[rockylandphm]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. sue (she/her ; 23)

hi! i write about silly rygos boys —> masterlist

current wips

[anakins-girl]

[rockylandphm]

reviewing the fuckass sodium potassium pump…!

wish ryland grace was here to talk science to me while i suffer through reviewing all lessons ever taught to me 🫩

[thirstkanaphan]

[rockylandphm]

I saw twin trouble and I am so friggen excited. I love when you write coltland, it’s just too good.

assuming i have the time to actually write it but i will try my best anon! i will! 🫡 i love writing coltland so much, so wow thank u for saying that!!

[rockylandphm]

is it casual now ; taking care of him

synopsis. a summary of drabbles / one-shots with fwb!ryland where both of you start to question, is this arrangement still casual?

(1.1k words) all of these chapters are suggestive

masterlist | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

“Grace?”

It’s quiet in his apartment where Ryland would usually be watching a playback of one of his lectures. It’s strange to be greeted by silence instead.

You slipped off your shoes, stepping cautiously inside with a frown on your lips. “Ry?”

A muffled groan drifts from the bedroom. “(Name)?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s Thursday.”

“Fuck.” His voice is rough, congested with something. You know something’s wrong. Out of the ordinary. “Is it already?”

“Yes?”

When he hears your footsteps padding towards his bedroom, his tone shifts to panic. “Wait, don’t come in.”

But you’re already pushing open his bedroom door.

The sight that greets you is almost pitiful, with Ryland buried beneath his comforter, hair sticking in every direction (messier than usual) because of accumulated sweat, and his glasses abandoned on his table. And he's groaning, like he's embarrassed you're seeing him like this.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m aware.” Deadpan. Stating the obvious.

Even sick, he still can be such an ass.

You cross the room immediately, cold hand meeting his heated forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I know.” He coughs, his hand flying up way too late to actually suppress it. You grimace, face scrunching at the sight. “I was really looking forward to tonight too. Had such a horrible week.”

This makes you laugh a little, a mischievous grin spreading across your face at a sudden remembrance of what you'd worn tonight. “If it makes you feel any better, I wore your favorite white lace tonight.”

Instead of being appreciative, Ryland groans even more, throwing an arm over his eyes as he shakes his head vehemently. “That does not make me feel any better. Don’t tell me things like that.”

You blink innocently. “Why not?”

“Because." Another deadpan tone. "I’m currently being held hostage by my own immune system." A cough interrupts him. “I physically cannot do anything with that information. And I’d rather not be sick and hard at the same time.”

A snort escapes you before you could stop it.

“Alright, my mouth is shut."

You look around once more, a final attempt at a survey before your eyes land back to where he is on the bed.

He's staring at you. You know he's thinking of what you're wearing underneath your clothes after you'd lovingly mentioned it.

"Have you even taken medicine?”

Ryland blinks, finally willing himself to look away. “No, but I think I have some.”

“You think?”

“I don’t get sick very often.”

"I can tell. I'll go and look for it."

Nearly ten minutes later, you finally manage to find his medicine buried in one of his kitchen cabinets and a thermometer still in its packaging. Ryland watches you from the bed with a sort of confusion. 

“Open.”

He blinks at you, face twisting further. “Excuse me?”

“Your mouth.”

You uncap the cover of the thermometer, gently tapping his chin, and he obeys without saying another word. It allows you to slip the thermometer tip under his tongue.

He makes an unimpressed noise, probably from how uncomfortable the cold metal must feel in his mouth, and you can only roll your eyes. 

“You’ll survive thirty seconds.”

Ryland rolls his eyes back at you, but he stays still anyway. And you do nothing for the few seconds of waiting for the thermometer to beep, simply sitting on the edge of his bed patiently. 

When it finally beeps, you take it back from his mouth gently, staring down at the little screen. “One hundred and one. Not so bad. At least I know you’re not dying.”

You pop a tablet into your hand, handing it to him like he should know what to do next. He does, drinking it down with water. Like you're taught at an early age.

And you’re impressed really, because for someone so stubborn, he’s surprisingly compliant when he’s sick.

