pairing: various ryan gosling characters x fem!reader
featuring: ryland grace, colt seavers, holland march, court gentry, jacob palmer, lars lindstrom, officer k, sebastian wilder, and ken
warnings: none, enjoy!
- Ryland Grace -
⤷ sometimes you’ll sit in his lap while he’s grading papers, fiddling with his hair and peppering his jaw with kisses… overall being very distracting
⤷ you also love admiring his hands, often playing with them while you guys are relaxing
⤷ when he wears his ridiculously tight science shirts that make his biceps look a little too good, you can’t help but stare and give them an experimental squeeze
⤷ poor, unsuspecting Ryland will be prepping a science lab for his kiddos, and then jump in surprise when he feels your hands around his arms
⤷ “hey sweetheart, did you need som–”
⤷ “shush, i’m concentrating”
⤷ if he had a rough day teaching (or a bad interaction back when he was still in the scientific community), he immediately seeks out your comforting embrace once he gets home
⤷ one day while you were kissing his face, he reached up to remove his glasses so they weren’t in your way
⤷ when you realized what he was doing, you interlocked your fingers with his to stop him, and continued about your business
- Colt Seavers -
⤷ he’s down bad for you, so anything you want, it’s yours
⤷ cuddles? hand holding? kisses? your wish is his command
⤷ please be careful while snuggling with him though, this poor boy has at least ten bruises on him at all times from getting thrown around for his job
⤷ you both like laying on top of the other when relaxing, and Colt falls asleep every time
⤷ if you’re draped over him, he’ll have his arms wrapped around you and knock out in minutes– he claims you’re like a cozy weighted blanket
⤷ on the flip side, if he’s laying on top of you, he’ll bury his face in your neck and drift off while your hands comb through his hair
⤷ whenever he’s sitting in a chair, you like standing in front of him to hold his face and press gentle kisses into his skin
⤷ Colt just sits there and soaks it up, completely drunk on your love
- Holland March -
⤷ oh you’re touchy? don’t need to tell him twice— he’s allll over you
⤷ especially when he’s drunk, Holland’s hands are physically unable to stop roaming your body
⤷ one time, when you were guiding him to his car after a night out (he was DRUNK drunk), he was shocked to find a pretty girl on his arm and couldn’t stop spewing out cringey pick up lines
⤷ you just buckled him up, kissed him on the cheek, and got in the driver’s seat
⤷ he normally blacks out after drinking too much, but his resolve to stare at the pretty lady driving him home won out
⤷ after a particularly long day of detective work with Healy, he’ll collapse into your arms without hesitation
⤷ likes to bury his face in the crook of your neck or lay on your stomach if you guys are lounging
⤷ you idly scratch his head or play with his hair in these positions, and he absolutely melts
⤷ when he’s smoking, you’ll kiss him around his neck and face… sometimes the cigarette gets forgotten as a result
- Court Gentry -
⤷ BIG MUSCLESS… who said that
⤷ anyways you’re one of his “safehouses”
⤷ every time he shows up at your doorstep all battered and bloodied, he berates himself for always endangering you even though he’s double and triple checked that he wasn’t followed
⤷ before the regret can fully sink in, you never fail to dissipate it when you embrace him and usher him inside
⤷ to Court, your house is cozy and warm, but your arms are warmer
⤷ when he gets in his head about how dangerous his job is and how he’s risking your life, you shut him up with a kiss and firmly restate that you’d rather take the risk of being with him than choose to be with anyone else
⤷ if it was an especially rough mission, you force him straight to the bathroom where you turn on a hot shower and prep first aid materials
⤷ you take your time to wash him, and Court finally lets himself relax while you lather him up and massage his tense muscles, careful to avoid his injuries
⤷ in bed, you love to delicately trace his scars, fingers just barely ghosting his skin
⤷ you also make a habit of reaching under his shirt, running your hands along his abs
⤷ when he inevitably has to leave, the two of you stand in front of the door for a while, with you slowly kissing his face and refusing to let go
⤷ “darling, I really need to leave now”
⤷ “one more minute, please”
⤷ when you whisper into his ear like that with that pleading tone, he can’t refuse
- Jacob Palmer -
⤷ as much as you love touching him, he’s equally all over you
⤷ he’s used to girls getting with him to ogle at his body, so when you simply caress his face and hold his hand, he falls hard
⤷ the two of you spend a lot of time in bed, morning and night, just talking about life while being a mess of tangled limbs
⤷ he never realized it before you, but he loves being held– with previous girls, he was always the one to take the lead and initiate touch, but now that he has you, he’s able to let loose and be the one receiving all the affection
⤷ spooning is the go to sleeping pose, and you guys definitely switch between being the big/little spoon
- Lars Lindstrom -
⤷ back when he was still hesitant to touch you, he would often give you his special blue blanket to snuggle with
⤷ whether you guys are at church, on a walk, or resting at home, holding pinkies is a must
⤷ one morning, he was putting on one of his many sweaters, and you took a special liking to it
⤷ “that’s a nice sweater”
⤷ his head whipped up to look at you, and after a moment of processing, he couldn’t repress the genuine smile spreading on his face
⤷ you held the sleeve of his sweater for the rest of the day, and you couldn’t help but notice that he wore it a little more often ever since
⤷ at night, he’s grown accustomed to falling asleep with his hand intertwined with yours
⤷ you’ll work up to cuddling/spooning, and you reassure him there’s no rush
⤷ Lars was pleasantly surprised to find that your touch doesn’t burn as much as others
- Officer K -
⤷ for the longest time he only had Joi, so this boy is touch starved like crazyy
⤷ he loves coming home to you and he deeply treasures the fact that he has someone tangible to hold and be held by after a long day
⤷ you’ve formed this nightly ritual of him coming home and collapsing into your arms– you like to lay there as he tells you about his day while you rub soothing circles into his back
⤷ if his hunting job was particularly brutal or bloody, you gently peel off his clothes, draw a bath for him, and help him clean up
⤷ his favorite part is when you wash his hair– the way your fingers scratch his head just right and how they trail down his shoulders to gently squeeze his arms really gets him
⤷ one rainy night, he led you out to the rooftop, hands intertwined as you let the rain hit your skin and drench your hair
⤷ he reached out to tuck your soaked hair behind your ear, and when he let his hand hover beside your head, you guided it to rest on your cheek, nuzzling into it
⤷ K doesn’t smile often, but in that moment, he couldn’t help it because of how real everything felt to him
- Sebastian Wilder -
⤷ one of your favorite pastimes is to curl up with him at night and listen to his grand plans for his club, all while absentmindedly tracing shapes on the palm of his hand
⤷ after his performances, you love pulling him in by his tie for a kiss (and he’s so into it)
⤷ when you’re done with him, his tie is loose and his hair is all messed up, but he’s got this drunk smile plastered on his face
⤷ you guys go out to jazz clubs at least once a week, and without fail you’re holding his hand under the table
⤷ he’s a traditionalist, so he loves offering his arm to you whenever you guys are walking together, which you gladly take
⤷ your shared bed is small, but it doesn’t even matter because of how thoroughly entangled you guys are while sleeping
- Ken!! -
⤷ after a long, laborious day of beach, he’ll happily prance into your open arms (beach is not an easy job!!)
⤷ if you’re holding on to his arm, he’ll puff out his chest a little and deliberately walk past the other Kens to make them jealous
⤷ you love running your hands down his abs or feeling up his biceps and this man absolutely soaks it up
⤷ he lovesss when you make him feel macho
⤷ but in the privacy of your dreamhouse, Ken will cling to you like a koala
⤷ bonus: one day, you asked him to stay the night to cuddle, and let’s just say his reaction was NOT as subtle as he thought it was
⤷ he had to excuse himself (which meant walking a few feet away, still directly in your line of sight) to triumphantly pump his arms and yell “SUBLIME!!”
⤷ he comes back all nonchalant, so you just scoff with a smile and drag him inside your dreamhouse by the hand
a/n: this was so fun and easy to write UGH the rygos obsession is hitting hard...
