☆!

• colt is no professional surfer, sure, but he would go as far to call it a hobby. he's got a surfboard that he takes good care of, and a multitude of youtube tutorials bouncing around in his brain. along with plenty of mistakes to learn from. if anything, colts just glad he got to showcase his surfing skills to you after he got the hang of it. sure, taking falls is literally what he does for a living, but that doesn't mean he wants to wipe out in front of the person he's trying to impress.

"come on, you've almost got it!"

colt's cheering is doing little to help, and plenty to distract you. it's not his fault, really. between the harsh rocking of the waves and his intense gaze— seriously, he had the blues fucking eyes you'd ever seen —it was getting increasingly harder to stay upright.

it had been just windy enough for some mellow action on the board, but unfortunately, that meant colt had insisted on teaching you today of all days. the one comfort you had was that colt had chosen a secluded enough of a beach to spare you from any judgemental onlookers. perks of traveling all over the world to shoot stunts for movie, you supposed.

you try to remember what he told you, really, you do, ("bend your knees, ride the waves and try to relax!") but before you know it, youre tripping over what seems like air, and diving headfirst into colt's exposed chest.

"fuck!"

you both go under for a second, bubbles and sand kicking up a storm underneath the water. it only takes a moment for colt to resurface. there, he's met with the sight of your completely mortified face. whether that was from the embarassment of the fall or landing face first in his pecs, he wasn't sure. part of him sincerely hoped it was the latter

"we may have to come to terms with the fact ive been cursed to have absolutely zero coordination since birth, colt." you waste no time trying to distract from your humiliating mistake, groaning as you splash a nearby bubble in frustration. he can't help but laugh at that, abruptly clearing his throat and looking away as you shoot him a look.

"i don't know about that—"

"we have been out here for an hour and ive barely managed to catch a single wave." you deadpan at him. colt scratches the back of his neck, feeling a bit of skin peel off. shit, he'd forgotten sunscreen. oh well, that's what the bottle of alo vera in his truck was for.

"hey, at least you can stand up on the board now! it took me forever to get that right!"

"some part of me doesnt believe that." your unyielding gaze feels like its boreing a hole in colts forehead. a nearby wave bumps the surfboard into his side, and he grabs onto it before it can float away. you send it a scathing look like it has personally offended your family bloodline, and colt has to choke down another laugh.

"okay, maybe it only took me a few minutes but—"

"see!! i'm hopeless, and you know it. i'm like a, a uh—" youre guestiring around wildly, trying to settle on an appropriate metaphor for the situation "—fucking baby giraffe out here!"

"a cute baby giraffe."

"not helping colt!"

• even if youre not the most talented at surfing (or a complete whizz, who knows, practice makes perfect) colt still loves hanging out and playing around on the beach. volleyball, catch, seeing who can push who into the bigger wave, all that kinds of stuff. not only is it a chance to spend time around you, but he gets to try and impress you all the while. colt's not shy about liking the attention— if anything, he'll only encourage it. as long as it's you, he doesn't mind one bit.

• he's also definitely the kind of sap to write your names together in the sand, just to pout when a wave comes in and washes it away. it's the little things like that that make him so charming in your eyes.

• he adores ending the night in the bed of his truck along the beach, wrapping his arms around you while you both watch the nearby fire crackle and spark with life. a cozy blanket that you had bought for him a little bit ago is often drapped around your shoulders, sheilding you from the cold and providing cover for a few playful kisses. he loves it when he has to duck under the cover to chase after you with a little laugh, bumping his nose against your affectionately.

𝐑𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

• ryland grace has a special relationship with the beach. it's not just somewhere to go and walk around— for him, it's a way to ground himself. to feel the waves lap against his feet as he settles in the sand, watching birds fly overhead and listening to attempts of nearby vendors to sell their food. ocassionaly, he'll find himself a returning customer, exchanging some crumpled ones in order to enjoy an ice cream on the sand with you.

• the calm evenings where the two of you simply sit and talk about everything and nothing at the same time are his favorites. between you and the beach, it's like having two of his safe spaces rolled into one. and it gives him an excuse to admire you as the sun bathes your face in rays of light, emphasizing each and every quality that he's come to love about you.

• of course, if you ever catch on to his staring he'll deny it vehemently, but that doesn't change the fact that he's positively enamored with you. the slope of your nose, the way your hair falls, how you laugh— everything. if there was a subset of science dedicated to observing and fawning over you, ryland would be the lead researcher

"are you even listening to me?" ryland's head is plucked from the clouds at the sound of your voice. he blinks once, then twice, eyes sheepishly meeting your twinkling gaze as ryland chuckles.

