Bingo?

You’ve been trying to kiss him all night, trying to get him to do something. And while he enjoys the contact, he’s just very very close to being complete with his Review of Related Literature. After one last draft, he’d be done for the weekend.

“Rylandddd.” You wrap your arms around him, working hard to pull his mouth to yours.

This time, he finally relents, letting you taste his lips after hours of effort. And he loves it. Ravishes in how your arms tighten around him, the way you set his laptop aside so you can climb on his lap.

You’ve always been so shy. His sweet, shy girl. Barely initiating, and always blushing when he does. So, when you’re needy like this, he relishes every second of it.

“Not mad?” You’re still on his lips, so your words come out in a mumble. Your boyfriend easily annoys when he’s distracted from his work. You need to make sure he isn’t annoyed at you.

“Surprisingly not.”

It entices you, excites you as you dive back to keep nipping at his lower lip. He likes you like this. Likes how your fingers feel tightening around his biceps to keep him close. Likes how you roll your hips desperately against his clothed cock.

“Naughty girl.” Ryland pulls back, and you’re already trying to chase after his lips, eyes drooped and tunnelvisioned on his mouth. You only whine when you feel him bury his hands on the dip of your hips, halting your movements. “What is it you need, hm?”

“Ryy. Please. Please. Please.”

The words are desperate when they leave your mouth, your fingers transferring from his biceps to his hands on your hips to try and pry them off. You were starting to feel so good.

“Use your words.” He whispers against your ear, rough and raspy and so fucking dirty.

“Ryyyyy.”

You’re still shy, still unable to tell him what you need from him but Ryland wants to hear it so bad. Wants to hear you say you want him to fuck you, to use you.

“Words.”

One of his hands moves to bring your wrists together when you keep trying to pry wordlessly. “Don’t upset me, baby. You’re already on thin ice.”

His free hand traces your mouth, which is slightly open and trying to form the words he wants you to say. He sends a love tap against your cheek, encouraging you to tell him exactly what you need from him.

“Want you.” You whisper, eyes trailing down at his own lips before bringing your attention back to his eyes that are already looking down your loose top. His tongue moves over his lower lip as he drags a finger down your own bottom lip, stretching it out.

He wants nothing more than to shove his fingers in your mouth. “Be specific.”

“Want you to fuck me. Please.”

His hips buck up at the lewdness of your words, at how you’re so desperate for him to fuck you and fill you up. At the sight of your mouth forming those words, the sound of your sweet voice in sharp contrast with the filthy things you’re begging from him.

“You want me to fuck you? You’ll let me have you?”

“Please, please, please, please. Fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

He releases your hands, and it’s instant the way you latch your lips back on his. How you mimic your movements from earlier, trying desperately hard to create friction. How you pull at his shirt, tugging at it to let him know you want him to take it off.

“What did I tell you about using your words?” Ryland moans against your mouth, one finger hooking at the band of your shorts to pull them down your legs.

“Take it off, Ry, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” His shirt is immediately discarded, taking yours with it.

Ryland lets his eyes roam over you for a moment, at the cute matching underwear you’re wearing for him, at how you’re still grinding against him desperately. Almost needy. His cock twitches at the sight of you and your fucked out eyes and your swollen lips from kissing him so harshly a few minutes ago.

And you’re so fucked out that you don’t process how he’s suddenly left the bed, at how he’d pulled you by the legs and dragged you by the foot of the bed, at how he’s hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down your legs. He’s moving so slow, and you can’t help squirm at his pace. It’s exactly what he wants you to do.

He’s stood there, one hand stroking his hard cock at the sight of your squirming cunt while his other hand blindly fishes out for a condom in his drawer.

You’re getting more and more impatient as he works the condom down his cock, and you’re whining and being such a brat, and Ryland loves it. He loves the breath of relief that leaves your mouth in between your little moans when he finally hovers over you.

One of your hands grip at his arm when he moves to remove his glasses, and you’re shaking your head desperately. “No, no. Keep them on. I want them on.”

“Oh, you want me to keep my glasses?” He smirks, pushing it up his nose as you whimper at the sight of him above you, and how close his cock is from your heat. “What do you say when you want something?”

“Please.”

You’re pulling at his arm, bucking your hip to try and feel him. And you almost moan out when he finally reaches down to grip his cock, when he finally guides himself to press his tip against throbbing cunt. “Yes, yes, yes.”

God, he almost comes at your desperation, almost comes when he pushes himself deeper and you moan out so loud, so pretty. The sounds he’s making as he pushes himself in and out of you makes your cheeks turn pink, makes you wetter, makes you louder. And, the glasses do eventually fall off from how hard he’s fucking you.

“This what you wanted, huh?” His voice is rough, breath hot against your ears, and you can do nothing but repeatedly switch between ‘yes’ and ‘please’.

A very limited vocabulary as you’re so fucked out by the pleasure.

It only encourages him, fucking into you harder as you close your eyes shut at the overwhelming pleasure that’s filling you. You’re pulling at his hair and gripping his back and clawing at him and your hands and mouth can’t behave as he fucks you.

“God, your pussy feels so good around me. Open wider baby, I know you can do that for me. Be a good girl.” He grunts.

Ryland is a loud man during sex, whimpering and moaning into you just as much as you are. “You’re so sexy when you’re needy, baby. Fuuuh. So good.”

He’s still fucking into you, hard and fast. And when his eyes aren’t closed, they’re scanning your pretty face and the way your tits bounce after every thrust.

Your moans start to muffle when he drops his head down to kiss you as he keeps thrusting, keeps fucking you. And you’re so full of pleasure that you’re ill-prepared for the feeling of his other hand reaching down to your clit. The pressure of his length and his fingers together make you come around him, and Ryland whimpers at the way your pussy suddenly clenches around his cock.

“That’s it. That’s it, baby. So pretty and perfect letting me use you like this.”

He quickens his pace, hands gripping at your hips as he fucks himself into you until he finally comes, cock twitching inside of you as his hips stutter. He doesn’t draw out immediately, lets his cock keep filling you up even when you’re both trying to recover.

You’re breathing so heavily. Erratic. And he only pulls out after pressing a sweet kiss on your lips, letting himself drop down beside you on the bed.

His only saving grace is you, another agent who he works with on his rare duo missions. You’re just about the only other single person in the entirety of the DSO—that’s what it feels like. Sometimes, you two will sit at events and roll your eyes at people showing off their partners. Then an awkward silence after of a silent agreement ‘cause you both know you’re just envious.

“Do you think we can call in sick?” Leon sighs as you both sit in your hotel room before you have to leave for an event. This ceremony thingy-bullshit is a bigger, more nationwide one that your boss sent you both to. One room, but two beds, at least. Cheapskates knew you didn’t have significant others and didn’t bother with privacy.

“I mean, prolly… but we lowkey might get flamed,” you reply. He leans against the doorway of the bathroom as he watches you do your makeup. The pretty, long dress you have on is a far cry from the tactical gear he usually pairs you with. Both looks are hot as hell, he definitely can’t deny that. He’ll just tuck that secret in his pocket for now.

“Well, hurry up. Maybe we can show up and leave as quick as possible,” he says as he checks his watch and pretends as if he didn’t just try to check you out. Not that it would be the first time.

Extremely unfortunately, you make it to the event, dreading every click of your heels against the marbled floors as you step inside. This one’s clearly expensive and fancy—that’s worse. The bar quickly becomes Leon’s victim. He lets you know he’ll get you a drink while you find them a spot at a table with an easy escape.