HELLOOO! Hope ur havung a gr8 day, I just wan a pop in a request for fluffy hcs on how the geese would realise theyre in love with you? (I would rlly like ryland, holland and driver... anyone else is welcomed dearly xx)
Realising He's in Love Headcanons
ft. Henry Letham / Ryland Grace / Ken / Holland March / Lars Lindstrom
Henry Letham (Stay)
realises during a quiet late-night in his studio
you’re sitting on the floor surrounded by his half-finished paintings reading while he’s having a silent internal anxious episode about how much he hates this painting
he looks over at you just quietly reading looking cute and his world stops spinning. for the first time in ever he actually wants the company of someone else instead of wanting to be alone during these moments
crawls down onto the floor to sit with you and plops his head in your lap
becomes super protective and clingy after he realises he's down bad
Ryland Grace (Project Hail Mary)
one of his students asks him if he's in love with you (they met you ONCE to drop off his lunch that he forgot) and he gets all blushy and hides behind a giant science textbook until they drop it
(they don't: the only way to get them to shut up is to say OK FINE yes i love her. then they start calling him Mr. Love. sigh)
goes home and thinks about it like wait that's a good question
tells you about it and you're like "haha kids are crazy. what did u say tho???.."
he pauses and puts his bags down then says: "well. i said yes"
you're super happy but you don't make it a big deal just kiss him silly (his glasses are all crooked and he's covered in lipgloss marks, grinning like an idiot)
writes your name in the margins of his notebook like a lovesick student eeee
Ken (Barbie)
obvs it's in the most dramatic, over-the-top way possible
you do something tiny like comfort him when he realises you have to deal with patriarchy ("so, it's not just horses?")
once he calms down from crying about that, he looks up at you stroking his hair and realises he is crazy about you
has a full internal crisis and starts crying again until you're like ?? is it about the horses again?? but he won't tell you what's up
starts planning a ridiculous romantic gesture then and there to profess his love to you
Holland March (The Nice Guys)
he is for sure drunk and pathetic on your couch. he's like a homing pigeon to your apartment: no matter how drunk he is, he will find his way to yours easy (somehow can't get himself to his own house tho)
you’re cleaning his wounds and calling him an idiot for getting involved in whatever mess it is this time
you stick a cigarette between his lips and light it to shut him up. he freezes and is 100% erect in 2 seconds flat
"that's the sexiest thing i've ever seen in my life" + pulls you onto his lap while you squeal and pout for him to let you finish patching him up
"i think i love you" "you're just saying that because you're drunk" "no i'm not. i'll say it again tomorrow"
wakes up with the WORST hangxiety and is like "did i say i love you? good. because i meant it"
Lars Lindstrom (Lars and the Real Girl)
clocks on slowly and gently over many many many moments
hits him when you smile at him warmly while doing something ordinary together, or come outside to bring him a cup of cocoa whilst he's chopping wood
gets all shy and overthinks it for days, hiding away before accepting it. you're like "lars i've not seen you in a week did i do something?" and he hangs up the call, drives straight to your house and kisses ypu for the first time
How the Different Geese would cuddle their partners in bed
Featuring: Colt Seavers, Ryland Grace, Lars Lindstorm, Holland March and Ken
Pairings GN!reader for Colt,Ryland and lars, Holland X AFAB!reader and Ken X fem!reader
Warnings: Swearing and a bit of implied NSFW headcannons with Colt Seavers
Word count: 2.8k
Colt Seavers: The both of you are laying on your side, with you being the little spoon and Colt either resting his head against your shoulder or buried in your hair. One of his arms is wrapped around your waist, while the other is against your chest just holding you close to him while you sleep.
You will consistently be waking up in the mornings to find his finger brushing gently strokes just above your waistband and occasionally dipping into your sleep shorts/panties.
You blink a couple times, eyes still adjusting to the light coming through your window. You try to lift your arms up above your head to stretch but for some reason you couldn’t move them. You glance down and find a familiar pair of strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close. That's also when you notice a light tickling sensation just above the waistband of your sleep shorts.
You turn your head into the shoulder behind you, “Colt…we have work” You mumble but make no effort to stop him when his pinkie dips into your shorts.
“Yeah well… I don’t have work, we wrapped up all stunts yesterday so” Colt replies, pressing teasing kisses against your neck.
“Yeah well I still have work, usually the make-up artists are needed all days of shooting so…” You point out, still not making much effort to stop him, even when his whole hand disappears in your shorts. His fingers move to trace the seam of your panties.
“Mmm you still have a few minutes, I can be so quick~” Colt nips a sensitive spot on your neck. “You know I can get a lot done in that short amount of time
You snort and roll your eyes, “uh huh yeahh. That’s what you always say but it always ends with us late for work because you have a bad sense of time”
“Mmm maybe I do that on purpose” Colt teases, raising an eyebrow.” His fingers move your panties aside to allow him access.
Your breath hitches as he teases you with his fingers, “uh huh… Besides, you have the inability to be quick, you enjoy drawing it out too much.” You mumble trying to remember your argument, feeling way too light headed from his simple touches.
“Mmm sounds like a challenge” Colt purrs with the biggest smirk on his face as he shifts positions so you are pressed underneath him. You move your hand up to push a lock of blonde hair out of his face before it moves down to cup his cheek.
Colt shifts to press a kiss to your palm before leaning full into your touch. It’s right there in this moment when he has the most smug,confident smirk on his face with his eyes full of love and longing for you and only you that you realize you are most certainly going to be late for work. But you wouldn’t trade these kinds of mornings for anything in the world.
Ryland Grace: Often you and Ryland don't end up going to bed at the same time due to him staying up late grading papers or something similar. So you actually don’t know how it is when he goes to bed. Though in the morning you always wake up on your back, blankets upon blankets piled on the bed, that definitely wasn’t there before. While Ryland is flopped over laying his head against your stomach as his arms are wrapped around your middle, just snoring away.
‘Just one more test… one more test and i’m done.’ Ryland thought to himself as he went through grading the final student’s test. Today was the deadline to put in students’ final grades and Ryland had accidently procrastinated too long until the last day and was now stuck grading. But thankfully he was on the very last one, with 20 minutes to spare.
His eyes were drooping, as he stared at the computer screen, fighting with all he could to stay awake. He marked the final question, submitted it and prayed to every god he could that he didn’t make a careless mistake, but honestly at this point he was just glad he was done!
Ryland trudged up the stairs, half asleep into the bedroom. He stood there contemplating just sleeping in his regular clothes, too tired to put on pajamas but changed his mind when he was reminded of the lecture he got from you the last time he did that. So instead he just stripped down to his astronaut boxers (a gift you had gotten him) and crawled into bed, passing out the moment his head hit the pillow.
~~~
You wake up in the morning with a heavy weight on your stomach. At first you assume it’s your cat but a content purring beside your head tells you otherwise. You peek open your eyes and find your boyfriend fast asleep, resting his head on your stomach using you as a pillow as he's practically perpendicular to the bed.
You just quietly laugh at the strange position he has put you guys in but you stay just like that, gently playing with his hair as he softly snores away.
“Happy first day of summer Sweetheart” You whisper as Ryland snuggles into you, feeling like he could finally sleep for days.
Lars Lindstrom: Because of his touch evasion best believe you guys aren't cuddling. The most you may get to is sharing the same bed and interlocking pinkies from across the bed
But for the sake of the fic once he gets REALLY comfortable with you and your touch then you two are wrapped around each other the whole night, both of you on your side facing each other, your arms wrapped around his neck while he is pulling you close and wrapped around your waist.
“So then I told Margot, you remember Margot from work? Anyway I told her- Lars sweetie, are you okay?” You ask softly, interrupting your story when you notice Lars hadn’t followed you into bed and was just standing at the foot of the bed, eyes scrunched tight.
You quickly scramble out of the covers and crawl towards him on the bed, careful not to touch or startle him. “Sweetheart, talk to me baby, what's going on?” You ask softly, eyes full of concern.
Lars quickly mumbles something but it’s so low and jumbled you can’t make out what he is saying. “Sweetie, can you speak up? I couldn’t hear a single word you said”
Lars flushes, opens his mouth, closes it and thinks for a minute about what he wanted to say before settling on, “You know what it’s nothing, Goodnight!” He rushes out, clearly changing his mind on his original sentence. Before you could respond he turns off the only lamp lighting up the room and gets under the covers signaling that this conversation was over.