"...sorry, i got distracted." the edges of his cheekbones are smattered with a coloring of pink, he can feel it. the last thing he remembered was you going on about the last chapter of a book you read before he'd gotten lost admiring the curve of your lips. "in my defense, you can be very distracting."

"mhmm." your tone isn't displeased. rather, you seem amused. no, no that's not the right word. ryland thought with a shake of his head. more like adoring.

the very thought made his heart race. sometimes, with the way ryland acted, you would think that he was meeting you for the first time.. not taking you back to his special spot in the sand for what must have been the third time this week alone. what can he say, with the warm weather and the promise of school staring again soon, late summer months always left him in a good mood. especially if you happened to be by his side.

"sometimes i wonder how you get anything done around me." you poke a finger at his chest playfully, laughing as he jumps a little bit. "if it's any comfort, you're pretty distracting yourself, ry." you reach out to run the pad of your thumb along the junction between his ear and jaw, smiling softly when he sputters.

"okay, well, now you're just doing this on purpose." he accuses you without any real conviction, his voice a slight octave higher than usual. you would say later that he whined— per usual, ryland would refuse to comment.

"not my fault that you look so good in the sunset like this." you murmer, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. he sighs, the heat in his cheeks spreading down his neck at the sight of you. you weren't lying, either. golden hour had just started a few minutes ago, and the cool toned yellows and oranges only highlighted the angle of his jaw even more. it turned the blond hair that you were so find of running your hands through into tresses of gold.

"want to stay for a bit more then get out of here?" you suggest after pulling back. "i know you've got to head to school tommorrow to set up the classroom some, wouldnt want you to miss out on the opportunity to get a headstart at being the cool teacher."

ryland smiles warmly at you, grabbing your hand and tugging softly. "sure."

he scoots over in the sand some, saddling his torso up to yours even more. you waste no time leaning your head in the crook of his neck, the both of you watching as small waves clashed against each other along the shore. it was a familair motion, like two puzzle pieces snapping together at last. a feeling that the two of you were more than acquainted with by now.

• of course, the microbiologist doesnt just like to sit and talk. he also enjoys getting out there and splashing around a bit! he works with middle schoolers after all— ryland's no slack when it comes to playing outside, even at his age. besides, he'd be a fool not to take an opertunity to sneak glances at you in your swim shorts and t-shirt. upon noticing you doing the same, (albeit more obviously, and with a cheeky grin) he likes to blame his red face on the sun.

• and speaking of the sun, ryland likes to make a habit of covering you in sunscreen before laying down the towels. as a scientist, he knows all too well the side effects that UV rays can have on humans, and when it comes to you he's taking no chances. somehow that turns into a game too— seeing who can guess the patterns drawn on each other's back with sunscreen. never a dull moment between the two of you.

𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

• find an empty strip of the beach, and the two of you will be driving along that thing for hours.

• driver postively loves the thrill of speading down the sand with the windows down, salty seabreeze whipping his hair around as you stick a hand out the window and smile. he gets to combine the adernaline of putting the pedal to the metal while having you along for the ride— the perfect afternoon, in his eyes. and it doesnt won't even matter if you get sand in the car. he probably stole it anyways.

• he won't do anything too dangerous if the sand is loose, but on the off chance that it has enough traction, you can get him to do some doughnuts.

• while he's not much for swimming himself, driver will lean against the car with a towel for as long as you want. he's always been more of an observer in the grand scheme of things, and that extends to you. especially you. if that just so happens to mean watching from afar as you dissapear amongst the waves, cracking a slight smile every time you attempt to coax him into the water, then so be it.

• kissing each other on the beach for hours??? yes please. we all know driver is a sucker for taking his time with you, and that extends to the top of a sand dune on the beach, the two of you gazing at the night sky and sharing soft kisses inbetween. its the quiet moments with you that he lives for. its a stark contrast to the action in his line of work. a small paradise in the shape of, well, you.

driver is silent. that doesn't come as a surprise to you— when was he not? it was one of the things that had drawn you to him at first.. with the embroidered jacket and hard set stare of his, you had expected him to be bold. outspoken. maybe even a bit brash (which was the case, just not in the way you'd originally thought). instead, you had been pleasantly surprised by his habit to listen, rather than talk. not many people have that quality nowadays, and its like a breath of fresh air.