“Come on, off.” You tug at the shirt that’s clinging onto his skin from the sweat, and he’s soft and pliant and so obedient in your hands, raising his huge arms so you can take his shirt off. It’s discarded where it usually would’ve been had this been one of your regular nights.

“You don’t have to do this.” He croaks after wiping the excess water at the corners of his mouth with the back of his palm. “We’re not exactly… this.”

Ryland is vaguely gesturing between the two of you, and you know immediately what he means. He’s got a point. Friends with benefits don’t usually stay to take care of the other when they’re sick. But maybe you’re just fulfilling the first half of the title. 

Simply being his friend. 

(Though, you'd never actually been his friend before this whole arrangement started. Just a string of accidents that had lead from one thing to apparently being naked in his bed and having the best sex you've ever had in your life.)

So, yeah. A friend.

A friend who’s preparing a wet rag to wipe the sweat off of his body, to make sure he’s clean because you know that even when he isn’t suffering through a fever, Ryland has a hard time taking care of himself.

A friend who is dragging it from his shoulder to his hand, being careful to wipe across every bare skin you can gain access to - his stomach, his chest, his back.

“I mean… we’re in bed, and you’re half naked right now. It’s not very far from our usual Thursdays.” 

He laughs, although his throat is congested and his nose feels like it’s suffocating him further the more he actually laughs. It's pleasant to listen to because not everyone is subjected to it often.

There are horror stories of the man, and rarely any room for imagination of what you're currently first-handedly experiencing. Genuine laughter, the reduction of snark in his tone, appreciative streaks in his eyes.

"And you're wearing my favorite white lace."

"And that." The corner of your lips tilting upward just a little. You can see him mirroring it.

"Still." He prods.

You shake your head.

“This is just me saying thanks for the library thing.” You say a little more seriously, looking down at the wet rag in your hands, already starting to get up from the edge of his bed. “Anyways, lie back down and try to get some sleep.”

You smile to yourself when he sinks beneath the blankets without another argument.

“Thanks, (Name).”

“Call us even, Grace.”

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I just read all of your Ryland Grace fics (guess who rewatched project hail mary tonight lmao) and to put it simply I am fucking INSANE for him being all smart and technical during sex 😭

so if you're interested and have time, I'd love to see some more writing of Ryland being a smartass during sex 🤧 ty!!

I am not a scientist so most of this was from google (WITHOUT ai, thank you very much lmao). Ryland Grace x gn!reader. 18+. Dom!Ryland, teasing, he's a smartass who likes to show off.

"How fast do you think we're going?"

It's purred into your ear, and you know you can't fight back because he's so deep inside you and it's so good. You're just going to have to lie here and suffer through this.

"Grace..." you say, trying to make your voice a low warning. It doesn't really come out that way though, because he moves his hips in just such a way that his tip hits the perfect spot. Ryland pulls back a little so that he's able to grin down at you, sweat-slicked and pleasure-hooked, and you know you're trapped as his goddamn student for as long as he's thrusting into you.

"No, go on. How fast?"

He pulls out until only his cockhead is still inside you. You wriggle a bit, attempting to chase the rest of his length, but the man is made of muscle and doesn't move. He raises his eyebrow and tilts his head, waiting for you to play along.

"I don't know! If the speed of light is... oh god..." he slides another inch in to show you that you're doing well, "three hundred million metres a second..."

"Not quite. It's two hundred and ninety-nine million, seven hundred and ninety-two thousand, four hundred and fifty eight metres per second..." with every corrected digit he thrusts forwards a little further into you, making his cock feel fucking miles long and driving you crazy, "... but who's counting?"

You shoot him with an unimpressed look, but then he pushes all the way inside and you can feel his sac slap you, and all you can do is moan.

"So now you know that number, how fast are we going? I'll give you a clue, we're travelling ninety-nine pointy five percent the speed of light."

It's not fair how he doesn't even look bothered as he's lecturing you, as if the way he's making your body feel on fire is barely of interest to him. You squirm beneath him as he makes tiny little movements of his hips, teasing you where you need him most.

