#i like my characters soft and kind and sweet

[katsu28]

sent and delivered

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: after your scheduled coffee date with bradley, your friendship progresses into something more over time. (7k)

part 2 to return to sender

warnings: swearing, some use of Y/N

a/n: hello again my tgm family!! went a little overboard with this, but thank you to my sweet @familyvideostevie, who came up with this beautiful friends to lovers plotline for a part 2 literal ages ago, and the lovely @starryeyedstories for putting me in my rooster feels again <3

You shouldn’t be so nervous for coffee with Bradley as you are right now. You’ve already changed your outfit at least twice, sifted through your pantry for a suitable accompaniment to coffee so many times you’ve lost count, and as the clock ticks its way to noon, genuinely debated on making an excuse to bail. 

A few careful deep breaths clears your mind a little, reminds you that no, you aren’t going to bail on Bradley. You’re going to see this thing through if it’s the last thing you ever do, fight or flight response be damned. 

You’re a jumble of nerves as you finally make your way over to his apartment, just like the first time you met him.

Only this time it isn’t because you were afraid he was an asshole (you know now that he was the in fact opposite), but because your crush on him has grown tenfold just overnight. 

See, you’d spent a good chunk of the time you were meant to be asleep last night on the phone chatting with him about anything and everything, never a lull in the conversation until the sun started to peek through the curtains and the birds began their daily morning song.

He’d sounded sad when you announced you had to grab a few hours of shut eye, but murmured a soft see you later that had your heart thudding a little faster in your chest. 

Maybe you even buried your face in a pillow and squealed a little the moment you hung up, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You knock on his door firmly, shifting the package of Oreos from hand to hand nervously as you wait. 

The door swings open to reveal a smiling Bradley, and suddenly all your worries seem to fade away. 

He’s wearing jeans and a well-fitting Hawaiian shirt this time, which would’ve looked tacky as hell on anyone else, but Bradley found a way to pull it off. He still looks way too damn good for someone who’d been up the whole night. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, beckoning you inside with a smile. You mirror his smile, but before you can return his greeting, he brings you into a hug. He smells of fresh laundry and sea breeze and something heady that you can’t quite put your finger on but like nonetheless. “Long time no talk.” 

You let out a huff of amusement. “Right, because seven hours is just such a long time.” 

“Sure felt like forever,” He replies, reaching around you to shut the door. His arm grazes against the small of your back as he does, a fleeting touch that still manages to make you shiver. Maybe Bradley notices, because he lets his hand linger for another second, expression shifting into something softer as he eases the cookies out of your hands. “This for me?” 

“Uh, yeah! I hope you like Oreos, ‘cause it’s really all I had,” You say sheepishly, folding your arms around yourself in an awkward attempt to seem normal. 

“I love Oreos. Thank you.” He bobs his head quickly. “Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourself at home.”

Bradley’s apartment has the same layout as yours, but other than that it looks like a completely different place. 

While you’d decorated your space with all sorts of odds and ends, posters and paintings and a plethora of knick knacks adorning your shelves, Bradley’s is…kind of empty, save for a few sports posters and some workout gear scattered in the hallway leading to the bedroom. A piano sits over by the window that gives the place some character, but other than that it doesn’t really look like this is anyone’s home. 

It’s as if he feels you taking in your surroundings, because he chuckles awkwardly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s plain, I know. Definitely won’t be winning any awards for interior design.” 

“Oh, I dunno, the minimalistic look is really in these days,” You hum, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“You’re too nice to me. I’m not here a lot of the time, so I haven’t really done the whole ‘making it feel like home’ thing yet. I’ll get to it though.” He admits, kicking aside a lone pair of shorts. “Anyways, uh—forget this, why don’t we keep moving on into the kitchen?” 

The kitchen is much more interesting than the rest of the apartment, mainly the wall of postcards and photos next to the fridge that catch your eye immediately.

“Now, this is more like it!” You gasp, beelining for the wall to look at them. Postcards of sandy beaches, snowy mountains, and everything in between. Pictures of a younger and current Bradley with whom you assumed were his fellow Navy buddies, smiling wide for the camera like he’s having the time of his life. A few more older photos of a woman and a man who looks just like Bradley with a kid who you assumed was Bradley. 

You feel Bradley’s presence come up behind you, hear him inhale a sharp breath. “Those are my parents.” 

“You look just like your dad.” 

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says.” 

“And your mom is beautiful.”

“She was.” You know better than to pry any further than that. One day, maybe, but not any time soon. He sniffs once, then clears his throat. “You, um, you want some coffee?” 

You leave the wall to come settle on one of the barstools across the counter from him, propping your chin up in your hand as he pulls open a cabinet.  “Ah, the infamous coffee maker! Damn that thing is huge.”

“Don’t come for me, but I’ve still only figured out how to make one thing,” He warns, pointing at you with a mug. “Hope you like black coffee, ‘cuz that’s all you’re getting.”

“Black coffee is perfect.” 

“I have milk if you take yours with some. Only almond milk though. Supposed to be better for the bones, according to Hangman.” Bradley nods his head towards the fridge. “S’in there if you need it, help yourself.” 

“First the machine, now the milk—this Hangman must be a trustworthy guy if you take all your coffee tips from him.” 

Bradley laughs, a loud belly laugh that sends a tumbling feeling through your chest. “Dude’s a total knucklehead, but he means well. I think you’d like him.” 

“What’s that thing they say about a person’s friends being a reflection of themselves?” You muse teasingly, tilting your head. 

“I know you didn’t just call me a knucklehead!” 

“Your words, not mine.” You lift one shoulder, letting it drop with a look of feigned innocence. 

“Funny.” 

As always, conversation with Bradley is never dull. Even though you’d talked for hours on end the night before, there is no shortage of stories to be told, life stories shared over coffee and Oreos like you’ve known each other forever. 

Somehow you wind up here, talking about how you both ended up in the same apartment complex. You’d found this place on your own and were immediately sold on it. It was affordable, not too small but not too big, and quiet enough for you. Seemed like a perfect deal had fallen right into your lap. 

Bradley, on the other hand, had found it a completely different way. His friend Nat had been going out with a total douchebag of a guy who just so happened to be looking for a place at the same time Bradley had been, sharing his apartment hunt findings with her. 

She found out he’d been seeing another girl behind her back the whole time, kicked his ass to the curb, tipped Bradley off on the open spot in the complex, and Bradley swooped in to nab the place before the cheating son of a bitch could even blink. 

“You did not!” You gasp, covering your mouth with your palm in shock. 

“I did!” Bradley laughs, nodding enthusiastically. “Never liked the guy anyways. And what was he gonna do, confront me about it? Dude was a total coward, he wasn’t gonna come accuse me of jack shit!” 

“You’re smart, Bradshaw, I’ll give you that.” 

“Apparently not smart enough to know that my mail was being sent to the wrong apartment for months. Again, I’m really sorry about that.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, I keep telling you that,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t mind, really.” 

“How come you didn’t tell me earlier?” 

“Honestly? I thought you were kinda scary,” You admit sheepishly, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

It feels silly even admitting it, knowing now who Bradley actually is doesn’t fit your perception of him by a long shot. But at the same time, admitting it feels somewhat freeing, like you’re letting go of someone you never knew to make way for someone you’d really love to get to know more. 

Bradley’s eyes widens, mouth falling open just the slightest bit in shock. “Scary? Me?” 

“Yes, you! I dunno if you’ve seen yourself from another person’s eyes, but you look intimidating! You’ve got that whole big tough guy look going on, and I’m not great with confrontation.” 

“And what do you think of me now?” He asks softly, settling his chin in the palm of his hand as he meets your gaze intently. There go your nerves again, swirling in the pit of your stomach like a whirlpool threatening to suck you in. 

You inhale a deep breath, letting it come back out as a sort of breathy chuckle. “I think you’re not at all what I thought you’d be.” 

“In a good way or a bad way?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Anything I could do to sway the odds in my favor?” 

Your mouth is suddenly drier than a desert despite all the liquid you’ve been downing, palms clammy against the ceramic of the mug clutched in your grasp. 

You aren’t ready to answer that question, even though you already have an inkling of the things he could do. So you do the only thing you could think of to get yourself out of this situation. You change the subject. 

“I…um—I really loved the chandelier when I took a walk through of the place,” You blurt, jerking your chin over at the sleek fixture above the dining area to draw Bradley’s attention to it. “Really brings the whole place together. Or, it would if mine would stop flickering all the damn time.”

His face falls just the tiniest bit at the sudden change of subject, but his features twist in curiosity within a split second. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, yours doesn’t?” 

“No, mine’s been fine since I moved in. Have you tried taking a look at it, see what’s wrong?” 

You offer him a sheepish smile, bashful now. “This is really embarrassing, but I’m—I’m kind of scared that it’s gonna fall on me if I mess with it. Y’know, revenge of the light fixtures and all that?” Bradley’s mouth lifts at the edges, and you could tell he’s fighting another smile. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a legitimate concern!” 

“Not laughing!” He clears his throat, giving his head a little shake to keep his composure. But even then, there’s no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. “Chandeliers are very scary.” 

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” You groan, hanging your head. Bradley’s soft chuckle brings a flaming warmth to your cheeks. 

“I could…take a look at it, if you want?” 

Your head whips up to stare at him. “Right now?” 

“Today, yeah. If you’re free after this, I mean.” He shrugs, giving the spoon in his cup a few stirs. 

“For real?” 

“I have tools. I’ll take a look, see if it’s an easy fix and if not, we can call maintenance.” 

“You’re walking a slippery slope, Bradley Bradshaw. If you can get the chandelier working again there’s no guarantee I won’t be calling you for every other household problem in the future.” 

“No complaints here.” 

After you’ve both finished your coffee, Bradley grabs his toolbox from under the stairs, and now you’re both standing in the entryway of your own apartment. You feel him taking in your space the same way you did his, your cheeks flaming hot at the clutter of things all around. 