"nice swim shorts." you're teasing him again and he knows it. it's impressive, really, how you manage to banter with him like that while practically sopping wet and dripping onto the sand below. even more impressive that you look that good doing it.

drivers lips twitch slightly as you toss a faux judgemental glace at his jeans. alright, half-faux. some part of you was wondering why he chose to wear jeans again.. they were always so hard to clean the sand off of, if the small pile of sand by his apartment door was anything to go by. he always managed to track a little home.

"you really should let me pick out a swimsuit for you. i think that would be fun." you smile as you talk, already imagining the possibilities. would he let you get something patterened? striped? maybe somewhere out there a pair of scorpion embroidered swin shorts sat just waiting to be put on. yeah, he'd like that. it would match his jacket and everything.

driver simply admires you while you ponder aloud, eventually moving on from swimwear to what the rest of the night could hold. he waits as you cycle through a mental list, ("a dinner at that nice place that stays open late, walking on the beach, heading down to the pier, although that may be closed by now.. really whatever you want—") handing you a beach towel in the meanwhile. you don't even pause, voice growing slightly muffled as you run it through your hair. you're positively oblivious to the intensity of his stare.

the moonlight softens your features, showcasing the smattering of goosebumps along your skin. driver had known that it was too late in the year to go nightswimming comfortably, but you'd waved him off earlier, claiming that a little bit of cold never hurt anyone. he resists the urge to drape his jacket over your shoulders— you'd only fret about ruining it. best to get you dry and out of the night instead.

"how about we go for a drive." he finally offers, gently pulling you in by your hips. you were only halfway done drying off, but driver doesnt seem to mind getting a little damp as long as youre the one pressed up against him. if anything, he takes pride in the excited laugh that bubbles from your throat at his move.

"at this point i'm not sure why we come here for anything else." the skin around your nose scrunches up as you grin. "come on then. let me towel off some more and then we can get going."

you attempt to take a step back, but his grip is unyielding. not harsh, nor bruising, just firm. sure of himself, almost.

"i don't mind if the seat gets wet." he whispers, breath light against the shell of your ear as he leans towards you. his fingers are ghosting along the skin of your hips, tracing small circles and.. a heart or two, you think. it's hard to tell if you were making that one up or not.

you squint at him suspiciously.

"...and may i ask where exactly we're going on this drive?"

driver doesnt say much, but with that coy smile of his, he doesn't have to. "just somewhere quiet. beautiful. dark."

you feel a heat rapidly spreading from your neck to the tops of your ears, as well as a few other places. it seems like driver notices as well, the small twitch of his lips turning into a full blown smile. a rare ocassion, and you'd be damned to not take advantage of it.

placing a quick peck to his pink lips, you're suddenly bounding over to the passengers side of the car as if he would change his mind before you got there. driver twirls the car keys in his hand as you do so, already thrumming with anticipation. he wonders if you feel the same way.

"well? we getting out of here or what?" you're the one grinning at him now, eyes brimming with an emotion hes seen on you a hundred times. it never gets old.

• he gets better at it, the two of you make sure of that. you had originally introduced kissing lessons as a joke, but ken had been so damn excited about learning that you couldn't find it in you to say no— even if your face felt like it was on fire the whole time. thankfuly the doll didnt seem to mind.

• its a lot for him to remember at first ("don't rush into it, the other person may be caught off guard," "some teeth is okay, but too much and you'll get hurt," "take care of your dental hygiene," "make sure that they aren't trying to pull away before,") but youre a good enough teacher that he can't bring himself to care.

• really the whole thing is a charade merely disguised as lessons in order to spend disgusting amounts of time together. but when both of you are sitting on your living room couch, one hand on ken's chest and the other cupping his jaw softly while you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, you can't help but think it was the greatest idea you'd ever had.

you pull away from ken for the first time in nearly a minute, tongue coming out to dart at your swollen lips as you looked at him.

the blond was sitting against the far side of the couch, chest heaving and eyes scruntched up at the corners as he looked at you. his shirt (a tasteful hawaiian flannel, with striped shorts and flip flops to match) was wrinkled and unbuttoned. he looked, for a lack of better words, dumbstruck.

"is it always like that?" ken asks after recovering a little, scooting towards you more as he asks the question. his tone is one of excitement and wonder, and you cant stop a grin from breaking out on your face. "can we do it again?"