"Oh god... okay n-niiii-iii-ehhh...." -- fuck, he's so deep -- "ninety-nine...point five... oh fuck... Ry, I can't do it...!"

"No?" it's a little condescending. You can feel tears of need burn in your eyes as he teases you.

"It feels too good... can't do maths while you're in me..."

"If you need help, raise your hand."

Any other day, you'd slap him for being such a smartass. But you're so close to coming that you do it anyway, your trembling hand reaching above your head.

"Please, Doctor Grace, can you help me?" you manage, and that does it for him. The use of his title as your body is totally beneath his control has his head falling forwards against your shoulder and fucking into you so hard that the two of you scoot up the Mary's bunk. Your walls contract around him as you release, beckoning his own soon after, and the two of you take a moment to breathe in tandem as the world comes back to you.

You tap on Ryland's back. He pulls back to look at you, glasses foggy and hair sex-messed, only to find your brow furrowed as your mouth moves.

"Two-hundred and eighty-four million, eight hundred and two thousand, eight hundred thirty-five metres a second. Rounded down. That's how fast we're going, I think."

It takes him a fraction of a second to check your working once he's realised you're using his back as an abacus, and he grins.

"A-plus," he hums, and kisses you.

tags: @kenstimetoshine @nerd-do-well @kiffycreative @bookerdefay @pixiebuggz @regalfirebird @go-bonkers-go-foolish @inthegalaxxy @sexyleftist @julepod @cosmicyeehaw @s4turnsb3st @qardasngan @valentine-blue @wereallbrokenangels @h4rumichan @irlr0gue @writingpromptsworld@pygmandelions (lmk if you wanna be added or removed!)

[yearningforsolitude]

this isn’t an original thought at all, but there’s just something about the thought of ryland being all whiny when you have sex for the first time.

he’s just so put together and conventionally attractive that it’s hard to believe his sex life is pretty much nonexistent before you. but sure enough, the second he slides inside of you, he has tears welling up in his pretty blue eyes and he’s apologizing through broken little moans for being so sensitive, it’s just been so long since he’s been inside someone so tight and warm.

and he doesn’t even last long, only being able to handle a few minutes before he’s pulling out and coming all over your stomach. and then he’s apologizing again, only this time he’s worried that he has completely ruined his chances at ever having sex with you again, so he’s also begging to make it up to you. he’ll use his fingers or mouth or anything he can to get you to that release you deserve, the release he so desperately wants to give to you.

and he does get you there, following your directions so obediently and listening for your reactions to learn you to the best of his abilities. by the end of it, he’s grinding down into the mattress because he’s so worked up again just by listening to you and watching you come around his fingers.

[keyfili]

RYAN GOSLING as DRIVER 𝒟𝓇𝒾𝓋ℯ 2011 • dir. Nicolas Winding Refn

[rockylandphm]

is it casual now ; asleep in the library

synopsis. a summary of drabbles / one-shots with fwb!ryland where both of you start to question, is this arrangement still casual?

(~0.9k words) all these chapters are suggestive

masterlist | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

Hell week, the week before exams, comes without warning.

It had not informed you so you could've better prepared yourself. Instead, it slams into you in full force, forcing you to live through 4 hours of sleep and a shit ton of coffee.

The campus library becomes your second home as does a lot of people from numerous departments, studying until ungodly hours and sneaking in cups of hot coffee.

Though, you don’t even reach midnight until your eyes start to droop. And it’s a losing battle with your exhaustion because before you know it, you’d fallen asleep in your favorite spot at the library—the one with the perfect view of the campus outside, but still near enough that all the books you need are just an arm’s reach.

In the routine of habit, Ryland also finds himself in the library, wind picking up on his messy hair as he hurries to secure his own spot before every other student in your huge campus claims territory.

That’s how he finds you, asleep over your textbook with your mouth parted, and your arms acting as a makeshift pillow. You looked… uncomfortable, hunched over your little table.

Ryland shakes his head in amusement, and probably should’ve settled for that reaction before seating himself elsewhere. It should’ve just been something to chuckle at (at best), and then ignore as he prepares himself for the coming tests.

What he does, instead, is linger.