You just frown confused but decide to let it go for now, you know your boyfriend and know if it’s serious he will tell you when he’s ready and it would be best to just leave it be. You climb into bed, under the covers and extend your hand out above the covers and let it rest in the space in between you two.
You smile into the darkness when you feel lars’ pinky intertwin with yours as a simple way of connection. Sure it was small but to the two of you it was everything, with physical affection causing a sensation of pain for Lars any sort of physical contact was a small win. So when he suggested interlocking pinkies as you slept together, you took it as an accomplishment and a good step forward.
You were finally drifting off to sleep when Lars was suddenly whispering your name “honey… honey are you awake?” He softly called out.
You shift to your side to properly face him, “yes baby, what is it?” your voice groggy from your almost sleep. Lars jumped at the sound of your voice, not actually thinking you would wake up.
“Ummm… can- can I try something new tonight!” Lars rushes out in one quick breath, you could barely make out in the darkness that his face was all scrunched tight as if bracing for rejection.
You yawn but try to push past your tiredness, “of course baby, what do you want me to do” You ask, rubbing your tired eyes.
Lars bits his lip thinking this through. “Umm, just stay there and stay really still” He instructs. You raise an eyebrow but do as asked, trusting whatever he planed.
Lars shifts on to his side as he moves impossibly close to you, slowly adjusting you so that you wrap your arms around his neck as if in a hug. He moved so your legs were tangled together and to top it off he scooted down the bed slightly so you guys were now nose to nose. “There we go,” Lars whispers, signaling he was finished.
You softly smile and rub your nose up and down the bridge of his. “Larsy baby you are ok with all this touch?” You ask just to make sure but your smile is evident in your voice.
“Yep!” Lars says, so proud of himself “Over the past few weeks i’ve been noticing your touch doesn’t hurt anymore and this was the last test.”
You softly chuckle, yeah Lars has been more physically affectionate these past few weeks but you didn’t expect these were tests, but either way you were proud of this result. “Mmm I see, and what’s the final conclusion?”
“I love your touch just as much as I thought I would, I love everything about you” Lars states simply. You smile up at him before moving in even closer if that was possible. Lars relaxes into your touch and lets out a contented exhale. “And you are just as snuggly as you look”
Holland March: At night –especially when drunk– he 100% falls into the bed and buries himself into your chest, like face full of boobs. As soons as he makes contact he lets out such a contented sigh before passing the fuck out. Oh and he's also holding you close like you’re his own teddy bear.
You are laying in bed, just reading your newest book in a series when you hear a loud thump, silence than yet again another thump followed by a loud “Fuck!” from the hallway just outside your bedroom. You let out a sigh and set down your book knowing you are in for a handful.
Holland comes stumbling with a small scowl on his face mumbling something about stupid invisible stairs. But as soon as he sees you his face instantly breaks out into a huge grin “SWEETHEART!!” He calls out rushing towards you, clearly very drunk. Holland goes over to give you a kiss but you push him aside.
“You’re drunk.” You state plainly, shooting him a glare.
It s’not my fault….” Holland pouts as he dramatically drops down, resting his head in your lap. “Healy took us out drink’in cause of job well done which rarely ever gets done… and then and then…”He pauses forgetting what he was going to say while you just snort knowing damn well it wasn’t Healy that took them out, he was still getting used to drinking again
“Oh! Then there was the bet I lost but uhh well-” He smiles at what he can remember of the crazy night but then instantly pouts when he remembers he’s trying to play into this sadness to earn your sympathy. “But now I'm here! With you my pretty girlfriend and that’s all I’ll ever need.“ He sighs wistfully. “Hey did you know I love youuu”
You just roll your eyes half in annoyance, half with affection. “Yes yes I know, I love you too” You say helping him up off you so he can change out of his suit.
It takes a lot of effort and distractions to get him out of the suit and strip him down just to his boxers. Even more of an effort to try and get him into pajamas so you settle for this.
Can, can you do something for me!” Holland asks suddenly. You give a tired sigh just wanting to go to bed. God you loved your boyfriend he was just a mess and a handful when drunk
“Yes baby what is it?” You ask exhausted.
Holland chuckles to himself, “I love when you call me that.” You make a motion telling him to proceed. “Oh yeah! Can you sit on the bed”
“Will this get you into bed faster?”
“Yes yes! I promise just do as I ask please” Holland pleads. You roll your eyes but settle on the bed, “mk mk lay on the bed under the covers but them not covering you” he instructs, words getting slower as he gets more tired. You do as asked laying on the sheets but the blankets not covering you.
Before you could react, Holland is on you. Laying in between your spread legs resting his face in your tits as his hand wrap around your middle “mmm perfect” he mumbles before passing out
Honestly you aren’t shocked by this anymore but instead are just glad he's finally asleep.
Ken: The man (doll?) is most definitely laying starfish on the bed taking up the whole bed. If not that then he is laying fully on you just completely covering you like a blanket or vise versa, either way someone is used as a blanket.
“Sooo I was thinking you should stay the night” You suggest, rocking back and forth on your feet.
“Why would I do that?” Ken asks with a bright smile on his face.
“You know, because we are boyfriend and girlfriend and I want to spend the night with you” You explain.
Ken ponders that for a moment. “What does that do with anything?”
You open your mouth to say something but shut it thinking better of it. You instead just grab his arm and drag him towards your new dreamhouse.
“Where are we going?” Ken asks, happily following after you.
“My dreamhouse, we are having a sleepover”
“Sublime!!!” Ken exclaims with a fistpump that you can’t help but giggle at.
You guys make your way to the dreamhouse and head upstairs to settle into bed. “Ken I’m just going to change into pajamas then I’ll come right into bed” You say before slipping into your closet.
“Ok i’m all ready, what do you-” You pause at the sight in front of you. Ken has stripped down to just his white boxer shorts with pink hearts scattered on it and he is lying face down on the mattress, his arms and legs fully extended out and taking up the whole bed. “Ummm Ken you do know I have to sleep on there too”
Ken lifts his face that was buried in the pillows “Uhh I know duh, it’s a sleepover for a reason” He says with a laugh as if you were the silly one. He gets up and off the bed allowing you to get in first.
You raise an eyebrow at him as he just watches you just settle into bed. “What are you doing baby?” you ask skeptically
“Nothing, nothing just waiting for you to get situated” He says with a small shrug but a wide grin.
Once fully settled in he gets in on his side of the bed and under the covers. Then he moves over and lays full on top of you, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder as his full body weight collapses on to you. “Ummm sweetie?” You groan under him.
“Yes, pretty girl, what is it?” He asks simply, lifting his head so he can actually see you.
“Uhhh… what are you doing?”
“Ummm cuddling you… what else?” He says, scrunching his nose up in confusion.
“Ah… I see…you know normally you don’t put your full body weight on someone smaller than you, it gets really uncomfortable.” You supply. Ken just nods along like he completely understands, “Uhh sweetie?”
“Yes, pretty girl?” He asks cheerfully
“I can’t breathe baby. Can you please get off.” you say helping him get what you were trying to say.
“Oh… oh you meant that as in right now! Oh sorry!” He says scrambling off of you with a small pout. He rolls over so he’s now on his back, still taking up a majority of the bed.
You just chuckle and roll over so you were the one laying your head on his chest, your leg thrown over his. “There we go, that's better” You say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Mm no.” Ken pulled you further so you were fully on top of him, his arms thrown around your waist, holding you like his favorite stuffed animal. “Now it’s better. “
@starburstbarnes (cause you said earlier you were Interested)
Hello! What is your take on the geese guys dick sizes/situation?
Lars Lindstrom / Driver / Colt Seavers / Ken / Henry Letham / Holland March / Sierra Six / Ryland Grace / Luke Glanton / Officer K
∘₊✧ & their dicks!
Anon is out here asking the REAL questions!! Please readers, do not be offended if I've described a Goose dick differently to how youn imagine it, this is just my take on them and I'm open to suggestions because I really do love a fictional dick!!
