head in denial. Really, you thought your resolve would have lasted longer than this.

Your eyes fall closed for a moment as your head presses back against the pillow, when you feel Caleb lower his tongue to join his fingers. Legs twitching, your hips buck in a last-ditch attempt to escape the assault that he levels on your sensitive cunt. Unfortunately for you, you’re stopped by one last hand pressing down on your abdomen. It only intensifies the sensation.

Wriggling beneath his grasp, you feel vibrations as he hums disapprovingly against you.

“Stop movin’, pips,” Caleb instructs, face still contentedly buried between your thighs, “You’re playin’ hard to get, and we both know you’re easier than that.”

“How dar—”

At that, he sucks hard against your clit. White flashes in your vision as your hands shoot into his hair and tug at the soft brown locks. He licks your now-swollen pussy with a kind of vigour you didn’t know he could muster as he pins down one of your thighs with his large elbow and goes in deeper. Nose bumping against that sweet spot of nerves and his tongue laving heaven upon your puffy folds, Caleb seems exceptionally skilled at this. You’d be suspicious if you didn’t already feel so fucked-out.

The sensations he’s orchestrating reach their zenith as his fingers join the choir, curling up towards your abdomen to hit that spongy spot he had fantasised about massaging. For a moment, the squelching sounds that fill the room are downright pornographic, until they’re pierced by a low moan. You reach your release, your sopping slit squeezing his fingers desperately as it gushes with your climax.

“Aw, meimei,” Caleb scolds as he resurfaces from between your thighs, chin glistening in the low glow of his desklamp, “Look at the mess you’ve made. Now I’m convinced you’ve been good for me; no pussy used to being used would be that careless.”

You blink at him like a sleepy cat, groaning instead of arguing.

“Y-You’re a meanie, Caleb.”

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you? You little freak,” Caleb grins down at you, crawling up to capture your lips in a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on him as his tongue sweeps your mouth in a claiming arc. Caleb quickly presses a fierce kiss just below your jaw, and follows it up with a nip. That’ll leave a mark.

“Mmh—”

“Answer me,” he growls, gripping your jaw. You pout at the contact, some of your fight returning.

“Make me, you bully—”

That’s all it takes.

Caleb’s belt is clinking in moments, the cool leather looping around your wrists and hooking up to a hoop-hanger above his bedframe. Of course he still had a spot for that stupid basketball hoop, even now. He fastens the metal clasp, restricting the movement of your upper body.

“Caleb! What are you doing?!”

“You know, pips. C’mon, don’t start playin’ dumb now.”

His trousers are off just as fast as his belt. With a gulp, you take note of the prominent bulge of his heavy cock through his boxers, which are sporting a small dark patch. Caleb catches the target of your gaze and smiles. Those large hands tug down the final piece of clothing separating you and you suck in a breath as you see it.

Your gege is huge.

Easily seven inches and lined with veins that pulse angrily under your gaze. The fat, mushroom tip is flushed red. Your eyes trail down the shaft, watching as it twitches spasmodically.

“C-Caleb, I don’t think—,” you begin nervously. There’s no way you can fit all of him inside your tight little hole!

“You don’t have to think, meimei,” Caleb informs you as he throws your thighs over his broad shoulders, “You just have to focus on taking me like a good little girl, yeah? Can you do that for me, after all the stress and heartbreak you’ve put me through?”

Guilty tears prick at the corner of your eyes, smudging your eyeliner as you swallow thickly and nod slowly. You didn’t realise you had upset your Caleb!

“That’s it,” he croons as the wide tip presses insistently against your already well-fucked cunt, “No need to worry now. You’re gonna take your gege like the obedient girl you are.”

Your eyes didn’t lie. It feels like you’re being split open as his sizeable cock bullies its way through your gummy walls. Caleb’s hands press into your calves and he bites down on your inner thigh to stifle his groans; the pain goes straight to your sopping slit. But your soft flesh alone isn’t enough to keep Caleb quiet. He begins to move as soon as he’s managed to mould room for himself inside of you, forcing little mewls from you as he goes.

“Fuck, baby—”

His voice is course and deep with desire. The headboard bangs against the wall as he speeds up his thrusts, powerful thighs bunching with muscle as he squeezes every inch of energy from himself to drive into the tight pussy of his sweet, adorable little meimei.

Oh, how cute you look like this. Legs thrown over his shoulders and marked crimson for him, and not some reprehensible prick from his frat. They don’t deserve you. No-one does, not even those girls that had encouraged you to get mouthy and sleep around.

It isn’t a problem. Now you’re finally letting him breed the tight little pussy he’d only felt in his wildest dreams. There was no doubt you’ve saved yourself for him, judging from the cries you were letting out every time his tip nudged against your cervix. With your arms bound with his belt and a ring of frothy cream forming where you two are joined, Caleb wonders vaguely if he’s died and gone to heaven.

“Mngh— g-gege—!”

Caleb snaps back to reality as you call for him, hands tightening around your legs as he pulls you closer, it that is even possible by this point.

“Filthy girl, aren’t you?” He teases, breathless as he continues to hammer into your abused cunt, “Begging for the boy you were raised with. Do y’want me to fill up this little pussy, pips? Ngh- shit, the way she’s milkin’ me, it seems you’re only minutes away from begging me for it—”

“Yes! C-Caleb, please, want you to fill me up, make me a mommy—”

Well. He hadn’t expected that.