“It’s usually a lot tidier than this, I swear. I’ve just had a lot of deadlines at work and I haven’t gotten the chance to put everything back in its place.” 

Bradley just smiles, giving a noncommittal shrug. “S’no big deal. I like it.” Everything he got from spending more time with you, he could see it reflected in your space. And as cliche as it sounded, he felt more at home here than he did in his own apartment. 

He sets his toolbox down, grabbing a set of pliers and hopping up on the table with ease to poke around the chandelier for a while before fiddling with something. 

He climbs back down, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans and tossing the tool back into the box, planting his hands on his hips. “Looks like one of the wires was just a little loose. The bad connection caused it to flicker, but I tightened it a bit so it should be fine now. Maybe try it and see?” 

You hurry over to the light switch, flicking it on hopefully. Normally it would start to flicker immediately, but when ten seconds go by and the light shines bright, you beam. “So you’re an electrician too, huh?” 

“Hardly. One of my buddies is though. Sometimes he needs an extra set of hands so I tag along with him, see what I can learn.”  

“Well either way, you’re a godsend!” 

“Just glad I could help.” 

“Let me cook you dinner! I have—” You exclaim, shuffling over to the fridge and pulling it open only to be met with nearly bare shelves, save for a few containers of old fruit and condiments. “—nothing. I have nothing, because I was supposed to go to the store yesterday. Well, this is embarrassing!” 

Bradley had followed you to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the barstools coolly. “No, this is all very reassuring, ‘cause I’ve been meaning to go shopping too but I keep putting it off. Glad to see I’m not the only one with poor weekly grocery trip skills.” 

“I’m sure that was meant to be reassuring, but it really just makes us both sound sad,” You groan, slumping over onto your own stool.

“Your words, not mine,” Bradley chuckles, echoing your earlier words with a cheery smile. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Okay, I can fix this!” You exclaim, holding up a finger as you open UberEats on your phone. “We could do Thai, burgers, pizza—” 

“You don’t have to buy me dinner, really, I’m just happy I could help.” 

“You can say no all you want, Bradley, it doesn’t really matter to me. You’re staying for dinner, and we can either compromise and get something we both want, or I’ll order something you hate,” You insist, trying to sound as firm as you could. 

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” 

You grin at him, eyes alight with mischief. “No, I don’t.” 

“I like that.” I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. 

“What’ll it be then?” 

“I wouldn’t say no to some pizza. Got a six pack back in my fridge I could bring over too, if you want.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“Of beer, that is,” He adds. “No relation to my giant package.” 

“Oh, you asshole! You swore you’d never bring that up again!” You huff, leaning over to swat at him. Bradley dodges you easily, an easy smile playing at his lips. 

“Okay, okay! I won’t say anything else about it, I promise.” 

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah I’m totally lying.” 

-------

And so it began, a saga of texting Bradley to see if the things in his apartment were as defective as yours, him coming over to help fix various things, and you scrambling to show your utmost appreciation for his help.

A broken thermostat meant going downtown for dinner and drinks at some new restaurant “just to try it out”, a leaky sink resulted in him guilting you into a Mission: Impossible marathon (and a whole lot of insisting the main character looked exactly like one of his Navy higher ups). 

That soon turned into you and Bradley spending more and more time at each other’s places, doing fuck all but enjoying each other’s friendship. And over time, that friendship grew a bit more-than-friends-like—he’d always flirt with you, you’d flirt right back—but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it.

Lingering glances, brushing hands that lasted a little too long to be innocent, inside jokes only the two of you were privy to. You’re almost positive he feels the same way about you as you do him, but every time you want to act on it, you chicken out. You've never been one for putting yourself out there, and that hasn’t changed. 

You’re about to turn in for the night today, going to close the window in your bedroom only to realize that the lock on the frame isn’t sliding into place the way it usually did. 

After jiggling it a few times to see if it would prove a quick fix and finding that it most certainly doesn’t fix a thing, you reach for your phone, instinctively sending off a quick message to Bradley without even really having to think about it. 

y/n: quick question! what should i do if my window won’t lock? 

Not five minutes after you hit send, your phone buzzes, Bradley’s name flashing across the screen for a video call. 

It’s odd, because usually when you text about something in your apartment not working the way it's supposed to, he just shoots back a message saying he’ll be right over. It’s nighttime, so you were honestly kind of looking forward to seeing him in his grey sweats and bicep hugging black tee combo. 

You give yourself a quick once over in your phone camera, smoothing down any flyaway hairs before hitting the answer call button. There’s a few beats of nothing as the call connects, but he’s on your screen soon enough, somewhere you don’t recognize and half-shrouded in the dark like he’s under something. 

“Something’s wrong with your window?” He asks, brow creased in concern. 

“Hi to you too, Bradley.” 

“Sorry, hi. But your window, is the lock broken?” 

“I think so? Usually when I go to turn the plastic lock thingy it clicks into place, but I tried it like four times and it’s not clicking, so…” You trail off, pouting. “D’you—I mean, are you busy right now? Would you mind popping over to take a look?” 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m actually not home right now. Won’t be for another few weeks.” Bradley frowns, scratching at his cheek. “I’m overseas.” 

“Oh my god, Bradley! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!” 

“No, you’re good! If I was home, I’d be over in a heartbeat, but uh, unfortunately,” He sighs, gesturing vaguely at his surroundings. “Here, flip the camera. Lemme see if I can see what’s wrong from here.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask, gnawing on your lip. It seems wrong, still having Bradley be your on-call maintenance guy even when he’s somewhere probably a thousand miles away. But he nods enthusiastically so you oblige, flipping the camera so it’s facing the seemingly broken lock. 

You watch him blink a few times and squint at the fuzzy video screen for a little bit before sighing again. 

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t see shit from here.” 

“Yeah no, it’s fine.” You shrug, flipping the camera back to face you. You prop your phone up on your windowsill, settling into a more comfortable position to chat with him. “Where overseas are you?” 

“Afraid that’s classified, ma’am.” He bows his head in apology, but there was a teasing smile on his face. “See, I could tell you. But then I’d have to kill you.” 

You let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, really?” 

“Unfortunately. And you’re too pretty to meet that end, so I’m gonna have to keep my whereabouts a secret to save us both the hassle.” 

Pretty. Bradley thinks you’re pretty. 

You have to fight the smile threatening to break your composure. “How gracious of you.” 

“Isn’t it? I surprise myself sometimes,” He sighs good-naturedly, looking all too pleased with himself. “But seriously, talk to the super about your window, have them get the maintenance guy to take a look. Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep til it gets fixed.” 

“Aw, you worried about me, Bradley?” You tease, pouting playfully at him. 

He rolls his eyes. “You know I am.” 

“I’ll call the super tomorrow.” 

“Not today?” 

“I’ll let you know if someone breaks in through my third floor window.” 

“Hey, you never know! People are stealthy,” Bradley protests, shifting to a sitting position and subsequently hitting his head on the bunk above him. He lets out a hiss of pain, rubbing the top of his head with a grimace. 

“Some people are, but you’re definitely not,” You snicker, to which Bradley gives you another eye roll. “Are you about to go to bed?” 

“I was gonna, but I’d much rather talk to you.” 

That nearly makes you swoon. God, Bradley is good with his words. Damn him. 

“Go to sleep, I’ll let you know when it’s fixed. Wouldn’t want you worrying your pretty little head about me all night.” 

“Pretty little head,” He echos, tilting said pretty little head to the side. 

“It’s, uh, it’s just a figure of speech,” You insist, feeling your cheeks grow embarrassingly warm. Funny how they always do that whenever you’re talking to him. Or thinking about him. Or thinking about talking to him. 

Bradley just smiles again. “Sure is.” 

“Goodnight, Bradley.” 

“Night, sweetheart. I’m expecting that text to be there when I wake up.” He hangs up before you can register the nickname, but you can’t stop the giddy grin breaking across your face when you do. 

First he calls you pretty, now he’s calling you sweetheart. He’s getting bolder. You aren’t sure if that means he feels the same way about you, or if it’s just his personality. Even after you’d known him for almost six months, you still can’t tell. 

-------

Bradley rouses from his sleep at five on the dot, throwing himself into his Navy enforced routine until lunchtime, when he could finally sit down and check his phone. Upon powering it back on and glancing at the homescreen, he sees that he has two notifications from you. One of them is a selfie of you beaming next to your newly fixed latched window, sending him a thumbs up. 

Shit, you’re so pretty. It makes his heart ache to be away from home this time, not able to help you when you need it. 

The other is a text to accompany the photo. 

y/n: window is fixed. hope you sleep well tonight knowing no stealthy people are gonna break in :)

He snorts softly, a smile overtaking his face as he taps out a reply. 

bradley: i won’t worry my pretty little head about it anymore. 

y/n: you better not be texting me from the jet!! 

bradley: and so what if i was? i’d call it multitasking. 

y/n: i’d call it damn stupid, lieutenant. can’t have my handyman ditching me, so come home in one piece, k? 

“Now who in the world could you be texting that’s got you cheesin’ like a big ol’ idiot right now?” Hangman’s voice drawls from across the table, drawing Bradley’s attention away from his phone and to the rest of the squad, who all look at him with the same expectant expressions. 

“Five bucks it’s his girl from back home,” Payback chimes in, smirking knowingly. 

“I’ll take that action, please and thank you,” Fanboy replies, smacking his hand into Payback’s for a shake to seal the deal. 

“She’s not my—have you guys been creeping on my texts?” 

“Well, not creeping per se,” Phoenix reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “I was only trying to send myself that picture of Bob sleeping with that marker mustache when she texted.” 

Bob makes an incredulous noise, head whipping towards his front seater. “You guys said there were no pictures!” 

“Nothing, nevermind,” She hums, waving him off. “Back to the subject at hand. Y/N. Rooster’s girl.” 

“How d’you know her—hold on, how the fuck did you get into my phone?” 

