Hydranian

∘₊✧ Sierra Six

Six holds you down with his big, strong hands. He talks you through it, firm but quiet, his whispered voice cracking under the strain of how turned on he is — but he won’t pay any attention to his own needs when you haven’t experienced this before and he gets to be the first to show you such pleasures. There’s something about the responsibility of it that thrills him endlessly. No one will ever do it as good as him, and he wants to make damn sure you know that. He makes you feel completely secure, but also like there’s only one way to end this, and that’s you cumming over and over on his tongue and fingers until he’s satisfied he’s taught you enough of how good it can feel. He doesn’t even care whether you’re coherent enough to see to his needs after, that’s unimportant right now — he just wants to make you feel good.

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∘₊✧ Holland March

Holland smirks when he finds out you’ve never been eaten out before. Not because it’s funny, but because he’s smug. And why is he so smug, you might ask? Because this is where Holland really gets the chance to shine. He’s very good with his hands, but depending on how much he’s had to drink or how distracted he is by a case or how his grief is hitting him that day, his dick doesn’t always work the way he wants it too. It’s complicated. But he still always wants to satisfy you, so get his head between your legs, with a last puff of his cigarette for good luck, the smoke swirling over your glistening folds, and he goes to town. And he won’t stop until your fingers are tugging at his hair and your thighs are clamped around his head for at least the second or third time. You’ll never feel anything like Holland’s tongue. It’s magic.

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∘₊✧ Lars Lindstrom

Lars is nervous, because it’s his first time, too. But he’s glad you’re on this journey of intimacy together, and the trust he has for you surpasses any worries he might feel about getting it wrong or simply not being good at it. More than anything, Lars wants to please you, so when he dips between your thighs, careful fingers brushing over your slicked skin, he uses his fingers to expose your clit and leans in, starting slow. But god is it heavenly. His tongue is so delicate, so precise, he has you gripping the bedsheets in tight fists, crying out his name as he laps carefully but perfectly at your bundle of nerves. Your back arches as he changes pace, tries different pressures and directions… oh he’s a natural and you would beg for him to do this again — only you won’t need to because Lars gets a real taste for making you squirm for his tongue and his touch.

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∘₊✧ Ryland Grace

Ryland considers your inexperience with receiving oral sex carefully before he makes a move in that direction. He doesn’t consider you an experiment, but he likes to keep track of exactly how to please you, and experiment with what works, and therefore what else might satisfy you. He’s obsessed with your pleasure. He knows you love his fingers, that you’d have him pumping his thick middle finger into your soaked pussy knuckle deep every single night if you could, and he always obliges when the time comes. So he starts there, fucking into you with those precise fingers, using exactly the right formula to get you off so good. But just as he gets you going this time, he stops. Expecting your protest, he nervously brings his slick coated finger to his mouth and sucks it clean, moaning around it, his eyes sliding shut. ‘Mmh… please can I taste you?’ he begs, long eyelashes fluttering under your surprised gaze. ‘I’ve done the math and I think you’ll like it...’ And really, how could anyone say no to that? 

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∘₊✧ Colt Seavers

Making out with Colt is always messy. Sex is messy. When he’s lost in kissing you, it’s sloppy and needy — and while sloppy would usually equate to gross, this is anything but. Colt’s handsy and passionate and his hair is always a mess by the end of the night (as is yours thanks to him), he licks and he bites (gently), and there are clothes strewn all over multiple rooms. You can’t even remember half the positions you’ve been in because it’s so fluid and free with him; he finds it exhilarating to pleasure you and just lets all the tensions of life go when he’s buried inside. So the thought of being the first to make you unravel with his tongue has him particularly excited. He’ll take you for a romantic drive, finding somewhere to demonstrate a few donuts, park up looking pleased with himself and kiss you fiercely, then check it’s okay before eating you like a starved man. You’ll have one foot on the steering wheel, the other leg hooked over his shoulders, underwear lost somewhere in the footwell that he’ll find tomorrow. But right now your pussy is all he’s interested in and he’s starved of it.

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∘₊✧ Driver

As if his kisses aren’t sensual enough, Driver’s oral skills don’t stop at getting you both close to orgasm  (or in some cases for him, reaching orgasm) with just his tongue brushing against yours. So imagine his face when you’re making out, hot and heavy, and he begins to press his lips to your neck, unfasten your shirt, push lower… and as you realise where he’s headed you breathe out, ‘Wait- I’ve never done this before-’ Driver freezes, tilts his head up at you, and his sparkling eyes widen for a moment. He tilts his head and you know it’s a silent question; Do you want to? You nod. He resumes. And let’s just say he’s not the only one cumming hard while his lips are on you tonight.