“Gonna make you a mommy, honey. Gonna stuff you full of me, so you’re not the fucking golden girl of your sorority and all the disgusting men leave you alone. You know I’m the only guy that really loves you, dontcha pips?”

You nod desperately, and Caleb grins. There. He’s got you hooked, the product of years of carefully placed comments and calculated manipulation.

Finally, you’re all his.

His cum shoots into you in powerful spurts and you cry out as you finish at the feeling. Caleb’s hand presses down on your slightly bulging lower abdomen as he thrusts into you a few more times, his own eyes watching your reaction intently. When he’s finished pumping his load deep inside of you, he leans down and kisses you again.

“You doin’ okay, pipsqueak? You did well for me, baby,” Caleb tells you, voice gentler than it had been at the start. You feel rewarded, valued.

“Uh-huh,” you blink up at him slowly as fatigue begins to seep into your bones. Clearly, earliers’ alcohol is catching up with you.

“Good,” Caleb responds, and you feel his thumb smudge the gold paint over your cunt as he leaves you. Your pussy clenches mournfully, aching again for his solid length despite your exhaustion and the cum now dripping from it. Surprisingly, it’s comforting as opposed to uncomfortable.

“Rest up now. From tonight you’re all mine, meimei.”

. ★⋆. ࿐࿔ TAGLIST:

@boldlyirishluck @madama-buttterfly3 @arcticmonkeys2011 @dilemm3 @myurlismissing @jadeprouductions @mia-menaceinaction @starlitgg382 @urbeautynevereverscaredme @kissedpixel @unsxnee @amaveon @palletaegoo @plushyprincess @sealovessummer @ihatetmblrclassifyingthings @heyofellowweirdos @insidious-innocence @a-thief-of-many-books @seashellsshine @bioluminescenceblue @xavibunbuni @kuroyurishion @for-hearthand-home @weirdothatwrites

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

chat pointers for fratboy!lnds smuts???? I am (very unfortunately) english and have no idea where to start

like are they equivalent to the signet ring bastards we have in cities over here???? HELP—

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

⋆˚꩜｡ 'Intruder Alert!' (pt.2) ⋆. ˚

⋆˚࿔ part 2 of the intruder alert one shots, featuring Xavier and Zayne! part 1 can be found here !

⋆˚࿔ tags: NSFW (MINORS DNI), mild sexual content, possessiveness, graphic violence, depictions of weaponry, death, blood, home invasion, implications of non-con, mild sa (from intruder), wounds, unethical use of evol, sedatives

⋆˚࿔ words: 2.7k

⋆˚࿔ a/n: i loved writing these two sm!!! honestly my pookies you were all so supportive of part 1, so i really wanted to get this out for you all despite law school lowkey crushing me. hope you all enjoy, and my asks remain open but slower due to university <3

Xavier !₊˚⊹☆

Warmth envelops you, spreading from your back to the rest of your pleasantly relaxed body. The source of it is a very sleepy Xavier; he had been out cold for hours, and so had you.

But now you really need to pee.

You had managed to quash the urge an hour ago, but now the need is really quite pressing. You and Xavier had spent the evening at an Association gathering, which had been located in an upscale cocktail bar. The two of you had made your way through an impressive amount of drinks.

However, the evening had been curtailed when someone had tried to hit on you. Another Hunter that had drunkenly confessed his longstanding love for you, even going so far as to slide his hand up the bare skin of your thigh that your slitted dress revealed.

It had taken Tara, Jenna, Simone and Andrew to hold back Xavier.

You had left very soon after, both quite inebriated as you stumbled back to Xavier’s apartment. It was too far to walk to yours, and you absolutely were not driving in the state you had been in. But as soon as you had stepped over the threshold of his home, he had been on you. Two hours and seven rounds later, the two of you had collapsed into bed. You could tell Xavier had been fighting the urge to fall asleep as he had cleaned you up. You were right – in seconds he was unconscious.

Which meant it is easy enough for you to slither out from underneath his protective grasp. The cool air of the house is a stark contrast to the warmth you had grown accustomed to beneath your duvet, but you persevere into the hallway. You’ll only be gone a moment, anyway.

As you approach the bathroom, something flits in your peripheral vision. A shadow that resembles a man. Have you slept so long that your mind deems to construct umbral illusions? Is the alcohol still coursing through your veins, conjuring that which is non-existent?

Your blood plummets to freezing as the shadow turns towards you. Through the gloom of your home, you can just about see—

The man from the bar.

You feel rooted to the spot, and suddenly the darkness felt oppressive rather than cosy. How had he gotten in?! The doors are locked, and so is the—

Ah. The window has been shattered by the crowbar he is holding. A crowbar that is steadily advancing on you, alongside the person grasping it.

“Xav—!”

You can only get the first half of your boyfriend’s name out before the man shoves you up against the wall, slamming a large hand against your mouth. You let out a muffled scream, which only earns him pressing his palm harder into your face.

“You like playing hard to get, don’t you?” His voice is low and vile in your ear, and you can feel his body pressing uncomfortably against your own, “It’s okay though, huh? You won’t be for long. I’m gonna make sure you know your place. We can go back to mine and have a bit of fun, yeah? Just like we would have at the bar if your blond pretty-boy hadn’t intervened.”