“Your password is your birthday, dumbass. You should really change it, by the way. Cybersecurity is no joke.”

“Whatever. She’s not my girl, by the way. If any of you cared to know. We’re just…friends.” 

“See that hesitation between just and friends? Bradshaw’s a liar!” Hangman whoops, drumming his fingers on the table. “He wants to be her boyfriend!” That last word comes out a teasing singsong, making Bradley roll his eyes. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t need everyone knowing that. 

“Real mature, Hangman. Real mature.” 

“Can’t argue with the truth, Rooster.” 

-------

You soon discover that life is pretty boring without Bradley around. There’s nobody to bother when you get bored, nobody to make dumb jokes while you watch a movie, nobody to force you to go out even though you don’t want to. Bradley was always the one to do all those things with you, and he isn’t here. Sure, you’re still able to text and talk, but it isn’t the same. You miss him. 

So when your doorbell rings and you aren’t expecting anyone, your mind immediately goes to Bradley. You quickly give yourself a once over in the mirror in the foyer, making sure you look at least halfway presentable before pulling open the door excitedly. 

Bradley’s already beaming when your eyes land on him, but his smile gets even wider as he takes you in. He looks the same as the last time you saw him, although definitely better than he did on a grainy video screen. He’s a little tanner than you remember, shoulders a smidge broader, but still the same Bradley you’d grown some big feelings for. 

“Remember me?” He jokes, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

You give him a once over with a tilted head, frowning. “Sorry, no. I think you might have the wrong apartment.” 

“Oh, she’s funny now!”

“Okay, ouch. I’ve always been funny, Bradshaw,” You huff, but the smile stretching your lips tells him you’re anything but annoyed. “Welcome home.” 

You aren’t sure if you should hug him but you do anyway, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in his achingly familiar cologne. Bradley settles into your embrace almost like he’s melting, letting his nose drop into the dip of your neck as he hugs you back a little too tightly. Not that you’re complaining about it. 

“Glad to be back. Missed you.” He straightens up as soon as those last two words leave his mouth, backing away almost jerkily with a hand flying to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I missed you too, Bradley.” 

The edges of his mouth quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. “So me and my buddies were gonna head to our usual spot for drinks tonight, kinda like a being back stateside, welcome home type thing. I’d really like it if you came with me.” 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” You shake your head profusely, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. Bradley’s head cocks in confusion. “It’s your time with your friends, I don’t want to impose.” 

“You won’t be. I want you there, I want you to meet them all,” He insists, looking entirely sincere. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. Come with me, please.” 

You gnaw a little on your lip in contemplation, only managing to hold out a few seconds under his intense gaze before giving a small defeated sigh. “Okay. I’ll join you.” 

“Great!” He beams, looking rather pleased. “Now tell me everything that happened while I was gone. And spare no detail either, I need to catch up on the complex gossip. Did that kid Andrew ever stop banging on his drums until three in the morning? Does that family across the parking lot still go on walks with their wailing baby or has that sucker settled down yet? I need to know.”

After bringing Bradley up to speed on everything, it’s time to meet his friends. 

Rowdy isn’t sufficient enough to describe the Hard Deck. A Navy joint through and through, the whole place is decked out floor to ceiling with model jets and patches and other various related memorabilia.

The group Bradley leads you towards seems to be the loudest of them all, scattered out around a pool table in the back corner chatting amongst each other and looking happy to be home. 

The first person to notice Bradley’s arrival is a dark haired woman with a pool cue in her hand, which she swings his way upon sight of him coming up next to her, nearly taking off his head had he not stepped back a little. “Bradshaw! Tell Bagman he’s insane if he thinks he can chug a beer in under five seconds, tell him that!” 

“No, you tell Phoenix that I can do whatever I—well, hello there,” The blond man—Bagman, you assume—stops mid sentence when he lays eyes on you, dropping the offended look and aiming a pearly white smile your way. “And who might you be?” 

“Not gonna happen, Hangman,” Bradley warns. He looks entirely serious about it too. 

“Oh, so you’re the Hangman this guy always talks about,” You lilt, ignoring the gentle shove Bradley gives you in return. 

“Aw, Roo, you talk about me?” Hangman drawls, grinning wildly. “Way to make a man blush!”  

“Yeah, yeah, don’t flatter yourself.” Bradley rolls his eyes playfully, giving his head a shake before introducing you to his friends. Each of them has a unique callsign that seems to fit them perfectly. Your favorite name is Coyote because of how cool it is, but you’d never let Bradley know that. 

The woman Hangman had been bickering with, Phoenix, inhales a sharp breath, her eyes bouncing between you and Bradley with barely contained glee. “Oh my god, you’re Rooster’s girl! He’s been—”

Bradley clamps a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder before she can continue, cutting her short. “Alright!” He blurts, giving her a quick few pats. He angles his head towards you, offering a guilty smile. “Sorry about her, she’s drunk. Doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

“Move the hand or you’ll lose it, Bradshaw,” She says slowly, pinning him to the spot with a death stare. Bradley retracts his hand instantly, looking intimidated as he does so and Phoenix aims a grin your way. “He’s well trained, I promise. I think maybe you’ve had something to do with that?” 

“I dunno about training, but I’ve taught him a few tricks.”

“What am I, a dog?” Bradley splutters, looking from your grin to Phoenix’s and huffing out a sigh when you both nod. “I feel attacked! This is so unfair.” 

“I like you. We need to get you a drink,” Phoenix says very as-a-matter-of-factly, holding up her empty glass towards you as proof. “Any preference?” 

“Surprise me?” 

“Copy that.” 

You watch her retreat over to the bar, casting a quick glance at your surroundings to make sure nobody is paying attention before leaning in towards Bradley, who mirrors your actions almost instantaneously. 

“Rooster’s girl?” You chuckle, raising an amused brow. You’d never admit it out loud, but you like the nickname. It meant that he told his friends about you. Maybe not in the way you’d wanted them to learn about your existence, because he’d probably told them you’re just friends, but nice nonetheless. 

Bradley goes positively pink in the face. “It’s, uh—s’nothing, my friends just like to mess around.” 

“Okay.” You shrug trying to play it cool while simultaneously fighting the urge to squeal like a damn schoolgirl on the inside. You ought to earn some sort of medal for your performance. 

You soon fall into easy conversation with Phoenix and her backseater Bob when she returns with drinks. It isn’t until Bradley finally leaves your side to go play a round of pool with some of the other guys that she props her chin up in her hand, smiling knowingly at you. 

“So…you and Rooster?” 

“What about us?” 

“Are you guys…y’know,” She gestures vaguely in the air, tilting her head over at Bradley. “A thing?” 

“Oh my god,” Bob mutters, so soft you barely even hear it. He looks mortified at his partner’s very not subtle insinuation. “Nat, you can’t just ask her that.” 

“Oh no, it’s okay! We, uh—Bradley and I are just friends.” 

Phoenix doesn’t look like she believes you one bit, but she just nods reassuringly. “Well, just friends or not, you’re good for him.” Then she moves onto a new topic like it’s nothing, but her words echoed in your mind. 

You cast a glance over at Bradley a little ways away, where he’s chatting idly with another one of his buddies. 

You’re good for him. 

If anything, Bradley is good for you. He pushes you out of your comfort zone, he helps you come out of your shell. He’s the reason you’ve grown into a new person, one that the old you would never have even dreamed of becoming. 

Maybe your attention lingers a little too long, because he tears his eyes away from his conversation partner to meet your gaze, lips curling up into a grin as he nods at you in acknowledgement. Even from across the bar, you can see the soft twinkle in his eyes, the fondness and warmth in his smile causing your heart to swell in your chest. 

By the time you and Bradley decide to call it a night and head home, you already have an indefinite invitation to any and every squad function in the future (whether or not Bradley was present, Phoenix had added with a wink). 

“So…what did you think of ‘em?” 

“I like your friends. They’re nice,” You say earnestly. You mean it.

“Good. I’m glad. They really like you too, Phoenix and Bob especially,” He says casually, flicking on his blinker to turn left. You let out a pleased chuckle at that. 

The two of you chat like normal the rest of the way home once you both settle back into your usual back and forth, exchanging more stories from your respective lives until Bradley pulls into his assigned parking space. 

“Before I forget, I brought you back something.” 

“Oh?” You raise a curious eyebrow. 

He reaches over to your side of the car, fumbling around in the glove compartment for a few seconds until he procures what he’s searching for—a small postcard with a photo of a very picturesque beach. The corners are a bit bent from being shoved in there, but Bradley straightens them out as best he can before holding it out to you.  

Turning it around in your hands, you spot a note in his familiar chicken scratch on the other side, much tinier than you remember but only because it details how much he hated sharing a tiny bunk with Hangman, who was an avid sleep talker when he wasn’t snoring as loud as humanly possible throughout the entire night. 

One thing stands out to you though, the last sentence before he’d signed his name with a rather crooked looking smiley face—I miss you. 

“This town was near where we were stationed. I was gonna mail the card, but I wanted this first one to be special.” 

“Special?” You echo, tilting your head. 

“Yeah. Thought maybe it’d be fun if I send you one of these every time I’m deployed and you could start your own wall. That way whenever I’m gone and you miss me, it’ll—I dunno…remind you I’m coming home?” He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

You try your hardest to fight the smile threatening to overtake your face as you study the card intently. It’s very sweet of him, you think, that he wants to share this tradition of his with you. 

“Thank you, Bradley,” You say softly. “I love it.”

"I was hoping you would. I'm glad you do."

When he walks you right up to your door, he looks nervous, which isn't like him. You're about to ask him if he's feeling okay, but then he speaks.

“Hey, look, I—um, I’ve had a really good time these past few months, being your friend."

You frown a little. “Uh oh. Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” 

“No! I mean, yes, but also—shit, okay, lemme start over.” Bradley shakes his head as if to clear his mind, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve really enjoyed being your friend, but I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” 

Oh. 