He looks around for a moment, looks at your discarded coffee cups, at your laptop that’s showing a low battery warning sign, at its charger just discarded at the corner of your table.

Without another word, but a very deep exhale, he reaches over and plugs the charger into a socket just before your laptop could die.

He doesn’t know what prompts his behavior, head busy with coming up with an excuse as to why he’s doing what he’s doing.

What is he doing?

You don’t even stir.

Very carefully, he eases the thick textbook out from beneath your arms before folding his sweatshirt into a rough pillow and sliding it back to where your textbook had been.

Thursday was tomorrow, and if he had to listen to you complain about a stiff neck in the middle of sex, that was on him.

This was just him taking preventative measures.

(There, a perfect excuse.)

Your head tips down, a tiny sigh leaving your lips when your head lands on something soft in comparison to what was a very hard textbook.

And once he’s sure you’re just a little more comfortable than when he’d found you, he leaves to grab a few textbooks he needed so he could start studying himself.

By the time you finally stir awake, it’s already one in the morning.

“Fuck.” You grumble, rubbing your eyes and trying to blink away the sleep in a hurried pace. Like when you dream about being late to class.

You glance down to see where you’d left off, but instead of a textbook, you only see a very familiar sweatshirt.

It’s definitely Ryland’s.

You’d worn this after sex once or twice.

He must be in the vicinity. Of course he is. The library is his second home (aside from the laboratory).

Looking around, you finally find him, head buried into a book and completely unaware that you’d woken up. You drag your chair out of the table as quietly as you can, moving to a still preoccupied Ryland with his sweatshirt in your hands.

“I think this is yours?”

“You’re awake.” He looks up at the sound of your voice, taking the sweatshirt from you. “Good. I was starting to get cold.”

You only scoff in response, though sleepily so it doesn’t come out as you’d intended. It’s as threatening as a kitten’s sneeze.

Ryland pulls the sweatshirt over his head, slipping his arms into the sleeves before glancing at the clock mounted on the library wall. “You should head home.”

You blink once, then glance back at your scattered notes and thick textbook a few tables away from his.

“I can’t.” You sigh, rubbing at your eyes again and letting out a defeated groan. “I’m not even halfway done. But I’m also afraid I’ll fall asleep again if I stay.”

Ryland is quiet for a moment. Looking at your table, and then the empty seat in front of him.

“You can sit there.” He gestures to the empty chair across him with the end of his pencil. “I’ll hold you accountable.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips before you can stop it.

“Good idea.”

Without another word, you return to your table, gathering your laptop, notes, and textbook into a haphazard stack before carrying everything over.

Ryland silently shifts a few of his own books aside to make room for yours.

Neither of you says thank you. Neither of you questions why you’re suddenly studying together. The only sounds made are the quiet turning of pages, the scratching of pencils against paper, and every so often, Ryland doing exactly what he said he would—holding you accountable.

“You’re zoning out.”

Your eyes snap back to your notes. “No, I’m not.”

Ryland simply hums, returning to his own textbook.

Outside, the rest of the campus falls asleep.

[lynkz777]

going to bed without reading fanfiction is like being sent to bed without dinner

[digitalmyyth]

The shot of Rocky walking away down the tunnel is so funny. on loop in my head all the time

[digitalmyyth]

there he goes..

[thiscoulddecay]

[yearningforsolitude]

MANHANDLING with LUKE GLANTON

synopsis — luke likes to use his strength to his advantage—especially when it comes to you. here are three different examples of that.

cw — mdni, afab & f!reader, manhandling, cunnilingus, light overstimulation, luke likes to ask for permission, (over)use of ‘baby’ as a pet name, luke has sweetie moments, i think that’s it!

wc — around 1.7k

a/n — tysm to the anon who sent in this idea! i had so much fun writing it! and a HUGE thank you to sweet sue aka @rockylandphm and fabulous fizz aka @alienfizzhead for reading over this and helping me out with it tremendously!! thank you both for your kind words and i appreciate you two so much! <3

Luke is a strong man, he’s aware of that.

His muscles, prominent and built by consistent physical labor, are a clear representation of that raw strength he holds inside of him.