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∘₊✧ Henry Letham

Henry takes his time. He’s in no hurry. He asks casually if you’ve ever cum on somebody’s tongue before and when you say no, he just looks away, thoughtful. ‘You wanna?’ he asks after another drag of his cigarette, still not looking at you while he waits patiently for your answer. And when it comes, affirming that you do want to, with him, he huffs out some vague acknowledgement, stubs out the remainder of his cigarette, faces you, and with the most gentle hands, lays you back. He removes your clothes like he’s making a work of art just by revealing your body, and his lips on your bare skin are hungry and desperate and filled with passion for this particular piece. He fingerfucks you first, preparing you as he watches your pussy take his slim digits, licking his lips before leaning in and finishing you with the most thorough strokes of his tongue. He slows as you breathe through the aftershocks, and then he sits back in his previous position against the wall, pants feeling a little tighter, leaving you to recover beside him as he lights up again. You’re dying to know what he’ll ask you next.

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∘₊✧ Luke Glanton

Luke wants you to feel special, as special as you are to him. He wants you, of course, but he also wants to make sure you feel ready. So after riding around on his motorbike, legs and arms clamped around his hips and chest, the vibration of the engine hitting your core in a way you didn’t expect, he can sense you’re turned on. He pulls over somewhere desolate, kneels beside his parked bike and pulls you around to face him, perched on the seat, before spreading your legs with his rough hands, pushing your underwear aside and burying his head under your skirt. It’s not long until you’re rutting back against his tongue, one hand tangled in his bleach blonde hair as the other grips the seat of his bike that you’re only half sitting on now, to keep yourself tethered. He comes up to kiss you when you’ve come undone for him; you taste so good he can’t keep it to himself. And then you ride back off into the night together.

Ryland Grace was becoming a problem.

His gloriously unruly hair, round-glasses that always sat so perfectly on his nose in the most unorthodox ways possible. His faded stubble struck a deep compulsion within you, all too tempted to scratch your fingers along his jaw just to see what it would feel like.

His well-fitted blazers, the under-shirts with the first few buttons undone, the collar folding over as if he’d spent hours perfecting its position. On the odd occasion, he’d shift his arm a little too quickly, accidentally allowing a brief glance at his torso that had your breath catching in your throat.

Ever since the first day you arrived, you knew that avoiding him was mandatory; for your dignity, sanity and usually immovable matter of professionalism.

A quick shake of his hand, a simple introduction, lead to your head being smushed firmly against your desk; screaming into the wood like a teenage girl with a crush, still feeling the linger of his touch despite his absence.

It was a complicated task to ignore Ryland, between sharing a staff room, sharing a malfunctioning coffee brewer, and just general teacher normalities, he was never far away. His presence constantly looming over you, sucking the air from your body.

To make matters worse, he was always so friendly, ready to talk to just about anyone who’d listen, but as soon as his eyes landed on you — you’d rush out of the room, knowing all too well that he was thinking over how to strike up an unrelated conversation.

Thankfully, grading papers provided a significant distraction. Especially after school hours, where the halls were empty, classrooms quiet. It was an ideal haven to process the day.

A soft knocking came at the door, before it clicked open; creaking slightly in its wake, revealing an all too familiar figure stood in the door when you looked upward in curiosity.

Ryland leant suavely against the doorway, propping the heavy door open with just his foot as he peered over at you through the top of his glasses.

Your feet screamed at you to run away, itching to relieve yourself of the situation, but this was your classroom. As much as you wanted to avoid him, running out of your own classroom would just be odd, and he was ever so conveniently blocking the exit.

“Guess I’m not the only one who stays late anymore, huh?”

‘Shit. Shit. Shit’ You repeated to yourself over and over again, brain working at a remarkable pace to try and magic a response out of thin air.

“I can go, if you want.”

If it wasn’t for his lingering presence in the room, you’d have smashed your head against the desk, rationalising the pain as punishment for being such an idiot.

“That’s not…what I meant.” He sounded confused, almost apprehensive as he entered the room; letting the door click softly behind him.

Your heart leapt into your throat as he neared, situating himself just at the end of your desk to just stare at you. His gaze was curious, head tilting ever so slightly, clearly lost in his own thoughts as his large hand planted firmly against the desk.

“Do you mind me using your photocopier? Mine’s broken.” He quizzed politely, gesturing to the machine at the back of the room with his free-hand, turning his body ever so slightly.

His arm shifted. That means— Oh god, don’t look.

“That’s fine.” You breathed out urgently, now snapping your head to focus on the pile of papers beneath you. Your eye had almost started to twitch, merely thinking about his presence in the room.

