(deep)spacecadet

Sylus chuckled softly, setting the bottle back on the nightstand before leaning closer, his hand braced on the mattress near your hip. “Boring, huh?” His breath ghosted over your cheek as he brushed your hair back with his other hand. “Sweetie, you need to drink something after tonight.”

You pouted up at him, lower lip jutting out dramatically. “But I don’t wanna, Sy… just wanna kiss you again…”

He raised a brow, his smile turning mischievous as he dipped down to press a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Mm… kisses, is it?” Another soft one following, this one at the curve of your jaw, making your breath hitch. “You know…” His voice dropped to a mock‑serious murmur as he hovered close enough that his lips grazed yours, “if you don’t drink that water for me…” He paused, eyes glittering with playful threat, “…you might not get anymore tonight.”

Your eyes widened, a gasp slipping out like he’d just threatened to steal the moon. “What?! That’s evil—”

He grinned, brushing his nose against yours, voice low and teasing, “Then prove me wrong. One sip, and I’m all yours.”

You huffed dramatically, grabbing the blanket like you might burrow under it in protest. But the way he just looked at you—smug and warm and impossibly fond—made your shoulders slump in defeat. “Ugh, fine…” you muttered, shooting him a mock‑glare.

“That’s my girl,” Sylus murmured, still smiling as he picked up the bottle again. He held it to your lips, tipping it carefully while the other hand tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Easy, sweetie… just a little.”

You took a few reluctant swallows, your throat working as you drank, until he pulled the bottle back with a satisfied little hum. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Lowering the bottle, he barely had time to set it down before you were pouting up at him, cheeks warm and eyes wide with expectation. “Okay,” you breathed, lips soft and parted, “ Had the water, now where’s my kiss?”

His laugh was low and rich, the sound making your heart flip as he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, capturing them in the softest kiss. “There you go,” he whispered against your mouth, giving you another soft press of his lips, then another, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"Such a needy kitten when you're drunk."

"shut upp."

ZAYNE.

"No I do luv him! I love him so so much but if he makes me drink any more water? M'gonna cry." You rambled to your plushie, a miniature snowman with a bowtie you held in the air with your hands as you dragged out the end of your sentence.

The door creaked open and the faintest shift of air made you glance over, still clutching the little snowman in both hands. Zayne filled the doorway, broad shoulders framed by the dim hallway light, his usual stoic expression softened by the way one corner of his mouth tugged up.

His dark brows arched slowly, and he stepped inside with the calm, measured gait that always made your heart skip. “I know you're not talking about me in secret—to a penguin.” he asked, voice low and even, but there was a subtle lilt—playful, amused—as his eyes flicked from your flushed face to the plush clutched in your hands.

You gasped, clutching the toy to your chest defensively. “He’s not a just penguin, he’s Dr. Snow Buttons,” you slurred indignantly, nose wrinkling. “An’ I wasn’t—” you hiccupped softly, “I wasn’t talkin’ about you!.. Not really.”

Zayne’s lips twitched, that ever‑present composure softening with quiet amusement as he moved closer, "Is that so?" Rolling his cuffs up his forearms with deliberate ease. He hummed, plucking Dr. Snow Buttons from your grip with surprising gentleness. He held the plush up between you both, tilting his head as if genuinely conferring with it.

“Well, Doctor,” he said smoothly, his deep voice threading with dry humor, “what do you think—has she eaten anything, or has she been running on drinks tonight?”

You blinked owlishly at him, lips parting as you thought very, very hard. Then your face lit up like you’d solved the mystery of the universe. “Jello!” you blurted proudly, holding up a single finger for emphasis. “I had… a red one. Three I think, it was sooo good.”

Zayne’s stoic face barely twitched, though his dark brows lifted a fraction, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a laugh. He set Dr. Snow Buttons gently on the nightstand, then straightened and leveled you with that unreadable, quiet look of his.

“Jello,” he repeated flatly, as if confirming something tragic. A beat of silence stretched before he sighed through his nose, raking a hand through his hair. “You had jello shots? As in plural? he deadpanned, voice low and calm but with that faint edge of disbelief.