"woah woah, hold your horses cowboy." you huff out a small laugh, not missing the way his head perks up at the mention of horses. "give me a second to breathe. i don't know exactly how your lungs work, but i need at least a minute to recover after a kiss like.... that."

"was it not good?" came the next query. you heard the blatant insecurity in his tone, and read even more of on his face. you couldn't stop your chest from seizing a bit at the sight, immediately doing your best to reassure him.

"it was amazing ken, really." you spoke with a broad smile. you weren't just saying that, either. compared to the first kiss he had given you, this was worlds ahead. better than some of your past partners, if you said so yourself— not that they provided any real competition. none of them had tasted like fruit or whimpered when you ran a thumb over their jaw. god, you could listen to that sound all day...

"there are different kinds of kisses is all." you continue your explanation, weaving your fingers with kens in the meantime. running your fingers over his pulse point, you feel it jump a little. "some are shorter, some are rougher, and some are more intense. doesn't mean one is better than the other— that decision is up to you and your partner."

"that's you, right?"

"yes buddy, that's me." ken preens at you, doing a little arm pump at the confirmation that he was right.

"so which one do you like more? 'cause i could do all of them— can we do all of them? i mean, if you want to!"

right, back to the task at hand.

you feel a mischevious grin tugging at the corner of your lips, reaching out to grab the proverbial opportunity that had been given to you.

"i don't know ken, i've never thought about that before. you know, we may just have to try them all. what do you think?"

the giggle he lets out is a good enough answer for you.

• theres a certain charm to the way that ken goes about asking you for a kiss after he gets the hang of it (or about as much "hang" that a living doll can get). sort of akin to a child who wants to ask for something, but is too shy to speak up. more often than not, you'll find him hovering around or behind you. never close enough to touch, but definitely close enough to crowd. he barely registers it either, only stepping back if you ask aloud, and always with a bit of a crestfallen expression. its those moments that you have to take the extra time to explain 'no ken, i'm not mad, i need you to move so i can reach the stove'

• you've, essentially, created a monster. a tall, beach blond monster who can only be satiated with a kiss. good luck trying to explain the do's and don't of PDA to him... you're going to need it.

𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦

• with henry, the kiss always comes from a sense of desperation. a crushing need to be close to you, to grab you as tight as he can and not let go— almost like he's afraid you'll dissapear into smoke if he doesn't.

• his favorite place to kiss you, aside from the obvious, would be your hands. he positively preens when you run your hands through his hair or dance them across his face as gentle as can be, so it's no surprise that he takes a special interest in them. henry always leans into them with a careful look, placing a slow kiss to your palm or knuckles before saddling closer by your side to plant more. they're never less passionate than the ones he pressed to your mouth, just.. different.

• henry likes knowing that he's yours, and vice versa. a kiss reassures him, in a way, that you're still there— wherever there happens to be that day. often times it's your appartment or walking down the streets together. occasionally a shop or two if no one seems to be around to complain.

• theres a deeper part of henry, a darker part of him, that yearns for the taste of copper during a kiss. the urge to bite at your lip until blood spills into his mouth, tongue immediately soothing over the mark in reassurance, is constant. even in the sweetest moments those feelings will show their ugly head, prompting a shudder to roll through his body at the very thought.

• occasionally, he imagines you doing the same to him.

henry is burning up. he can hardly breathe as his hands search for purchase on your clothes. he's panting heavily, pupils blown out to the point where you could barely see the ring of blue around them. his head feels like it's full of static— his lips even more.

a stray drop of blood drips onto the floor unceremoniously, barely staining the tip of his shoe. a few more lie beside it, having fallen just moments before. a testimony to the teeth-shaped indent on his bottom lip that tasted like you.

you're in no better shape than henry is, really. you're breathing just as hard as him, and there's a splotch of red smeared messily by the corner of your mouth, ("like lipstick," henry thinks faintly) although he knows it isn't yours. did he want it to be? no, that was for later.

"was that okay?" you have the audacity to ask him that while he struggles not to beg for more. you, staring at him with a curious expression and that worried look in your eye— as if you hadn't just given him everything he wanted.

henry doesnt answer you; not verbally anyways. he doesnt need to when he's already back to kissing you again, practically moaning into your mouth as he tastes the tangy salt and blood between you all at once. you reciprocate the action, your tongue occasionally poking at his wound in what he hoped was an attempt to tease him. it was filthy and quite possibly derranged, but that made him love it even more.