Your heart may as well have fallen out of your ass at his words. Bradley didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? 

You must not have as good of a poker face as you mean to, because he quickly backtracks, eyes wide. 

“Fuck, no that’s not what I meant, I—jesus, I meant to say that I don’t want to be just friends anymore,” He blurts, letting his hands drop to his sides. “I really missed you while I was gone. More than I should’ve. And at first I just thought it was because we’re such good friends and because of how much time we’ve spent together lately and that’s why I felt like there was this chunk of me that was missing, but I realized it was more than that. I like you. A lot. So I don’t just want to be your friend anymore, I want to be…more.” 

Oh.

Bradley likes you. And you like him right back.

So, you do the only thing you can think of that will show him your feelings towards him. 

You lean forward, closing the gap between the two of you and kissing him right here and now. 

His palms smooth themselves down your back, fingers splayed across the expanse of it as he kisses you like his life depends on it. His mustache is scratchy, but you don’t mind one bit, not with the way he’s holding you against him, like you’re puzzle pieces slotting perfectly together at last. 

You pull away first with a hand against his chest, only slightly, just enough to look him in the eye when you tell him, “I like you a lot too, Bradley.” 

“Best news I’ve heard in a while,” Bradley sighs, tipping his head back with a sigh of relief. Then his brows furrow, eyes focusing above your heads. “Your light is out,” He says bluntly, squinting at the darkened bulb. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” You chuckle. “I would’ve changed it, but the damn thing is rusted over, and my handyman has been out of town for a bit.” 

Bradley snorts, rolling his eyes playfully. “Hilarious. You got a spare lightbulb? I could change it right now.” 

“You could.” Now you’re feeling bold and you run with it, walking your fingers up his chest until they link around the back of his neck. “Or…you could change it tomorrow, after breakfast?” 

His brows fly high at that, tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously. “Tomorrow. Like, as in, you want me to stay the night here, and stay for breakfast in the morning?” 

“Well, yes. We’ve got some more catching up to do, don’t you think?” You ask innocently, though your insinuation isn’t quite so. Bradley’s inhale hitches in his chest at the silent message and he nods quickly, antsy now as you go to unlock the door. 

He’s on you the moment you get the door open, lips glued to yours even as you stumble across the threshold and into the foyer. 

“Wait, wait—” Bradley pants, pulling away only slightly. He’s got a hand skimming over bare skin under the hem of your top, mouth shiny with your lipgloss, and he’s telling you to wait. You raise an impatient brow. “As much as I want to—y’know, and I do, can we just…have a quiet night? I wanna take things slow, make sure everything is perfect.” 

“Okay,” You say, straightening out the collar of his shirt. You can get behind taking things slow. It takes some of the pressure off you to adjust to this big change. “Wanna find a movie to watch?” 

He perks up at that, grinning widely. “Hell yeah! There was some action comedy I wanted to see before I got deployed and I’m pretty sure it’s out on streaming now. Mind if we watch it?” 

You won’t tell him just yet since things between you are the newest they’ll ever be, but you’d gladly watch anything with him. Instead, you just nod. “Go for it. Mind if I go change into some comfier clothes really quick?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be here.” 

Bradley’s queued up the movie on the TV already by the time you return, setting his phone aside when he hears you come back in. 

You’re not quite sure where you should sit, but then he extends a hand out towards you, beckoning you into the cozy space under his arm, and all your questions are answered. It feels like you fit right in when you nestle against him, head falling against his shoulder like its second nature to do so. 

“All good?” He asks, giving you a little squeeze and a fond smile. 

“Never better.” 

There’s no mistaking the happy gleam in his eyes, and you’re sure you have something of the same too. 

You think the whole mail mix up situation from a few months ago had been the best mistake to ever happen to you, because it led you to Bradley, who—and you might be a little forward with this thought—might just become one of the best things in your life. 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new writing :)

[anticipatedexhale]

Hey I love the way you write!!

I was wondering if I could request arcane characters reacting to reader pulling a tiktok prank on them like not saying ily or wiping their kiss or something along those lines I think it would be really funny :3

Hello hello!! Thank you soso much omg this has to be the best compliment ever! Also this idea is so cute omg love it!.

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Just kidding~~

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨��� ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, ekko

☆ ◞ summary: when you wipe their kisses as a joke

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader.ermmm just fluff lol, really sweet, kinda suggestive (Mel..)

Jayce Talis.

Jayce had always been affectionate. He wasn’t the kind of man to hold back on physical affection—whether it was casual touches, lingering glances, or, most importantly, kisses.

So when he finally caught you in his arms after a long day, he wasted no time. “Missed you,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there.

Then another.

And another.

You let him place a few more before casually lifting your hand… and wiping them away with the back of your sleeve.

Jayce froze.

You barely held back a smirk as he pulled back, blinking in exaggerated offense. “Wait. Did you just—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “What?”

His lips parted in pure betrayal. “Did you just wipe off my kisses?”

You nodded, fighting the laughter bubbling up in your throat. “Yeah. Had to get rid of the evidence.”

Jayce narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?”

You hummed, tilting your head innocently.

Big mistake.

Because before you could react, Jayce lunged. He scooped you up effortlessly, lifting you right off your feet as you yelped in surprise. “JAYCE—”

“Oh no, no, no,” he laughed, grinning like a man with a mission. “Now I really gotta make sure my kisses stick.”

And with that, he attacked—peppering your face with kisses, your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere he could reach. You squirmed, laughing as you weakly tried to push him away. “Okay—Jayce, stop!”

“Nope.” He grinned against your skin. “Gotta make sure you can’t wipe these off.”

He finally stopped when you were breathless with laughter, setting you down but keeping you close, hands resting on your waist.

“Still wanna wipe ‘em away?” he asked, his voice softer now, eyes warm as he gazed at you.

You smiled, pretending to think about it before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips instead. “Nah,” you murmured. “I’ll keep that one.”

Jayce’s grin was radiant as he kissed you back, slow and lingering, his hands pulling you just a little closer.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I’m never gonna stop giving them to you.”

------------------------------------------------

Mel Medarda.

Mel Medarda was a woman of grace, of control—and yet, when it came to you, she could be unexpectedly affectionate.

Which was why, after a long meeting, she found herself seated beside you on the velvet couch in her private chambers, fingers gently tilting your chin toward her. “You’re awfully quiet today,” she mused, her voice smooth as silk.

Before you could answer, she leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

Then another to your temple.

And another, right at the corner of your lips.

You let her linger for a moment before casually lifting your hand—

And wiping them away.

The air in the room shifted.

Mel pulled back just slightly, eyes narrowing ever so subtly as a small, knowing smile curved her lips. “Hmm.”

You met her gaze, feigning innocence. “What?”

Her fingers trailed down your jaw, her nails lightly grazing your skin. “Did you just wipe off my kisses?”

You shrugged, leaning back slightly. “Maybe.”

Mel hummed, considering you. Then, ever so gracefully, she stood, circling around you like a lioness sizing up her prey. “How bold,” she murmured, trailing a single finger across the back of your neck as she passed behind you.

You swallowed. You knew that tone.

Before you could react, she suddenly leaned down, hands pressing onto the couch on either side of you, trapping you beneath her golden gaze. “You do realize,” she whispered, lips brushing your ear, “that you’ve just started a war you cannot win.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you held your ground, lifting your chin defiantly. “Oh? And what exactly are you going to do about it?”

Mel’s smirk deepened.

Then, in one slow, torturous motion, she kissed your jaw.

Then your cheek.

Then your neck.

Each kiss was softer, slower, more intentional—a silent challenge, a game only she could win.

You tensed, resisting the urge to melt under her touch, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Mel pulled back just slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on, then.” She tilted her head, daring you. “Wipe them off.”

You hesitated.

Her smirk widened.

Checkmate.

With a resigned sigh, you slumped back. “Okay, fine. You win.”

Mel chuckled, running a delicate hand through your hair before placing one final, lingering kiss on your lips. “Darling,” she murmured against them, “I always do.”

And this time, you didn’t dare wipe it away.

---------------------------------------------------

Viktor.

Viktor wasn’t always the most openly affectionate person. His love was quiet, expressed in lingering touches, thoughtful words, and the occasional stolen moment between long hours in the lab.

But tonight, for once, the lab was forgotten. It was just the two of you, curled up on the worn-out couch in his workshop, a rare moment of peace.

He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek.

Then another, just beneath your ear.

And, with a rare flicker of playfulness, one to the tip of your nose.

You let him do it, let him savor the moment—before lifting your hand and wiping them away with an exaggerated swipe.

Viktor paused.

Slowly, he pulled back, amber eyes blinking at you in confusion. “Did you just… wipe away my kisses?”

You nodded, barely holding back a grin. “Yep.”

He frowned slightly, tilting his head like he was trying to analyze you. “…Why?”

You shrugged. “Felt like it.”

Viktor stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, very softly, he murmured, “I see.”

And just like that, he started shifting away.

The warmth of his body left yours as he sat back, hands folding in his lap, an unreadable look crossing his face. You immediately felt cold.

Oh no.

You had expected him to pout, to tease you, maybe to try again—but instead, he looked almost defeated. His gaze flickered downward, a quiet, hesitant chuckle escaping him. “I suppose my affections are unwanted then?”

Your heart sank.

“No, no, no—Viktor, it was a joke,” you rushed, reaching for him before he could pull away further.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your sudden shift in urgency. “A… joke?”

You nodded, grabbing his hands tightly. “I love your kisses.” You softened, guilt creeping into your voice. “I just wanted to mess with you a little. I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t want them.”

Viktor was quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in. Then, ever so slowly, his lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “…So, you do want them?”

You huffed. “Yes, obviously.”

He exhaled, amused, before suddenly tugging you right into his lap. You let out a startled sound as his arms circled you, his face now inches from yours. “Good,” he murmured.

And then, with that same teasing glint in his eye, he leaned in—kissing your cheek, your forehead, your nose, all over again.