Your eyes are as wide as saucers as you look up at him. They well with tears as he roughly turns you around so that your back is pressed to his front. The crowbar grazes your thigh threateningly, in the exact spot he had touched earlier at the bar.

You know that Xavier is a heavy sleeper. The chances of him hearing you are slim to none, in all honesty. And you are a Hunter, that much was undeniably true, but you aren’t wearing any variety of armour and your martial training is not much in the face of a solid metal crowbar. You’d have a dented skull before you could say ‘wanderer’.

All you can do is squirm in his grip, earning yourself a yank to the hair. You yelp as pain erupts in your scalp and trickles down your spine like agonising treacle.

“Steady there,” he whispers in your ear, making your skin crawl, “I don’t wanna rough up your pretty face, but I will if you don’t come quietly. Alright?” No, it was very much not alright being kidnapped, but you nod nonetheless.

“Good girl,” the man murmurs, rubbing the hand that holds the crowbar up your leg in what you assume is supposed to be a soothing or seductive manner. It is neither; it makes your stomach turn sour.

As soon as those words leave your captor’s mouth, his face takes on an ominous, iridescent glow. It catches in your periphery, and a sick sense of vindicated dread washes over you. You’re about to witness something violent.

A grunt leaves the man, followed closely by a blood-curdling scream as his head erupts with solar fire so bright that you squeeze your eyes closed for fear of going blind. His hands leave you and you scrabble away, crashing into something solid and warm that you cannot see.

You are about to open your eyes to see if there’s a second intruder, but a soft hand slips over them. You smell cardamom, linen and lavender; Xavier. Relaxing against him, a sob leaves you as you realise you are shaking.

“Starlight, are you injured?”

His voice is frighteningly calm and even as his hand remains over your eyes. Faintly, you wonder what he is hiding from you as the screams of your ex-captor die down.

“He only p-pulled my hair,” you hiccup, embarrassed by your faint stammer as you lean closer into his embrace.

“Only pulled your hair. Interesting.”

In an instant, more bright light flares behind your eyelids. Xavier’s hand leaves our face, and you realise that you are back in room. You open your mouth to speak but Xavier isn’t there and from the looks of it, the door has been locked.

You pad over to it, testing the lock in case your perceptive abilities deceive you. Evidently, they do not. It will not budge. When you press your ear to it, you can hear crunching and tearing. It sounds like someone ripping apart a chicken before it goes on the grill.

Heart racing, you move back to your bed and pull your knees to your chest.

.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊

Xavier returns around half an hour later, in his pyjamas. He has takeout clutched in one hand, and what looks like scalp balm in another. Those sapphire eyes regard you with utmost softness as he comes to sit beside you and cups your face.

“I’m so sorry, my star,” his voice is so gentle, like petals on a summer breeze, “I shouldn’t have let him leave the bar earlier, it’s all my fault that he got in.”

“Xavier—,” you begin.

“No.”

He places what he holds on the nightstand, and draws you closer so that you are perched on his lap. Through the thin material of his nightclothes, you feel his usually slow heart beating at a slightly faster pace.

“It is my job to look after you. I could have lost you because I was negligent with my sole objective in this life,” a hand runs over your hair softly, as his voice quietens to a whisper, “I love you. I will never let anyone harm you like that ever again.”

“I swear upon it.”

Zayne ! ｡₊⊹❅⋆

Zayne had been home late, as usual.

You had prepared dinner tonight, it was your turn, after all. A sushi platter with noodles and gyozas followed by a blueberry cheesecake had been the order of the evening. And a successful decision it had been; after dinner, the two of you had gone straight to bed. No sex – Zayne was far too tired, and you would always respect that. He worked far too hard, after all.

However, as you are laying in bed, you do consider that your husband had been far too quiet. He is often reticent, true, and he was exhausted. But aside from complimenting your meal and asking after your own day at work, Zayne had been largely silent. You hadn’t prodded though; you could deal with that tomorrow, when the two of you were more awake.

You lay in silence for a while, mind not yet restful despite the comforting weight of your husband spooning you from behind. Is there anything you could do to make his day easier tomorrow? He had briefly mentioned he was on a half shift due to his overtime the next day, and that he had requested an early one so he could spend tomorrow afternoon with you.

You are leaving for work at the same time. A new mission has been issued to your division; Wanderers causing issues in downtown Linkon. Subdued for now, but not eliminated.

Perhaps you preparing his uniform and breakfast would make his life easier? It wouldn’t take you too long tonight; you had learned to make pear pancakes and whipped vanilla cream in record time through your marriage to Zayne. Plus, it’s only 10:30PM. You silently reason that you can easily have his breakfast ready and uniform laid out by eleven.

Carefully, you extricate yourself from his grasp and shrug on your worn hoodie. Your snowman slippers soon follow, and you shuffle through to the laundry room to fetch the uniform he had put in the wash earlier. It should be done by now.

Right you are! You’re quick about unloading it from the drier. Luckily, it’s barely creased at all and so you simply hang it in its usual home. You smile to yourself as you quietly close the door, walking back through the bedroom to the hallway.

Cold light spills in through the bay windows. It’s the dead of winter, and snow falls surely just outside, painting your well-kept garden in an angelic ivory. The jasmines you planted last month have held up, you note happily. With a nearly inaudible hum, you begin gathering your ingredients for the pancakes. As you reach for the pancake mix, you notice something.