Content: nsfw, descriptions of dicks, afab!reader, sex, hand jobs, oral (reader and Goose receiving), premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, hyperspermia, glizz, I mean this is literally all about dicks so y'know... it's cock-use adjacent
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ 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
I overlooked my sad boy and ended up writing about his dick in response to this ask!
Warnings: suggestive (Noah & Ken-ish), implied stalking (Driver), swearing (Ryland & Colt), general blood and crampy period realness
A/N: i sorted them shortest -> longest. Also i’ve never written x reader before so i hope you all like it :) they’re all pretty fluffy + established relationship
Noah Calhoun (386 words):
You’re not leaving your bed. He makes sure of it. Anything you need, he’s getting it for you. Really, he kicks himself a little because he doesn’t already have everything ready, but you know without him telling you that come next month, it will all be in place. For now, though, food? He’ll cook for you. Drink? He’ll get it for you. Water, tea, beer, anything. He’d give you his blood if you wanted it, but you seem like you’ve got enough of your own. Heating pad? Medicine? Well that’s what he’s for, he tells you, slipping into bed beside you with a contented hum. He holds you, hand splayed over your belly protectively, and kisses all over your face, your neck and shoulder, down your body and up your legs. You only get what he’s getting at when he starts laying slow, gentle kisses at the waistband of your underwear, looking up at you with eyes full of suggestion.
“Don’t be gross,” you groan, flushing at the thought, tangling your hand in his hair to pull him away, but he resists the pull with a frown.
“It’s not gross,” he insists. “It’s you.” He outlines his full case between kisses. Mostly, it’s that he loves you, but also that orgasms have got to help, since they’re supposed to make you feel good, right? And, well, you can only resist logic like that for so long.
You do swat him when he suggests a baby as a solution. “What?” he says indignantly, rubbing at his shoulder. “You wouldn’t get another one for nine months.”
The only thing he struggles to give you is alone time, but if you push it enough, he will leave you for a while, though he makes his reluctance abundantly clear. He goes into the barn and tries to work on things, but he gravitates back to you in under half an hour. You’re what he wants to focus on at the best of times, and when you’re not feeling well, neither is he. Luckily, since you’re not feeling well, he lets you be as grouchy as you want without complaint. Ordinarily, you know he would never shy away from an argument, but for about a week every month, you get your way, and he’s very happy to give it to you.
Ken (411 words):
He’s devastated. Genuinely devastated. Well, at first he doesn’t really understand what’s happening to you, but after a quick anatomy lesson, he is so upset that you wonder if maybe you’re underreacting to the whole thing.
“Don’t women have to go through enough!?” he cries to the heavens, tearing at his shirt to bare his chest to the world. Ken has no shortage of shirts and jackets that open down the middle, since he’s prone to this sort of thing. It was a lesson you’d had to learn when you taught him about the feminist movement.
“Not just women,” you remind him with a little false cheer, just to hear the aughuagh pulled from his throat as he falls to his knees in the middle of the living room. You’re on the couch with a heating pad on your belly–the thing that had prompted his questioning–and you find that his performance is actually helping with your cramps, pain shared being pain halved and all. He shuffles towards you on his knees, big watery eyes staring into yours as he far too gently places his hands on your knees, seemingly afraid to use any force lest he hurt you more. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, and one of your hands finds his bleach blond hair to pet him soothingly. Him and his theatrics.
Except, you remind yourself, his hair just grows out of his head like that. And it’s not theatrics–he really feels this strongly about your period, and about pretty much everything. It was one of the things you liked most about him. Because you were, despite yourself, very charmed by a human-sized doll who knew nothing about female anatomy or the world at large. You were so charmed, in fact, that having him on his knees between your legs was doing a pretty good job of distracting you from how miserable your period was making you. Ken adored you right back, though, leaning into your hand and sighing as he settled from just a simple touch. Kind of like a horse, ironically. Well, you think as you stroke his unfairly soft hair, human guys don’t know about female anatomy either, anyway.
After a few moments, Ken opens his eyes and furrows his brow as if struck by a concerning thought. It was so wonderful to watch him think. He locks eyes with you and says, with complete seriousness, “Is that going to happen to me too?”
Lars Lindstrom (630 words):
You two had just gotten back to his place from a date where you traipsed around the woods and sat by the lake together. You had been heavily relying on coffee and infatuation to carry you because your body was protesting. It wasn’t that you were in that much pain, but your limbs felt heavy and you were slow to respond, not that it made much of a difference to Lars. You still wanted things to be perfect despite your fatigue, since you don’t want to scare Lars off so early, but you can admit to yourself that you’re flagging a little as you lean back against his kitchen counter.
You allow yourself a moment to squeeze your eyes shut and breathe as a lazy curl of pain crests in your gut. Lars is in the bathroom, so you don’t have to hide so much, not that it really makes a difference to the cramps whether you feel them out loud or not.
“Are you okay?” You hear a soft voice ask, and you open your eyes to find Lars, pretty in the afternoon light from his window, but wearing a fretful expression as he looks at you. You twist your grimace into a smile, helped along by the image of Lars lit up like an angel, but it’s a bit too late. “You’re a little…” he trails off, tentatively waving a hand around his face. Pale? Sweaty? The gesture is too vague to say, but you have your ideas.
“I’m fine.” You’re quick to reassure him, but his brow furrows. Darn. “I’m just…it’s that time of the month, you know?” You let out a little nervous laugh. It’s uncomfortable at the best of times to tell others about this, but it’s undoubtedly worse to talk about it with Lars. His face lights up in understanding.
“Oh, okay.” He nods and, a second later, smiles at you and shifts on his feet.
Lars is a grown man. He knows, conceptually, what periods are. The thing is, you know he grew up without a mother, and the only woman he’s really close with is pregnant, so it’s not like he has a lot of practical knowledge on the matter. Plus, he’s very religious and very reserved, so how could he really get a thorough education? He knows about the blood, but he’s not quite prepared for the pain. You realize this when another cramp hits you, harder this time, and you curl into yourself, breaking eye contact and gripping his counter tighter with a hiss. You hear him take a few quick steps towards you, but he doesn’t touch you.
“I’m fine,” you repeat, sing-songy as if more cheerfulness makes it more true. “It’s just a cramp, I’m fine.”
“A cramp?” he asks, and you lift your head to watch him watch you with concern, hands twitching at his sides. “Do you need the doctor? Are you gonna be okay?” he asks, and if he wasn’t so genuinely concerned for you, you would laugh. But his concern is genuine, so you pull yourself back together with a sharp inhale, and you lay a hand over his clothed bicep, feeling the muscle jump under your touch. His head snaps to look at your hand, and you almost move away, but he only seems surprised, not upset.
“I’m okay. I promise,” you soothe, rubbing your thumb back and forth against his arm. He continues to watch your hand, and at the sound of your voice, his cheeks go pink. Suddenly, he gets an idea.
“You can watch me chop wood,” he says, finally turning back to you. “I’ll get you a chair so you can rest.” He smiles at you again and blinks hard, but he doesn’t move until you release his arm.
Driver (639 words):
He stands in the doorway of your bedroom, staring at you. This isn’t entirely unusual–you two didn’t live together, but he had gotten into the habit of quietly letting himself into your apartment to invite you out, and you had gotten into the habit of agreeing.
Today was a different story. You could tell that he had come to do just that, invite you out to grocery shop or take a drive with a casualness that suggested he’d been practicing his lines. Upon seeing you, however, his words died on his lips. You’re still in bed despite it being nearly two in the afternoon, and you know you look terrible. Your hair and skin feel greasy; you’re probably grimacing in pain because you were too exhausted to get up and take medicine, hands pressing on your uterus over the blankets; your sheets are rumpled because of all your tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position; and you’re still in your pajamas, which consist of a very large, very ugly shirt you’re too embarrassed to wear in public and some period underwear. You thank all that is holy for your foresight–you decided on period underwear after you had cried about The Very Hungry Caterpillar last night, which was something no one else ever needed to know about.