He likes to use it for you. You get that sweet look in your eyes when you need something and he’s yours, whatever you need from him.

You ask him to open a jar for you? He can do that.

You need a heavy bag carried in? He’s on it.

You want the furniture rearranged? He scolds you if you even try to lift one of your delicate fingers.

He likes being needed, feeling like he has a purpose. His strength comes in handy for that.

His strength comes in handy in other ways, too.

Like when he’s kneeling at the edge of your shared bed and you’re spread out in front of him. You’ve already came twice, just from his fingers and tongue alone. You’re using your elbows to pull yourself up the bed, away from him and his touch. You almost make it to the top, but he’s quick to wrap his hands around your ankles and drag you back down to him.

“Why’re you tryin’ to run away from me, baby?” He says the words through a laugh, his breath hitting your wet cunt and causing it to twitch.

“S’too much, Luke.” He hears you say, voice all shaky and breathless as you come down from your orgasm. You’re trying to close your legs, push your thighs together and block him from the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. He’s fairly offended by the action. He won’t allow it.

He almost feels bad for you.

Almost.

“It’s not too much.” He moves his hands from your ankles to your thighs, using his muscle to push them back open and pin them down against the bed. You’re no match for him and he knows that you know it. “Wanna taste one more before I fuck you. You can do that, right, baby?” He asks, pressing little kisses against the inside of your thigh to help coax you into agreement. He trails his kisses down to your cunt, but pauses as he waits for your answer.

“One more.” Your voice is quiet but sure, giving him the verbal confirmation he needed.

He places a teasing kiss against your clit, his lips curling up into a guilty grin as he watches you writhe from the small action. You won’t last long this time, he’s sure of that.

“Atta girl.”

He works you up again slowly, careful not to give you too much or too little. He pumps his fingers in and out of you with ease, aided by his saliva mixed with your previous releases. His mouth finds your clit again, sucking softly on the sensitive bud. He finds that delicate spot inside of you, the one that makes your back arch when he hits it. You’re quickly approaching your third release of the night.

He pulls his mouth away all at once, slows the movements of his fingers.

You groan, an annoyed sound that has him entirely too pleased with himself.

Then, you start bucking your hips, eager to get yourself to that release you were just minutes ago saying would be “too much.” He almost can’t believe his eyes when he watches you bring your own hand down to your core, inches from his face, and begin to try to rub circles against your clit. It takes him a moment, but he finally reacts.

His free hand moves from your thigh to your wrist, pulling your hand away from yourself and pinning it to your lower stomach. You sigh loudly, wriggling to get out of his grasp, but he holds you there steady.

“Too eager for your own good, baby. I’ll get you there, you just need to be patient.” He says the words like a promise, which is exactly what they are.

His strength is used during those times when you’ve grown tired in his lap, when your bouncing has turned into the slow rolling of your hips that he knows means you need a little help from him.

“Someone’s getting lazy.” His tone is accusatory, but there’s no real bite behind his words. Truthfully, he likes when you get like this. Your body and brain are all tired and soft, but you’re still aching for that sweet release that only he can give you. It makes it easier for him to fuck into you at a pace he knows will make the both of you cum quickly.

“You poor thing,” He playfully tuts at you, “You need my help?” He asks the question already knowing what the answer will be—he just wants to hear you say it.

“Mhm, please, Luke. Need your help.” You keep the slow roll of your hips going as you respond, your voice all soft and needy. He feels that familiar surge in his chest, the one that’s specific only to you when you ask for his assistance. He can’t hide the way his lips curl up into a slow half smile at your words.

He’s watching your face, your eyes are half-lidded with desire, but they catch his. You must notice his expression, because you give him your own coy smile in return. He can’t help himself, before he knows it he’s leaning in and pressing a swift kiss to your lips—so quick you don’t even have a chance to fully react to it. It only makes your smile grow larger once he has pulled away.