Why are the knives missing from their block?

You frown. You had returned them after preparing dinner, all in correct size order. In fact, the block had fallen on its side. Totally empty.

A feeling of dread runs down your person. You flick on the lights, and now that you are paying attention, you see it.

The portrait that usually stands on your counter, of yourself and Zayne at a fair on your anniversary, has been shattered and shredded. One of your missing knives protrudes ominously from the centre of another picture of you both during spring, pinning it like a dead butterfly to the wooden chopping block.

You gasp and take a shaky step backwards. You need to wake Zayne. You need to tell him that someone may have gotten in, that—

“Don’t move, you bitch.”

You freeze as a feminine voice hisses at you through the darkness. A blade presses pointedly against your lower back.

So that’s where your cleaver went. Drat.

“You don’t deserve Zayne,” she spits at you from behind, “Leaving his side, leaving his bed, while he sleeps? To make yourself food? Disgusting.”

Wow, being shamed for your organisational skills by an unknown assailant hasn’t made your list for ways to die. Maybe you need to be more creative.

“I was actual—,”

“Shut up,” she snarls. In all fairness, now likely isn’t the time for clever quips.

“I’ve worked with Zayne for five years. And not once, not even once has he looked at me like he looks at you, you unworthy piece of filth.”

You swallow. Now, you can feel a needle pressing against your arm, right over your brachial artery. Precisely where Zayne has administered countless medications for you, each time as gently as possible.

She’s not holding medicine.

“And then he married you. Why?! I was loyal, devoted for so long, whilst he stressed about your stint with that mafia guy before you were together. So, I think to myself, ‘she manipulated him’. There’s no chance he loves a disgusting whore like you on your own merit.”

You blink. Honestly, she may as well just cut you now. This hurts way more.

Before you can object, you feel the cleaver bite into your skin. A warm sensation soon follows, and trickles down from your lower back to the curve of your ass.

“So,” she continues, “I’ll save him. I’ll save him from you.”

You cry out as she presses the knife deeper into your lower back, plunging past muscle and sinew with a vicious carelessness. You try to jerk away but she follows you with the blade and it only cuts more. Harder.

“Please,” you gasp out, “Please stop. I—I didn’t mean to hurt yo—”

“That doesn’t matter now. All that matters is—GAH—,”

She breaks off, and the now-open wound she inflicted smarts painfully as a frigid breeze falls across it. The needle that had been angled against your arm falls away. Taking the chance, you leap away from the insane intruder.

It’s one of Zayne’s assistant nurses. One whom you recognise as the as the one that helped on a surgery of one of yours that went awry.

You groan as you look up at your husband, who stands in the hallways with an outstretched hand wreathed in biting frost. His expression is one of pure, unadulterated fury.

“When you said that I would be sorry today, Nurse Anais, I did not intend to be incapacitating you in my home in the dead of night.”

You could nearly cry in relief. And, well, agony. The wound on your lower back is really quite painful, and you can feel that blood is flowing from it heavily now. Your arms feel heavy all of a sudden, far too heavy to reach around and staunch the wound.

“If I ever see you come within a fifty metre radius of my wife ever again, then I will not leave you for the authorities as I shall tonight. It goes without saying that you are removed from your position at Akso effective immediately,” Zayne snaps, his voice uncharacteristically hostile. Ice encases Nurse Anais’ limbs, holding her still whilst Zayne instructs the Home System to contact the police.

Then, his main concern is you. Those glacial hazel eyes soften infinitesimally as he spots the blood now pooling as your slipper-clad feet. He’s by your side in an instant, supporting you as he inspects your injury. Just the sensation of his cool hands against your now-clammy hands is indescribably welcome.

“You need to lay on your stomach, my love,” Zayne instructs, despite the fear creeping into his clinical tone, “It is a wound to the L5 region. It appears to be merely muscular and venous. It is alright, darling. I just need to compress it. Can you lay still for me?”

Your spine feels like lead but you nod slowly as you drop carefully down to the floor. Zayne is only gone fetching the medical kit for a moment, before he returns and begins compressing the wound. When you crane your neck around to look at him, his bare forearms are corded with muscle and spattered with blood as he works.

He manages to control the bleeding soon enough, and dials for an ambulance whilst he holds down the hemostatic gauze with one strong hand, which, unusually for Zayne, you can feel shakes faintly. All of a sudden, you’re glad he vetoed you when he bought that gauze.  

“Darling? Are you feeling faint? Dizzy?”

“Fine now. It just—ngh—hurts. Can I have some vodka?”

“No,” his voice carries an undertone of amusement through clear fear, “Alcohol would cause vasodilation, and you will bleed more. Also, we may need to anaesthetise you later for stitches. I cannot risk it interfering in either of those respects.”

“Ugh. I’ll just bleed out on the floor in pain like a loser chud then. Thanks, babe.”

“I am glad you are finding this so humorous during what may be one of the worst moments of my adult life.”

“Someone has to be the comedian in our family.”

He chuckles, although the sound is thin. Brittle with fear. Just then, one of his cold hands reaches out to stroke your hair. It’s clean; you suspect he froze off the blood so that he could touch you. His wedding band is freezing.

“I love you so much, Y/N. Please, never depart from my side.”