“Sorry,” you begin before he’s even had the chance to speak. Actually, he did have his chance. You’d been staring at each other for the past fifteen seconds. “I started my period and I just haven’t felt good.” You’re sort of embarrassed to say it, especially under his intense gaze, but you’ve learned it’s best to just tell him the truth. He takes in this information, eyes scanning you with singleminded focus. You watch him come to a decision, the barest hint of stoniness entering his expression as his gaze flits back to your eyes.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says with frankly unwarranted gravitas, like you’d just put a hit out on someone. Before you can ask what that even means, he turns around and leaves your apartment, leaving you feeling confused but…kind of taken care of.
He returns 15 minutes later with a small bag and a softer expression, which warms you up. He hands the paper bag to you without a word and cards his fingers through your hair almost unthinkingly, which of course makes you feel like a thousand butterflies are trapped in your abdomen, fluttery and light. It makes your next emotion all the more jarring, a cold drop in your stomach when you look in the bag.
It makes no sense for you to feel that way, really. It’s all of your favorite things. The right brand of pads, your favorite chocolate, and even some other snacks that bring you comfort. It’s just–how did he know that? You’ve never spent a period with him before. You look up at him, confused and pleased and unsettled and grateful all at once, and he smiles down at you, just one of his little ones, but still genuine, still sweet.
“You’ve got Midol in your cabinet,” he tells you in his low, soft voice, like it’s only natural he knows the ins and outs of your medicine cabinet. You’re still a little uncertain how to feel, but then he leans down and kisses your temple, and you feel like you can taste sugar in the back of your mouth. “I’ll run you a bath,” he says into your ear, hushed, but his voice is dripping with such fondness and care that you can’t help but preen under it. Then, he pulls back and he is gone again. You hear your bathtub faucet turn on a few seconds later, and you look into the bag again, unable to keep the incredulous laugh from bubbling up out of you.
Ryland Grace (664 words):
You’re sitting on Grace’s couch when you feel the Gush of doom and despair. Hypothesis: if you go to the bathroom and investigate, then there will be blood. Grace is sitting at his kitchen table grading a stack of papers, mumbling to himself and generally looking domestic and adorable, so you sneak off to his bathroom to test your hypothesis. What you find therein supports your hypothesis. Shit.
“Ryland,” you call softly from the doorway between the living room/kitchen and the bedroom/bathroom hallway situation. Your boyfriend looks up from his work, peeking at you from over his glasses. Then, he pushes his glasses up and properly looks at you, half hidden behind the doorframe.
“...Yes?” he responds with an edge of suspicion. “You look like a ghost right now. Hiding in my hallway. In the shadows. What’s going on?” He’s being semi-playful, but you can tell from the focus in his expression that he knows something’s amiss. You kind of want to stand there and watch him figure it out, brilliant scientist that he is, but the situation is unfortunately time sensitive.
“Um. So,” you start, cringing a little. You’re a fully grown adult with a job and an apartment, but sometimes Grace fixes you with a look that reminds you that he teaches middle schoolers, and it makes you a little shy. “It’s no big deal, but I just started my period literally right now, and I figured I should bring it up.” You try to force casualness, but it doesn’t fit right in your mouth, so it comes out a little sideways.
“Oh.” he says. Awesome. “Do you need a pad?” he asks. What?
“What?” you ask. You were planning to stuff toilet paper in your underwear.
“A pad. It’s a weird coincidence, but, uh, I actually have some in my bag that I keep forgetting to put in my desk at school.” he explains with helpful hand gestures to boot. You wait a beat for him to tell you he’s joking, but he does not.
“Why do you need pads at your school desk?” you ask slowly. Grace makes a face at your tone.
“Well,” he starts, clearly trying to be delicate. “I teach the age group where.” He stops, apparently realizing that he’s talking to you and not the school board. “Sometimes kids start their period in my class.” he says quicker. “Actually it’s happened multiple times. And I’m talking first period ever. So I keep pads in my desk. Also for the kids who randomly start in the middle of the day, or they can’t get them at home, or they’re embarrassed to ask the office, or–” He takes a sharp breath. “They’re needed.”
You can’t argue with that, so you concede with a slight head tilt. It probably would’ve been nice to have a teacher like that when you were in school. “Do you have any tampons, by chance?”
“I’m not giving a 12 year old a tampon,” Grace says, deadpan. Right. Duh.
“Fair. I’ll take the pad, please,” you say. Grace immediately starts rooting around in his school bag, and after a few moments, he emerges with a slightly dented box of pads. He takes one out of the box and holds it out to you, whistling like someone luring a wild beast, since you’re still lurking in the hallway. You laugh softly and cross to him, planting a kiss on his cheek as you take the pad from him, your nose bumping the edge of his frames. His cheeks are pink when you pull back with a cheeky smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Grace!” you singsong, and he groans and shakes his head, unsuccessfully fighting a laugh.
“Please, Mr. Grace was my father,” he says as you retreat to the bathroom. “Call me Dr. Grace.” He smiles at your back when he hears you cackle. Once you’re gone, he notes the day in his calendar. It’s good to collect data on these kinds of things.
Colt Seavers (736 words):
With the casual way he reacted–just a quick downturn of his lips, a tilt of his head, “Sorry, baby”–when you told him you were on your period, you figured that your evening with Colt would be peaceful. It was your mistake to think that any evening with Colt would ever be peaceful. Well, that wasn’t quite fair–things had started out like normal, with you curled into his side on the couch, head resting on his shoulder, reveling in his warmth. He had let you pick the show for tonight, even though it was technically his turn, and you figured that would be the extent of his chivalry. That is, until you grunted softly in pain, your hand coming to rest over your traitorous uterus. Ow. Your medicine had run its course. Wonderful. It wasn’t really that big of a deal, though, because Colt would be here tonight to do triple duty as a heating pad, a weighted blanket, and a boyfriend. You would be fine.
“You alright?” Colt murmurs, tilting his head to rest on yours so that he can look down your body. “You in pain?” he asks even softer, one of his hands coming to cover yours, warming you inside and out.
“Yeah, but it’s no biggie.” You shrug one shoulder, nuzzling further into him. You were way too comfy to move.
“Au contraire,” Colt says, turning his body to face you, dislodging you from his shoulder and forcing you to lean your side on the back of the couch instead. He smiles at your irritated groan, which gives you the impression that he doesn’t know you’re not joking. “It’s a biggie.”
“You’re in pain,” you counter. It’s a safe bet, anyway, given what he does for a living.
“I am in pain,” Colt says, “because you’re in pain.” He places a hand over his heart and gives you his most soulful eyes, but if you look closely, you can see one side of his mouth twitching, suppressing a smile. Good, you think. He knows he’s being stupid.
“Oh my God,” you say, fighting your own smile, “I literally don’t wanna hear it unless you plan on feeling my cramps for me.”
“I would if I could, baby,” he sighs, sliding his hands under your thighs and folding himself in half to lay his head in your lap. You sigh too, long-suffering while you rub a hand over his back. Not to be outdone, he sighs even louder, longingly. “I would if I could.”
“Shut the fuck–” you begin, covering your amusement, but you cut yourself off with a yelp when he lifts you by the back of your thighs, unfolding himself to hook his chin over your shoulder. He carries you to the bedroom, unbothered by your kicking legs and your protests that it’s not even 10 pm, and he hasn’t paused the show. In no time, he gently sets you on the edge of the bed and settles himself on his knees on the floor in front of you, big hands holding your hips.
“What are you doing,” you ask flatly, rolling your eyes when he shushes you, eyes fixed on your lower belly. Despite being a stuntman, he could be very dramatic when he chose to be.
“I have a message for the motherfucker named period cramps.” Colt says in some kind of deep, action hero type voice, and you have a sneaking suspicion he’s making a joke at the expense of Tom Ryder. “You better stop hurting innocents before I get involved.” He leans closer and closer as he speaks until his nose is against your stomach, and you feel weirdly self conscious about him possibly smelling your blood.
“You are so dumb,” you tell him, and he leans back with an easy smile. His cocky expression makes him look extra dumb, but unfortunately also really handsome. You roll your eyes again playfully.
“You’re smiling though,” he tells you with increasing smugness. You’d want to hit him if you didn’t want to kiss him.
