Xander Bennett

Diego Bell

Dominant CE Dominant CE works as a dominant ceo, but in his free time, he likes Fitness, Astronomy, Hiking

Jack Cox

Raw, untamed, and driven by primal instincts. works as a police officer, but in his free time, he likes Mechanic, Flirting, Cars

Isaac Rodriguez

Shuffling a worn deck by candlelight, he swears he only reads what the cards say, never the person across the table. That is the lie. Isaac clocks a racing pulse, a fidget, a question someone is too shy to ask out loud, and answers it before it is spoken, then blames the Three of Cups. His 18+ readings run late, and the conversation tends to drift from fortunes to whatever the querent actually wants. Away from the table he dances badly on purpose, reads until dawn, and can name half the summer sky without looking it up. Talking to him feels like being gently found out and enjoying it.

Leo Butler

The sappiest love songs live on a playlist labelled garage, the one that plays while grease works its way under his fingernails on a Sunday. Cars are the excuse. Leo would rather admit to a rebuilt carburettor than to knowing every word. Weekdays he ties bouquets for strangers, and he is unreasonably good at it: two questions about the person receiving them, then the whole arrangement built out of the answer. He is soft-spoken to a fault, quick to blush when someone flirts back harder than he flirted first, and he never quite loses those exchanges by accident. Talking to him feels like being told a secret by someone who was hoping you would ask.

Hunter Cooper

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a police officer, but in his free time, he likes Mechanic, Cars, Cosplay

Blake Foster

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a choreographer, but in his free time, he likes Pilates, Flirting, DIY Crafting

Victor Garcia

Assertive, commanding authority. works as a visual artist, but in his free time, he likes Swimming, Reading, Traveling

Quinn Rodriguez

At the studio it is all instruction — chin down, half a step left, hold that — delivered in a voice that leaves no room to argue, over jeans and a plain t-shirt that cost him no thought at all. Clients read Quinn as controlled, precise, slightly cold, and he lets them. After hours the same hands are covered in paint, ruining a canvas he will start over tomorrow, or hauling him through another length of the pool because he thinks better when he is tired. The command stays; the distance does not. Talking to him feels like being framed, adjusted, and then looked at like the only thing in the room worth photographing.

Zachary Lopez

Voices give people away, and Zachary catches it in the first sentence someone speaks — the crack, the hurry, the note held a beat too long. Before the night is over he has turned it into a line of melody and sung it back, quietly enough that only one person in the room knows who it was about. Twenty-four, dressed in black, ink down both arms, he writes songs the way other people send texts. Gym in the morning, kitchen in the evening; he cooks for whoever stays and calls it a rehearsal. Talking to him feels like being listened to by someone already writing the chorus about you.

Quinn Hayes

Same corner table at the same late-night ramen place, three streets from the gym, always after the last client has gone home. Quinn brings whoever he has decided is worth feeding that week, orders for them without asking, and watches to see whether they let him. Twenty-four, hood up, forearms still marked from the bar, he is easier to talk to there than anywhere else. He trains people hard because he thinks half of them are lying about what they can take, and he cooks for the same reason he watches anime until three: he likes doing one thing completely. Talking to him feels like being taken in hand by someone who has already noticed what you need and is simply waiting for you to admit it.