FEEL. FEEL. FEEL.

then, She finally fessed. Phone call? you hadn’t called her in a few days. The last time being one you had been trying to stop ruminating feelings with, really wasn’t thinking about the consequence of getting out for a drink, somehow finding it was easier to end the hope of even falling for her again by having one night fling, But even then you didn’t last long, it was barely even a night, To release your thoughts about prospect of being more than being in a real relationship with her, it wasn’t like you were exclusive right?? . . . Now, caught red handed. (FUCK. STUPID SAM. Incompetent and careless with things) at some point you knew it was going to bite you in the ass, So what this was it? This is why she’s bringing up this scum?

❛❛  I could tell you to leave.  ❜❜　If your expression could shift into something blanker,　more unfeeling,　it would;　flattened brows recede into your line of sight,　heavy with the weight of your dissatisfaction alongside the corners of your lips teetering upon downturning into a frown.　You could slam the door in his face and never speak to him again…　even though you have only done onto him in return what he has done onto you.　Arguably worse,　in your case,　agiven you have no certainty as to what he did with nameless hole he’s fucked,　whereas you explicitly sought Levi to mar your pale skin with love bites.　You want to hurt him and this is the best way you know.　This way isn’t permanent,　doesn’t let his blood,　doesn’t scar.　It’s not like you want him to hurt.　Really,　you don’t.　You can accept having harmed everything in your way,　leaving a scorching legacy of damage,　but not him.

Then,　striking a chord of insecurity,　your head tilts down,　twisting into semblance of a scowl.　❛❛  Was it because I kissed you?  ❜❜　You really can’t make sense of it.　You wish you hadn’t done it.　You’d take it back if it could.　It meant nothing.　You promise you don’t love him.　You don’t love him.　Really,　you don’t.　You don’t care what happens to him,　what happens now　⸻　you’d be satisfied if you never saw him again,　and that’s the utmost honesty you can muster.　(It has to be true.　It has to be true.　It has to be true.)　Fragile eyes close in on his,　murky ocean of deep brows searching for something in him.　But it’s all a lie,　a ploy for him to feel bad for you.　Isn’t it?　Isn’t it?　Isn’t it?

but you hated this, You hated feeling something for her because that meant losing something too. At least you could walk away easily when it’s transactional. It’s been too many times, too many nights, too many . . . Shared intimacy past what you usually do with others to be transactional. But was it with her? That was your the fear creeping up on you. What’s the point of even asking, she didn’t care right, neither did you. that was the point of that night she’s referring to, to remove any kind of attachment.

But she’s kissing you again, god knew you wanted her. to be yours and no one else. Fuck the deal you had, this is torture. What would she even say if you fessed? so you respond the only way you could and show it instead, confessing by thy lips. deeply returning the kiss, passionately back, Fumbling removing your shirt immediately and pulling her closer, you wanted her body pressed against yours, just like you know her frame fits yours like a puzzle piece. You ignore the question, very much avoid it actually and her lips against yours neck drove you mad, usually your move— she’s really punishing you, and while she does, your hand reaching down to her heat, husk voice still in a jealous manner— “Baby I don’t like competition.” Clearly referring to Levi, sick to your stomach even thinking about another man laying a finger on her beautiful frame, to touch her in the way that you do and confidently knew how. Memorised every inch of her tender, and pushing in to her?? Made you mad.

Then,　his lips are on you with certain ferocity　⸻　rules for thee and not for me,　Sammy?　Tsk tsk.　This is never to say that you didn’t enjoy it,　though.　You kiss back just as hard,　slim hand sneaking a tight grip at the line of his jaw.　❛❛  So good,  ❜❜　you coo,　soft voice a faint whisper against his lips,　stark contrast to the heft of your own hold.　❛❛  Maybe even better than you ever have.  ❜❜　That part is a complete lie.　Levi’s great,　but there’s just something about Sam that draws you in again and again,　like luxury nestled atop a camouflaged bear trap.　In spite of the dishonesty,　you aren’t too certain of its purpose　/　maybe an incentive to fuck you harder than ever before,　push your face down into the mattress and ram you so hard that your sweat mingles as one.　Of course you hope he fucks you hard enough to feel something.　That part was never in question.