Well, he didn’t really expect to come back and find some guy hitting on you. He’s more curious than annoyed, but it’s there. This guy has the audacity to hit on a girl like you?

“Really? They flew you all the way out here, huh? So you’re pretty special,” this idiot smirks, thinking his blinding white teeth are gonna win you over. Leon can tell you’re irritated.

“Sure, you could say that,” you reply with pursed lips and your best disinterested voice. Your gaze shifts briefly to Leon standing behind him who looks amused. You’re only taking note of your drink that he’s holding.

“Well, special lady, would you maybe like to go to dinner with me somewhere more… private?” He lowers his tone leaning in a little, thinking he’s smooth as hell.

“Uh… no, y’know my schedule’s kinda full…” you shake your head, using that very obvious rejection tone. If he hasn’t taken the hint already, he has to take it now, right?

“Okay, no date. Maybe just uh… a night together?”

Nope. You were stupid to think a man would ever take a hint.

His tone makes it obvious what he’s asking, he wants his head under your dress. He says it like he knows you’ll say yes.

“Oh, I’m celibate, actually,” you smile tersely. He gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Really? A pretty girl like you isn’t interested in sex?” He raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer as if that’s gonna fix your supposed virginity. “I find that hard to believe, sweetheart.”

“Ah, too bad. Really sucks when not every living female wants to fuck you, huh?” You can’t help but mock, returning the raised brow. “Afraid it’s just gonna be you and your fist tonight.”

He scoffs, trying not to look as offended as he clearly feels. He finally seems to take the hint. “God, some special lady you are,” he grumbles, pushing off the chair he was leaning on and giving you a look before disappearing.

“Celibate? Really?” Leon chuckles when he finally gets to talk to you again, holding out a glass of wine for you. He knows first hand that you're just about the opposite of celibate. You’ve been out drinking together multiple times… one thing leads to another.

“Just a white lie, cant hurt,” you shrug with equal amusement. You finally sit down at your carefully scouted table right next to the exit for a quick, uninterrupted escape.

The rest of the night is as boring as you expected, but a couple more glasses of wine gets you through it. The millisecond you receive your awards—some bullshit that you don’t even think needs to be awarded—you and Leon are out of there. You’ve never been more happy to see your hotel room.

Taking your time undressing and relaxing for a while, eventually you turn in for sleep. You’re even wearing your cute silky set, all curled up under the sheets. And clutching them tightly. It’s literally freezing.

“Mmh, Leon…” you mumble, trying desperately to warm yourself up. You look over your shoulder at his bare back turned to you on the other side of the room. When did he take his shirt off? “Are you awake?”

After hearing a quiet grunt, you continue. “Are you cold? I’m freezing.”

“No. ‘S hot as hell,” he grumbles. He waits for you to say something else, and just as he’s about to offer you all his sheets, he hears shuffling from your bed. A moment later, he feels the mattress dip behind him and turns over to see you kneeling on the bed and inviting yourself in.

“Y’don’t mind if we cuddle?” You murmur, slipping under the covers. He swallows as he sees your cute pajamas with the lace and he can already tell this isn’t gonna end with just cuddling. He wordlessly opens his arms up for you, wrapping them around you when you make yourself the little spoon.

He makes sure the sheets are pulled up over your shoulders, rubbing your arms and thighs underneath to try to warm you up. “Still cold?”

Well, not really. You're very hot now, actually, but you nod your head, mumbling yes.

“Want me to warm you up another way?” Leon offers, his voice quiet and rough in that way that sends a shiver down your spine. He rubs his nose against your neck, fingers brushing up under your shirt. How are you supposed to resist?

“Yeah,” you nod against the pillow, squirming slightly as he rubs your side—ticklish little thing. You help shift your legs as he pushes your shorts and panties down.

“There you go. I got you,” he murmurs, sliding his hand back up the inside of your thigh. He kisses the side of your neck as his fingers part your soft curls to get to your pussy. You can feel him smirk against your skin when he feels how wet you are.

“Doesn’t feel very cold to me,” his warm digits spread your slick around, finding your clit with ease and gently circling it with his middle finger. You whine quietly, hands grabbing his forearm that’s around your waist.

You’re snug but not tight around his fingers, easily dipping them in your wet cunt and spreading you open. He shifts, almost draping himself over you to “keep you warm” as he fingers your needy little pussy and gets you nice and ready for him.

“Oh, Leon, right there,” you whisper into the pillow as he makes sure the heel of his hand is rubbing against your clit as he adds a third finger. Your hips lightly rock against his palm, your brows pulled into that soft crease that makes you look fucking adorable.

“Look at you, going around telling people you’re abstinent and yet you’re crawling into my arms,” Leon teases gently, curling his fingers in a slow, languid way that makes your spine straighten and your breath catch.

Just as you’re mumbling about getting close and about to cum, he takes his hand away with a kiss to your shoulder beside the strap of your top. You whine, but he turns you around in his arms with one of those dumb smirks.

“C’mon, girly, you’re on top tonight. Show me how celibate you claim you are, hm?” He taunts, bringing you with him as he rolls into his back, big hands on your soft hips.

“Ugh, how did I let you talk me into this? Didn’t we say we’d stop after last time?” You complain as you settle your hands on his bare chest, your naked hips lazily grinding against the tent in his pajama pants.

“We both know we can’t stop. ‘Sides, I barely talked to you, just tried to warm you up,” he grunts as you start dry humping him, rough hands sliding down your scarred thighs. Rubs his thumbs over the small, raised lines before giving you a light slap on the ass.

“Get going, princess. You’re slow,” he says with fake impatience, staring up at you with that cheesy smirk. You roll your eyes but start to pull down his sweats and boxers anyway.

Your hips shift restlessly with need as you grip his hard cock, giving it a couple light strokes before positioning yourself above him. With your eyes on your movements, you hold him still as you slowly sink down on him with a low, gravelly moan.

“Mmh—fuck, there you go. Hug me so nice,” he sighs with a grunt of your name as he watches you. You sit there on his cock, looking up at him expectantly. This is usually the part where he takes over again and holds you hips while he thrusts up into you.

He simply returns the look. Asshole. What happened to chivalry?

You sigh dramatically, your knees on either side of his waist as you find leverage with your hands behind you on his hard, strong thighs. You don’t usually do this part.

You suck in a breath, lifting yourself up a bit, and then back down with a soft moan. Up and down, up and down, grinding softly against him and keeping eye contact.

But it’s just not the same! Even as you keep up a nice rhythm, your soft moans getting louder and your grip getting tighter, he’s not deep enough. Not hitting the spots he usually gets.

“Leon, c’mon… it’s better when you do it,” you sigh as your hands come back to the front, tracing his abs as you do your damn best riding his cock. He simply stares, amused as his hands rub up and down your thighs.

“…Leon,” you say more firmly this time, hoping you can chastise him into fucking you. It doesn’t work, and you’re getting impatient. You groan dramatically, circling your hips as you lock your eyes on his. “Leon, just fuck me already! Fuck me hard!”

He can’t help but laugh. It gets him going to see you all frustrated, as much as he hates it when you’re anything but happy. Anyway, who’s he to deny you? His hands slides up to your hips, pausing to grope your ass before firmly planting themselves above your thighs.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before lifting you up and then pulling you back down to meet his thrust. A moan slips from both of you this time as your fingers dig into his bare chest.

“Mmh, fuck yeah Leon,” you groan, leaning back so you can see his face a bit better. Not for long, ‘cause then he pounds into you hard enough to pull out a high-pitched whine and make you throw your head back with pleasure,

“God, fuckin’ love that, don’t you? You can’t even ride me properly. Always need my help,” he grunts as his hips jump to meet yours every single time. He always scolds you in that sickly sweet voice that has your pussy dripping.

