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.

❛❛  Take me to bed and I’ll tell you.  ❜❜　You muster it,　somehow,　despite how the attention at your core makes you want to wilt,　give in,　tell him anything he wants to hear so long as it means he’ll keep touching you.　You’d do anything for the attention　(particularly from Sam,　though why his has any value is beyond you,　you hate it,　you hate him,　you want him so fucking badly),　even if it debased you completely.　Do you beg,　Leopard?　Of course not.　You don’t beg.　You get instruction and you follow it,　and you do not allow cognizance to interfere with your strict adherence to orders.　You’re the mindless puppet,　the drone without identity.　

Hands are on him,　intrepid and exploratory,　wanting to investigate the expanse of muscle bared to you.　He pisses you off.　And if he wants verbal confirmation of his superiority,　he needs to work a lot harder than that　⸻　the sort of thing that must be fucked from you for the words to rattle loose.　In its place,　you tease,　❛❛  I bought this so you could see me in it.  ❜❜　The truth.　It’s new,　fresh from its packaging before he made his arrival.　A spectacle no other soul on earth is privy to.　That counts for something,　doesn’t it?　But,　but then,　cutting straight through that sexual tension,　all heavy breathing and grinding bodies,　you make good use of the opportunity.　You stop,　pulling your head back once again.　Your eyes narrow.　❛❛  Tell me.　It was because I kissed you.　You got scared,　didn’t you?  ❜❜　It’s borderline accusatory,　frustration showing itself in your sudden detachment like it’s sweating from your body,　gleaming on your skin like glitter.　

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?

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.

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.

you’ve been away longer than you’d been since this little rendezvous. Busy was strange to still claim for someone who do dirty work for a living but you hadn’t had the chance or time to see her for days. usually you were the one sending messages to tease her for a quick fun. merely a response or a reaction but you always ended up at her door. no difference now except for the fact the she had sent temptation that you just couldn’t resist. Rarely really found her my in a dress or anything that other girls were dressed in at the clubs you were usually dealing with. Now here she was, a little more skin showing right off without you wanting to tearing layers off, Blue silk dress at your sight and permission to usual routine.

Bingo.

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. )

His thrusting up into you is rewarded with increased force at your joined lips.　Kissing him harder,　more passionately,　whatever.　Your tongues mingle,　your own trepidatious in its inexperience.　Sam’s hand envelops the line of your jaw,　like you’re some brittle porcelain.　Your stomach turns,　like he’s doing something neither of you can come back from,　something neither of you can so much as recover from.　You can’t uncross the line.　Maybe your leg has already been mangled in a bear trap.　When he moves you,　there is no resistance　(I am investigating,　comes your defense,　I want to see what he will do if we pretend to love each other)　and you instead nestle your head back into the plush comfort of the pillow,　verging upon a relaxed adjustment.　You don’t want to be touched.　You want his hands on your body.　Groping your breasts or pushing down on your stomach to feel himself inside you,　gripping your thighs so tightly that they weep violent violet bruises.　Oh,　Sam.

Maybe you’re even agitated.　He’s being nowhere near rough enough with you to quell the restlessness:　physical validation has always been few and far between,　and you know how to better take a punch than a hug because of it.　Continuously awaiting how the other shoe will drop,　like this gentleness is only a ploy to build tension for the next time he hurts you.　It doesn’t happen.　You will allow it,　just this once.　It could be that you’re practicing,　learning to wield nude flesh just as effectively as you do your rifle.　Sex has no value to you because it is the means through which things are accomplished,　never a vessel for connection,　the heavenly crucible of intimacy.　Wrap Sam around your finger like red yarn wreathes into a ball.　You can do it all.　The truth will always remain the same,　though,　no matter how hard you fight against the objectivity.　You have never been loved enough to be touched,　even compared to the other girls.　Beauteous lie between you cannot compromise that.　You won’t allow it.