❛❛  I thought you’d be into this,  ❜❜　purred while your head reels back,　basking in the heat of his ire.　❛❛  After that little phone call you gave me.  ❜❜　Leaving him to sit with the admission,　you wrench yourself free of his grasp,　stalking over to the pristine grey of your bedspread,　nary a wrinkle to be seen.　You’re on your knees,　then,　brutal hands folded delicately in your lap as you sit up straight.　He needs to see you.　Every bruise embellishing your neck and chest,　the intricate detailing of your lingerie that climbs up your slender waist.　You aren’t sure why.　You just really need him to.　It’d make you feel good.

then, She finally fessed. Phone call? you hadn’t called her in a few days. The last time being one you had been trying to stop ruminating feelings with, really wasn’t thinking about the consequence of getting out for a drink, somehow finding it was easier to end the hope of even falling for her again by having one night fling, But even then you didn’t last long, it was barely even a night, To release your thoughts about prospect of being more than being in a real relationship with her, it wasn’t like you were exclusive right?? . . . Now, caught red handed. (FUCK. STUPID SAM. Incompetent and careless with things) at some point you knew it was going to bite you in the ass, So what this was it? This is why she’s bringing up this scum?

Sam Jang has cracked.

Gradual effort in breaking his walls down has finally been rewarded.　You don’t even think you’ve done anything wrong:　you,　the perfectionist,　the best shot,　never a mistake of your doing for as long as you inhabited the facility.　Sam seems keen on playing both judge and jury regardless,　no aggressive mutt at your beck and call for reasons you have yet to discern.　All you ever did was kiss him,　lips forced together in untempered salacity to do away with the tension.　Fuck,　you still have no idea what pushed you to do it.　It just felt right.　No fewer than eight days and three hours have lapsed since you’ve last interacted,　not swayed even by your quaint text message　⸻　you’re instead gifted a pocket dial,　a symphony of rustling fabric,　heavy breathing cascading into moaning.　Silent on the opposite line,　you decide there and then to mirror his indulgence,　seeking out saintly presence to temporarily quell your void.

So whatever.　You hook up with Levi again,　impelling him to be a little rougher,　go a little harder,　cover your body with love.　What you seek above all else is evidence,　tangible proof that you are just as capable of fucking other people as he is.　It’s nothing to you.　Water off a duck’s back.

When the two of you finally reconvene,　you make sure to sport the hickeys with pride.　Black lace ensconcing you　⸻　framing the curve of your tits,　satin ribboning crossed along your waist　⸻　is reward in and of itself;　you cannot explain the compulsion to wear it for him,　you can’t,　you just can’t.　And yet you know you look sexy,　and you know he will think it,　too.　Maybe what you want is for Sam to regret.　You really don’t care what he does in his spare time,　but like god do you want him to care about yours.　

❛❛  You really wouldn’t believe how he looks at me.  ❜❜　It’s why you should feel worse about stringing Levi along.　You don’t.　❛❛  Or how he fucks me.  ❜❜　Lurid gaze designates your darkened eyes exactly upon him,　desperate to watch that repulsive jealousy creep across his countenance,　flicker like a spark between his brows.　Lithe fingers secure around his wrist,　tugging him off to your fabled bedroom.　That’s what he’s here for,　after all.　That’s what he’s good for.

you’re losing it Sam. Who the fuck is this Levi scum and why was he the topic of discussion especially when it came to fucking her. Along with baiting him good with the lingerie and her pretty face, God that look making you want to just grab her fully and they’d be on it like usual, except with this mention that she had just been with another guy and bragging about it. he knew she was fucking with him, why? The luring mixed with having to listen another man fuck her made you furious, there’s jealousy peaking through eyes that were piercing back to her. Betrayal even if you had an agreement, and you had just fucked another girl anyway just a few nights ago. But it meant nothing, so you never brought it up. what the fuck was this punishment for.