“Oh—mph! Right there—yeah, nail my shit, just like that,” you say breathlessly, your head dropping to his chest as one of your hands snakes beneath you to find your clit. A half moan-half growl slips from your lips as your back arches deliciously, teetering right on the edge.

“Jesus, cumming already? Needed it bad, did you?” He murmurs as he trails gentle, contradicting kisses compared to his rough thrusts against your shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.”

It’s hard to hear his words over the squeaking of the bed and your own moans. Almost forgot you were in a hotel—no, you definitely did forget. That’s not what’s crossing your mind right now, though. You’re too busy crossing the finish line. Moaning his name, your fingers still on your clit as i grinds up into you to help you ride it out.

“That’s it, girly. Good girl,” Leon mumbles in your ears, rolling your hips against his pelvis. Once he’s decided you've had enough rest, he gently manhandles you onto your back, quickly pushing your legs up and squishing your knees against your tits as he gets right back to work.

His hands grip the backs of your thighs, his fingertips denting into the plush skin as he pounds into your pussy. His voice leaves him in harsh grunts and satisfied groans, his gaze fixed on his cock coming in and out of your soft cunt.

“Y-Y’know… how much it pissed me off… when that guy was flirting with you?” Leon grunts through gritted teeth, almost like he was trying to keep it back.

“Fuck… yeah?” You question through your sex haze. You guys don’t really talk about other people, or your feelings. Especially not towards each other. So to have him essentially admit that he’s jealous.

“Yeah, princess. Couldn’t believe he thought he had a chance with… you,” his words come out a little slurred—he always talks too much when he gets close. You whine softly, the jealousy woven in his voice making your insides quiver.

His hands grip tighter on your thighs, not enough to bruise but definitely no less than firm. He leans over you a bit, putting a little more of his weight on top of you as he fucks you harder. He barely manages to remember he didn’t use a condom, whining pathetically as he uses all the forces of his self restraint to pull out.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” he whispers under his breath, one big hand pushing your thighs together as he strokes himself with the other. You make sure you’ve got a front row seat to see his brows furrowed and your name falling helplessly from his lips.

Leon moans your name, his head falling back as he finally pours his hot, sticky cum all over the backs of your thighs. Rope after rope lands on the soft flesh, making him moan a little more as he squeezes as much as he can out of the tip. You look so pretty like that, he’d take a picture if he knew you wouldn’t kill him.

“Oh god… so perfect, sweetie. Did so well,” he mumbles lazily stroking himself a little longer before letting go. He smears a bit of jizz across your skin before bringing his thumb up to your mouth, letting you lick it off.

It takes a moment to recover with his thighs feeling like they’re on fire, but eventually he pats your hip and gets up. He finds a small towel in the bathroom and runs it under warm water to come clean you up. Once you have everything you need, he puts your panties back on and double checks that you're nice and cozy as his little spoon after a very abstinent night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The light wakes you up in the morning, streaming in through the thin curtains. You grumble, waking up and shaking Leon’s shoulder awake soon after. He kisses you and says thanks for last night, before the two of you return to your “normal friendly mission partners” routine.

Just as Leon closes the door behind you, about to head out to go home, you glance over at the sound of the persom in the next room over leaving as well.

The last thing you expected was to lock eyes with the man who tried to hit on you at the event, looking tired as hell, as if he didn’t get any sleep.

“…you didn’t sound very celibate to me.”

a/n: hi hope u enjoyed!! any notes always super duper appreciated 🙌

∘₊✧ Lars Lindstrom

Lars is big, but he doesn’t know since he has little to no frame of reference, plus no one’s ever seen him naked. He’s seen some racy clips from the porn that Kurt shows him, but the guys in those movies tend to be on the bigger side so Lars just thinks that’s the standard. 

He’s long and thick, uncircumcized, with a light trail of dark golden hair leading down over his lower belly to a natural little bush around the base where you’ll find his neatly tucked balls. He’s pretty too; pale and smooth – and flushes pink at the tip when he gets a little excited.

Lars finds blow jobs a little overwhelming sensory-wise, so more often prefers touching, either over clothes and dry humping, or soft, slow handjobs… until he gets needy and whiny and you move a little faster. It can take Lars some time to recover after an orgasm, the intense sensations staying in his body for a while after, so no matter how much he enjoyed himself with you, he can feel a little touched out – but he will eagerly go for another round of pleasuring you when he’s caught his breath. He has been known to cum untouched while eating you out.

∘₊✧ Driver

Driver is a grower. There is a subtle bulge in his jeans, but when he gets hard it’s frankly unavoidable.

He’s a decently neat size, with a very light amount of blonde hair around the base and well proportioned balls. When he gets hard, he’s a good six inches and girthy, but not intimidatingly so – he’d stretch you just right.

He doesn’t usually wear underwear, finding the sensory aspect of wearing under-layers too restricting when he’s driving and the friction of his jeans can sometimes feel really fucking good. Especially when you kiss him, or even just smile in his direction and he feels himself twitch inside the denim. It doesn’t take much to make him come undone, because he’s deliciously sensitive. He doesn’t mind how you pleasure him and he does have a short refractory period, so it doesn’t take long to go again if he spills too early, and when he does go again, he’s so needy and whiny and intense. He just falls apart with you.

∘₊✧ Colt Seavers

Colt is a monster and has been jokingly compared to a roll of three Coke cans. With the biggest dick of all the geese, he sometimes gets a little lightheaded when he gets a boner.

He’s handsomely thick, has pretty veins that are so sensitive to a gentle touch, and thick dirty-blonde hair at the base following on from a tempting trail.

For a blow job you’ll need both hands along with your mouth to take him completely. He has to take his time when he fucks you because the stretch can be… a lot. But once you’re prepared by his fingers and tongue, and he’s buried deep, he breathes out a low growl of, ‘Fuck you’re so tight baby-’ circling his hips painfully slowly to get you comfortable before he pounds into you.

∘₊✧ Ken

Ken is fascinated with his dick. Having recently gained one when permanently returning to the Real World as an ex-doll, he feels very proud of it.

It’s plastic-perfect, like a dildo that was made to look like a realistic cock. His new dick did come with a small amount of bleach-blonde hair, as neat as the rest of him. He’s perfectly proportioned, big enough to fill you, but not to hurt.

Ken has a great time learning how to jerk off. He also learns that his cum is pink and glittery (affectionately known as Glizz)! With you, he is eager to try anything and everything and has so many questions, and wants to learn everything there is to know about pleasure – yours and his. Ken is frankly insatiable, and will hump you at any time you’re left alone together.

∘₊✧ Henry Letham

Henry doesn’t think too much about sex, unless he’s with the right person who ignites that little flame of desire inside him just the right way. Then, he will get super invested, and jerking off will become a regular routine until you kiss him one day and take his breath away.

He is on the slightly smaller side, and that’s NOT a bad thing. He’s perfectly in proportion, fills you just right, and is pretty – in a sad way, just like him. He has never trimmed or shaved a day in his life, but he would if he thought you’d like it.

He is intense, and fucks you deep and thorough, never satisfied until you’ve come undone at least once – only then will he let himself really feel the pleasure you give him. Henry can take a while to get hard. Unless there’s a very specific kink at play that really gets him just right, he needs the emotional context behind the act to feel right. But he is an eager lover once he gets going, and will shed a tear or two when the resulting orgasm subsides.