And he surely does not leave yours, even when the flashes of red and blue lights beam in through the windows and replace the hollow light of the winter moon.

taglist ! .ೃ࿔*:･

@boldlyirishluck @madama-buttterfly3 @arcticmonkeys2011 @dilemm3 @myurlismissing @jadeprouductions @mia-menaceinaction @starlitgg382 @urbeautynevereverscaredme @kissedpixel @unsxnee @amaveon @palletaegoo @plushyprincess @sealovessummer @ihatetmblrclassifyingthings @heyofellowweirdos @insidious-innocence @a-thief-of-many-books @seashellsshine @bioluminescenceblue @xavibunbuni @kuroyurishion @for-hearthand-home @weirdothatwrites

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

just woke up from the WETTEST dream about Zayne what the helly

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ Intruder Alert ! (pt. 1) ⋆₊˚⊹♡

⋆˚꩜ pt. 1 of these one-shots ! including Sylus ,Caleb and Rafayel !

⋆˚꩜ tags: NSFW (MINORS DNI), mild sexual content, possessiveness, graphic violence, depictions of weaponry, death, blood, home invasion, sedatives.

⋆˚꩜ words: 3.7 k

⋆˚꩜ a/n: enjoy you guys!!!! i'll be posting pt.2 with Zayne and Xavier when I can find some time ! Law school is killing me but I am still taking requests <3 please let me know what all of you think and feel free to send in suggestions for fics, smaus, moodboards etc <3

SYLUS ☾⋆｡ °✩

It’s the middle of the night. 

 Your charming garden villa is completely silent, the dead quiet only occasionally punctuated by the sombre call of an owl. The cold light of the moon seeps in through the bay windows and paints the wide expanse of your living room a chilling, ominous silver. 

 Blissfully restful, you slumber away in bed. It’s been a long day at work, having been sent by the Hunter’s Association to the N109 Zone for some intel gathering on an upcoming gang coalescing in the shadows of that cursed place. After some snooping around in the Roost, you were exhausted. Hence you being passed out in bed now, your hand flitting unconsciously over the cool mattress where Sylus usually slept. 

A mistake, resting after a jaunt in that city. 

A dark figure has already short-circuited the fuse box in the garden, whilst another two slip in through the door they’ve managed to lock-pick. Your earlier activities in the N109 Zone have evidently earned you some enemies, and dangerous ones at that. 

Given that the second floor of your house is still under renovation and you routinely leave your bedroom door open for Sylus when he returns in the small hours of the morning from Onychinus, it takes all of three seconds for them to locate you. Lying unconscious in your large double bed, crimson silk sheets bunched around your waist. 

 They aren’t for long.

Your eyes fly open, adrenaline exploding into your system like a supernova. All three of the darkly clothed intruders hold you fast, shouting at each other tersely as you thrash and kick under their grip. You try to scream, you really did, but a rag soaked in a sharp-smelling liquid is shoved in your face before you can even open your mouth. 

An easy fatigue falls over your person; the sharp odour mellows into a foggy sleepiness that’s too sinister to be similar to the one you had just woken from. Fear - pure, unadulterated fear - grips your fluttering heart as your muscles loosen to the point of uselessness. You can do nothing but lay there, head lolling like a discarded doll, as one of the men hauls you over his shoulder whilst another points the barrel of his gun to your forehead, just for good measure. 

The back door, just opposite the front door one, greets you over the intruder’s shoulder. Silver coats your face, pale with terror, in an even icier hue as you advance towards the garden. Faintly, you can discern that to get in, they’ve cut half of your hedges away and trampled your hyacinths. Bastards. 

This thought is quickly interrupted however, when a loud crack emanates from the gun pointed at your head. 

Fuck. Is this how you go out? Slumped over some lanky asshole’s shoulder, in the silken pyjama set that Sylus bought you last Christmas?

Also, shouldn’t being shot in the head hurt more than this?

Maybe, you wouldn’t know. The gun that had been pressing uncomfortably against your skull is now conveniently scattered in pieces across the marble floors. Faint traces of crimson flit in wisps around it. 

Finally.

“Would any of you like to explain why, exactly, you are manhandling my wife?”

You would recognise the serene voice that cuts through the foggy madness of the situation anywhere, in any lifetime. A deep timbre that sends shivers down your spine, even now.

“Shit,” you hear one of the men hiss, “You didn’t say she was connected to him.”

“Well I didn’t fucking know, it wasn’t in the job description! Do you think—,”

“Gentlemen,” Sylus purrs, and you can just make out him adjusting his cuffs, “I’m sure this can be discussed later.”

He takes a predatory step towards them, those crimson eyes narrowing as an unholy glow lights his left one. In the moonlight, his ivory hair looks like the halo of an avenging angel.

“If you’re even alive then, that is.”

In your drugged state, you don’t see him move. But you do see as he appears beside the man that was holding you over his shoulder, Sylus’ large hands gripping the intruder’s skull in a violent embrace. A sickening snap echoes through the living room after his spine is spliced cleanly in two. 

The next sensation you can remember is falling. Your kidnapper crumples lifelessly to the ground, and your head very nearly meets the same fate on the hard floor of your living room.

Almost. Scarlet whispers of energy flare around you, ephemeral sable feathers fluttering as Sylus’ Evol rushes to catch you. You could’ve sworn that one of the roiling tendrils gently caresses your cheek, as though checking for open wounds. Meanwhile, Sylus’ huge frame calmly advances on the remaining two men.