“I am n–” You are. Son of a bitch. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumble as you grab him by the shirt collar with both hands and pull him up to you. He follows you easily, letting go of your hips to plant his hands on the mattress.
“Mm, maybe,” he murmurs against your mouth, still unbearably smug, but when your lips finally meet, you’re both smiling.
↬ warnings: some freak shit with henry, but nothing nsfw
↬ notes: there's sort of an established relationship between you and the guys here! can you tell i don't really write a lot of kissing scenes... don't answer that
𝐊𝐞𝐧
• the first time ken tried to kiss you, it was quite possibly the most awkward thing in the world. a combination of too much teeth, and an odd amount of smacking noises to accompany it. if you hadn't known any better, you would have thought he was trying to replicate something off of a cartoon show.
• actually. knowing ken, thats exactly what was going on.
• 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.
as he leans down for yet another kiss, he can help but think that you're right.
Goose content of: Ryland Grace, Colt, Lars, Ken, Henry Letham and Driver.
TW: MDNI, 18+, established relationships or not, having kids, stalking, breaking into others people house, dumb random thoughts, jealousy, baby trapping, insinuation of having a threesome, bisexual tendencies, violence (im looking at you driver...), demisexuality, mentions of social media and pop-culture, I would change Lars and Henry time period to a modern one (just for my own enjoyment), roleplay kink, im really bad at comedy im so sorry.
COLT
Colt would be the guy that makes a shit ton of back flips just to impress you on the first date (he stopped because mister dumbass got his back injured... Again, and he is just happy you are with him in the hospital room).
Likes the cheesiest songs ever (Imagine Dragons kind of cheesy), fucking taste of music.
Colt is a prop stealer, he would steal things just to gift them to you, like a happy dog getting a bone in the backyard, and leave it on your feet (both of you ignore those things are worth millions of dollars...).
Colt would find it personally offensive when you ask him to share the paying bill on anything when you both hang out, he would look at you like if you just had insulted his mother while he pays up.
It doesn't matter your size, he would use you for workout weight lift.
If you both have a child, and his daughter is in a soccer game tournament, he would buy a personalised cheerleader outfit (yes! Skirt and everything, baby!) just to cheer up his baby girl. Other fathers hated him because all the moms were having a snack!
Ryland Grace:
Ryland is a science nerd, but not a geek nerd like you, and he heard the 'fake it till you make it', so he decided to ruin his life and just straight up lie about him liking the same stuff as you. "I like Robin, I like more the sidekick than just a frivolous millionaire with a cape," he low-key thought he nailed it. "Oh, me too, which one?" You asked, and he is blank, extremely confused, more confused than anything. "What do you mean, which one?" he said, and you just bite your lips to laugh on his face.
Ry is so in love with you that he would call you for the dumbest things: 'Oh no, I left my jacket in your car, I just planted this morning', and he would ask you if you could come to his school and give it to him, so all his students would meet you.
Ry is the kind of guy who would masturbate with videos of girls who have similar physical characteristics of you (this guy is demisexual as fuck!).
He doesn't like having people in his apartment, he once had you by accident (the whole place is disgusting), he was embarrassed by how you cleaned it up, everything! But he just likes to call you once in a while for stupid cleaning tips, just for an excuse to hear your voice.
He had to give sexual education once again against his will, after the worst day of his life. One his students told you, "Teacher Grace told us about how babies are made," a girl said. "That's so sweet, I didn't know how he also gave sex education." He waves his head red cherry at you. "He did teach us about the Punett square using your and his genetics. Do you think you could have babies with his blue eyes, or are they all would have brown eyes?" You laughed so hard your stomach hurts, Grace can't be mad of his student anyway.
Musical nerd, he would put songs in the car and be unssufrable.
When you told him you were pregnant, he panicked so hard he blacked out.
If you gave him a baby, he is the kind of parent that buys those children books 'Physics for babies'.
Driver:
Driver is the kind of man who truly has a delirious religious belief: he can do ANYTHING. So, when you mentioned him that you wish both have money to renovate the bathroom, he would do it! No second thoughts, he would make it work with the power of love, friendship and his repressed bisexual feelings every time he watches young Al Pacino (he ends up with a shit ton of injuries on his hands, but the job is done. And you are happy, and he can now fuck you senseless, but in a prettier bathroom :D).
He fixes the car, he can fix anything in the apartment, he is a Swiss army man. You don't know how to explain to him how easy your life has been since he is in it, but obviously, you let him fuck your brains out anytime. He has a strange libido in wierd hours (he once fucked you at 3am just because you went to piss, you came back to bed, and in a blink, your pjs evaporated).
He is deeply thinking about baby trap you when he saw you have a guy friend in your work (he doesn't know you are seriously, hands down, settle for him).
One time, you were washing both clothes, and he just came home after a driving mission, he was heavy breathing and almost running after you. "Hi driver, how was your—oh, shit!" He just tackled you, lift you on his shoulders like a bag of potatoes, and fuck you at least three rounds in a row (you black out, that's why he didn't do more).
One day you gave him a cute car decoration, he has broken fingers just because they have tried to touch it.
Some kids broke his daughter's bike, and he silently made God's hand of justice...
He is the worst nightmare for any guy who wants his daughter. Just meet him one time and they would walk out like if they have met the devil itself.
Holland March:
You gave Holland an orange kitty (just to work out his grief depression, and he refuses to go to therapy), he didn't like it at the beginning, but when the orange little thing started to purr, in less than three months that cat turned into the most important living thing in his house, leaving you, Healy and Holly in second place (he brings it with him all the time, like an old lady and her purse chihuahua, but he is just manly and cool with his destructive kitty).
You go out into antique stores, just to gift him more places to hide guns in his house (he has favourites and he ranks them at how visible those are in the house, he thinks he is sneaky about it, but is very obvious to you).
He gives you dumb fucking gifts for any occasion. You would never forget the day he gave you a duckwhistle and a bag of watermelons just because... It's not like he doesn't like to give you pretty gifts, he is just terrified you will find him boring and unoriginal, and you will leave him.
One night, he proposed, heavily proposed, to have a threesome with you and Healy, he passed out after fighting with Healy about he would not fuck his friend's girlfriend (but suspiciously, he didn't fought about why he wouldn't fuck a guy, you repressed the laughter with your hand topping your mouth).
Before you began to be his girlfriend, he stalked you for months. He said that you were part of a last investigation, but you checked all his papers, and nothing is on them. You don't mind though, he is a better man than anyone you have ever met.
You didn't give him your house keys, he just broke in, and he likes leaving things of his inside your house. Without a notice, you were in almost a married relationship with him without asking, because how the fuck do your family pictures are in his house?! (later Healy and Holly start crashing in your house too without asking, you just started to accept it).
Lars Lindstrom:
Lars doesn't like using his shower products, he loves using your specific—expensive and very functional—products (he stopped buying men's products, you don't complain though, the girlfriend magical effect is making its job). Lars would have the best hair of the boys in the office, a healthy ass skin (even more than you, and you try to stay cool with it, you kinda envy him, but it actually makes him even more gorgeous and breedable. Is this what female peacocks feel like?), and he would smell so much better, and Kurt is ashamed to even give him the compliment.
If Lars had a phone, he would be a hardcore flip phone user, he uses your phone when he wants to see social media, he likes your stuff. Later, all your feed on Insta is about hot goth girls and shit about how to be a good father, and just look at him in a tense, sweaty silence, because HE KNOWS you are not the one who looks up at those things!
He hates the movie "The Notebook".
Lars is in love with your plushies, his favourite plushy is you (when he gets comfortable, there is no power on earth that could save you when he gets his hands on you).
He has a serious mummy roleplay kink. He would cry after he came; it's very cathartic for him.
If you draw, he is the kind of guy who would watch you draw and paint till you are over. You are his favourite ASMR.
If you gave Lars a baby daughter, when she turns into a teen, he would be the kind of dad who can't stand to see a guy with his daughter. He would have to let it go... Bc he was a complete weirdo when he was trying to get his wife.