∘₊✧ Holland March

Holland has a love-hate relationship with his schwanz. Sometimes it’s hard when he really could do without it, and other times it won’t cooperate.

He’s an impressive length. with an impressive bush of dark brown-blonde hair, and he knows how to use it. His balls are on the larger side and feel so heavy when he hasn’t cum for a while (he likes you to include them when you’re having fun down there).

Holland prefers handjobs to blow jobs because they feel more personal, and therefore more intense, and he is one for romance. He likes to watch you pleasure him, kiss you while you’re touching, feel the caress of your touch while you feel the throb of his desire. With his narrow hips, he’s incredibly skilled at getting the angle just right for you during sex, and making you feel full. You won’t only be full of his dick, though; Holland has hyperspermia, so when he cums, it goes on and on - it’s messy and sexy – copious amounts of his seed pump from his tip, prolonging his orgasm while you try to take it all. But you can’t ever quite manage to, and it will dribble out down your legs or over your chin. Handjob? Be prepared to both get covered in his release.

∘₊✧ Sierra Six

Six is as large as the rest of his body. He knows he’s big, and he’s quite proud of it, but he doesn’t try to impress you with that fact because he really thinks his dick can speak for itself when he’s hard.

He’s handsome, thick, curves up really beautifully when he’s hard, and when he’s had time he will groom his hair just a little bit, although that will get neglected when he’s busy.

Six likes you to take care of him so he can give up control, so he’s happy with whatever you want to do with him as long as you’re having a good time and taking away the prospect of any decision making. He can only do this, though, if he trusts implicitly, so you’re one of very few to ever see this vulnerable side of him and get free reign of how to pleasure him.

∘₊✧ Ryland Grace

Ryland is another Goose who is bigger than he knows, and he’s very modest about it – and about his abilities. He’s relatively inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t an enthusiastic lover.

His dick is thick, veiny in a very pretty way, natural hair at the base, and balls that hang just slightly lower than the other Geese.

Ryland moans LOUD. He’s kind of embarrassed about it, but when you touch him, he just melts into pure pleasure and can’t stop himself. He loves to guide you on his cock, sitting back against the headboard or in a chair while you ride him, with his big hands holding your hips in place as he fucks up into you. It’s a very safe way for him to feel a sense of control without taking it away from you completely. And he’s kind of easy to excite – a naughty text here and there will fluster him so much that you can’t send them while he’s at work. He’s hard and leaking from the lightest touch, and he will cum from a handjob in under a minute. But when he’s buried in you, he likes to draw out the pleasure, keeping you still as he essentially edges himself in your pussy.

∘₊✧ Luke Glanton

Luke takes a lot of pride in his body, and his cock is no exception. He wants to be the whole package for you, and his actual package is just delicious.

He is of average size, pale, and has pretty balls. He keeps his hair closely trimmed and there are tattoos down there that you get to discover when you undress him, like unwrapping a birthday present; your favorites are the little loveheart and the lipstick stain left by amorous lips, calling you to kiss him in that exact spot (you discover he moans when you do. He got the tattoo in that spot for a reason).

Luke is open to anything you want to try, and wherever, too – he will drive you to the middle of nowhere to have you suck him off against his bike in nature, or he will eat you out around the back of his trailer when you looked at him that particular way and he couldn’t wait to get you inside. His favorite sexual activity of all, though, is whatever feels the most intimate. He loves to be able to look into your eyes and cum simultaneously because it feels like such a close and special thing to share. He will lay around with you afterward, inevitably getting hard again pretty quickly while you’re laid in his arms talking and kissing, because it feels kinda romantic and he loves that.

Edit:

∘₊✧ Officer K

No close ups since it'll get flagged hhehehehe you'll have to click on it to see it better

oh my god if the pilots are fucking... who's flying mary 😧

Closer by NIN was a big inspo for this one and was on repeat a majority of the time 🫪🫪🫪

and suddenly his whole argument became significantly harder to defend. because what were the odds? seriously, what were the actual odds?

same morning, same book, same page. down to the exact same paragraph. sometimes he still thought about it. sometimes he still found himself smiling in the middle of nowhere because the memory would suddenly appear in his head uninvited.

ryland wasn’t trying to meet anyone that day. he wasn’t sitting in the little café because he was hoping for some life-changing romantic encounter.

he was there because it was saturday morning, he’d finished grading papers, and he wanted a hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll large enough to qualify as a geological formation.

that was all.

then you walked in, and suddenly his day became significantly more complicated. the first thing he noticed was that you were beautiful. ridiculously beautiful. the sort of beautiful that made people subtly look up from their laptops as you passed.

not because you were dressed extravagantly. quite the opposite, actually. a plain white shirt, black jeans that were perfectly tailored, looking damn near painted on, and a long coat.

nothing particularly remarkable.

yet somehow you carried yourself with an effortless grace that made the entire café seem slightly duller by comparison. ryland immediately looked back down at his book because staring would be weird. he was a grown man. a professional. he could absolutely handle the presence of one attractive woman.

easily. not a problem. then he looked up again. you were standing at the counter. the barista smiled, “what can i get started for you?”

“hot chocolate, please.”

ryland paused, interesting.

“and one cinnamon roll.”

the book nearly slipped out of his hands. what were the odds? he glanced towards his own table. towards the hot chocolate and the cinnamon roll. then back towards you.

you collected your receipt and stepped aside. ryland returned his attention to his book. clearly this meant nothing. people ordered hot chocolate. people ordered cinnamon rolls. these were normal foods. he was being ridiculous.

then a few minutes later he heard a chair move, ryland looked up, and nearly laughed, because out of every empty table in the café, you’d somehow chosen the one directly opposite his.

not next to him him, just facing him across the aisle. close enough that he could accidentally make eye contact, which unfortunately happened immediately. you smiled politely, and ryland smiled back, then looked down at his book so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. very smooth. ten out of ten social skills.

several minutes passed, the café hummed quietly around you. coffee machines, murmured conversations, the occasional clink of cups. ryland gradually relaxed, he became absorbed in his book again which was good. books didn’t make him nervous, they were predictable. then he turned a page, and happened to glance up. at exactly the same moment you turned a page.

he frowned slightly, …that seemed familiar. he looked down, then looked back up. you were reading the exact same book. the exact same edition. he squinted.

…surely not.

a moment later you looked up too, your eyes moved from his face to his book, then back to your own, then back to his. slowly you ask, “…is that?” you lifted your book.

ryland lifted his, and for a second both of you simply stared, then started laughing. “okay, that’s weird.” your smile widened. “that’s very weird.” ryland laughs.

“same book?”

“same book.”

“same edition?”

“same edition.”

you narrowed your eyes, “what page are you on?”

ryland turned the book slightly, you immediately burst out laughing because it was the same page, exactly the same page.

for a moment neither of you could stop smiling. the coincidence was too ridiculous. “that’s actually insane.” you laugh

“i know.”

you glanced towards his table, towards the hot chocolate, the cinnamon roll, then slowly looked at your own. ryland followed your gaze. both tables had exactly the same order. there was a long pause.

“okay.” you pointed, “now you’re messing with me.”

“i was about to say the same thing.”

“you copied me!”

“you hadn’t even walked in yet!”

“that’s exactly what somebody trying to cover their tracks would say.”

ryland laughed, it slipped out before he could stop it, and immediately your eyes brightened, like you’d been trying to make him laugh all along.

you stood, picked up your book, your drink, your cinnamon roll, then gestured towards the empty chair opposite him. “can i?”

ryland’s brain briefly stopped functioning, “yes.” too fast.

you sat down anyway, “well.” you set your things on the table, “either this is the strangest coincidence in human history…”

“or we’re the same person.” he says

you gasped dramatically, “that would explain a lot.”