You laughed, feeling warm again as he held you close. “Okay, okay! I get it!”

But Viktor didn’t stop. He hummed, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your lips before whispering against them, “I dare you to wipe that one away.”

You didn’t.

You never would.

------------------------------------------------

Caitlyn kiramman.

Caitlyn wasn’t the type to show affection in extravagant ways. Her kisses were soft, subtle—gentle gestures that spoke more than words ever could.

But when the two of you were alone, she let her guard down just a little bit more. She’d pull you close after a long day of work, her fingers gently cupping your face before pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Missed you today,” she’d whisper against your skin, soft and warm.

You smiled, running your fingers through her hair. “I missed you too.”

She pressed another kiss to your nose, then one on each of your cheeks. And then, just as she was about to place a kiss on your lips, you swiped your hand across your face, wiping them away dramatically.

Caitlyn froze.

You let out a small laugh, feigning innocence as you met her wide-eyed gaze. “What? I had to clean off all those kisses. Can’t leave the evidence lying around.”

Her lips parted in mock offense, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Oh really?”

You nodded, suppressing a smile. “Yep, really.”

Caitlyn shook her head in disbelief, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You know what? I think you need to be reminded of how good my kisses are.”

Before you could even respond, she leaned in quickly, catching your lips in a kiss so sweet and slow, it made your heart skip a beat. You tried to pull away, but Caitlyn wouldn’t let you, her hands gently guiding your face back toward hers, sealing you into the kiss.

When she finally pulled back, you were breathless. “I—"

“You’ve made your point,” you teased, trying to sound unaffected, but your cheeks were flushed, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

Caitlyn’s grin was full of triumph. “Good.” She pressed another quick kiss to your nose before leaning back and crossing her arms. “Now, I think we need to go to the kitchen to finish what we started.”

“Finish…?”

“The game of ‘who can kiss who first without getting wiped away,’ of course,” she said, her eyes sparkling with playful competitiveness.

You sighed, pretending to roll your eyes, but the truth was—you didn’t mind at all. You could never get enough of Caitlyn’s kisses.

------------------------------------------------

Vi.

Vi had a tendency to be the type to show affection through actions rather than words. A hand on your shoulder after a hard day, a little wink, or a lingering touch. But there were moments—like now—when she let her guard down completely.

It had been a long day, full of tense meetings and far too many difficult conversations. Now, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the two of you found yourselves on the balcony of her apartment, the city lights flickering like tiny stars below you, Vi’s shoulders relaxed for the first time all day.

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another one to your temple.

“Been thinking about you all day,” she murmured, her voice low and comforting.

You grinned, leaning into the kiss, but as she went for a third, this time on the corner of your lips, you quickly wiped them away with a swift swipe of your hand.

Vi paused, a little caught off guard. “Did you just—”

You smiled mischievously, holding back a laugh. “What? You had some lipstick on, I needed to clean it up.”

She stared at you for a moment, eyebrow raised, before an almost wicked grin spread across her face. “Oh, I see how it is.”

You blinked, confused for a second, before she grabbed your wrist, gently but firmly. Before you could react, Vi pulled you closer, pressing a quick, playful kiss to your lips.

“What’s the matter?” she teased, her voice full of amusement. “Didn’t want me kissing you? I can always go for a few more.”

You started to say something, but before you could, she placed kiss after kiss all over your face—your cheeks, your forehead, your nose—until you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, trying in vain to wipe them away.

“Vi! Stop!” you chuckled, half-heartedly swiping at your face as she grinned in victory.

She laughed, her strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close, a warmth radiating from her that had nothing to do with the city lights. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice turning softer, almost fond. “You’ve got a perfect face for kisses, and I’m gonna make sure you remember that.”

You melted into her embrace, the playful teasing mixed with something deeper—something that made your heart skip a beat.

And, despite your best efforts to wipe them away, you didn’t mind one bit.

---------------------------------------------------

Jinx.

Jinx was never one for subtlety, especially when it came to how she felt about you. Her love was loud, chaotic, and sometimes downright unpredictable. But that was part of what made her so Jinx—so impossible to ignore.

Tonight was no different. After an eventful day filled with explosions, fireworks (literally), and a few too many close calls, Jinx found herself in a surprisingly calm moment with you. The two of you were sprawled out on the couch, watching the flickering neon lights of the city outside, a bag of candy between you as you both snacked and shared stories.

She looked over at you, a mischievous glint in her eye, before launching herself at you suddenly.

“Mwah!” Jinx planted a big, messy kiss on your cheek, smacking it loudly.

You blinked, laughing as you wiped your cheek dramatically. “What was that for?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “Just felt like it.”

Before you could say anything else, she pressed another kiss to your forehead—this time, even more exaggerated, leaving a sticky trace of candy on your skin.

You sighed in mock annoyance, wiping your forehead as if it was covered in goo. “Jinx, seriously.”

“Oh, no! Don’t wipe it off!” She gasped, leaping back to hold your hands away. “I spent all this time planning my kiss attack and you're just gonna—”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatics. “What attack? You just kissed me!”

But Jinx wasn’t about to let it go. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she leaned in again, this time aiming for your lips.

You had just enough time to react and swipe your hand across your lips, wiping away the kiss before it could land.

She froze, staring at you in exaggerated shock. “Did you—did you just wipe my kiss away?!”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “I didn’t want your lipstick all over me.”

“Lipstick?! Are you kidding? I don’t wear lipstick! It’s my love, dummy!” she protested, a wild sparkle dancing in her eyes.

“Sure, sure,” you teased, wiping your lips again just to mess with her.

Jinx pouted for a second before her playful nature kicked back in. “Alright then. If you wanna play dirty, so be it.” She pressed her face against yours in a flurry of chaotic kisses, planting them on your cheeks, nose, chin—everywhere—until you were laughing too hard to keep wiping them away.

“Jinx! Stop! You’re getting my face all wet!”

“Nope!” she replied gleefully, her wild hair bouncing around as she grinned like she had just won some grand victory. “You started this, now you gotta finish it!”

In the end, you gave up, letting her have her fun. There was no way you’d win against Jinx when she was like this—wild and unpredictable, but so full of love in her own explosive way.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

------------------------------------------------

Ekko.

It wasn’t unusual for you and Ekko to find small moments of peace in the chaos that surrounded your lives. Despite the constant hustle of the city, there were times when everything just slowed down. Tonight was one of those times.

The two of you sat on the roof of one of Ekko’s safehouses, looking out over the lights of the city as the evening breeze played with your hair. It was quiet, serene even. The perfect kind of night for some simple moments of affection.

Ekko smiled softly as he leaned in close, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "You know," he started, his voice low and warm, "I’ve been thinking… I really like these moments with you. Just us, you know?"

You smiled back at him, feeling your heart flutter. “Me too.”

In an instant, his lips pressed gently to your cheek, soft and warm. He lingered for a second, just enjoying the closeness before pulling back, his hand still resting against your face.

You reached up and dramatically wiped the spot where he kissed you. "Mmm, I think I got something on my cheek," you teased, pretending to be serious.

Ekko blinked in surprise, before chuckling, his expression full of amusement. “What, you’re wiping off my kiss?”

You gave him an exaggerated pout. “Yeah, I think it was a little too much. I mean, I did just wash my face, Ekko.”

His face fell for a moment, the playful energy turning into mock hurt. “I see how it is… You’re rejecting my love.”

You laughed, giving him an apologetic look. “No, no, I’m just—”

Before you could finish, Ekko leaned in quickly, planting a kiss on your nose. You swiped at your nose instinctively, as if you could stop the kiss from sticking.

"Hey!" he protested, raising an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "What’d I tell you about rejecting my kisses?"

You grinned, wiping your nose again. “I wasn’t rejecting them, just, um, cleaning them off."

Ekko rolled his eyes, but the playful sparkle in his gaze was unmistakable. He leaned in once more, this time pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you could do anything about it.

“You can wipe it off,” he teased, grinning widely as he pulled back, “but you won’t get rid of it that easily.”

You laughed, your heart warming at the way he could always make you feel so lighthearted, so at ease. “I didn’t want to wipe it off, Ekko,” you said softly, leaning into his chest. "I just wanted to see how you’d react."

Ekko’s grin softened, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close. “You know I’ll always kiss you, no matter what. Even if you pretend to wipe them off a hundred times.”

You snuggled against him, your heart full of affection. "I know, Ekko. I know."

Hello my lovelies! I really hope you enjoy this! It was much shorter than I expected it to be...but I hope it's enough for you guys, I chose wiping away the kisses because I found the ideas to be much more hilarious, but if you'd like to see me doing the other one I would love to!! <33

[hederasgarden]

Do you have any darker thoughts about your fav ATJ characters?

Bestie, I have so many thoughts, and I’m totally blaming @otaku-girl-ao3 for this. A few weeks ago, we spent an afternoon on Discord brainstorming what the ATJ characters would be like as dark versions of themselves and how that would manifest in distinct and interesting ways.

Just a quick note—this is quite a departure from the usual content on my blog and the type of things I typically write about. Recently, I’ve been gathering the courage to explore some darker themes in my writing (I blame BookTok for introducing me to a lot of questionable tropes). Please be kind and let me know if you’d like to see more of this kind of writing from me!

Characters: Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven the Hunter), Friedrich Harding (Nosferatu), Tangerine (Bullet Train), and Ives (Tenet) Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Dead dove, do not eat. VERY dark, depraved, and horny thoughts direct from me to you. Not all themes are tagged. Read at your own risk.  Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

Sergei is a meticulous planner, taking his time to observe you and learn your habits. He likely comes across you by chance—perhaps while on the job or visiting his brother. It’s your scent that first grabs his attention, but it’s not what draws him back. It’s the softness and sweetness in your demeanor, the vulnerability you exude, completely unaware of the dangers around you. You’re the easiest prey he’s ever tracked, unaware even of the most basic threats. You’re always buried in a book or your phone, headphones on at full blast. If it weren’t for his quiet intervention, you would have been robbed or worse on your way home at least twice. 