• freak to the max about that kind of stuff, what can i say. "always the quite ones," as you once put it. he had just taken another drag of his cigarette at that, blowing the smoke to the side as he grinned that small grin of his. the one he knew you loved.

• any sort of relationship with henry letham of all people is going to be weird and sort-of-macabre, and by extent the kissing, but the two of you make it work. he'll ramble on about the work of the late-great tristian rêveur while you lie there next to him patiently, a little bit of his blood still clinging to the corner of your lips. it's not perfect, but it's undoubtedly and irrevocably the two of you, and that's all that matters.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

• okay. we've all seen the movie. there's no sense in pretending that this man would kiss you with anything less than the passion of a thousand supernovas. that's just a fact.

• whether you believe it comes from a place of self-confidence and heat, or a much more desperate part of him, driver will always give you his undivided attention. thats just who he is. methodical— obsessive, even. every word and small touch to your back as he pulls you closer is carefully planned out beforehand.

• it's a sign of trust to him, really.

• he's no stranger to soft pecks on the cheek or lips, don't get me wrong, driver just prefers the ever-encompasing feeling of your mouth on his, tongues dancing around each other as you both take your time mapping out each individual detail. everything about you is intoxicating to the point where driver wants to drown in it.. sometimes he thinks he just might. wouldn't be the worst way to go.

• he definitely uses chapstick. nothing too flavorful, (unless you like that, then he'd reconsider) just enough to keep them from cracking or drying out. he finds that it makes for a much more enjoyable kiss either way, and you agree.

• it's also my strong belief that driver has definitely forgotten to take his toothpick out once or twice before going in for a kiss, resulting in a little poke. you always wave it off, but the first time it had happened he'd looked positively mortified (or about as mortified as he could get). thankfully, driver's been pretty mindful about it since then, always making sure to toss the thing or settle it behind his ear before pecking you.

• in spite of the rest of his fast paced lifestyle, driver is not really a big fan of PDA. it's simply too much attention on somebody with too many criminal ties, and he'd rather die than risk your saftey. but on the off chance that he's feeling risky, it's usually after a nice cruise through the streets with you.

driver's steady hands are cradling the sides of your face as the two of you stand beside his car— a new one he just picked up from sharon. you had asked to tag along that day, always jumping at the opertunity to be in the front seat with him. his favorite habit of yours was how your hand always seemed to find his on the road, fingers interlocking as you let him whisk you away on whatever road he had in mind.

the flickering white light from above casts an irregular shadow across driver's face while he recalls all of this. it draws out the intensity of his eyes as his gaze darts from your eyes to your nose and to your lips. even here, standing in a dingy underground parking garage, he can't help but think that you looked stunning.

your own arms were wrapped around drivers middle, squeezing lightly as you admired him back. the two of you often had moments like this. moments where driver seemed incapable of doing anything but soaking you in, almost overwhelmed with the realization that you loved him just as much as he loved you. living on one's own for so long takes its toll on the importance behind human touch, and driver had been deprived of it (of you) for far too long.

nothing was said as you craned your head slightly upwards, lips carefully capturing his own in a soft kiss. nothing had to be; it was a familiar motion between the two of you by now.

driver accepts the display of affection with a barely audible hum, showing his appreciation as his mouth begins to move in tandem with your own. he can taste the faint remnants of the toothpaste you used this morning before he picked you up, and it brings him comfort. everything about you to him is comforting. safe. the one part of his life that he's been allowed to really, truly enjoy. and enjoy himself, he would.

eventually you had to break away, much to driver's disappointment. if he had it his way, he'd be glued at your side at all times, there to angle your lips towards his at any point. but then again, if he had it his way, nothing would end up getting done. your appartment had seen enough evidence of that— you'd lost count of the amount of times you'd shown up late to something because driver couldn't keep his lips (or hands) off of you.

you reach to press one last kiss to his lips, an unspoken promise for more. "come on, let's get inside before someone complains."

"let them." came his only response before dipping back down for another. he ends up chasing your lips instead, mouth twitching into a barely-there smile as you pull away with a teasing laugh. you're already making your way towards the elevator, grinning at him as if to say 'catch up'. you barely make it there before he's got you by your wrist, interlocking your fingers and pulling you into his chest gently.

"sucker." you mummble against his jacket, but driver hears the unmistakeable smile in your tone.