“would it?”

“well, i already think i’m great.”

ryland laughed again, and immediately realised he was in trouble, because you were funny, which somehow made the whole situation worse. the conversation flowed effortlessly afterwards. normally ryland needed time to warm up around people, especially attractive people. especially women attractive enough to completely derail his train of thought. yet somehow talking to you felt easy, like continuing a conversation he’d already been having.

you discussed the book, argued about characters, disagreed over certain chapters, laughed about the increasingly ridiculous coincidence, and somewhere along the way ryland completely forgot to be nervous.

until he suddenly remembered how beautiful you were, then he got nervous again. you were in the middle of explaining why one particular character was obviously making terrible decisions when he found himself staring slightly too long.

not intentionally, just… looking. watching the way your eyes lit up when you spoke, watching the way your hands moved while explaining something, watching your smile.

you caught him, and he immediately wanted to disappear. “what?” you asked, smiling. “nothing.” a terrible lie.

you looked unconvinced, “you were staring.”

“i wasn’t!”

“you absolutely were.”

his ears immediately turned red, you noticed. your smile softened slightly, became warmer somehow, less teasing. “you’re cute.”

ryland forgot every word he’d ever learned.

you looked delighted by this development. “oh wow.” he covered his face.

you laughed, “that was easy.”

“please,” his voice emerged from behind his hands, “have mercy.” you laughed even harder. for the next hour neither of you touched your books because despite arriving as complete strangers, somehow the conversation never ran out. one topic became another, then another, then another.

until eventually the café started emptying around them and the afternoon sunlight had shifted across the windows. later, much later, ryland would tell people it was the coincidence he remembered most.

the same book, the same page, the same order, the same morning. but privately? that wasn’t entirely true. what he remembered most was the moment you smiled at him across that café table. because for a few wonderful hours, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen had felt strangely familiar.

like somebody he’d been looking forward to meeting long before either of you realised it.

what are the odds?

now, almost a year later, he was standing in front of a classroom full of thirteen-year-olds trying to explain how exactly he’d ended up dating one of the most famous women in the world.

a task that, frankly, was proving impossible, because the problem wasn’t that you were famous. it took him weeks to realise that, and months to fully understand it. the problem was that when ryland thought about you, fame never even made the list.

when other people saw you, they saw magazine covers, runways, photoshoots, interviews. the woman whose face appeared on billboards and advertisements and social media feeds.

ryland saw the woman who stole his hoodies, the woman who constantly forgot where she’d left her phone, the woman who cried at animal documentaries, the woman who always reached for his hand in crowded places without even thinking about it.

so when his students reacted as though a celebrity had just wandered into the room, part of him genuinely forgot why.

the entire situation had started because he’d forgotten his lunch. again. which wasn’t even remarkable, the remarkable thing would have been remembering it.

he’d left it on the kitchen counter while trying to answer three emails, grade assignments and determine whether his classroom snake was displaying signs of boredom.

so naturally he’d walked out without it, he hadn’t even realised until lunchtime, and apparently neither had you because otherwise you’d have texted him immediately. instead, halfway through fourth period, there was a knock at the classroom door.

ryland barely looked up. he was in the middle of explaining ecosystems. or attempting to. the lesson had somehow devolved into a debate about whether raccoons would survive an alien invasion. he wasn’t entirely sure how.

“come in,” he’d called absentmindedly, still writing on the whiteboard. then the room had gone completely silent which should have been his first warning. his kids were never silent. ever.

a meteor could crash through the roof and at least three of them would still be talking. the silence was so unusual that he finally turned around.

and there you were, standing in the doorway, smiling, holding a paper bag. for a moment his brain simply stopped working. not because of how beautiful you were, although you absolutely were. it was because he genuinely hadn’t been expecting you. you’d become such a normal part of his life that seeing you wasn’t surprising anymore. seeing you unexpectedly, however, still had the ability to completely derail his train of thought.

he’d forgotten what he was saying, forgotten what he was teaching. all because you smiled at him, which was embarrassing. particularly for a science teacher.

“hi,” your voice had instantly made him smile. that happened a lot, far more than he’d ever admit out loud.

“hi.” smooth, grace. how very articulate. you’d lifted the bag slightly, “you forgot your lunch.” the entire classroom had watched in stunned silence as his expression softened immediately. he hadn’t even realised he was doing it.

but whenever you were around, something in him relaxed. like his body instinctively recognised safety. home. he’d crossed the room without thinking, taken the bag, thanked you, then you’d kissed his cheek, just casually. the kind of gesture neither of you thought twice about anymore.

except apparently thirty middle-school students thought about it very intensely because the second you’d left, the room had exploded. the reaction was immediate, chaotic, hysterical. questions coming from every direction simultaneously.

half the class shouting over each other, everyone demanding answers. everyone looking personally betrayed that their slightly nerdy science teacher had somehow managed to acquire a supermodel girlfriend.

“mr. grace is that your wife?!”

“that’s y/n y/l/n. why is the y/n y/l/n here????”

“dude, she mogs.”

“i wish i got her to sign my face.”

“mr. grace how did you land a baddie?”

“mr. grace is there space baddies?”

ryland had spent several minutes trying unsuccessfully to regain control of the room which only encouraged them further, because the more flustered he became, the funnier they found it. eventually he’d surrendered. there was no point fighting it.

“how did you casually meet the face of saint laurent???” a student had practically yelled.

“yeah.”

“seriously.”

“what happened?”

“did you save her from something?”

“did she save you from something?”

“were aliens involved?”

ryland had rubbed his eyes, “why would aliens be involved?”

“because that would make more sense.”

the entire class had nodded, which was frankly insulting. he’d decided not to acknowledge it. instead he’d leaned back against his desk and told them the truth. or tried to.

because the funny thing was that the story never sounded particularly impressive when he explained it. it sounded small and ordinary.

two people reading a book, that’s all.

except it had never felt ordinary to him, he remembered every detail. the smell of coffee, the rain outside, the exact colour of the lipgloss you were wearing. he remembered the moment you’d realised you were reading the same page, the moment you’d laughed, the moment you’d asked if he minded sharing a table because the coincidence was funny. he remembered saying yes and immediately spending the next ten minutes worrying he’d sounded weird.

he remembered walking home that evening with a ridiculous smile on his face, the sort of smile normally associated with people who’d recently suffered a concussion. he remembered lying awake afterwards replaying the conversation. thinking about you.

the students listened with growing fascination, partly because the story, yes, was romantic. mostly because they had never seen their teacher smile like this before. every time he talked about you, something changed, his entire face softened, his voice warmed, the words came easier.

one student eventually raised their hand, “mr grace.”

“yeah?”

“you’re still smiling.”

ryland blinked twice, confused.

“what?”

“you’ve been smiling the entire time.”

the classroom erupted immediately, because it was true. and suddenly ryland realised it was, he laughed, then shook his head, looked down at the floor. caught.

which made things worse, the teasing intensified. students accusing him of being hopelessly in love. students making exaggerated gagging noises. students claiming he looked like he’d stepped out of a romantic comedy.

they weren’t entirely wrong. because somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with you so thoroughly that talking about your first meeting still made him happy. still made his chest feel warm, still made him smile without realising.

eventually the bell rang, students gathered their bags, still raving about their favourite model and their favourite teacher. still discussing the impossible mystery of how their science teacher had managed to date a world-famous model.

one student paused by the door before leaving, “mr grace?”