He takes you because he believes you're not meant to be on your own. You need someone to care for you, to protect you from the world that you don’t fully understand. Really, it’s lucky your paths crossed. He’s certain you’ll come to see things his way in time. Until then, he’s turned his home into a beautiful little cage for you to live in, complete with an entire library filled with your favorite books, cozy blankets to keep you warm, and all the ingredients for the meals you love to cook and enjoy. He’s done his research on what you like and he’ll bring you anything you ask for. Afterall, he’s a provider at heart.

There’s no concern of you running away. You've seen the large snow leopard that prowls around outside, and the one time you made a foolish attempt to escape, Sergei was quick to show you that he wouldn't always be so gentle or understanding. As @writercole suggested, once he has you back, he’ll also end up keeping you tethered by the ankle for a while, a lesson that if you try to run, he’ll leash you.

After you recover from that experience Sergei finds you’re a much better pet, settling into your new life and role. You start cooking for him when he's home, and willingly crawl into bed beside him, seeking out his warmth on those cold winter nights. Soon, Sergei knows you’ll be ready for the next step: starting a family of your own.

Friedrich (in a modern AU) strikes me as the type who would quietly manipulate situations to his advantage, working behind the scenes to ensure things unfold just how he wants. He’d spot you working at a cafe or store he frequently visits and, from that moment, start working on a plan to make you his.

Rather than using overt force, he’d rely on subtle pressure and gaslighting, making you doubt yourself and your choices. He’d skillfully set up circumstances to undermine you—ensuring you miss out on a job you desperately need, getting you fired, or putting you in a position where you have no choice but to turn to him. When you're at your lowest, he’ll swoop in as the savior, the one who appears to protect you. His goal is to make you dependent on him alone, carefully ensuring that when the time comes for him to make his move, you're in no position to resist. Consent would be questionable, but he'd remind you every time you hesitated that you said yes, that you asked for his help, and that you invited him in.

I can also see him isolating you from friends and family, slowly pulling you away from the support system you once had. He’d definitely be the type to love-bomb you, showering you with overwhelming attention and affection, using his money and influence to manipulate you further. 

He strikes me as a baby trapper, sabotaging your birth control or tampering with his condoms to ensure you get pregnant. He believes you'd be the perfect wife and mother—you just need his help to realize that. Once he has you, he’d be the most loving and attentive husband, always caring, but beneath that sweetness lies an unshakable belief that he knows what’s best. He’s the one who makes the decisions, subtly guiding everything with quiet confidence until, over time, the balance shifts in his favor and you start looking to him for help with even the easiest things. Despite all of this, Friedrich would likely still view himself as a good person, firmly rejecting any notion that he is abusive or in the wrong.

Tangerine is on the opposite end of the spectrum, much more inclined to use brute force and physical violence to make you understand your place. He has a short temper and struggles with impulse control, especially when you don't follow his demands. There’s no slow build-up with him—he has no time or patience for romance. The moment he sees you on the street, he decides you’re coming home with him, and that’s final. Or maybe Tangerine and Lemon are sent to kill your husband but when Tangerine sees just how sweet you are, completely unaware of who and what your husband really is, he decides to keep you for himself. After all, no one's going to miss you. They’ll assume you died in the house fire with your husband. 

Once he had you he would try and spoil you with a beautiful place to live, fine clothes and decadent food. He’d want you to look and dress a certain way for him. A darker version of him would fit the profile of a classic abuser—lashing out at you in anger, only to later show up with flowers and a hollow apology, turning the blame onto you as if you were the one who provoked it.

“Why do you have to make things so fuckin’ hard, huh?” Tangerine questions, caressing your bruised skin. “I hate when you make me do this to ya luv. You need to listen better.”

He’d definitely be the most terrifying of all the dark versions of the ATJ characters because of his unpredictability. (I do not know why but I have such a strong sense he’d pop you in the mouth/back hand you with those rings on and just….yeah.)

If Ives were to go dark, he’d likely abuse his power and authority in the workplace, targeting someone beneath him—someone who wasn’t military and who he could easily manipulate using his strength and knowledge. Maybe you’re his admin, someone he works closely with, and no one questions the fact that you’re often in his office with the door closed or staying late to finish tasks together. He’d be blunt about his intentions with you, setting clear expectations for how things would unfold. His actions would be predictable—if you were a good girl, you’d be rewarded; if you misbehaved, there would be consequences. Ives would be a steady, unyielding force, confident that, with time, you’d fall into line.

[pinkofatom]

The Narrator

CW: brainwashing, maledom, femsub,

Blank eyes tracked strobing lights. Thousands of images blurred together. Soothing music caressed her ears. A shuddering breath entered through her open mouth. Trails of saliva dripped from a slack jaw.

Legs spread wide open, she sat in front of the screen. Hands grasped her knees as if holding them back from closing shut.

"Listen carefully, and hear me out." The narrator intoned. His deep, smooth, resonant voice flowed seamlessly like water through a sieve. "You are the protagonist of my narration. A doll to my whims."

She shivered, the words hitting home. Every syllable was sharp as if etched in stone and echoing loudly in her skull.

"You are nothing but my creation. You were nothing before I enlightened your existence. There was nothing inside you to make you unique. No identity worth remembering. Just an empty, unimportant, forgettable, blank slate. All that you are is entirely my invention." The narrator's tone deepened and softened, a honey-sweet poison dripping into her mind. "But you are my favorite character of all that I have crafted. An endearing story to read. The most entertaining and satisfying."

Her mouth opened wider. A trickle of drool fell down to her chin as she moaned lightly.

"How far the mighty hero has fallen." A smile evident in the way his voice lilted, the Narrator continued. "Once a hero who fought and protected her people. Who stood for justice, and inspired people with tales of bravery and kindness." He paused for effect.

A slight tremble went through her body as the narrator went on. "And now look at what I've turned her into."

"Whaaa-" The hero moaned. She stared vacantly, eyes clouded by the colorful kaleidoscopic lights. Her eyelashes fluttered softly, and her body twitched. She moved closer to the screen.

The Narrator's deep chuckles rumbled like boulders sliding off each other. "Oh, don't worry, my darling." He continued with a whispery voice like velvet to the ears. "All those things you used to worry about, all that responsibility, it's no longer your burden to bear. As my protagonist, all you have to do is listen. And obey." With his voice echoing around her head, the Narrator went on. "All those expectations of the past have been cast aside by your present. All you have to worry about now is pleasing your audience and, most importantly, your narrator." He added with an emphasis on the title that made it clear who was in charge.

Mewls escaped her. Nipples peaked from her perky, soft breasts. The pink of her pussy throbbed and fluttered at the sound of his commanding, demanding, and hypnotic voice. Juices leaked out from the folds of her womanhood. The aroma filled her nostrils, clouded even more of her former useless self.

"Now, let me teach you who you will be, my doll." The words washed over her, their meanings clear even though she couldn't understand them any more. Her mind soaked them in like a sponge absorbing water. They were a cool stream of clarity in her otherwise foggy thoughts.

"You are a slut. A horny, sex-loving, submissive, pleasure seeking, sensation craver. The heroine that can't resist being humbled and degraded. She begs to feel helpless before the object of her obsession. Whichever or whoever it might be." Her breaths grew heavier. "She set out as a hero, not to save people, but to be caught and corrupted."

She moaned louder as the images shifted on screen to reflect what he said. They morphed from flashing lights to her in a variety of lewd poses and positions. They squeezed any other thoughts out of her brain.

***

Darklight blinked. A spell of dizziness came over her. Shaking her head to clear the disorientation away, Darklight steadied herself as best she could.

It felt like she was wobbling in place, though her feet were planted solidly on the floor. Her high-heeled boots clattered as the heels slid against the floorboards. Her legs felt weak. She placed her hands on the sides of the wall and slowly straightened up to stand with her legs apart.

She shook her head and glanced around, looking for anything familiar. Inhaling deeply, she felt how the fabric of her tight costume strained and shaved. It stretched across her curvy body like a second skin.

A sudden sense of anxiety welled inside her chest at being in unfamiliar surroundings, but Darklight took several more calming breaths as her heart rate slowed and the world came back into focus. Looking around, she realized that she must have blacked out from all the effort and stress. The last days filled with a multitude of supervillain activity.

The only one missing from her list of enemies was the Narrator.

Darklight's mind went hazy when she recalled her nemesis, a cruel maniac who had a knack for getting into people's heads. A shiver ran down her back, down between her thighs.

Shaking her head again, Darklight snapped herself out of the stupor before moving to check on what had happened since she lost consciousness. Glancing about her surroundings, Darklight saw she stood alone at an empty corridor.

Her feet carried her down along it without any real sense of where exactly in her city this place was. Darklight couldn't stop the growing feeling of dread in her stomach. Or the bubbling excitement. Like a moth she was drawn to a flame. Underneath her black glossy uniform goosebumps formed.

Her heels clacks echoed through the twisting halls. Her blue eyes scanned her surroundings. Despicable pictures of women in whorish dresses and positions littered the walls. One more obscene than the next.

Licking her red, plump lips, Darklight found her gaze drawn to them. Every image she stopped in front of left a lingering impression in her. The scantily clad bodies of these beautiful, curvaceous women seemed almost magnetic in how they held her attention. Each posed in a tantalizing way, yet different from each other. They told a story. A story of submission and humiliation. And of pleasure.

An expression of distaste flickered over her features at seeing how these ladies were objectified and made to show off their bodies. She could only imagine how degrading it would feel if she was put in such situations herself.

Shuddering, Darklight turned away, and walked down the corridor as her mind continued racing with images of debasement. She tried to ignore the heat between her legs. How the images had gotten inside her. How her nipples were tenting her suit. She quickened her stride, hoping to find some place that would take her mind off these thoughts of depraved acts. Yet no matter how much distance Darklight placed between herself and those images, their effect didn't wane.