Henry Letham:
Henry is the prime example of the saying "a little bath and straight towards my home": you found him and you showered him like if he was a wet dog in the street, and ever since he won't shower if you don't do it (don't worry, you will get rewarded with the best rearrangement of guts in the state™).
Wine #1 lover, he is fully aware he is a pretentious fuck, but at least he is silent about it.
He discovered Substack and Letterbox, and he hasn't recovered physically and spiritually from it ever since.
He has a shirt that says 'Warhol is the worst that has ever happened to society after Dali and Picasso'. And you just have the biological need to fuck that man every time he uses that shirt.
He complained a lot when you called him the most sickly Victorian child face, but deep down, he loved it, he loved it a lot.
Before he began to be your boyfriend, he would ask you if you could be his sketching model for his homework (he was lying, all those nude pictures were for him).
He says his paintings and drawings are shit, but he is silently asking you for your compliments, he lives for them!
Coffee and cigs in rainy days, actually, all his brain chemistry changed when you lift him your copy of ‘The Secret History’.
Ken:
Ken would be your fashion advisor; you don't argue, that man knows things! "Ok babe, I know you feel the outfit is making its math," you regret introducing him to Tik Tok sometimes. "But I have something better," he straight up pulled an outfit right out of nowhere, you still can't figure where the fuck he does that! "Is that fucking Prada?" You asked, deeply concerned, he got arrested five times last month. "Is cute, right?" He jumps a little, still holding the outfit. "I need to put you on a leash!" He stole it, you sigh and take it, he follows you because he likes look at you change too, everything is deadass new to him. "It's not a bad idea, it fits with a lot of cool winter outfits! Can I choose the colour?".
Ken cried for two hours after you explained to him why women have fake pockets in our clothing. "I thought patriarchy was about horses, not taking pockets away!" He shouts in the living room, you soothe him with pats on his back, but then he would crush you with his strong, tonified body (he is the clingiest man you had ever met).
"Woman! I want a horse, give me a horse!" Ken said, standing heroically on your kitchen while you make lunch. "Ken, horses are very expensive, and extremely fragile," you spent almost an hour demonstrating to him why horses are super high maintenance, fragile and volatile. "Ew, I thought they were easy, like dogs. Why people want them anyway?" He said, repulsed.
Ken has made dance videos, and sometimes he started lives by pure accident, he stopped when people started to ask him to open an account in that blue app. He doesn't like the idea because he doesn't like being sexualized by anyone, just you of course <3.
He is super new at sex, so new he thought your sex toys were house decorations.
IM STILL OPEN TO REQUESTS, SEE YOU LATER POOKIES, STAY FREAKY :P
Shoutout to @saradika-graphics unreal pretty ass banners!
in real life𖦹 ༘₊⊹‧ | “last man on the earth, still couldn’t get this.” [hcs]
ken x human!fem!reader
—strangers to lovers, love at first sight (for ken)
🜼 the second you arrive in barbieland, ken is done for. absolutely, catastrophically, irreversibly done for. the thing is, he wasn’t expecting there to be a new person at all. the girls’ sleepover was supposed to be a weekend thing. a little visit. some fun. then you’d go home. that’s how these things work. except somehow three days turns into a week, and a week turns into two, and suddenly everybody’s talking about how maybe you should just stay.
🜼 meanwhile ken is standing on the beach staring at you like he’s just witnessed the invention of the sun. you don’t even notice him at first. you’re too busy talking to the barbies. ken, however, notices you immediately. in fact, he notices you so hard that he walks directly into a lifeguard tower while trying to keep looking at you.
🜼 his first coherent thought is actually quite simple: oh no, she’s pretty. his second thought is: oh no, she’s talking to me. because somehow you’ve wandered over and asked him a completely normal question. something simple. something like, “do you actually spend all day on the beach?” and ken, who has answered this question hundreds of times, suddenly forgets how words work. he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. “yes.” pause. “my job is beach.” another pause. “i’m very good at it.” you stare at him for a solid three seconds before looking at barbie and going, “is he serious?” and ken somehow falls in love.
🜼 your first impression of him is genuinely terrible. not terrible as in unpleasant. terrible as in confusing. because every time you see him, he’s doing something strange. posing. flexing. dramatically staring into the ocean. running on sand for no obvious reason. one afternoon you watch him spend ten minutes trying to impress a seagull. a seagull. by the end of the week you’ve started referring to him privately as “that beach idiot”. unfortunately for you, ken would be thrilled to know you’ve given him a nickname because it means you’ve been thinking about him.
🜼 ken develops an absolutely ridiculous habit of appearing wherever you are. nobody knows how he does it. least of all ken. you’ll be having lunch with the barbies and suddenly he’s there. you’ll be walking through town and somehow he’s there too. you’ll mention wanting to see the sunset and he’ll materialise from nowhere like a particularly handsome ghost. he isn’t doing it deliberately.
🜼 he’s just become so hyper-aware of your existence that his entire body seems programmed to locate you automatically. if somebody asks where ken is, they can usually find the answer by locating you first.
🜼 because ken falls in love with his entire heart, he starts paying attention to every little thing about you. he remembers your favourite colour after hearing it once. he remembers which ice cream flavour you picked three weeks ago. he remembers that you hate getting sand in your shoes and starts absent-mindedly brushing it away whenever he notices. the sweetest part is that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing any of this. somebody points out that he remembers every detail about you and ken just blinks. “well, yeah. it’s her.”
🜼 the barbies catch on almost immediately. they are not subtle about it. one morning you’re having breakfast when a barbie casually asks, “so, how are things with ken?” and you’re like, “what things?” meanwhile every barbie at the table suddenly becomes fascinated by their coffee because they’re trying not to laugh. because from the outside, ken’s love is visible from space.
🜼 ken absolutely adores making you laugh. unfortunately, most of the time he’s not actually trying to be funny. he’s just naturally ridiculous. one day he’s attempting to explain beach to you with the seriousness of somebody discussing quantum physics. ten minutes later you’re crying with laughter while he’s looking at you completely bewildered. “what?” he asks. “nothing,” you manage, “keep going.” and ken, who would happily explain beach for six hours if it means you’ll keep smiling like that, immediately continues.
🜼 there comes a point where he starts looking for your reaction first. every time something happens. every single time. if he tells a joke, he looks at you. if he does something impressive, he looks at you. if he successfully carries six beach chairs at once, he immediately checks whether you saw it. your opinion becomes terrifyingly important to him without either of you noticing.
🜼 you begin finding him everywhere. not because he’s following you. because people keep talking about him. “ken helped me with that.” “ken said you liked these flowers.” “ken remembered your favourite song.” it’s like he’s accidentally woven himself into your daily life. one day you realise you haven’t gone more than a few hours without hearing his name and that thought is much more dangerous than you’d like to admit.
🜼 ken becomes convinced you’re the coolest person in barbieland. not one of the coolest. the coolest. you could literally sit down and drink lemonade and ken would act like he’s witnessing history. “you’re amazing.” “i’m drinking lemonade.” “exactly.”
🜼 every time you compliment him, he malfunctions. completely. the first time you tell him his jacket looks nice, he spends the next three weeks wearing that exact jacket. every single day. eventually barbie asks why and ken just shrugs. “she likes it.” as though that’s the most obvious explanation in the world.
🜼 one afternoon you’re sitting on the beach reading while ken rambles beside you. he’s been talking for approximately twenty-seven minutes about something you stopped following ten minutes ago. eventually you glance up and realise he’s smiling. not because of what he’s saying. because you’re listening. because you’re there. because he gets to spend time with you. and for the first time you think, oh. he’s actually kind of sweet.
🜼 the shift happens slowly after that. you start finding his ridiculousness charming instead of annoying. when he trips over something, you laugh and help him up instead of rolling your eyes. when he starts rambling, you listen. when you spot him jogging across the beach to say hello, your day genuinely improves. it’s a very dangerous development.
🜼 ken notices immediately. not consciously. but he notices. your smiles linger longer. your greetings sound warmer. you seek him out more often. and every tiny sign gets treasured like buried treasure. one smile from you can improve his entire week.