“yeah?”

the kid grinned, “i think she liked you first.” the entire class immediately agreed enthusiastically. ryland opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. he wasn’t sure. he’d spent so much time convinced you were out of his league that he’d never considered the possibility.

but then he remembered the way you’d smiled at him that first day, the way you’d asked for his number, the way you’d kept finding reasons to see him again, and for the first time, he wondered. maybe you had.

the thought followed him for the rest of the afternoon. and later, after school, when he arrived home and found you curled up on the sofa reading while waiting for him, it followed him then too.

you looked up the moment he entered, smiled immediately. the same one from the coffee shop. the same one that still made his heart do stupid things.

“how was work, baby?” you asked. ryland stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight. the familiarity and the comfort. the impossible fact that you were actually here. that somehow the woman from the coffee shop had become his person.

then he crossed the room, sat beside you, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss against your hair. “really good,” he said softly.

it was.

and suddenly his whole argument became significantly harder to defend. because what were the odds? seriously, what were the actual odds?

same morning, same book, same page. down to the exact same paragraph. sometimes he still thought about it. sometimes he still found himself smiling in the middle of nowhere because the memory would suddenly appear in his head uninvited.

ryland wasn’t trying to meet anyone that day. he wasn’t sitting in the little café because he was hoping for some life-changing romantic encounter.

he was there because it was saturday morning, he’d finished grading papers, and he wanted a hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll large enough to qualify as a geological formation.

that was all.

then you walked in, and suddenly his day became significantly more complicated. the first thing he noticed was that you were beautiful. ridiculously beautiful. the sort of beautiful that made people subtly look up from their laptops as you passed.

not because you were dressed extravagantly. quite the opposite, actually. a plain white shirt, black jeans that were perfectly tailored, looking damn near painted on, and a long coat.

nothing particularly remarkable.

yet somehow you carried yourself with an effortless grace that made the entire café seem slightly duller by comparison. ryland immediately looked back down at his book because staring would be weird. he was a grown man. a professional. he could absolutely handle the presence of one attractive woman.

easily. not a problem. then he looked up again. you were standing at the counter. the barista smiled, “what can i get started for you?”

“hot chocolate, please.”

ryland paused, interesting.

“and one cinnamon roll.”

the book nearly slipped out of his hands. what were the odds? he glanced towards his own table. towards the hot chocolate and the cinnamon roll. then back towards you.

you collected your receipt and stepped aside. ryland returned his attention to his book. clearly this meant nothing. people ordered hot chocolate. people ordered cinnamon rolls. these were normal foods. he was being ridiculous.

then a few minutes later he heard a chair move, ryland looked up, and nearly laughed, because out of every empty table in the café, you’d somehow chosen the one directly opposite his.

not next to him him, just facing him across the aisle. close enough that he could accidentally make eye contact, which unfortunately happened immediately. you smiled politely, and ryland smiled back, then looked down at his book so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. very smooth. ten out of ten social skills.

several minutes passed, the café hummed quietly around you. coffee machines, murmured conversations, the occasional clink of cups. ryland gradually relaxed, he became absorbed in his book again which was good. books didn’t make him nervous, they were predictable. then he turned a page, and happened to glance up. at exactly the same moment you turned a page.

he frowned slightly, …that seemed familiar. he looked down, then looked back up. you were reading the exact same book. the exact same edition. he squinted.

…surely not.

a moment later you looked up too, your eyes moved from his face to his book, then back to your own, then back to his. slowly you ask, “…is that?” you lifted your book.

ryland lifted his, and for a second both of you simply stared, then started laughing. “okay, that’s weird.” your smile widened. “that’s very weird.” ryland laughs.

“same book?”

“same book.”

“same edition?”

“same edition.”

you narrowed your eyes, “what page are you on?”

ryland turned the book slightly, you immediately burst out laughing because it was the same page, exactly the same page.

for a moment neither of you could stop smiling. the coincidence was too ridiculous. “that’s actually insane.” you laugh

“i know.”

you glanced towards his table, towards the hot chocolate, the cinnamon roll, then slowly looked at your own. ryland followed your gaze. both tables had exactly the same order. there was a long pause.

“okay.” you pointed, “now you’re messing with me.”

“i was about to say the same thing.”

“you copied me!”

“you hadn’t even walked in yet!”

“that’s exactly what somebody trying to cover their tracks would say.”

ryland laughed, it slipped out before he could stop it, and immediately your eyes brightened, like you’d been trying to make him laugh all along.

you stood, picked up your book, your drink, your cinnamon roll, then gestured towards the empty chair opposite him. “can i?”

ryland’s brain briefly stopped functioning, “yes.” too fast.

you sat down anyway, “well.” you set your things on the table, “either this is the strangest coincidence in human history…”

“or we’re the same person.” he says

you gasped dramatically, “that would explain a lot.”

“would it?”

“well, i already think i’m great.”

ryland laughed again, and immediately realised he was in trouble, because you were funny, which somehow made the whole situation worse. the conversation flowed effortlessly afterwards. normally ryland needed time to warm up around people, especially attractive people. especially women attractive enough to completely derail his train of thought. yet somehow talking to you felt easy, like continuing a conversation he’d already been having.

you discussed the book, argued about characters, disagreed over certain chapters, laughed about the increasingly ridiculous coincidence, and somewhere along the way ryland completely forgot to be nervous.

until he suddenly remembered how beautiful you were, then he got nervous again. you were in the middle of explaining why one particular character was obviously making terrible decisions when he found himself staring slightly too long.

not intentionally, just… looking. watching the way your eyes lit up when you spoke, watching the way your hands moved while explaining something, watching your smile.

you caught him, and he immediately wanted to disappear. “what?” you asked, smiling. “nothing.” a terrible lie.

you looked unconvinced, “you were staring.”

“i wasn’t!”

“you absolutely were.”

his ears immediately turned red, you noticed. your smile softened slightly, became warmer somehow, less teasing. “you’re cute.”

ryland forgot every word he’d ever learned.

you looked delighted by this development. “oh wow.” he covered his face.

you laughed, “that was easy.”

“please,” his voice emerged from behind his hands, “have mercy.” you laughed even harder. for the next hour neither of you touched your books because despite arriving as complete strangers, somehow the conversation never ran out. one topic became another, then another, then another.

until eventually the café started emptying around them and the afternoon sunlight had shifted across the windows. later, much later, ryland would tell people it was the coincidence he remembered most.

the same book, the same page, the same order, the same morning. but privately? that wasn’t entirely true. what he remembered most was the moment you smiled at him across that café table. because for a few wonderful hours, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen had felt strangely familiar.

like somebody he’d been looking forward to meeting long before either of you realised it.

what are the odds?

now, almost a year later, he was standing in front of a classroom full of thirteen-year-olds trying to explain how exactly he’d ended up dating one of the most famous women in the world.

a task that, frankly, was proving impossible, because the problem wasn’t that you were famous. it took him weeks to realise that, and months to fully understand it. the problem was that when ryland thought about you, fame never even made the list.

when other people saw you, they saw magazine covers, runways, photoshoots, interviews. the woman whose face appeared on billboards and advertisements and social media feeds.

ryland saw the woman who stole his hoodies, the woman who constantly forgot where she’d left her phone, the woman who cried at animal documentaries, the woman who always reached for his hand in crowded places without even thinking about it.

so when his students reacted as though a celebrity had just wandered into the room, part of him genuinely forgot why.

the entire situation had started because he’d forgotten his lunch. again. which wasn’t even remarkable, the remarkable thing would have been remembering it.

he’d left it on the kitchen counter while trying to answer three emails, grade assignments and determine whether his classroom snake was displaying signs of boredom.

so naturally he’d walked out without it, he hadn’t even realised until lunchtime, and apparently neither had you because otherwise you’d have texted him immediately. instead, halfway through fourth period, there was a knock at the classroom door.

ryland barely looked up. he was in the middle of explaining ecosystems. or attempting to. the lesson had somehow devolved into a debate about whether raccoons would survive an alien invasion. he wasn’t entirely sure how.