She found herself thinking back to those images and imagining them more vividly than they'd been portrayed — seeing herself in them. Yearned to be them.

"Darklight," the deep baritone of her arch-nemesis interrupted her self-pleasure. She snapped back into the present moment and saw the Narrator sitting comfortably on an ornate, high backed leather armchair with an air of command to him. "Have you figured it out, yet?" An arrogant smirk played at the edges of his thin lips.

She stared at his silhouette as if she saw the Narrator for the first time in the flesh. And in a sense she was. The way his black slacks stretched tightly over powerful muscled thighs, how the white dress shirt clung tightly to broad shoulders. Black hair trimmed short on top and on the sides, slicked back. The sight made her knees wobble. Made her insides churn and burn in need.

Tongue wetting her lower lip, she looked directly into his face, noting the chiseled features of his angular jawline and intense eyes. Piercing gaze that seemed to stare straight past any kind of mental defense.

"I..." Her tongue tied, as if she was afraid to speak up and challenge the Narrator.

"Don't waste your energy." A chuckle bubbled forth from within him, rolling like thunder across his chest and reverberating in her ears. He grinned widely and pushed himself forward in the seat. The movement brought his crotch to the forefront, and Darklight caught sight of the bulging erection that strained against the fabric.

Darklight sank down to her knees. It was a move as instinctive as breathing. Her eyes locked with his. She crawled forward with every fiber of her being screaming out at the injustice of being brought to her knees so quickly and easily, yet it felt natural, like it was the right thing to do in the situation. The air in her lungs came and went through her open, pink glossy mouth with shallow pants. A thin thread of drool ran down the side of her chin, unnoticed in the face of a more pressing urge rising up from between her thighs.

"See," his voice was low and deep as he said those words slowly. He sounded pleased by this development. The way the corners of his mouth curled upwards betrayed the Narrator's amusement. "I knew you were a slut."

Darklight's lips moved wordlessly, and a groan escaped her instead. She gazed intently at his package that had yet to be unveiled before her. Her fingers trembled slightly on the floorboard, betraying how badly she wanted to touch, to stroke, and taste him.

"You look at it so longingly. I'm almost tempted to take pity on you, Darklight." Darklight looked up, pleadingly. He waved a hand in front of him dismissively. "But we wouldn't be here if I had a kind bone in my body."

"H-how," Darklight stuttered, licking her full, pink lips as she glanced up at her long time adversary. She could still feel a warmth burning between her legs despite how humiliating and wrong everything about what was transpiring truly was. Her head spun with arousal-fueled lust as she spoke, unable to find any coherent thought.

"I'm the Narrator, silly. And you are just a character in my story," he answered her question, voice smooth and almost comforting. "And in my tale I weave what happens."

A long groan escaped Darklight as the words left his mouth. Images bombarded her memories. Colors and sounds alien, yet familiar, replaced her thoughts.

"No," slipped silently from her lips.

His face scrunched up in anger. "Still some resistance." He clicked his tongue. "Strip doll." It wasn't a command that allowed room for dissent, but still her hands faltered on their journey downwards to pull the clinging black fabric of her suit aside, to reveal what was beneath.

With his finger tapping on the armrest of his chair impatiently, Darklight felt an almost tangible pull at her insides. Her breasts, round, and firm bounced as her fingers peeled back her suit and bared the soft pink skin.

"Good." A predatory grin grew on the man's handsome features. "Watch."

She turned around and saw a kaleidoscope of colors. Soothing music caressed her ears. A shuddering breath entered through her open mouth. Trails of saliva dripped from a slack jaw.

[damnfeelings09]

VALENTINE'S DAY COUNTDOWN

Guilty as Sin - Leon S. Kennedy

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x female readerTags: fluff, comfort, angst, smut, cheating, guilt, forbidden love, first person narrative. Word count: don't know, don't care Prompt: After 7 years of relationship with your partner things start to go down and you feel alone until your new co-worker walks in, restoring your faith in love, making you feel in high school again, but don't forget, you are still in a relationship. Notes: Am I projecting myself in this? Yes, yes I am. Life sucks and “love” has long since ceased to be the answer to why I’m still with my partner. So I wrote this to comfort myself (I don't condone cheating) and, although I've never touched his skin, when I think of one of my fictional loves it feels like cheating is what I do. This promt is written in first person because I feel it connects better with the character that way. Also listen to the song Guilty as sin while you read this and for fucks sake someone bring Leon S. Kennedy to life so he can writte mine in my upper thigh.

How does the dream of your life turn into monotony? At what point does it go from being the thing you loved the most to just another routine? How long does it take for love to die? Does love has an expiration date? Unfortunately, I couldn't answer any of those questions. 7 years of a moderately stable relationship, but the memories and habits we had forged together were no longer enough, not when we slept apart at night, barely spoke to each other during the day and our time together was a maximum of 6hrs each month. It was over once, 3 months apart, my shoulders had never felt so... light? As if the weight I was carrying was melting away. 3 months in which I hadn't cried (for having carried the grief within the relationship). No one understood why we had returned. When my friends asked why, I couldn’t give em an answer, I guess part of me thought I could cure him? Save him? change him? When the reality was that he was taking me overboard with him. It hadn't all been bad, in the beginning life seemed like a sweet melody of love, our steps following the same rhythm, the same path. As time went by, the melody became sad, stormy, my steps were no longer coordinated and it seemed that he was tired of dancing with me.

I didn't mean for things to end this way, but Leon was so kind, so sweet, so handsome, looking at me like I was the best thing at the party, it had been so long since anyone had looked at me like that, as if he really saw me. His woodsy scent impregnated in the jacket draped over my shoulders as we walked back to his car, his hand holding my waist and the other on my heart. I didn't intend to go that far, but his lips were so soft, his kisses full of love and desire for me, I couldn't remember the last time I had been kissed that way. I told myself it would be the only time, but I had never been good at lying. Emotional deception is the worst kind of cheating but I couldn't stop, his laughter, his smile, every word that came out of his mouth, it was as if velvet was pouring out of his voice, wrapping me in a soft blanket that covered my aching heart, healing it. I was so lonely and he was so so willing to listen to me. And I noticed it, I noticed it every day when I was excited to receive his message wishing me good morning, I noticed it in the butterflies in my stomach when I found flowers from him on my desk, I noticed it when my heart was beating like crazy having him near, when he would take my cheek and hold his touch for a few seconds too long just to be “friendly”. It had become a necessity for me, looking for him in every hallway, making time just to find him when I went up the elevator, working overtime to get out at the same time. My heart fisically ached being away from him.

Every night the cold of my bed brought my imagination back to him, his hands, his touch, his kisses as he praised my body, cherising every part of it as if I were his only source of light. His mouth inside my folds, sucking the life out of me like a starving man, his moans and mine creating a melody so hot I could cum just remembering it. My hand circled around my swollen clit, while with the other I held tightly to the sheets of my bed. I remembered his strokes working their way inside me, filling me until I was so cockdrunk for him, each onslaught sending more waves of pleasure, building up in my lower belly as my tits bounced up and down.

“Fuck, baby, you're so tight,” he picked up the pace making me moan his name so loudly that everyone in his building would gasp at the pleasure he was giving me. “Shit... I'm going to cum, where...?”

“Inside... fill me up please” my orgasm taking over me, my walls closing around him trapping him inside me as his seed filled me completely. I could feel him slipping between my legs mixing with my own juices. After the pleasure he kept me close to him, holding me in his arms caressing my hair murmuring sweet nothings in my ears.

“I'm so screwed” I heard him say. I tried to hold still, controlling my breathing so he wouldn't notice I was still awake. I felt his hand caress my upper thigh in the same place where he had left a hickey as if reclaiming me as his. A purplish red mark with a clear message, mine “I won't be able to stay away from you now”.

That night not only I slept with him, but I gave him my heart, being there in his strong arms, lulled to sleep by his heartbeat, so close to him, as if he was afraid I was going to disappear.

I had run away from him before the sun rose. My heart yearning for his love once again, my body missing his touch. But it was wrong. What I was doing was wrong but I couldn't stop, I didn't want to stop. When I closed my eyes I found his face, when I was in the stores I saw his silhouette everywhere, in every couple I saw I saw us, at least what could be.

I had a drawer with my partner's clothes at home, but I pretended I was alone because if he didn't know then I wouldn't hurt him. It was partly my fault that everything went to shit, but after years of giving my best and only getting crumbs my heart had grown tired.

______________________________________

2 days after giving my everything to him, Leon called me in for a meeting.

“Mr. Kennedy... Leon” his name escaping my lips as if it were a promise between the two of us. Every time he called me into his office to discuss something I found myself getting excited like a teenager with her first crush.

“You know I don't like you calling me Mr. Kennedy” his smile was big, showing me his shiny white teeth "We are...friends” but the glint in his eyes gave away his true intentions. Before him my days were gray and now, every time I saw him the sky turned the perfect blue of his eyes, invading me, sweeping away all thoughts of sadness leaving just him. I was a drifting ship and he was the sweet land calling me. “Penny for your thoughts?” He said, noticing I was distracted.

“I'm just... exhausted.”

“About?”

“Life I guess”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He’s concern seemed genuine. Oh handsome, don't make me love you even more

“You don't want to hear me rant about my life, believe me” I said shaking my head.

“I do if it helps you” his look, so worried and his frown was too adorable for his own good.

“My relationship is going downhill and I can't take it anymore, I don't even remember why I wanted to be with him. I tried my best to make him happy and supported him in everything, but I lost myself in the process and I can't seem to find myself.” I turn to look at him, his bright blue eyes dismayed “But it scares me so much because he's all I've ever known, he was my first everything, what if I'm not enough for someone else? What if no one else loves me?”