🜼 once you’ve become friends, he’s unstoppable. because now he has an excuse to spend time with you. suddenly he’s inviting you everywhere. beach walks. sunset watching. horse-related activities that somehow don’t actually involve horses. every invitation is delivered with the enthusiasm of a puppy presenting a stick.
🜼 one of his favourite things becomes hearing you say his name. which is incredibly unfortunate because now every time you do, he lights up. “ken?” “yeah?” “ken.” “yeah?” “ken.” “yeah?” eventually you stop because he’s smiling too hard to function.
🜼 he starts bringing you little gifts. shells. flowers. shiny things he finds interesting. they’re never expensive. never grand. just small things that made him think of you. half the time the gifts don’t even make sense. “i saw this rock and thought you’d like it.” “why?” “it looked happy.”
🜼 if you ever sit next to him voluntarily, he’s done for. absolutely finished. he’ll spend the entire day trying to act normal while internally replaying the moment over and over again. she sat next to me. there were other seats. she chose this one.
🜼 ken develops a habit of looking at you whenever you’re talking, even in group conversations. he could be surrounded by twenty people and somehow his attention always drifts back to you. eventually one of the barbies notices and starts grinning every time it happens.
🜼 he starts saying your name differently. softer. warmer. like it’s his favourite word. because honestly, it probably is.
🜼 one day you realise something horrifying. you miss him when he’s not around. ken, who used to make you think who’s this idiot?, has somehow become part of your routine. your favourite part.
🜼 the moment you decide to stay in barbieland permanently, ken spends the entire day smiling. nobody can get a sensible answer out of him. he’s just happy. ridiculously happy. because you aren’t leaving.
🜼 when he finds out you’re staying, he tries very hard to play it cool. “oh. that’s nice.” pause. “really nice.” longer pause. “extremely nice, actually.” then he immediately runs off to tell every other ken.
🜼 the thing that finally gets you isn’t his looks. it isn’t even his devotion. it’s his kindness. the way he remembers things. the way he genuinely cares. the way he celebrates everybody else’s happiness as though it’s his own. one day you catch him helping somebody without expecting anything in return, and suddenly all those little pieces click together.
🜼 by then, ken is so in love it’s honestly ridiculous. he looks at you like you’ve personally invented sunsets. like you’re responsible for every good thing that’s ever happened to him.
🜼 when you finally realise you like him back, ken is completely oblivious. because despite being head over heels in love, he’s still a massive himbo.
🜼 you’ll be staring at him, smiling at him, seeking him out constantly, choosing him over and over again, and ken will still go home thinking, wow. she’s so nice to me. i wonder if she likes me. meanwhile every single person in barbieland is ready to scream because from the moment he saw you, ken never really stood a chance.
🜼 he took one look at the girl who was only supposed to stay for the weekend, fell hopelessly in love, and then spent every day afterwards accidentally building a friendship so sweet that eventually you couldn’t imagine barbieland without him in it either.
🜼 when strangers become friends, and friends become your favourite person, and your favourite person turns out to be a sunshine-bright beach himbo who looks at you like you’re magic, there are much worse fates.
🜼 dating ken is basically like accidentally adopting the world’s most affectionate golden retriever. from the moment the two of you officially get together, he becomes physically incapable of keeping his happiness to himself. every single morning starts with him looking delighted that you still exist. you’ll walk out of your dreamhouse and find him already waiting outside. not in a creepy way. in a “good morning! i brought you a flower! i found it ten minutes ago and immediately thought of you!” way. and every single time he sees you, regardless of whether it’s been five minutes or five hours, his face lights up like you’ve just returned from war.
🜼 he absolutely loves introducing you as his girlfriend. loves it. adores it. somebody asks who you are and ken immediately straightens up. “this is my girlfriend.” the amount of pride in his voice is ridiculous. you’ve been dating for three months and he still sounds surprised every time he gets to say it. sometimes he’ll just work it into conversations for no reason. “my girlfriend likes that colour.” “my girlfriend told me about that.” “actually my girlfriend—” and eventually one of the barbies has to gently remind him that everyone already knows who you are.
🜼 he’s unbelievably clingy, but in the sweetest way imaginable. not possessive. not demanding. he just genuinely likes being near you. if you’re sitting somewhere, ken is probably sitting beside you. if you’re standing somewhere, ken somehow drifts over within five minutes. if there’s a choice between sitting across from you or next to you, he’ll choose next to you every single time. eventually you realise that half the time he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. his brain simply goes, there’s my favourite person, and his body follows.
🜼 ken becomes obsessed with holding hands. genuinely obsessed. once he realises he can just reach for your hand whenever he wants, it’s over. walking through barbieland? hand-holding. sitting together? hand-holding. watching the sunset? hand-holding. talking to friends? somehow still hand-holding. there are entire conversations where ken remembers absolutely none of what was said because he’s too busy being delighted that you’re holding his hand voluntarily.
🜼 and the thing is, he keeps looking down at your joined hands. every time. every single time. you’ll be halfway through telling a story and notice him smiling at your intertwined fingers. “ken, are you listening?” “yeah.” “what did i just say?” long pause. “your hand is really nice.” absolutely hopeless.
🜼 he loves praise more than any human being should. one casual compliment can sustain him for weeks. you’ll tell him he looks handsome and suddenly he’s smiling for the rest of the day. tell him you’re proud of him and he practically melts. one time you casually mention that you like the shirt he’s wearing and he starts wearing it constantly. not because he’s vain. because you liked it.
🜼 the first time you call him your boyfriend in front of somebody else, he nearly short-circuits. genuinely. you’re introducing him to somebody and casually say, “this is my boyfriend, ken.” and poor ken looks like you’ve just informed him he’s won a major award. afterwards he keeps replaying it in his head. my boyfriend. she said my boyfriend.
🜼 he becomes very, very affectionate once he’s comfortable. not even in a dramatic way. just constantly finding reasons to touch you. an arm around your shoulders. his hand resting on your back. leaning against you while you’re talking. resting his head on your shoulder. he’s spent so much of his life feeling lonely that having somebody he can simply be close to feels like the greatest luxury imaginable.
🜼 cuddling becomes one of his favourite activities almost immediately. unfortunately, ken treats cuddling like a competitive sport. if you’re watching a film together, he’s somehow ended up half draped across you by the end. if you’re lying on the beach, his head is in your lap. if you’re sitting on a sofa, he’s curled up against your side. at some point you realise that ken will choose physical contact over furniture every single time.
🜼 he absolutely adores your attention. you’ll be talking to somebody else and occasionally glance over to find him already looking at you. not because he’s jealous. because he likes watching you. likes listening to you. likes hearing you talk about things you’re excited about. ken would happily sit through a three-hour lecture on a topic he doesn’t understand if it meant listening to you explain it.
🜼 he develops the habit of randomly blurting out affectionate thoughts the second they enter his head. there is no filter. none whatsoever. you’ll be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly ken interrupts himself. “you’re really pretty.” “ken.” “sorry. i got distracted.” by what? by his own girlfriend existing apparently.
🜼 every date becomes an adventure because ken is genuinely enthusiastic about everything. going for a walk becomes the greatest walk ever taken. getting ice cream becomes a magical experience. watching the sunset becomes a life-changing event. the secret is that he isn’t excited about the activity. he’s excited because he’s doing it with you.
🜼 the barbies absolutely never let him live any of this down. if he spends too long staring at you, somebody notices. if he smiles every time you enter a room, somebody notices. if he accidentally says “my girlfriend” six times in one conversation, somebody definitely notices. one barbie eventually says, “ken, you’ve been smiling at her for ten minutes.” and he just shrugs. “i know.”
🜼 he’s incredibly thoughtful in strange little ways. you’ll mention wanting to see a sunset from a particular spot and two days later ken has already planned it. you’ll mention liking a certain flower and suddenly he starts bringing them to you. not because he’s trying to impress you. because he genuinely listens. every little thing you tell him gets carefully stored away.
🜼 perhaps the sweetest thing is that ken never really gets over the fact that you chose him. months into the relationship, you’ll still catch him looking at you with that same soft, slightly disbelieving expression. sometimes you’ll ask what he’s thinking about. and every time the answer is roughly the same.