You nodded with solemn pride, swaying slightly where you sat. “Yup. ‘M full.”

Zayne just stared at you for a long moment, the kind of silent, stoic stare that could make anyone else squirm—but you only blinked back at him, all big, adoring eyes and a crooked little smile.

Finally, a low sigh slipped out of him, his shoulders loosening as he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I'll give you some medication for that after you eat.” he muttered, almost to himself, before meeting your gaze again. "For now, I'll make you some dinner.”

You gasped so dramatically it almost startled him, and though his expression hardly shifted, a quiet huff of air escaped him—something caught between a sigh and the smallest laugh. Both your hands flew to your chest as if he’d just sworn to bring you the moon.

“You’d… do that for me?” you breathed, wide‑eyed and reverent, your voice a drunken whisper full of awe. Zayne’s gaze softened, though the steady calm in his demeanor never wavered. One brow lifted slightly, and the faintest curve touched his mouth. “Of course I would,” he said evenly, his voice low and certain, a thread of warmth slipping beneath the cool stoicism. “Always.”

“Aww, thank you, my love!” you cooed, stretching your arms out with wobbly little grabby hands, as if sheer willpower could pull him into a hug from across the room.

Zayne’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his stoic calm as he crossed the space in a few easy strides. Crouching slightly so he could loop one arm around you in a brief but steady hug, his solid warmth grounding you instantly.

Before you could melt completely into him, he tipped his head down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he said lowly against your skin, his hand brushing gently over your shoulder before he drew back and rose to his full height again.

His sharp green eyes softened as he looked down at you, eyes big and shining. “Stay put,” he instructed, that calm authority slipping back in but softened by affection. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

You watched him turn and head for the kitchen, a dreamy sigh escaping you as you fell back on the bed. “He’s so good to us…” you whispered conspiratorially to the plush, smiling to yourself like you’d just been handed the world.

CALEB.

"This is too good." Caleb chuckled as he recorded you, his phone angled just right to catch you swaying slightly in the middle of the living room, still in your event dress, clutching a throw pillow like it was the most precious thing in the world.

You were humming some off‑key tune, dramatically mouthing the words and twirling in a little circle before nearly stumbling over your own feet. “And then,” you announced with a flourish of your hand, “Then she told me I was pretty caleb! But like she was soooo pretty, Caleb like movie star pretty!”

Caleb’s laugh came low and fond as the camera caught the exaggerated widening of your eyes and the way you pressed the pillow to your cheek like it was a co‑star in your grand story. “Oh, I’m never deleting this,” he teased, grinning ear to ear.

“Wait 'leb, nooo,” you whined, reaching out in a slow, wobbly attempt to grab the phone. He easily held it out of reach, still recording as you pouted and wobbled closer. “Mm‑mm,” he hummed, mock‑serious, “Evidence. You're gonna wanna see this tomorrow.”

You groaned dramatically, leaning your forehead into his chest when he finally set the phone aside, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you. “You’re mean,” you mumbled, muffled against him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he drawled, effortlessly sweeping you up bridal‑style, “And your a drunk little mess. Cmon lets get you cleaned up."

He carried you into the bathroom and set you gently on the counter, your dress rustling as you settled. The sudden brightness made you squint, lashes fluttering as your heels tapped softly against the cabinet. Caleb rolled his sleeves up with deliberate ease, glancing at you with that crooked smile before turning on the tap.

“Don’t move,” he said playfully, voice warm as he wet a soft cloth, his hands moving with practiced care.

“M'not a baby 'leb I can do this myselff.” you slurred, trying to reach for your face only for him to bat your hands away gently. “Oh sure,” he chuckled, leaning in to wipe the remnants of makeup from under your eyes with slow, careful strokes. “’Cause you’re clearly in top condition right now.”

You giggled helplessly, squirming a little at the ticklish feel as he worked. “I amm, you're just bossy…”

“And you’re a cute drunk,” he countered smoothly, brushing a kiss to the tip of your nose before dabbing at your cheeks again. “Hold still for me kay pips?” You hummed dreamily, your eyes half‑lidded as he massaged in your moisturizer next, his big hands surprisingly gentle.