With your permission, he begins to finally aid you. His hands move from their resting place on your thighs up to your hips, and he uses his grip to help begin to bounce you on his cock, getting you back to a slow rhythm and building from there. It doesn’t take him very long before he has a quick pace going, raising you up and then letting you fall back down onto him. Luke has taken full control of your movements now. You don’t even have to do anything for him now, just sit there and make those pretty little sounds he loves so much and let him fuck you down onto his cock.

Your hands find their way behind his head, locking behind his neck and pulling at the hair that rests there, earning you a quiet groan from him. His eyes are glued to where the two of you are connected, watching as you greedily keep taking him in. He sees that creamy white ring of your arousal coating the base of his cock, getting caught in the dark hair that rests on his groin. His balls twitch at the mere sight of it, at the physical reaction your body is giving him that he’s making you feel good.

His messy girl, you are.

You’ve worked him up all day. Your hand on his thigh, fingers rubbing circles into his jeans. Your fingers in his hair, twirling and tugging at the dyed strands. He couldn’t even make it to the bedroom when the two of you got home.

The view in front of him is something he’d kill for. He has you bent over the kitchen table, the skirt of your dress bunched up around your hips. His jeans and boxers have been pushed down just far enough for him to free his aching cock. He makes quick work of your underwear, pulling them off your hips and down to your thighs. One deep push and he’s fully seated inside of you, exactly where he has craved to be all day.

Your hips are wiggling just a little bit too much for his liking, so he places one hand on your lower back and pushes you down further into the table to help steady you, prevent your movements.

“Gonna make a mess of you.” He groans, beginning the steady, cruel rhythm of his thrusts. He’s not giving you any reprieve, not tonight. He’s going to fuck you until he spills deep inside of you. “You want that, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Luke. I want that, want you.” He hears you cry, watching the way your fingers dig into the wooden table beneath your palms.

One notably deep thrust has you gasping—and the table scooting a few inches across the floor from the force. He doesn’t falter, adjusting his footing and crowding behind you somehow even closer. He alters the positions of his hands, moving one up to hold the back of your neck and resting one on your hip, fingers gripping the skin. The new position helps him pull you back towards him to meet the snap of his hips.

He can feel the way your thighs are starting to twitch against his, how your moans have turned into broken cries. Your cheek is smushed against the table, but from the side of your face that he can see, he notes how your eyes have turned wet.

“You about to cum for me?” He gets out between deep breaths, voice all knowing and smug. You try to nod your head, not able to spit out any actual words—only broken little sounds. He knows you are from the tiny little tells of your body. “Yeah, you are. Let me feel you, baby.” He urges, keeping up his pace to get you there.

A loud cry is his first indication that you’re cumming, followed by that familiar squeeze your warm walls gives his throbbing cock. That right there is enough to send him spiraling. He’s leaning over you now, his chest pressing you down into the table even further as he seats himself fully inside of you again and lets himself finally cum.

He presses kisses against your head, then your sweaty cheek, rocking his hips until the two of you have both come down from that blissful high. The two of you are a panting, sticky mess by the end of it—both in desperate need of a cool shower, where round two will most definitely occur.

a/n — i hope u enjoyed reading! feedback is always appreciated!!! <3

[rockylandphm]

let’s discuss this. Let’s discuss how i need every single moment of this to be reenacted by me and luke. ASHDHDHDDFLLLNNNMNNb!!!! 🥺🥺🥺

twirling my hair and thinking about how Big he is. i need a big boyyyy, i need him to manhandle me and use his strength on me and absolutely just obliterate me. Yes like him controlling mc and their pace…or in the KITCHEN!!

the “atta girl” ………. the taking mc’s hand away and telling her to be patient. I’m so dizzy rn you guys don’t understand.

[rockylandphm]

you write Ryland and Colt both so well!! I yearn for more coltland x reader ugh you wld do them so right

hi !!!….! i actually have a wip ongoing but it’ll probably take me ages. it’s called “twin trouble” and it’s Def a coltland x reader 😈

currently i only have pushing it down & praying .. and kind of also the blind date trap ?!???….

THOOOO i have another Angsty idea for them. think eternity the movie… Yeah. #evil

[rockylandphm]

Hello!!!