Screams, followed by two wet crunches, reverberate through your consciousness. A faint moan rises from you as you move to your side in the cloud of vermillion energy, unsure whether you are going to vomit. Not from the violence, no, but from the sedative that still pulses slowly through your trembling body.

Sylus is by your side in half a second, scooping you up from where his Evol had kept you safe from deadly impact. His handsome face has gone from a portrait of serene lethality to a paradigm of concern. Worry pinches tightly at his brows, which are furrowed deeply over eyes that scrutinise you so closely that every fibre of your soul seems to tremble in eager reassurance.

“Sweetie,” he murmurs, voice breaking as he lifts you up so that you slot against his chest, “Are you hurt?” 

You try to nod, but the drugs encumber your neck so much that you can only manage a slow, catlike blink up him. Your lips gape open and closed as you try to form a sentence around your misty mind. 

“Chlo—Chlorof-orm.” 

His eyes thin to ruby slits and his mouth twists into a furious grimace at your stuttered words. Sylus rises to his feet, holding you carefully against him still. 

“Mephisto,” he calls cooly, deep voice a sombre growl you only hear when he is conducting business, “Call the twins. They have a cleanup job, and inform them I want whoever sent these vermin found. I will deal with them myself once the blood is out of the marble floors I paid for.” 

The semi-mechanical crow gives a lively croak, before flapping up and swooping out of the back door. Sylus’ doesn’t even bother closing it; he’s confident enough that any more intruders will meet a vile end so long as he is in the house. 

He talks to you the entire way to your bathroom, trying to keep you conscious. Usually his hands are as steady as the sun over the horizon, but now you can feel a faint tremor whisper through them as he places you down beside the cool porcelain of the bathtub. A glass of water is in your weak hand before you know it. Sylus coaxes you to take small sips as he strokes back your hair with a large palm. 

“I’m so sorry, kitten. I know you can handle yourself, but—,” Sylus gives a shuddering sigh, cupping your face as he sets down your glass and presses his forehead to your clammy one, “I should have been here to protect you.” 

“‘S fine, Sy…,” you mumble, your words a garbled mess. 

“It’s not,” he replies, although no ferocity lies in his words, “You could have been seriously injured. They could have taken you from me and—“ 

“I can’t lose you again, sweetie.” 

CALEB ❦.☘︎ ݁˖⊹ ࣪ ˖

Usually, you aren’t up this late. 

But the nap you had accidentally fallen into earlier had left you far too energised for further respite. Your mind is awake, buzzing, and nowhere near soothed enough to sleep. So, as the logical person does when they cannot rest, you are baking apple strudels in the kitchen. 

Caleb had just returned from Skyhaven that afternoon, and had been in a seemingly terrible mood when he walked in through the front door. Of course, he perked up when he saw you. After a few hours of straight, unabashed sex, he was back to his normal self. 

You assume that a mission had gone awry, or a plane had malfunctioned. Surely, that would be sufficient to piss off your boyfriend? He had been on a short enough tether as it was, recently. Hopefully, your spontaneous midnight baking would cheer him up a little in the morning. Did you remember to add cinnamon? The thought pops into your bright brain, and you bend down to peek in the oven. 

As you do, a shadow flits in your periphery. 

You bolt upright, head whipping around to survey the dark kitchen so quickly that you nearly sprain your neck. An eerie silence blankets the space, and you’re about to scuttle off to where Caleb is sleeping in your room to wake him when you feel something cold and metallic pressing against your temple. 

Your heart catches in your throat. 

“Don’t move,” a low voice hisses from the gloom, “And don’t scream. Come quietly, and you’ll live to see dawn.” 

You swallow thickly, your throat feeling like it’s been stuffed full with cotton. Acutely aware of every nerve and muscle that makes the action happen, you nod slowly. 

“Good,” the voice purrs, “Now. You’re going to follow me out of the window on the east of this room, and then enter the black vehicle parked in the street. You copy?” 

Copy? East? 

Had Caleb made an enemy in the Fleet? Someone vengeful enough that they would break into his home and kidnap you? 

Well, that’s enough to put anyone in a bad mood after work. 

You step woodenly forwards, your eyes locking onto the faint glow of the street that slithered in through the opened bay window. The intruder, who is now pressing an insistent hand to your waist alongside the gun at your temple, had clearly jacked it open with a crowbar.

Really, a little crude for a Fleet member. Clearly, not everyone has the same panache as your Caleb. 

A panache and obsession with your safety that meant each of the windows are tripped with sensors that immediately pinged him should anyone lacking your biosignature try to get in. They also alert if you try to get out, but that isn’t really important. 

As you step onto the windowsill, careful to place your foot over a spot you know will trigger the sensor. The man behind you is none the wiser, jostling you and migrating his hand from your waist to the curve of your ass as you step up. 

Monumental blunder. 

Caleb had been staying quiet in the shadow of the pantry, looking for a clean opening to make a killing shot. Now, he was going to play with his prey instead. 

A crack cleanly cleaves the silence of the house. Your captor buckles, his Achilles nerve agonisingly butchered by the bullet Caleb just unleashed. Gravity crushes him like a stone slab, pinning him to the ground. Crushed like an insect; a deserving fate. 