Gazing up at him you felt the world around you blur, (maybe partially do to the alcohol), the way brown hair feel just over his pretty eyes, how they flicked around on the counter, seemingly trying to remember your routine. The slight part of his lips, the little furrow between his brows as he focused, all of it made your chest ache in the sweetest way. Your heart felt too full, the alcohol loosening your tongue as you reached up to clumsily brush that stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“I really, like… love you,” you blurted softly, words slurred with sincerity, “even if you’re bossy sometimes… I love you, ’leb.”

Caleb froze for a beat, his hands still cradling your face, before a low laugh rumbled in his chest—warm and disbelieving. His thumb swept over your cheekbone, his smile turning soft enough to make your eyes sting.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “I love you too, pips. Even when you’re a little handful.”

XAVIER.

“Star… are you drunk?” Xavier asked carefully as he watched you stumble through his front door, his long strides closing the space between you before you could catch your heel on the rug. His hand steadied your elbow just as you hiccupped, a breathy giggle spilling out of you.

“M’nottt,” you slurred, swaying a little against him. “I just had some tasty sparkle water. It was reallyyy good.” Xavier’s brows knit together, concern softening into fond exasperation as he guided you out of your heels’ treacherous path. You suddenly slumped against his side, your head thunking gently onto his shoulder as another hiccup bubbled up.

“That wasn’t sparkling water, angel,” he murmured, a low chuckle slipping through his words as he slid an arm around your waist. He dipped his head slightly, catching a whiff of you, and smirked. “You smell like champagne.”

You only giggled again, nuzzling into the warm curve of his shoulder. “You’re sooo warm, Xav. Did anyone ever tell you that? You’re like… like a big heated blanket…”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as those blue eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache even in your haze. “You’ve told me that plenty of times,” he said, shifting his grip before you could sway again. Then, without warning, his arms swept under you, lifting you effortlessly.

A startled squeak escaped you as you found yourself cradled against his chest. His smile deepened, quiet and fond. “C’mon, star. You’re gonna hurt yourself wobbling around like that,” he chided gently, carrying you through the living room as if you weighed nothing. “Let me help you, okay?”

You nodded against him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He set you down on the couch with careful ease, the cushions dipping beneath your boneless sprawl. You hummed happily when his hands found your ankles.

“Let’s get these off before you twist something,” Xavier said softly, his tone calm but laced with that easy authority you never argued with. He lifted one of your legs, his large hand cradling your calf while the other deftly unbuckled your heel. “There we go… one.” He set the shoe aside and started on the other, his thumb brushing light, soothing circles against your skin.

A dreamy sigh left you as you melted deeper into the cushions. “I should marry you Xavi.” you mumbled, your words slurred with affection.

Xavier’s hands stilled for half a second, the strap of your second heel still hooked around his fingers. His head tipped slightly, soft blue eyes flicking up to your flushed, sleepy face.

“…Yeah?” he asked, voice lower now, a little rougher around the edges as the tips of his ears flushed pink. There was a faint smile tugging at his lips, but his gaze was soft—searching—as though he couldn’t quite believe you’d said it.

You nodded, lids heavy as you looked at him like he was the only steady thing in a swaying world. “Mhm… you’re the sweetest ever,” you whispered dreamily, words tumbling together. “I love you… more than anything, Xav… more than… shimmer water more than everything.”

Something in his chest tightened, and he ducked his head for a moment, letting out a quiet laugh that was half flustered, half helpless. He finished sliding off your second heel, setting it aside carefully before taking your hand in his.

His thumb traced over your knuckles, slow and reverent, as if you might break in his palm. He brought your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles—soft, lingering. Xavier's breath fanning your hand as he breathed, "I love you more", before turning your hand slightly and pressing another tender kiss to your ring finger.

When he looked up again, there was a warmth in his eyes that made your breath catch. His voice was quiet but sure as he murmured, “I'll make you officially mine soon, star.”

RAFAYEL.

By the time Rafayel finally steered you through the front door, your heels were dangling from your fingers, and your legs wobbled like they were trying to dance on their own.