“come in,” he’d called absentmindedly, still writing on the whiteboard. then the room had gone completely silent which should have been his first warning. his kids were never silent. ever.

a meteor could crash through the roof and at least three of them would still be talking. the silence was so unusual that he finally turned around.

and there you were, standing in the doorway, smiling, holding a paper bag. for a moment his brain simply stopped working. not because of how beautiful you were, although you absolutely were. it was because he genuinely hadn’t been expecting you. you’d become such a normal part of his life that seeing you wasn’t surprising anymore. seeing you unexpectedly, however, still had the ability to completely derail his train of thought.

he’d forgotten what he was saying, forgotten what he was teaching. all because you smiled at him, which was embarrassing. particularly for a science teacher.

“hi,” your voice had instantly made him smile. that happened a lot, far more than he’d ever admit out loud.

“hi.” smooth, grace. how very articulate. you’d lifted the bag slightly, “you forgot your lunch.” the entire classroom had watched in stunned silence as his expression softened immediately. he hadn’t even realised he was doing it.

but whenever you were around, something in him relaxed. like his body instinctively recognised safety. home. he’d crossed the room without thinking, taken the bag, thanked you, then you’d kissed his cheek, just casually. the kind of gesture neither of you thought twice about anymore.

except apparently thirty middle-school students thought about it very intensely because the second you’d left, the room had exploded. the reaction was immediate, chaotic, hysterical. questions coming from every direction simultaneously.

half the class shouting over each other, everyone demanding answers. everyone looking personally betrayed that their slightly nerdy science teacher had somehow managed to acquire a supermodel girlfriend.

“mr. grace is that your wife?!”

“that’s y/n y/l/n. why is the y/n y/l/n here????”

“dude, she mogs.”

“i wish i got her to sign my face.”

“mr. grace how did you land a baddie?”

“mr. grace is there space baddies?”

ryland had spent several minutes trying unsuccessfully to regain control of the room which only encouraged them further, because the more flustered he became, the funnier they found it. eventually he’d surrendered. there was no point fighting it.

“how did you casually meet the face of saint laurent???” a student had practically yelled.

“yeah.”

“seriously.”

“what happened?”

“did you save her from something?”

“did she save you from something?”

“were aliens involved?”

ryland had rubbed his eyes, “why would aliens be involved?”

“because that would make more sense.”

the entire class had nodded, which was frankly insulting. he’d decided not to acknowledge it. instead he’d leaned back against his desk and told them the truth. or tried to.

because the funny thing was that the story never sounded particularly impressive when he explained it. it sounded small and ordinary.

two people reading a book, that’s all.

except it had never felt ordinary to him, he remembered every detail. the smell of coffee, the rain outside, the exact colour of the lipgloss you were wearing. he remembered the moment you’d realised you were reading the same page, the moment you’d laughed, the moment you’d asked if he minded sharing a table because the coincidence was funny. he remembered saying yes and immediately spending the next ten minutes worrying he’d sounded weird.

he remembered walking home that evening with a ridiculous smile on his face, the sort of smile normally associated with people who’d recently suffered a concussion. he remembered lying awake afterwards replaying the conversation. thinking about you.

the students listened with growing fascination, partly because the story, yes, was romantic. mostly because they had never seen their teacher smile like this before. every time he talked about you, something changed, his entire face softened, his voice warmed, the words came easier.

one student eventually raised their hand, “mr grace.”

“yeah?”

“you’re still smiling.”

ryland blinked twice, confused.

“what?”

“you’ve been smiling the entire time.”

the classroom erupted immediately, because it was true. and suddenly ryland realised it was, he laughed, then shook his head, looked down at the floor. caught.

which made things worse, the teasing intensified. students accusing him of being hopelessly in love. students making exaggerated gagging noises. students claiming he looked like he’d stepped out of a romantic comedy.

they weren’t entirely wrong. because somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with you so thoroughly that talking about your first meeting still made him happy. still made his chest feel warm, still made him smile without realising.

eventually the bell rang, students gathered their bags, still raving about their favourite model and their favourite teacher. still discussing the impossible mystery of how their science teacher had managed to date a world-famous model.

one student paused by the door before leaving, “mr grace?”

“yeah?”

the kid grinned, “i think she liked you first.” the entire class immediately agreed enthusiastically. ryland opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. he wasn’t sure. he’d spent so much time convinced you were out of his league that he’d never considered the possibility.

but then he remembered the way you’d smiled at him that first day, the way you’d asked for his number, the way you’d kept finding reasons to see him again, and for the first time, he wondered. maybe you had.

the thought followed him for the rest of the afternoon. and later, after school, when he arrived home and found you curled up on the sofa reading while waiting for him, it followed him then too.

you looked up the moment he entered, smiled immediately. the same one from the coffee shop. the same one that still made his heart do stupid things.

“how was work, baby?” you asked. ryland stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight. the familiarity and the comfort. the impossible fact that you were actually here. that somehow the woman from the coffee shop had become his person.

then he crossed the room, sat beside you, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss against your hair. “really good,” he said softly.

it was.

🂺 then you climb out, with the sparkliest lipgloss and prettiest face he’s ever seen. you’re standing there for a second, wearing jewellery that looks expensive enough to replace half of the old rides here. you’re looking up at the lights with this open, dreamy expression like you had wandered into this other world by accident.

🂺 and he can’t stop looking at you. because you don’t look bored or ironic like rich people do when they come downtown, you look enchanted. you nearly jumped out of your skin he speaks to you; “those shoes are gonna get destroyed here.”

🂺 you turn to see him standing there, leaning towards you a little bit. cigarette glowing between his fingers, tattoos exposed that screamed danger at someone like you. instead of getting nervous or scared, you sweetly smile at him. like you don’t realise that a man like him can ruin your life. luke is genuinely stunned for a second, because most girls either immediately and aggressively flirt, or avoid him completely. but you talk to him softly, openly, “i guess i’ll just have to be careful.”

🂺 he’s noticing little thing immediately, the way you’re smoothing your skirt nervously while talking, the little gold necklace resting against your collarbones, the way you’re wide eyed as you glance at the rides, your rich smelling fruity perfume underneath the gasoline and the summer heat.

🂺 the connection immediate, but it’s quiet like it’s the static in the air. luke offers to show you around, mostly because he physically can not stay away from you. and you accept instantly, too trusting, falling into step beside him while the carnival lights flicker across your faces.

🂺 you’re asking him endless questions, but he doesn’t mind you talking his ear off. “how long have you worked here?” “is the bike stuff scary?” “have you always lived here?” “how do you even ride that?”

🂺 luke realises quickly that you’re a little naive in the most dangerous way possible. not stupid. just sheltered. you look at him without suspicion. without caution. like you genuinely believe in the goodness of all people. which makes him feel unexpectedly guilty every time you smile at him. he keeps testing you a little too. “you shouldn’t walk around places like this alone.” “why? is someone going to kidnap me?” and he stares at you for a second, “maybe.” and instead of getting scared, you just laugh at his words because you think he’s joking. that wrecked him a little bit.