You take a deep breath, for once thankful for Caleb’s possessive tendencies as you hop from the windowsill and sidestep the moaning man on the ground. You ensure that you blow him a mocking raspberry as you saunter over to your boyfriend. 

Caleb stands there, violent eyes wide enough that their whites flash menacingly in the heavy dark. His trigger finger twitches spasmodically. 

Oh, you know this Caleb. Usually, you try to calm him down. 

Not tonight. 

He registers you as you stand on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek, murmuring reassurance that you’re unharmed in his ear. Caleb inclines his head towards you slightly, running his eyes over you before pressing a cold kiss to your forehead. The gun remains firmly clasped in his hand. 

You wander back over to the oven, where your strudels are still baking. Luckily, the cinnamon sugar coating has ensured that they caramelise rather than burn. Thank goodness you remembered to put it on! 

Behind you, a bloodcurdling scream rings out. You wince as you place the steaming strudels on the countertop, before removing your pink, quilted mittens and leaning against the counter. 

Caleb is crouching over the intruder, his face solemn as he snaps each of his fingers off like dry twigs from a tree in autumn. It’s the hand that had been touching you, and the one that had pressed the gun to your head is being crushed by that very same firearm, pressing into his flesh with unnatural gravitational force. 

“What makes you think,” Caleb asks him, his voice terrifyingly serene, “that you can come into my house, touch my meimei, and get off scot-free, huh?” 

The intruder, who you now recognise as one of the Fleet lieutenants, whines an apology that falls on selectively deaf ears. 

Caleb tsks softly, stroking the barrel of his gun down the lieutenant’s face. The gesture is chillingly gentle. 

“When you said you would get me back, I thought you were gonna be more creative than this,” Caleb laughs mirthlessly, “But no. Same as the rest of the Fleet fuckers that come beggin’ for a beating.” 

“Caleb,” you speak up, suddenly tired after the whole debacle, “Bed soon?” 

A nod is the only acknowledgment you get as the lieutenant screams again. This time, it earns him a punch that makes his mouth explode with crimson. 

“Try not to disturb my girl, yeah? She was busy, and you’ve gone and ruined her evening. You’re lucky she’s uninjured, or I’d be keepin’ you alive for days,” Caleb stands up, and then levels a shot at the man’s nape. In an instant, he’s dead. 

“C’mon pipsqueak. Let’s get some sleep, so we can enjoy those pastries in the morning.”

RAFAYEL ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Ocean sounds swell in your room. The haunting call of a blue whale, chased by the chittering crescendo of a dolphin swiftly drowned out by the sound of the surf crashing against a mighty cliff. You sit with Rafayel atop that cliff, gazing dreamily down at the stunning, panoramic view of the seas that lap against the fire of the setting sun. His head is in your lap and he gazes up at you with eyes overflowing with adoration.

The sea crashes against the rocks again as you run your hand through his own indigo waves, revelling in their silkiness. His weight presses warmly and insistently against your midsection as he moves up to kiss you.

His lips are just about to graze your own waiting ones, when the ocean’s waters slam against the rocks again. Loud and thunderous enough to jolt you from sleep.

You wake with a start, eyes wide as you’re yanked from the serene reality you had existed in for a few hours. The weight on your torso remains; Rafayel is spread out like a starfish in your large double bed, half of him lying across you. Obviously, he is far heavier than you.

Another crash of the waves against the cliff sobers you further, and you blink groggily.

…Wait.

Your house is landlocked, unlike Rafayel’s.

Terror ripples through you like the shallow movements of a freezing lagoon. If you’re awake, and Rafayel is sleeping on you, and you live nowhere near a coastline…

What was that noise?

Surely it was nothing, you try to tell yourself as you gently shimmy from bed. You’re careful not to wake Rafayel; the last time you did, there was an hour of whining to contend with. Also, there’s no need to wake him for what’s probably the wind or an unstable flower arrangement…right?

You kick on your slippers and pull on your dressing gown. Grabbing your phone from the dresser to use as a makeshift torch, you shuffle nervously into the cloistering gloom of the hallway. Whatever was making the noise has stopped for the few moments it took you to rise from bed. Although you repeatedly insist to yourself that it’s likely just a raccoon outside the doors or an errant wind rustling under the windows, a feeling of dread lingers in your throat.

Crash!

You jump, making a small noise of shock as you swivel to shine your phone’s light on the source of the sound.

There, crouching beside a bookcase, is two dark figures. Both massive, bulky men that clutch pistols and crowbars, that are emptying the safe you store your Hunter’s equipment with.

You can nearly smell your own fear as the blood rushes from your face. Of course, you’re a skilled fighter and are more than familiar with a firearm, but these men are huge. There’s no way of escaping an altercation with them unscathed given your own size and lack of offensive weaponry.

“G-Get out of my house.”

Really, your words lack enough force to elicit their departure, and you know that. But surely it’s the attempt that matters?

A short scream that you let out is interrupted by one of the men lunging forward to grab you. You try to step back and out of his way, but you’re much too slow in your bewildered state. The ground meets you quickly as his heavy mass collides forcefully with you. A sickening crack shortly follows it.

You’ve broken your hand.

Another cry wrenches itself from your throat as agony winds around your left arm. You fingers feel numb, and the dazedness from the injury is all the man on top of you needs to pin you down completely. He barks an order to the man behind him, who you can hear speeding up his movements. Great, now you’d have to explain to the Association why you couldn’t fire a gun: you didn’t have the hand to fire what you no longer owned.