“You look like a jellyfish with legs right now, cutie. How much did you drink?” Rafayel joked, his hand steady on your waist as you wobbled through the entryway like the floor was a trampoline.

You gasped dramatically, pointing a wobbly finger at him. “Rude! Jellyfish are… majestic!” You stomped one heel softly on the floor for emphasis, then immediately lost your balance, landing against his chest with a surprised laugh.

Rafayel’s warm chuckle rumbled through you as he caught you easily, his arm sliding around your waist. “Ah, yes, terribly majestic… especially the ones who can barely stand.”

“Y’know what?” you slurred, leaning back just enough to squint up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “If I was a jellyfish, I’d sting you… for that.” You poked his chest with your finger, completely unthreatening, more like a lazy kitten swipe than anything.

He laughed again, brushing your hand away with exaggerated care like you might actually sting him. “Oh no, not the 'mighty' jellyfish sting. What ever shall I do?” You hummed in thought as if thinking of a way to spare him from such a fate, "Show your undying love for me, kisses of course. That is the only way."

Rafayel’s lips curved into a grin that was equal parts amused and adoring, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in closer, still holding you steady against him. “Kisses, hm?” he drawled softly, his voice a low purr against the tipsy haze swirling in your head. “That’s a very demanding little jellyfish I’ve got in my arms.”

You puffed your cheeks out, swaying slightly as you jabbed his chest again—less threatening this time, more like a tiny pat. “M’serious, Raf… you must display your undying love for me… with lots of kisses, or else…”

“Or else?” He arched a brow, humor dancing in his gaze.

You went quiet for a second, blinking dramatically as if searching for the most terrifying thing imaginable. Then, with complete sincerity, you whispered, “Or else… I’ll… I’ll steal all the blankets tonight. All of them.”

That broke him. His laugh was warm and unguarded, head tipping back before he looked down at you again with that tender fondness that made your chest ache. “Such a travesty,” he teased, drawing the words out like he was genuinely horrified. “Guess I’ll have to save myself before it’s too late.”

You nodded solemnly, as if this was a sacred bargain. “Mhmm… with many kisses.”

He hummed, leaning down to press a gentle one to your forehead, then another at the tip of your nose, making you squeak a laugh. He trailed one more over the corner of your lips, lingering just enough to make your breath catch. “Does this appease the mighty her majesty?”

You wiggled in his arms, pretending to think very hard before nodding again, giggling into his shoulder. “For now… but I’ll need more later.”

Rafayel chuckled low in his chest, the sound rumbling through you as he tightened his hold and began carrying you down the hall. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured fondly, pressing another kiss into your hair as you hummed happily, your threats of jellyfish stings and stolen blankets fading into sleepy giggles against him.

You crack one eye open, groaning as you peel yourself off the bed and shuffle to the door, wrapped in your blanket like a sad little burrito. Your voice comes out scratchy and uncertain.

“...Zayne?”

When you ease the door open, you find him standing there, looking irritatingly perfect in his after-work clothes. His sleeves are rolled up, tie loosened just slightly, and in his hands is a white plastic bag giving off the heavenly scent of something warm and savory.

“Hello.” He says gently, his eyes softening when he sees you. “How are you feeling?”

You blink at him, puffy-eyed and disheveled, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like a cape.

“Like I got hit by a really polite truck.” You step aside so he can come in, suddenly self-conscious of the state of your apartment, the shoes scattered by the door, the half-empty ginger ale can on the coffee table, the hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch.

He sets the bag down on the counter and turns to look at you, clinical and calm, like he’s about to make a diagnosis.

“Given your weight, height, and the fact that you rarely eat before going out, I estimate your blood alcohol level hit zero about two hours ago.” His tone is maddeningly matter-of-fact. “Which means your hangover symptoms are currently at their peak.”

You give him a flat look. “Thanks, doctor.”

“I am your primary care physician,” he reminds you with the faintest lift of an eyebrow.

You groan, sliding into the nearest stool by the counter as he begins unpacking the contents of the bag. A large container of soup, a packet of crackers, and a neon-coloured sports drink that would normally make you cringe.