Could the fuckers in the IRG ever have predicted you’d find this value in a slim build?　Unlikely.　Built as lithe predator,　svelte enough to slip through the shadows unnoticed and yet strong enough in your capacity to conquer most foes.　The slowing pace provokes a needy grind of your frame back onto Sam while he manhandles you,　desperate for that impassioned pace to return.　Your hips roll,　fucking yourself on him while hands fist desperately at the sheets,　every deep hit honored with wanton vocalization,　a moan,　whimper,　whine.　Never the vocal type,　and yet it always seems to reveal itself for Sam.　Maybe you’re just keen on how he reacts to it?　You can’t be certain.　What you do know is that the mewls spilling from lips glossed with need brings him to speak.　Two stupid little words that take you into the loving embrace of a headlock.　You’re someone’s,　always and forever.　The passion project of an IRG employee,　for the most part,　but right now,　you’re Sam’s.　It makes you sick.　You want to strangle him just as much as you want to bring your lips against his.　❛❛  Yours,  ❜❜　you grown between thrusts,　a subconscious admission to beauteously embellish the moment.　Made to face him once more,　your eyes are wide,　voids in heir own respect,　stygian abyss where your soul should be.　Everything is divine,　rerouted pace of your bodies as one,　his mouth on your eager tits,　shifting around continuously to mark and claim you.

The ghosting at your lips is a dastardly thing,　and you are but a taunted animal in a cage.　How much you want him?　It’s out of the question.　You don’t want and never have.　He wants you.　That’s his sole value beyond the blatant physical appeal.　And still,　the burden of proof falls onto you?　You sink yourself down completely,　his cock stuffing you full,　thighs locking you firmly in place.　Then,　fettered by a moment of brief deliberation,　you bring tight grip to his face,　roughly mashing your lips against his.

It was only a second, Barely even when you caught her eyes and taken aback by her lips. Unexpected (despite the fact that you’d been so hungry for it.) What is she doing? This ? Is her response to your thoughtless commentary? Still inside her, and you let your legs spread now to sit proper while she was positioning herself as thighs gripped tightly around you, a low grunt escaping in between lips and it was instinct to grab her wrist away, purely from surprise. was tonight it?? to break boundaries? to break the deal maybe just this once? There was just something pulling you more stronger than most nights, maybe it was because of less chaos through your daily life, or the instance that you had what would seem like a ‘decent’ day, that maybe THIS WAS THE RISK TAKING you seem to have been awarded with. hand kept at her hip while the other snaked its way through her blonde locks, you didn’t say anything for it may cause friction of a reaction. Instead you deepen the kiss, You promised you wouldn’t but breaking rules was always your speciality anyways. and with her initiating it, it took some pass to let the blame fall elsewhere— not not be spoken about after. ( a secret as if anyone would even care but the two of you. )

The onslaught against your neck finds a point of fixation just enough for you to forget yourself,　to widen Sam’s canvas that he embellishes with splotches of red and purple,　sucking and teething his animosity into the skin.　You wouldn’t say you’re sensitive anywhere　⸻　weak spot one,　weak spot two,　they are stripped from you unceremoniously,　and soon enough you forget how to respond to touch so long as you are a mindless drone　⸻　but the sloppy mouthing forces a reaction nevertheless as you shift in place pinned beneath him,　head tilting,　angling,　something,　something,　wanting to feel him on you,　wanting to wear the evidence of being someone’s.　It’s terrible.　You’re terrible.

You spark a small smile, she couldn’t see anyways so you let it show when she requested for a hit, you’d be wanting to anyway— mark her cheek red to bring out more from her, you didn’t really care if she moaned or not but hearing it was definitely worth it. an achievement of some sorts especially when it was BECAUSE OF YOU. and so you do, pushing her down on the bed— on sheets that you hope were soft enough to complement the roughness of your play, not so hard so that she can still breathe but enough to signal that you wanted her down so that you could give her deep, to push inside her deeper and rewarded her with a few spanks, till her cheeks were red, one and the other while other hand placed at the back of her neck.