You moan in pain as the hurt morphs into fury. These people have no right to barge into your home and steal what they pleased. None at all.

Unfortunately for them, you sleep with a dagger beneath your pillow. One gifted to you by Rafayel, and stashed there for the time your bodyguarding duties extended beyond art exhibitions. One for a day exactly like this one.

You slide your uninjured hand incrementally into where your robe is tied and curl it around the cool hilt of the blade. More than anything, you’re concerned that they will harm Rafayel. He’s a heavy sleeper, as he has shown this evening.

When the dagger is comfortably clasped in your hand, you swallow down the pain of the broken one and twist ever so slightly. The man, a heavy bastard, that was holding you down had not notices your movements when grabbing the blade, so hopefully he was too ignorant to foresee what you were about to do.

As swiftly as the strike of a viper, you turn and plunge the dagger into the space between the man’s collarbone and his neck, piercing through his dark clothing. He roars in pain, distracted enough for you to momentarily slither out from underneath him. Blood warms your back and nape, trickling down to your chest.

Narrowing your eyes, you spin the blade in your hands, precisely as you have watched Rafayel do. Whilst the man is still panting, trying to staunch the flow of blood, you level it at him.

“You have entered my home, and threatened my charge,” you hiss, “And for that, I fear you will suffer.”

The other man looks to his comrade, and then to you. Clearly, he decides that the robbery is not work fatal blows to his carotid artery, and spins to make off out of the window with the equipment he has burgled.

Not so fast.

You throw the dagger you hold with lethal accuracy, and it hits him squarely in the back of knee. He goes down with a cry. Your Hunter’s equipment spills out across the hallway floor.

“Cutie?”

Rafayel emerges from the gloom of the hallway, rubbing his eyes and pulling on his coral silk robe as he pads towards you. He must smell the blood you have drawn, because his sleepy eyes sharpen as he takes in the scene.

“Cutie, what happened? Are you okay?”

He rushes over to you, sidestepping the man groaning on the floor to check you over. A scandalised gasp escapes him when he notices the blood covering you and how you are now cradling a hand that is swiftly purpling.

“Your hand! What happened? ‘Lil conch, why didn’t you call me? And are you bleeding? ‘Dun tell me that’s yours, oh, my precious bride, what—”

“Raffie,” you respond calmly, reaching up to cup his now-flushed cheeks with your free hand, “I’ve only broken my hand, I’m not blee—”

“Only?! Only broken one of your beautiful hands?!”

Rafayel looks horrified as he takes it in your hand in his with utmost gentleness. His thumb skates over it carefully, his expression darkening as the finger that bears your engagement ring begins to purple.

“You’re gonna go have a bath whilst I call my doctor,” Rafayel tells you, his worried face morphing into something darker, “Wait in the bathroom whilst I get you some ice, m’kay?”

“Rafayel, I still have to call the police for these two.”

“I’ll do it, cutie. You’ve done enough already,” he replies. With heartbreaking caution, he scoops you up and walks towards the bathroom. The bath is running in seconds, and he sets you down on a stool before pressing a kiss to your neck and collarbone.

“Just hang in there for a moment, okay cutie? I’m gonna go get you some ice and a doctor.”

You nod, watching him as he strides back into the hallway and closes the bathroom door.

When he is back in the same space as the two burglars, he is quick and clean with their assassinations. The one that broke your hand is fed his own, and the one that tried to steal your equipment is killed by it. Not a flash of remorse sounds in your pretty fiancé’s eyes as he deals death upon the two people that had committed the most grievous trespass to person.

One upon his beloved bride.

He returns about ten minutes later, bodies cleaned away and blood wiped from the scene. A clump of ice is clutched in one hand, and he has just finished dialling his private doctor with another.

“’Dun worry, my lil’ conch. You’re safe. I’m here.”

taglist !

@boldlyirishluck @madama-buttterfly3 @arcticmonkeys2011 @dilemm3 @myurlismissing @jadeprouductions @mia-menaceinaction @starlitgg382 @urbeautynevereverscaredme @kissedpixel @unsxnee @amaveon @palletaegoo @plushyprincess @sealovessummer @ihatetmblrclassifyingthings @heyofellowweirdos @insidious-innocence @a-thief-of-many-books @seashellsshine @bioluminescenceblue @xavibunbuni @kuroyurishion

[darkest-night-in-deepspace]

doing some research for the burglar fics im dropping soon (hopefully later today!) and i had to check caleb’s wiki and—

SECOND ONLY TO A BIBLICAL TRIBAL LEADER IM SCREAMING

We’ve made it, ladies. The patriarchy is no more.

[fiendlus]

MANCHILD

your boyfriend cheats on you... the lads men aren't amused (in response to this request)

tags: cheating, hurt/comfort, fluff, vague (and not so vague) threats

୨♡୧ xavier

୨♡୧ rafayel

୨♡୧ zayne

୨♡୧ sylus

୨♡୧ caleb

[floweryanarchy]

A lil project I’ve been working on. I’ve seen a lot of modern aus but none that include the Bhaalist cult. Let’s fix that.

Remember Bhaal loves you!

(Human vers for funsies)

If you’ve made it this far down congrats!