“This will help.” He pops the drink open and sets it in front of you. “Small sips.”

You stare at it for a moment, then take a tentative sip. To your surprise, it doesn’t make your stomach rebel.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you mumble, touched and a little guilty. He’d worked late last night, then somehow still found time to come get your drunk self home safely. And now he’s here again, sleeves rolled up, stirring soup like this is just what he does.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says simply, as if that’s explanation enough.

“You could’ve just called.”

He pauses for half a second, barely long enough for most people to notice, but you know him. The delay means something. As if the idea of only calling hadn’t even occurred to him.

“I do house calls all the time,” he replies, turning back to the stove. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Do house calls always come with chicken soup and lemon-lime electrolyte drinks?” you ask, arching a brow.

He glances at you, and then, finally, lets the corners of his mouth tug upward in the smallest, warmest smile.

“That’s a perk reserved for you.”

Your chest gives a funny little squeeze. Despite the throb in your head and the dryness in your throat, you find yourself smiling, too. Not just because of the soup. Not just because of the drink. But because of him.

Because Zayne always shows up.

A laugh. Low and lethal and so fucking amused. Sylus doesn’t pause. He leans in even closer, teeth graze your neck. “Cum?” he echoes. “Oh kitten… You’re asking me about anatomy…now?” You nod. His eyes glint.

“Dearest. I could tell you… or I could show you.” Doesn’t give a clear answer. Does double the damage instead. He keeps whispering wrong answers in your ear while giving you backshots like

“Actually… it’s stored in the left knee.”

“Comes from the soul, you see.”

“Whoopss! You activated my cum chakra.”

You start laughing mid-orgasm and he lives for it. You don’t ask again. You don’t remember how to ask again. The next day he asks you to ask it again while you’re giving him head(:

And here comes the case of merboi “I thought this was sex not jeopardy” Rafayel. He blinks. Mid-moan. Then he bursts out laughing. Full-body, thigh-slapping, unhinged giggles. “Is it—stored in the balls?? CUTIE??” Still thrusting. Still laughing. “Babe? .. babyy no for rea—” then he catches on

“Riiight. We’re doing roleplay today,” he chuckles, rolling his hips deeper. “You ever bomb an oral exam? No? Cool. Let’s test that.” He stops and cups your face all serious now “lucky for you, I’m a generous tutor. Now sush and focus, cutie! There will be a written part.” Yep. You know what that means. Cum + artsy boy = messy aftercare. Voila: he draws a dick in the cum. It’s… kinda realistic ngl. He begs pleasepleaseplease to take a photo. It turns into a whole photo shoot. Feather boa. Your ass. A sheepskin rug. Periodttt.

Xavier’s hips moves slow, eyes closed, sex god incarnate and not only because he has a huge dick (it’s canon don’t try me). Until you whisper it like you’re not in the middle of being wrecked. One eye opens. There’s a pause. The kind of pause that says Xavier is deciding whether to finish or… finish brutally.

Then he grabs your hips tighter. Keeps going. “…You’re doing this on purpose.” Hand around your throat. Very gentle. Very calm. Very yum. “You want me to lecture you while I fuck you?”

You nod, kinda giggling. He hums. Adjusts his rhythm to youwontwalkstraighttomorrow gear. Stays all calm and collected in between thrusts: “Fine. Sperm. Is produced. In the testes. Stored in. The epididymis. You’re. Welcome.”

You learn. You ascend. Later like waaaay later, when you’re sprawled across him panting and split in half: “Fun fact,” he breathes against your collarbone, “the average male produces 1500 sperm per second…” Flips you. “Hope you like math.” (Important factor: Dude’s not average.)

Ringring! Hello this is theshutthefuckupline, Zayne speaking. Cause he freezes. Like proper freeze. Looks at you like you’re a ghost of medical incompetence and then he remembers you’re also a demon.

“No.”

Your lips part. He covers your mouth with two fingers like a parent silencing a tantrum, shakes his head. You grin. He narrows his eyes.

“Don’t. Start.”