Just wanted to say I am in love with your account so far!! I can't wait to finally sit down and go through your account🩷

hiii wait hello…? thank you so much.! 🥹 i hope u enjoy the things i’ve written and put out on here !!!

[regalfirebird]

How long would it take for the rygos boys to figure out your kinks……alternatively, how obvious would each of their kinks be pre-sex?

So, this absolutely got away from me and turned into a full-fledged... something. I had a lot of fun lol. MOST importantly, thank you for the beautiful ask! Hope you come back to the box again soon :D

Decided to go with the second question: how obvious would the boys' kinks be before the relationship progressed to sex?

Colt Seavers / K / Sebastian Wilder / Ryland Grace / Lars Lindstrom / Luke Glanton

It doesn’t take much to figure out that Colt has a thing for praise. You watch him while he works and notice his smile burns brightest after a stunt if he gets a “Hell yeah, Seavers!” or “Well done!” from someone who was watching; it doesn’t matter who. That in and of itself isn’t conclusive, so you decide more research is in order. Colt is a giver by nature and it’s therefore easy to find an excuse to lay on the adoration. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re so thoughtful,” you say when he brings you coffee one morning. You kiss his blushing cheek and find him still smiling an hour later. 

You lean into it, showering him with compliments for even the smallest deeds so you can watch how he melts and ducks his head in embarrassment. Your favorite is when he bashfully rubs the back of his neck, which affords you a spectacular view of his ridiculously defined bicep. He tries once, half-heartedly, to get you to stop. 

“You don’t have to say that,” he mumbles, glancing away as heat creeps up his face. 

“Sure, but I know you like it.” His eyes go wide. His lips part but nothing comes out. “Don’t you?” you press. 

“Uh-huh,” Colt responds, staring and sounding a little dazed. 

You grin. 

You wouldn't call K quiet; he can actually be fairly talkative when he’s in the mood to be, but he is shy about what he likes, so it takes time to find out he's fond of your voice. K is new to gentleness, to relationships that aren’t transactional, so you’re more than happy to take things slow. You walk together and explore the city, sometimes without saying a word as he glides along at your side. But the silence is comfortable, and you suspect he needs more of that in his life. Your evenings are spent in his apartment, where you cook for him in exchange for him teaching you how to dance. After, you lay on the couch with your head in his lap and he reads to you from real books he’s picked up here and there. 

It happens when you suggest you read to him for a change. K settles against you and his head rests on your thigh as you begin the next passage from the battered novel. Nothing strikes you as out of the ordinary over the next few nights; you’re too absorbed in the story to notice K’s breathing pick up or to attribute the discrete shift of his hips to anything other than him getting comfortable. 

It takes K actually sitting up to pull you out of things. “K?” you ask, then let out a surprised gasp as his lips find your neck. It’s controlled but intense, so much like the rest of him. 

“Keep going,” he urges, and you do your best. 

Sebastian… leave it to the pianist to be really into your hands. He is not subtle, though little about Sebastian could be said to be understated. When you’re together, it's a given he’s holding your hand and is probably running his thumb over it. He’s constantly bringing your fingers to his lips, to the point you’re not certain he’s aware he’s doing it. He lights up when you touch him, not in a bright burst, but a warm, steady glow that softens his features and brings a wondering smile to his face. Sebastian can be a bit of a live wire, but you never feel it when your hands are on him. 

You realize there's another layer to his fixation when he’s listening to you play a moderately challenging piece from next to you on the piano bench and his hand slides onto your thigh. You glance at him, stopping, but Sebastian isn't looking at your face. It’s only after he realizes you’re waiting for an explanation that he pulls his eyes away from your hands. He has the grace to blush. 

“Uh, I was just…” he stammers. “Watching your form.” 

You raise an eyebrow. You lift your hands off the keys and press two fingers to Sebastian’s lips; his pupils dilate fast. “Want to do more than watch?” you offer. He nods eagerly, and opens.  

Katoptronophilia. Derived from the Greek words for “mirror” and “love,” as Ryland explains it. Of course he would know the etymology of the proper term for his mirror kink. At first you think he’s just being cute, pulling you to his side when he catches sight of a mirrored surface so you can admire how fine a pair you make. “Look how beautiful you are,” he’ll murmur in your ear, or, “See why I can’t keep my hands to myself?” The behavior fits neatly within Ryland’s mile-wide romantic streak, so you never attribute it to anything more. 

