“Hey bunny, what are you up to?” Bunny, a nickname you had long since gotten used to. Your shy and skittish nature attracted Johnny in an obnoxious sort of way, constantly jumping on any opportunity to make you flustered, thus earning you the title of bunny. Feeling the weight of his arm resting on your shoulder had already gained a reaction, your heart thumping against your ribcage with every breath of his cologne. “Just painting,” you replied, giving him a raised brow as if asking ‘don’t you have eyes?’ He chuckled, “right, what are you painting then?” For months now, you’ve had the biggest secret crush on Johnny, to the point where you contemplated filling that empty space with his face. His beautifully chiseled features would do wonders on a canvas, a walking work of art already. You’d tell him about the painting, but you could already feel your cheeks heat up at the very statement you know he’s going to make. “U-um..it’s just a random idea I had,” a lie, but there’s no rush in telling him the truth. He hummed in response, clearly unconvinced by your stuttered answer. Johnny eyed the painting for a moment, keen brown pools glued to the faceless man on the canvas. “Where’s my face?” He asked, with a voice laced with..hurt? There it was, the question you knew he was bound to ask. Surprisingly, you managed to play it off with a smack to his shoulder and a roll of your eyes. You felt it was your queue to leave, to avoid the embarrassment of being caught with flushed cheeks. Yet, something kept you there, almost hoping he'd notice and somehow force the feelings out of you and undue that mental zipper you've placed on your lips long ago. "Paint me," he said suddenly, earning a wide eyed glance in his direction. Johnny was already looking at you, a smirk on his face and brown eyes dazzling with enthusiasm. "Y- what? Y-you want me to paint you?" "that's what I said didn't I?" Almost immediately, you paled, eyes wide and mouth agape at a loss for words. How could you paint him, a literal god in human skin, and up to the standard he surely expects; without some how leaking your heart into it. You could feel his hand graze your cheek as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, "C'mon princess, it'll be fun!" The featherlight touch of his finger almost made you itch from the tickle, but you were too afraid to brush him off and lose this fleeting contact. Disappointed with a lack of a response, he poked your rib with his index finger and leaned closer to you, "paint me like one of your French girls." He whispered. "Fine! Fine, I will paint you, but on one condition," a grin tugged at the corner of his lips, "hmm?" Flustered, you once again turned away to avoid revealing the bright red hue on your face, "N-no judgement on the finished product, I don't want to hear it from you.." "pssh not a word, I promise." The two of you locked pinkies, solidifying the deal.

Had you sketched him a few times when he wasn't looking? Sure, but those were locked in a journal hidden away from prying eyes. Now here you were, canvas and easel propped up in the center of the temples garden, with a phone in hand displaying an image of Johnny with his usual movie star pose. Johnny had insisted on doing a small photoshoot, and using the results to paint instead of being a live reference. He was far too jittery, and died of boredom, to sit still long enough to even get an outline. Plus, in his words, he wanted to see first hand the work of a talented artist. All of this was already overwhelming, having a crowd was not something you were used to, let alone someone you were madly crushing on. It didn't help at all that Johnny decided to place himself behind you, practically breathing down your neck with his head hovering over your shoulder, acutely attuned to every movement of your sketching pencil. The slight tremor of your hands made it difficult to get the lines right, bits of eraser littering the base of the canvas. “Are you always this nervous?” He cut in suddenly, making you jump from the close proximity of his lips to your ear, “n-no, I’m not nervous!” Johnny snorted beside you, thankfully keeping his mouth shut long enough for you to finish the sketch of his face.

“You really think I look like that?” He asked, pointing to the obviously unfinished base sketch. He almost seemed offended, has he really never seen an art process before? “It’s just the base sketch Johnny, I’m not even done yet.” You replied with a soft roll of your eyes. As soon as you pulled out the paint, the brush just about to touch the canvas, you became painfully aware of his breath fanning your shoulder. Gathering enough courage, your gaze turned to glance at him from the side. His eyes were focused on your hand holding the brush, his jaw locked as if the anticipation was killing him. You hadn’t realized just how long you were side eyeing him until he spoke up, “see something you like, doll?” The smirk following further stoking the fire within you. Clearing your throat, you finally pressed the brush to the canvas, your face now a hue that rivals your brightest red paint.

What felt like a couple of minutes, was actually 2 hours of painting. Johnny had long since gone to grab snacks and drinks to make the experience more bearable for the both of you. Your arm nearly ached from the constant process of outstretching and retracting. Nonetheless, the painting was just about finished, just one more stroke and...

"So you do draw me often."