Something about it was unsettling, like he had another meaning to be shuffling around in your classroom. A very specific tension hung thick in the air, though you weren’t sure if it was just your imagination, with your gaze far too tempted to fall on his back.

“Oh, this is different from mine.” He let out an awkward laugh as you looked upwards, his head craning around to look at you. “Do you mind coming over here? I don’t wanna disturb you, I just— I don’t know how to work this thing.”

His words felt like a trap, one that you were currently walking towards, essentially welcoming it with open arms; feet still screaming at you to run in the other direction.

Now standing next to him, you fiddled with the photocopier, trying your best to push all the necessary buttons whilst you recollected your thoughts. Though Ryland didn’t make it easy, his gaze burning into the side of your head as you hunched over the machine.

“I thought you were some sort of scientist, Dr Grace.”

Your tone was teasing, successfully cramming your panic somewhere deep inside as you tried to mingle like your normal, functioning peers.

You weren’t really sure what came over you, chalking it up to a desire to prosper in an otherwise difficult situation. At least you were good under pressure.

Ryland noticed your switch, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again with a slow nod as he appeared to analyse every inch of your face.

“I’m a molecular biologist. Not a photocopier-ologist.” He fired back playfully, slotting his paper gently between the scanner, his long fingers lingering on the material longer than necessary.

Or, your brain was just picturing his every move in slow-motion, almost in compensation for how fast your brain was whirring.

“Is this not made of molecules?” You laughed quietly.

Ryland hummed in amusement.

“You’re good.” He praised in a way that almost had your knees buckling, the ground threatening to give way beneath you. His tone was sickeningly sweet, he even sounded a little proud at your remark, his hand now coming to rest against his hip.

You shrugged in response, offering a humble smile, fluttering your eyes closed for just a second.

When you opened them again, Ryland felt somewhat closer to you. Maybe he’d always been that close. No, no, he was definitely closer now.

“So, do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Oh.

Every possible response left you, your smile dropping instantly as you awkwardly glanced around the room.

“Avoiding you?” You managed to choke out a disgruntled laugh. “I haven’t been—“

He peered at you over his glasses again, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘Really?’. His expression set your skin on fire, deep in the eye of the storm. The storm being the most pleasant scrutiny of your life.

He should really take up a part-time role in interrogation, just the mischievous glint in his eye was nearly coaxing you into revealing your deepest secrets.

“You’re talking to me like I’m one of your students.” You tried to joke once more as your feet carried you back to your desk, but Ryland wasn’t falling for it — swiftly following behind you as you began cramming your belongings into your bag.

“No, I’m talking to you gently. There’s a difference.” He informed simply, watching as your hands struggled with the zipper of the bag; now panicked as you tried to rearrange the folders in your bag that were blocking the zipper.

“Well. Why are you talking to me so gently?” You were exasperated now, fingers tugging all too hard at the zipper that was now stuck half-way open.

“Just feels right.”

Your heart was hammering against your chest, giving one final push of adrenaline as you tugged the zipper, letting out a relieved sigh when it fully closed.

You weren’t even sure if he fully knew what his words implied, treating you as if you were a precious piece of porcelain that threatened to crack at any moment. But oddly, not in a condescending manner, in fact you suspected it was rather endearing.

“I have to get home now.” You slung your bag over your shoulder as Ryland watched you with knowing eyes, you were bolting, like usual.

However, this time, Ryland didn’t think too much of it. The whole interaction had given him all the information he needed to know, mentally storing it away for a later date.

“I’ll, uh… see you tomorrow!” You called out, waving a quick goodbye before practically sprinting out of the room. But, his voice stopped you.

“Will you?”

You turned to him reluctantly, feet frozen in place as he approached; his frame reaching to tower over you. He let out a quiet laugh, curiously awaiting your response to his remark.

“Probably, yes!” You spoke a little too quickly, a hand coming to awkwardly rub at the back of your neck, as if it was going to provide some sense of relief from the situation.

His silence made it hard to remain quiet.

“Maybe I’ll even start a conversation. Who knows really?” Your gaze was now fixed at your feet, not daring to look up at the expression on his face.

Ryland laughed again. “Well, I look forward to finding that out.”

You nodded once as confirmation, choosing to remain quiet now, since nothing good had come from you opening your mouth in the past 30 minutes. You span around on your heels, now rushing yourself out of the building.

“Get home safe.”

“Yep! You too!” You kept your head straight, turning the corner with an unfathomable urgency so that you were finally out-of-view.

That night, you flopped down onto your bed; letting out a far too normal, relentless squeal into your pillow, effectively muting the sound so as not to receive any noise complaints.

And with the impending threat of talking to Ryland significantly more looming over you…

You were pretty sure it wasn’t the last time you’d be in this position.