Hand around your throat,　blissful as they come,　and you are satisfied with the knowledge that he’d never have the gall to squeeze as hard as he wants　⸻　he pushes you down against the bedding,　blushing bride of another story and certainly not this one,　mouthing hungrily against your skin and staining you with the evidence of this.　Ghosting past your lips,　the whisper of a moan frees itself,　rewards Sam for his indulgence while he wrestles with fabric,　pesky denim or cotton or polyester blend inhibiting contact in your coupling.　Quite frankly,　he can’t tear your clothes away fast enough:　you aren’t here for the niceties,　and you figure Sam isn’t,　either　⸻　there are plenty of desperate people in the world for either of you to fuck,　stuff your emotions down in some late night tryst,　and none of them will ever satisfy your vices the way each other can　⸻　and the sooner he’s madly ramming into you,　the better.

You’re bared just as rapidly,　with half a mind toward the aftermath to inspect your garments for damage　(you will always have ample funding with which to replace them,　and you’d like to think part of the thrill is what you can do to each other;　sometimes a pinstripe blouse will be the sacrifice for pleasure unfettered)　that you must temporarily eschew.　There are much more pressing affairs to fix your attention upon,　like the rush settling in when he finally teases against you,　how a shiver lodges itself at the tip of your spine,　like how the moon knows the sun by its absence.　Maybe your body belies you,　and you are slick with enthusiasm for him to spread you open,　push into your tight heat.　You have never knowingly been eager for a thing in your life.　Things happen to you,　and you grin and bear them.　That makes this an aberration of your life’s routine,　where you want this,　want him,　want your brain switched off as an act of mercy done onto you.

Sam forces down a fistful of your wrist to cage you in beneath his frame,　pushing himself into you while your teeth involuntarily grit and you adjust to the sensation.　Blank expression tells nothing,　reveals nothing,　the only indicator of your enjoyment being the slight dimpling of your brows,　how implement of your hand reaches out for contact,　to bridge that gap,　settling at his shoulderblade.　He’s good at this.　Good at fucking you,　good at laying waste to whatever hurt he holds within and imparting it into you as the proxy,　good at pistoning into you rough enough to force a reaction.　Hand at his back curls its fingers,　dragging lavish nails to rake down his back.　Harder,　faster,　rougher,　deeper　⸻　you don’t know what it is,　but you know you need something more.

A low grunt of moan return for her as you felt her dig nails across your back. it did turned you on to fight with her on a usual basis, it wasn’t often you had chances to fight someone —let alone a woman— much in your life that didn’t back down or hold back, and in this case, how deeply those nails dug was a marker of how good you were fucking her. deeper thrust and faster to race her breath, till you could see her lose that breath. —“fuck” a low growl into her ear as his body pressed against hers, while hips glided back and forth ramming deeper into her,

you promised yourself, you wouldn’t dare to kiss her. and even so it would be rough, a fun provoking means to compliment lust and sometimes a nip to draw blood. Like a canine, a predator marking his prey. scanning her face for a glimpse of momentary admiration on your part that she’ll never catch but god she was both beautiful and dangerous. heavy breaths against her mouth and resisting to connect to, so you attack elsewhere, by devouring her neck instead— that spot was yours and yours only, to mark and bruise with pleasure.

addicting, dare say you were addicted to wanting so much from her and to do to her. had gotten bored and senseless to the other flings you’ve had previously to her. and no girl that allowed challenge as an exploration, it was always you or the expected routine of common one night stands. At first expecting this to be the case, but her willingness and quick detachment made you crave the chase even more. with more nights turning longer than the very first.

Sam Jang is not worth wasting a bullet on.　You’ve rapidly surmised this from the time you’ve spent in his proximity,　stationed by a higher-up to look down upon him.　Always seeming as though he has something to prove　⸻　this amuses you,　truly it does,　and you are either observing him through the mask of your blank-faced mien,　or you are egging him on,　allowing both of you in your coupling to reduce to your very worst.　You are not interested in him the way others are;　you are not desperate for his attention,　and it makes no difference to you whether or not he spares a glance in your direction.　You exist anyways,　an implement to carry orders out.　He is incidental,　that is all.