Your head jerked over in pure startled surprise at Johnny's sudden return. His hands were empty, aside from the open leatherback journal several pages in. On the page, was a sketch of Johnny, his pecks flexed where his left arm curled towards his chest with a coiled bicep; the other arm extended out in a brute force punch to a training yard dummy. His skin glistened with sweat, signature shades on both for show and to keep the afternoon sun from hindering his movie star attacks. A small knowing smirk played across his lips, as if he knew you were watching, and knew you were drawing. Slowly, your face began to heat up in multiple shades of red. It had taken you a second to realize what he was holding, what he was showing you. The world felt as though it had slowed down for this moment, letting your brain catch up to reality and the embarrassment bubbling up in your stomach. In the fray of emotions, you jerked your arm that held the paintbrush steady, and accidentally smeared a large black line across the side of the canvas, flicking bits of paint across the stone below you. "J-Johnny!?! Where-" you rose to your feet, darting towards him and grabbing the journal out of his hands with lightening speed. You held it to your chest, as if doing so would take back the sheer audacity he had to look through it. "I- Yo-" you huffed, your cheeks betraying your pitiful attempt to seem angry. "How did you even find that??" Johnny smirked, holding his hands up in surrender, the movement accentuating the lean muscle beneath his tight gray top, nearly making your face redder from it. "Hey, it was just sitting open," he replied with a grin across his face, his perfect teeth flashing with mischief. "Come on princess, it looks great!" Despite his compliment, you felt an overwhelming sense of dread, of fear, that you just seemed like an obsessed freak. Or worse, a fan. "Hey," his voice softened a fraction, a surprising change compared to his usually arrogant bravado. Johnny took a step towards you, slow, as if afraid to spook you, and lifted a hand to rest along your burning cheek. His calloused fingers were gentle, almost reverent in their caress. "I mean it, it really is good," he murmured, his head lowering slightly to meet your downcast gaze. Mesmerizing light brown irises captured your own, a sigh slipping from your lips without you even meaning to. You wanted to stay there, feel the warmth of his hand against your face, but your eyes broke the contact to trail over to the painting behind you. You felt your bottom lip quiver slightly, "I ruined it." Johnny looked past you at the painting, his hand never leaving your cheek. Though, to your surprise, he chuckled wholeheartedly. His hand finally fell to his side, and he stepped passed you to sit in front of the painting. For a moment, he simply admired the art, a small smile on his face. A sincere one, not the usual sarcastic one he wore like armor.

Johnny turned his head towards you, eyes shimmering with admiration and awe. He pants one hand on his thigh, and waves you over, "come here." The action had you slightly shocked, and you felt vulnerable, though you didn't protest. With steps so quiet it rivaled a mouse, you took a seat on his lap. You felt stiff, awkward, hovering as if afraid you'd make him uncomfortable with the contact he asked for. It wasn't until he settled his large palms on the dip of your waist that you relaxed, not without jumping in surprise first of course. "I've had more fan art than I can count from fans back home," he finally spoke. His voice was low, private, as if only you were allowed to hear his words. "This is by far," he paused, taking in a breath, "the best I have ever seen." A small squeeze of his hand on your waist startled you slightly, and you met his eyes with your own. "Thank you," he murmured, "sweetheart, don't ever hide your art from me again." Your heart thumped hard against your ribs, as if it were fighting to burst straight from your chest. "O-okay," you managed to choke out. His signature smirk returned to his lips, "and put my face back in that other painting will you?" You found yourself nodding without even thinking, a blush creeping back onto the apples of your cheeks. At this point, you couldn't even bring yourself to deny it, your brain fighting against your lips that parted to speak only to close again. "Yup," he suddenly cut in again, "this is definitely going on the fridge." You slapped his shoulder, both of you bursting into laughter.

One thing was for sure, you fully intended to put his face in that painting, and let him watch the whole thing.

Newly weds, happy and sappy and all that bullshit. Bullshit is all it was to Ghost. You and Ghost were compatible, sure, but sometimes you two become so close it’s borderline obsession. Ghost loves you, as much as you love him, and that terrifies him. To escape this unfortunate feeling, as Ghost puts it, he seeks out others to use and dispose. Something, anything to dull the fear he unwittingly feels deep down. Feelings he barely understands, feelings he’d rather drink himself to death numbing than speak about. Anyone with a brain could see how toxic the duo was, and would likely go to the edge of the earth to convince you two to separate. The both of you were too consumed by one another to leave, and too possessive to even think about letting each other see someone else.

Simon knew you felt the same way. He knew in the way you desperately tried hiding love marks imprinted on your skin. The way you stayed out late some nights under the guise of an “overtime” shift. How you seemed too tired to be intimate. How you shared yourself with someone other than him. His blood nearly boiled at the thought. You were his, and he would do anything to keep it that way. All the little giveaways you both did, unknowingly mirroring each other’s behavior like clones.