He wipes a silent tear from my left cheek and caresses it “Anyone would be happy to have you. And if that bastard can't see how lucky he is then fuck him. Love should make you feel happy and anxious in a nice way, you're supposed to want to be with that person 24/7 even if it gets on your nerves. Your love should be celebrated not tolerated. If he were me, I would do anything to keep you by my side.”

“Leon...”

“It's true and I know it's the worst timing but I...I can't stand to see you like this because of that jerk when I'm here. I know you think it was a mistake but gods to me it was everything, you are everything. I want to make things right with you, I want you and I'm dying to have you in my arms again” I hadn't noticed how close he was to me, trapping me between his bookshelf and his body. His lips dangerously close, the butterflies, the nerves taking over me, every fiber of my body claiming his warmth, needing his touch. The small conscious part of my brain tried to hold back but as Leon closed the space between us bringing our lips together, emotions overflowed me, throwing my arms around his neck, I let go. Allowing him to deepen the kiss as he pulled me closer to his body, his tongue asking permission to explore my mouth, the minty taste lingering on his tongue as he kissed me. It wasn't like any kiss I'd ever had, not because I had a lot of experience, I'd actually only kissed two people (him and my partner) but kissing my almost ex definitely didn't feel like this. Leon kissed with passion, the need for me written on every part of his mouth, his lips soft and warm in comparison to his rough kisses as if a primal instinct took over him. He held me tight, arching my back molding every soft curve of my body to his perfectly formed one, as if we were made to be one.

There is a Greek myth. Humans used to have 2 faces, 4 arms and 4 legs, they were a whole. 2 entities in one, but the gods decided they were too dangerous that way, so they separated them, making them weak, broken, and left them to wander the earth in search of their other half. I never wondered if the person next to me was my other half, but here and now, I was sure that Leon was my other half.

And I'd gladly pledge guilty as sin if with that I can have him by my side.

[kwillow]

My favorite thing about your art BY FAR is the sublime use of shape lenguage and motivs in your ocs caraterization. The use of recurrent symbolism in Theo and Ambroys specially gives me so much serotonin . The sun as Ambroys motiv is so fitting as the blindingly beautiful yet ultimately dangerous deadly force he truly is, and the constant flowery soft paterns on his garments working as a pretty facade of honesty and sweetness for a character that can’t be further from anything natural or down to earth.

AND OH BOY DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THEO. The blood drop as Jocosa and Theos motiv is FIREEEE. It inmediatly sets them up to the expectator like a dangerous, cut-throat aristocratic family obsessed with their lineage, Theos motiv being literally ingrained to his FUCKING ARM and on the brooches right on top cravats wraped around his neck just as tightly as his (delusional) beliefs.

The sharp, angular suits, lapels and accesories clashing akwardly with his round neotenous features exemplifying how unfit he truly is for the role he was forced into after his mothers passing, who wore those same angles and sharpness so gracefully.

OUGGGND I could write about this shit for ages but i don’t want to send you a bible ( I already did SORRY).

You are such an amazing artist in so many ways Willow, i really want to know how your creative process works when it comes to this!

Aw gosh thank you so much. I can't overstate how cool it is to read an analysis of my stuff like this!

I'm so glad you think these choices are effective ones -- admittedly I sometimes feel goofy when I am drawing Theo drenched in blood drop jewelry and contemplate the sheer emo-ness of it all, or have Ambroys fluttering about with his roses like THAT'S not cliché at all (though roses being the ultimate cliché symbol that is overused to the point of nigh-meaninglessness is kind of the idea with him) because I often only realize the intent behind a design choice in retrospect. Something just "feels right" to include and then later it can be justified, haha.

BUUUT if that thing works, then maybe my subconscious is on to something!

[sysig]

Still a thief at heart, stealing kisses (Patreon)

[bumblingbabooshka]

One of the best Voyager scenes to indicate Tuvok & Neelix's dynamic and how I think Tuvok is just as if not more 'annoying'(positive) than Neelix is when Neelix pours Tuvok a fresh squeezed glass of a fruit juice blend and Tuvok's like (paraphrased) "I don't want to drink this." and Neelix is like "Can you please try it?" and Tuvok's like "I don't want to, you're really bad at this sort of thing. It's going to taste bad." and Neelix says that Ensign XYZ said she LOVED it, she even had a second glass! And Tuvok says Ensign XYZ could drink poison without a second thought and Neelix is like "Tuvok could you please just TRY it? Just try a little SIP of it PLEASE??" and Tuvok sighs and rolls his eyes and sniffs it before taking a sip and it turns out he loves it. Turns out it tasted good actually. And then after all that Neelix tries to talk to him over eggs (which he's again cooking fresh for him) and Tuvok tells him he doesn't wanna hear "the life history of his breakfast." Absolutely insufferable this man I would have burned his eggs on PURPOSE!!!!

[olliepurples]

mdarc chapter 4 spoilers (tw negative)

i'm a couple of doors into the mystery labyrinth, and it's getting a little annoying having shinigami and yuma go "but how could this have happened? who could have done this?" when i literally knew it was yakou as soon as the game told me that the poison had a delay. this is so silly like "how could anyone have got past this, they would have died in thirty minutes!" ok! narrow your suspect pool to people who die in the next thirty minutes then! damn!!!

[luckyagain]

Referring to Louis and Harry as a dagger and rose besides just not making sense (why would they tattoo themselves on themselves? if anything, they would have gotten each other's tattoos) is also just reductionist and insulting to both of them. You view them as one-dimensional characters where Harry is soft & feminine and Louis is harsh & masculine. If you can watch Louis doing the gender reveal and think he was acting like a dagger, you weren't paying attention.

louis was out here looking like THIS last night and you want to talk about fucking emojis??? 🌹🗡️

[saintvampe]

i love writing tragic women.

[filmdesque]

( forever crying about how much jonathan loves his little brother so much 😭😭😭 <3 )

[cerealbishh]

"Just another nobody pretending to be a somebody." "You're the best somebody I've ever met."

🎥: @bikinibottomdayz

[clopuffs]

what was on my mind for the past few days? 

... trigun... perhaps...

note: I found this post sitting in my drafts and well I decided to post it now. So the ramble on trigun in the hashtags of this post shall now be revealed of the trigun brainrot that sank into my mind after that one faithful night that I binge read trigun manga. The funny thing is that I said I’ll read only one or two chapter and I ended up reading all 20 chapters.

[quietlyblooms]

my headache is finally going away, so we'll see if i manage anything before i pass out! i have the urge to write but i also have the urge to work on combining my muse lists on @diliqence, though that means deciding on an aesthetic to stick with and i don't wanna think about that rn uvu i'm not sure i even have it in me to move muse pages, so!! we really will just see.

[osamucide]

⊹ I AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NASTY DOG!

. . . BSD MEN AS OVERUSED PORN PLOTS!

wc: 5.3k

cw: MINORS DNI—explicit sexual content, gn!+afab!reader, a lot of anonymous sex, dirty talk, BIG DICK MEN, probably a good amount of ooc, some questionable dynamics/dubcon that can be read through the lens of roleplay and/or prior consent. character-specific warnings—chuuya: public sex, penetration; dazai: penetration, riding, creampie; kunikida: professor/student, oral (m!receiving); fukuzawa: secretary/boss, office sex, oral (m!receiving), facefucking; atsushi: HEAVY DUBCON WARNING, stuck, perv atsushi, penetration; akutagawa: blackmailing if you squint, degradation, choking, penetration; oda: penetration; ango: public sex, penetration, riding; nikolai: dubcon, home intruder f!masturbation, penetration; sigma: a tiny bit of perv sigma, oral (f!receiving); fyodor: priest!fyodor, religion/blasphemy kink, christianity-specific, oral (m!receiving)

reid: putting my dual major in journalism to work by subtitling these like bad porn videos. little not so thought out drabbles many with no definitive ending just silly whore thoughts. some are more stupid than sexy but either way i hope you enjoy because this was a blast to write HAHAHAHA

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA—HOT GYM BUDDIES CAN’T WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEIR WORKOUT TO FUCK!

“Yeah, that’s a lot better. Look at you, you got it,” the pretty redhead mutters, his hands still firmly on your hips as he spots your squat. “Give me one more, I know you can.”

The praise prompts you to draw in a deep breath that has nothing to do with your next squat; anyway, this gorgeous man, kind enough to help you with your form, believes in you. So you bend once more, squatting down, down, and pushing back up—until on your way back up, you feel your legs begin to buckle.

“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”

You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.

“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”

“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”

But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.

There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.

It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”

His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”

He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!

“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”

That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.

And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.

“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.

His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”

So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.

And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.

“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”

“Osamu!”

But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.

“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”

He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.

Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.

“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.

“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”

When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!

"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.

"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.

"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.

He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.

Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.

He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.

"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.

You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.

"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!

You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.

Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.

He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.

But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.

"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"

He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.

You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.

"Unh—ugh..."

You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.

Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.

"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."

You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!

"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"

"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"

Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.

"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"

But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.

"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"

His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.

"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."

And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.

And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.

"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."

And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.

"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹

⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!

You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."

The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.

"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."

He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.

"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."

"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.

You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.

"Fuckin' slut—"

When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.

"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."

But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.

You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.

"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."

His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!

"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."

You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.

You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."

"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.

"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"

"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.

You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."

"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.

He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.

"I mean, unless..."

Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.

“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—��

His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.

“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!

The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.

He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.

I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.

You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.

There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.

Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.

He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.

"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"

You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.

An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.

"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!

You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.

When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?

Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?

"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."

You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.

"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹

⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!

"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.

He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.

But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.

"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.

"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.

He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.

He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.

"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."

"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.

Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"

You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.

"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!

“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."

"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."

You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."

"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.

"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."

But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.

"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."

"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."

The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.

"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”

"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.

"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.

"That's it—child of God, follower of Christ; I absolve you of your sins," he gasps as his tip hits the back of your throat which was begging for forgiveness moments ago. His hands reach through the window to stroke either side of your face, and then hold you in place to fuck your throat. "The Lord will forgive you for this." ⊹