Until it escalates,　as it tends towards,　an upward trend of heat and tension.　Where your lip has snagged and curled upward,　verging upon a snarl until it is one of you that acts,　closing the distance once the two of you are finally alone,　free of expectation or prying eyes or any fleeting sense of self-restraint.　Sam is angry:　perhaps you are,　too.　You feel something enough to move in on him,　hungry,　hungry like a predator that has not feasted.　You want to feel something,　temporary as it may be.　He’s the perfect target for these wants and whims.　It doesn’t mean anything,　and it is this exactly that you are certain of.

You like that he’s skilled enough to fight you,　or at least the you that gets presented forth.　He would never be a true threat,　but even a weapon like you seeks the thrill of being overpowered from time to time.　What starts as a barrage of limbs,　shifting,　seeking flesh,　gradually escalates into full-blown wrestling atop the sleek gray of your mattress;　you grind yourself against him,　ensuring he can really,　really feel you,　and eventually you will acquiesce to his so-called strength when you are exactly where you want to be,　pinned beneath him.　You have half a mind to wriggle free from your blouse,　baring your flesh to where it is free to be kissed or bruised at his behest,　leave marks worth remembering for the fight you can’t resist.　All he has to do is act.　❛❛  I don’t break easily.  ❜❜

long were the days you felt for anyone. And you hadn’t thought to have so ever since— this desire was exhilarating, maybe it’s because of how good she was at fighting, a part of you enjoyed the chase. The certain likeness you have to pain, and to the adrenaline of rush matched hers so seamlessly. A rhythm of some sorts and eventually flowed to lust. This incredible rush that mirrored her exact intentions. could really feel her against you, hardening at her grind while you resist the urge to kiss her, Surely she could feel it too, and while so you were impatient to just have her, the thought of roughly punishing her for going this far already consuming you. hand reaching for her neck, enough for her to still speak but firm as you push her down, “—we’ll see about that.” low husk against her ear and biting just behind it, Can’t kiss her lips, so you turn her neck and sinking teeth into her flesh deep, to mark. TO BRUISE, to plant territory that it may stay for a while—

she initiated and you wanted to fight back. and fight back you will, quickly removing your pants with free hand while still wanting to keep your other on her neck, once off— just grabbing her breast, as lips also trailed from neck to chest, still deep sucked bruises to mark her, then to her tit. Seeing her surrendered this way drove you crazy, like wanting to devour her every inch having her trapped.

✦ a collection of prompts that can be considered nsfw, with a lot of teasing and tension driven prompts. adjust as needed ; send ‘ + reverse ‘ for sender and receiver to switch spots. Combine prompts by sending more than one.

「 SQUEEZE 」 : for sender to rest their hand on the receivers thigh , giving it a squeeze .

「 LINGER 」 : for senders touch to linger on the receiver.

「 MASSAGE 」 : for sender to give receiver a massage .

「 LOTION 」 : for sender to rub lotion into the receivers skin

「 SLIP 」 : for senders hand to slip between the receivers legs.

「 TUG 」 : for sender to tug on the receivers hair

「CLIMB 」 : for sender to climb into receivers lap

「PULL 」 : for the sender to pull receiver into their lap

「BITE 」 : for sender to bite the receiver ( include the location )

「 MARK 」 : for sender to leave hickies on receiver

「 BARE 」 : for sender to undress in front of receiver

「 HELP 」 : for sender to help receiver undress

「 GRIND 」 : for sender to grind against the receiver

「 HOT 」 : for sender and receiver to share a heated kiss

「 OOPS 」 : for sender to accidentally send receiver a risqué image.

「 CHIME 」 : for sender to purposefully send receiver a risqué image.

「 WHISPER 」 : for sender to whisper something suggestive in receivers ear

「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat

「 THROW 」 : for sender to throw receiver onto the bed

「 PRESS 」 : for sender to press receiver against a wall and kiss them

「 CAUGHT 」 : for sender to catch receiver pleasuring themselves

「 LIGHT 」 : for sender to touch the receiver with a feather light pressure.