Until you catch him eyeing your reflections in the portion of the bathroom mirror that’s visible from where you’re making out on the couch. It ruins the mood for you, and Ryland makes it worse by launching into a spiel that sounds distressingly rehearsed about why what he was doing isn’t that strange from a scientific standpoint. You just think he’s vain; that’s as far as the subject goes that night. The next day you apologize for reacting so badly and the two of you are able to have a clear-headed discussion about it, which concludes with Ryland picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. You wiggle out of his arms and position your full-length standing mirror so it has a good view of the bed. 

“Care to show me what’s so interesting?” you purr, and Ryland hauls his shirt off so quickly it rips his glasses off his face. You retrieve them and set them back on his nose. “There. Now you can see me from whatever angle you want.” 

There isn't much talking after that. 

Not in ten thousand years would you have guessed that Lars has a breeding kink. You haven’t gotten to sex yet, but things are definitely heading in that direction. Making a grown man come in his pants just from humping him over his clothes is surprisingly fun, and you’re in no rush to move to deeper waters until Lars feels he’s ready. What you don’t know is that Lars is stalling; not because he’s nervous the physical sensations will be too much for him, but because he’s worried he’s going to say something completely insane like, “Gonna get you pregnant,” even if he knows it’s impossible. 

It turns out Lars’ fears are well-founded, because the first time he fingers you it comes out. 

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, arching off the bed as Lars’ thick fingers pump inside you. “Wanna feel the rest of you.” 

“Yeah?” Lars breathes, hooking his fingers and making you gasp. “Want me to fill you up?” 

“Yes!” 

“Gonna put a baby in you, make you mine-” Lars full-body freezes, registering what he just said. Your reaction is not what he expects: a throaty moan as you grasp his wrist to try and get him to move again. 

“Yes daddy, I’ll be so good for you… Please…”

Lars is so turned on he can’t see straight, but doesn’t let that get in the way of taking care of you. After you return the favor, you brush away the hair that’s fallen on his forehead. “Was that too much?” you ask nervously. 

He raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “Was- You-” He shakes his head vigorously. “I was the one who got carried away…” 

You smile. “I liked it.” 

Lars makes a split-second decision. “Can you say it again?” he almost whispers.

You wrap your arms around his neck and put your lips against his ear. “Daddy.” 

He’s done for.

Luke getting off on submission is simultaneously unexpected and unsurprising. He’s always been a sweetheart, and the longer you’ve been together the more it shows. He’ll pick up things from the store you mentioned offhandedly that you needed, often throwing in a little something extra, like the chips you’ve been craving. When deciding what to do for the day or what to have for dinner, he’s always giving suggestions he thinks you’ll like, even if you know he’d make a different choice if it was just him. Luke loves being able to do things for you, and sometimes you’ll ask for his help even if you don’t need it because seeing the look on his face when he can be useful for you is the best part of your day. 

The strongest hint you have is his physical deference to you. He doesn’t take the lead while kissing unless you ask him to and even then he lets you move him however and wherever you want. He gravitates to you being on top of him, whether that means straddling him on the couch or laying him out on the living room floor and kissing him senseless. It’s during one of those times you realize how committed he is to his role. 

“Tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” Luke murmurs between kisses. 

You sit up on his hips, considering. “C’mon, please?” he nearly whines, and that’s when you understand it’s serious. 

“Arms over your head,” you try, and Luke obeys instantly. You feel him shudder. You take off his belt and use it to bind his wrists together. “Is that okay?” you ask. 

Luke huffs affirmatively. “If you want to put it around my neck, that’s good too.” 

Your eyes widen a little as you feel your body react to the suggestion. Very carefully, you put your palm against his throat and let your fingers rest on the sides of his neck. “How’s this?”

Luke tilts his head back; his pulse is flying under your hand. “Good, really good.” 

You give a light squeeze and he gasps. Really good, indeed.