🂺 you follow him closely as he guides you through the crowd, a hand on your back. he glared at every drunkard that looked at you for too long, standing closer every time someone brushed past you. he takes you through the quieter parts of the carnival most people don’t see. behind the games. near the trailers. empty rides humming under dying lights. you look fascinated by all of it while luke mostly watches you. because you react to everything so earnestly.

🂺 you win a stuffed animal at one of the rigged games and get genuinely excited about it. luke ends up carrying it around for you the rest of the night because you kept almost dropping it.

🂺 at one point you ask if he always looks so serious. “pretty much.” he says, “that’s sad.” luke actually laughs a little at that. small and rough and surprised out of him. and you face lights up like you just accomplished something enormous. that’s the exact moment he’s done for.

🂺 he starts waiting for you after that without admitting it. leaning against the railing every evening pretending he’s just smoking while secretly watching for those headlights pulling into the lot. and every time you arrive, you spot him instantly.

🂺 you start lingering by his motorcycle act, pretending not to be waiting for him. and he drags his cigarette breaks out longer, just to see those pretty eyes look for him in the crowds.

🂺 he tries to convince himself that you’ll get bored, that this is just a phase for you, probably rebelling against your rich dad or something. but you kept coming more frequently, night after night, sometimes just to see him, not even playing any games or getting on any rides.

🂺 you’re falling for him fast. becoming addicted to him in this terrifying all-consuming way too. the noise, the tattoos, the recklessness of him. he makes you feel alive instead of merely observed and managed like you are uptown. you can sit on the hood of his truck at 2am eating terrible carnival fries while he stares at you like she personally invented tenderness.

🂺 he gets possessive fast, though he tries to hide it. luke starts noticing when a chauffeur arrives with you. glaring when they touch your arm too casually. you catch him watching you from across the fairgrounds constantly with this dark hungry expression like he still can’t believe you keep coming back for more of him.

🂺 you start dressing for him too, though you’d die before admitting it. new lipsticks, tiny shorts, silk tops. luke notices all of it, tracing the patterns of the fabric of your new dresses, tying the shoelaces on your absurdly clean sneakers, massaging your neck every time he smells a new perfume on you.

🂺 one humid night, he takes you on a ride on his bike after closing. you’re nervous at first, hands hovering awkwardly before finally wrapping around his waist. the second you press against his back luke nearly loses all ability to think coherently. he had never had anyone touching him this gently before, that really got to him. you touch him like he’s precious. like you see something beautiful in all the rough broken parts of him instead of something dangerous to survive.

🂺 the first time you trace the tattoos on his hands absentmindedly while he smokes, luke goes unusually quiet for almost ten minutes afterwards.

🂺 luke is falling in love before he fully understands it’s happening. one night you’re sitting on the bleachers watching him work on his bike under cheap colourful lights, and he suddenly realises the entire night feels lighter just because you’re there. that realisation scares the hell out of him. because luke knows exactly what happens to things he loves. but you keep coming back anyway. every single night.

after your initial outburst, lars thankfully relaxed a bit into your exuberance; quite used to your demeanor at this point. he just stood patiently while you talked, with the slightest content look on his face, and waited until you finished your thought; although your last few words seemed to give him pause.

for the briefest second you considered telling him that, when he didn't go to office game nights (and he rarely did), nobody else talked to you -- the most selfish parts of you wanting him to comfort you for it. but you stopped there. you'd only moved to town two months ago, and you were a bit worried that each time he'd been to an office party at the same time as you, he'd only gone so you didn't feel awkward. as if the combination of the two of you didn't emanate that on its own.

he regarded you plainly for a moment, then cocked his head just a bit. "no, nothing happened. why would something have happened?"

"oh, i don't know," you replied. "i was just sort of hop-- expecting you to be there, so i was worried about you. but don't feel bad, of course, you never said you would come, and you don't have to. of course."

his expression was polite, so much so you almost didn't notice his head instinctively nodding 'no' left-to-right, like he couldn't believe you'd be worried about him. "why would you worry about me?"

"because you're the nicest person i've met here, lars, and i care about you," you replied, no hesitation. "we've been over this."

there was a pause. the ambient sound of chatter, shoes clicking, faint pop music, and the slamming of doors in the winter cold filled your ears like water, becoming quite loud the longer lars said nothing in response to you. his expression, kind but completely unrevealing, did not change; but his shoulders seemed to both stiffen and relax, and he blinked slow.

"okay," he replied softly. "if you say so."

"and i do."

you started rummaging in your massive purse, drowning in keychains and pins, and lars laughed softly.

"you got a new one?" he asked.

"yes, one sec."

"another one of those animals you like?"

you fished your new bulbasaur keychain out of your bag and displayed it to him. "yes, one of the pokémons i told you about."

"pokémon," he repeated softly, maybe trying to memorize it. "are you going to put it on your bag?"

"of course."

"you have a zoo on there already."

you laughed at that, genuinely, but thankfully caught yourself before putting a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. although, when you looked up afterward, lars had also stepped forward a bit in his own quiet laughter; towering over you without being imposing at all.

then, a bit unlike himself, he gently took one of your many keychains in his calloused hand, and keeping his eyes strictly on it, said, "i actually bought you one of these. one of these animal things."

you blinked. "what? really?"

"for your birthday," he replied, almost silent.

your birthday was three months ago.

"lars," you let out, unable to stop it. "thank you, that's...that's really sweet of you."

he went a bit still then, still staring only at your keychain in his hand, and shook his head 'no.'

then he stopped, like whatever courage he'd worked up just to reveal the birthday pokémon to you was all he had left in him.

lars let go of your keychain, stepped back, and let his head snap back up to your gaze cordially. "well, i'll put it in your mailbox at work, see you monday."

he rambled it off like he couldn't get out of the mall fast enough. away from you, fast enough.

"lars!" you bit off before he could even take a step away from you. "please. it's really amazing that you got me a gift, and especially one i mentioned to you before. that's really thoughtful."

he cast you a curt nod of his head and tried to leave again.

"lars, did i do something?" you called.

he stopped, back to you, and a couple juggling a handful of shopping bags had to swerve to dodge him. clearly, this horrified him; shoulders drawing up.

"no," he said, a bit louder than usual, still with his back to you. one hand came up to rake at his hair. "no, no, you didn't do anything."

then, finally, he turned to you. without taking a step closer, eyes still shut and one hand on the back of his neck, he rasped --

"y/n, would you like to go on a walk with me?"

your heart rose into your throat. "oh. n-now?"

"yes," he punched out. then, as if his courage had run out, he opened his eyes and smiled at you, with a bit of defeat. "i don't want to bother you."

"lars, that is literally impossible. you could never bother me, ever." but he was still waiting expectantly for an answer, so you tacked on a, "yes, please. i would really like to take a walk with you."

his face betrayed nothing, but the way he stood up straighter, inhaled, and rolled his shoulders made his satisfaction clear to you. as you fell in line beside him, though, both of you nervously approaching the exit, he glanced over at your outfit with a frown.

"is something wrong?" you asked, wrapping a self-conscious arm around yourself.

lars shook his head, completely unfazed by your reaction; a bit unlike him. he had an oddly determined look in his eye.

"there's a jacket in my car," he said, "that you should borrow."

well, you liked that, but, "why?"

"what you have on is just a sweater." then -- "it's very nice, though."

"you just want to give me your jacket like a cool guy," you teased.

at that, he actually smiled a bit crookedly; the most rueful you'd ever seen him look. "yes. i want...i've been, wanting..." a long pause, then -- "to take care of you. if i can. i hope i can."