Anything was an understatement, evident in the huffs of exertion and long dragging sounds against wet soil. Under the cover of the darkened forest, Simon heaved the black trash bag behind him. Each step caking his boots in mud, masking the evidence of his actions that stained the leather surface. Anyone would likely turn a blind eye, if it weren't for the red liquid trickling down from a torn hole in the plastic. Behind him, trailed along a cloud of guilt and regret, and the stench of death. That gloomy overcast likely to dissipate with the body under the dirt, out of sight, out of mind.

It wasn’t until he noticed a distant figure, somewhat hunched, and headed towards the very spot he had chosen. The silhouette was unsteady and seemed to struggle with the heavy object trailing behind them. Ghost wasted no time in taking cover, slinking into the shadows without a sound. He watched, and waited, patiently, for the prime moment to strike. No witnesses, no regrets. It wasn’t until the person became more clear, and a familiar, “shit,” followed the thud of what appeared to be a body bag. None other than his significant other, carrying a bag just like him, to the same spot picked by him.

“Christ, what the fuck are you doing here?” His gruff voice caused you to jump, whipping around to meet his weathered skull mask face to face. “Me? What are you doing here?” Your attempt to appear confident in your confrontation was sabotaged by the heavy pants leaving your lips. Ghost gave you a scrutinizing squint, leaning to the side slightly to look over your shoulder at the bag on the ground. A normal black trash bag with blood, clumps of hair, and other questionable substances adhering dirt to the plastic. His nose scrunched at the awful odor, much worse than the bag he carried, and much more gruesome looking. “Who is that?” Despite the obvious evidence, and human shape inside the bag, you pulled an act of obliviousness to his question. “What? Who’s who?” Unamused, and slightly irritated, he grabbed his own bag and tossed it at your feet, “Brandon Dorsey, sound familiar?” Your eyes locked with the bag in front of you, remembering the night you slept with him solely to ‘get even’ with Simon. You scoffed, making a feeble attempt to drag yours towards him, “Olivia Marterson, ring any bells?” A smirk played on your lips at his lack of emotion given the circumstance, not a care in the world for the dead beneath him.

Ghost examined the body bag you dropped at his feet, its densely saturated exterior leaving little to the imagination on what was inside. Unlike yours, his bag was more neatly cased with very few stains marring the outside, aside from the blood dripping heavily from the corner — the plastic likely nicked by a tool in the bed of his truck, and a mess he’d unfortunately have to clean later. His bag was much smaller in size than yours, strangely so, and no shape at all to indicate the contents. “Something wrong?” You asked, hoping that maybe your actions somehow irked him, or made him second guess cheating on you. Instead, those deep brown eyes gave nothing away, trailing back up to meet yours, “sloppy work, you should be more careful.” Simon spoke in a deadpan voice, but something about his statement almost felt concerned.

Kenshi would roll his eyes if there were some in his sockets. Currently, you sat in front of him, whining about an earring somehow lost during a night out. When you asked him for a replacement pair, he declined, in the most delicate way possible. Yet, that didn’t stop you from feeling a bit frustrated. “That was my favorite pair!” You’d pop out your bottom lip to pout, crossing your arms in a pathetic attempt to persuade him but to no avail.

As of late, you’ve been brattier than ever. He had no idea the cause, or how to get you to tone it down a notch. It wasn’t until a potential culprit reared its head. You two hadn’t been intimate in a while, most of his time being consumed by his job. When he did return home, you’d be fast asleep, or he’d be dead tired from hours on his feet. Kenshi considered your frustration both sexually, and in general with him. It made sense however, with the groans after your advances would be rejected out of sleep deprivation. The way you’d eye him constantly, the lip bites not going unnoticed.

One night, he decided it would be the perfect time to get more intimate. His hands gently caressing the small of your back, lifting your shirt slightly to drag his fingers along your skin. His soft fluttery kisses on your face and lips become slower and longer until it was a full on make out session. Being blind, he appreciated the way you felt, your skin so soft and supple. The way you smelt, like honey and vanilla. And the way you sound, your soft moans and mewls under his touch.

Time and time again, dates with Kuai Liang consisted of more traditional ideas. Walks on the trails of the forest, watching the sunset above the horizon, or having tea in the floral gardens. It was all very sweet, but you desperately craved adventure - something often overlooked by a traditional man such as him. You thought about the idea of a hike, or maybe a horse ride, but even those sounded too bland. Then the idea of skinny dipping came to your mind. It was perfect, you thought, both out of your comfort zone and intimate. You remember seeing hot springs on one of your strolls through the woods, perfect this time of year.

Was it a good idea? Sure, in your mind it was, the problem was getting Kuai on board with it. “Can he even swim?” You muttered, your hands busying themselves with bags of oolong tea. Your plan was to soothe his mood with the hot beverage, then bring up the date one way or another. The worst that could happen is a no, in which there’s always other things to bring up, yet you still felt nervous about his potential reaction.

Right on cue, Kuai glides through the doorway of the temple’s kitchen, his skin glistening with the sweat of training with new students. He makes his way straight to you, gingerly wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his head on your shoulder. With a sigh, he nuzzles his head further into the crook of your neck. “I missed you today, my flame,” he whispered, his voice muffled by his lips on your skin. “Me too, love,” just as he released you, you turned around with the tray of tea, “I thought we could have some tea together.”

The steaming liquid seared your lips, hissing in response and giggling at your mistake. Kuai knows you, maybe too well. He knows when there is something on your mind. You seemed away, your eyes vacant and deep in thought. A hand on yours broke you away from your gaze with the tea cup, “is something troubling you?” Concern was written on his features, with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. It’s now or never, you thought. “I’m fine, I just..” you paused for a moment, contemplating how to word it the best way without completely embarrassing yourself. A blush began forming on your cheeks before you finally spoke, “would you like to um..go swimming tonight at the hot springs?” You may have left out the nude part, but that’s not a big detail..right? “Sounds relaxing, I would love to.”

It was beautiful, the moonlight bouncing off the ripples on the surface of the hot springs. A blanket of condensation settled just over the surrounding area, creating a warm atmosphere to contrast the chill of the night air. Crickets chirped, and distant owls sang their songs, a backdrop to a romantic night. The two of you settled on a nearby rock, overlooking the scene just as you both arrived. Kuai Liang seemed to busy himself with admiring the view of the stars above. With that, you took the opportunity to undress - completely, and slink into the warmth of the water. You tentatively reached out a hand towards him, praying he didn’t see the slight shiver of nervousness in your gesture.

To your surprise, he obliged rather quickly. Within a few minutes, he was beside you, his muscle relaxing under the heat. You had a clear view of his entire body beneath the water. It was a glorious sight, so much so you could see stars already. The droplets trickled down his perfectly sculpted arms, cascading down the contours of his biceps and broad shoulders. The pristine beads seemed to trace the carvings of his scars, and hug the lines of the tattoo you adore. Eventually, your eyes trailed up to meet his deep brown pools already looking at you. His gaze mirrored your own, admiring the way the water cupped your breasts, and watching the droplets with jealousy as they kiss places he wishes his lips were.

Alejandro Vargas…

Would join. People know who he is, so even if he were to show his face, I doubt he would be against it.

The added mystery excites him, being obscured for all eyes except yours. He wants to keep the face to the body reserved for you and you only.

Plus, he likes that no one can see the faces you make. Only he can see how beautiful you look, sweat beading on your forehead while you scream his name for the 5th time in a night.

Phillip Graves…

Is indifferent. He’s taken down terrorists, drug lords, you name it, pictures of his naked body for all to see isn’t something that scares him.

He gives me the vibes that he’s a bit cocky of his appearance. So he actually might like the idea of showing it off, with you as his cowgirl, taking him for a ride.

There will be more pictures of him fucked out than you. It’s supposed to be your OF, but he seems to be the star of the show, and the fan favorite.

König…

Isn’t into it. He’s insecure, and not fond of his appearance. He doesn’t mind if you do it though, as long as some part of you is private to him, your face works just fine.

He’s a private man, and secretive too. Even if no face is shown, he still has defining tattoos and distinct scars that someone could recognize. That in itself makes him paranoid.

He will however, have you choking on his cock behind the camera with the lens faced at your naked body, your fingers between your folds. Just out of frame, your eyes are rolled back and wretched gagging sounds bounce off the walls. His raw pink tip slams the back of your throat, grunts and choked moans fill the room. He’ll let out a guttural roar just as he slaps the tip against your tongue, spurting his seed all over your face. The only part of him your fans will ever see, is his cum dripping down your chin.

Rodolfo Parra…

Is too shy for it. If he agrees, you’d definitely have to ease him into it. He’s a bit shy and reserved over his appearance. He wouldn’t say he’s ugly, no, but he doesn’t see himself being a guy everyone would gawk at.

Honestly, he might like it. I think he would enjoy the attention he’d get from comments and subscribes. He’d be happy that so many people want what they can’t have, and feels lucky to have such a beauty by his side.