Your hands ghost his back,　familiarizing yourself intimately with his strength.　The information is not catalogued,　instead something only to cherish,　here and now.　If you speak,　you know you will never forgive yourself:　agiven,　your tongue will slip,　you will be unable to retract.　You will say words you don’t deserve,　words that you certainly don’t mean,　and the equilibrium of your joint carnality would be permanently disrupted because of it.　You do not love Sam.　You’d hardly even say that you like him.　All that remains is that you need him like a virus feeds off its host,　a parasitic adoration.

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.

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.

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.

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.

back again with more usfw prompts. mature audiences only; do not interact if you are a minor. add +reverse to reverse the roles. combine prompts by sending multiple at once. only use these prompts to portray consensual scenarios.

[01.] sender bends receiver over a desk and fucks them from behind.

[02.] sender presses receiver against a window and takes them from behind.

[03.] sender lifts receiver onto the kitchen counter and spreads their legs.

[04.] sender pulls receiver onto their lap in the backseat of a car, fogging up the windows.

[05.] sender fucks receiver against a wall, holding a leg up to support them.

[06.] sender and receiver have sex in a tent while camping, trying to stay quiet.

[07.] sender holds receiver steady against shower tiles, fucking them while hot water streams down their bodies.

[08.] sender pulls receiver into a mating press, folding them in half.

[09.] sender sits back and has receiver ride them reverse cowgirl.

[10.] sender pins receiver against a wall and fucks them in standing doggy position.

[11.] sender fucks receiver with their ankles on sender's shoulders.

[12.] sender and receiver have desperate sex in an expensive hotel room.

[13.] sender holds receiver tight as they bend them over a balcony late at night.

[14.] sender pushes receiver's face into the pillow while pounding them from behind.

[15.] sender fucks receiver with one arm wrapped around their head in a loose headlock.

[16.] sender slaps receiver in the face.

[17.] sender holds both of receiver's wrists in one hand.

[18.] sender grips receiver's jaw and forces them to maintain eye contact.

[19.] sender hooks their fingers into receiver's mouth, forcing it open wider.

[20.] sender writes their name on receiver's skin with marker.

[21.] sender fucks receiver's throat until spit runs down their chin.

[22.] sender uses their fingers to muffle receiver's moans.

[23.] sender makes receiver count every thrust out loud.

[24.] sender forces receiver to thank them after every thrust/slap/hit.

[25.] sender holds receiver's jaw and makes them repeat "i'm yours" while buried inside of them.

[26.] sender leaves bruises on receiver's thighs from their tight grip.

[27.] sender manhandles receiver into a new position.

[28.] sender makes receiver grind against their shoe/boot.

[29.] sender keeps receiver on their knees with a boot between their thighs.

[30.] sender pulls receiver into the laundry room at a house party, barely drowned out by the blaring music.

[31.] sender fucks receiver in the club/bar bathroom, listening for footsteps just outside the door.

[32.] sender makes receiver watch themselves in the mirror while being fucked.

[33.] sender holds receiver's head back by the hair and lets a string of spit fall into their mouth.

[34.] sender grips receiver's hips and guides them to ride their thigh.

[35.] sender releases and reapplies pressure around receiver's neck as they edge closer to climax.

[36.] sender spanks receiver for their disobedience.

[37.] sender and receiver have aggressive hate sex.

[38.] sender accidentally says "i love you" during sex.

[39.] sender, fully clothed, fucks a naked receiver.

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.

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.

Somewhere some time through the night, you found yourself in her apartment . . . It was either hers, or yours in the instances you’ve reunited but this time you weren’t just giving in, After all– Who you were once was far beyond who you were now, you knew how to tease, the act of chasing, impressing her but also knowing how to affect people. Human acts and tendencies finally at ‘full’ capacity on your end. It’s been a long time since you’ve fully lost your wings, lost any kind of godly powers that still claimed you to choose between here or above.

Learning from their past, then onto many more experiences, becoming fully immersed as a human meant giving in to more experiences after, But none of them were her. Messy night, and a rushed desire meant past all gentle slow burn. Intoxicated slightly, Alcohol was still a growing experience, and you knew what one night stands were now . . . Nips along her spine, and her back as you pound her fast, it wasnt that you were bad before but you definitely knew a better rhythm this time, not too rough but enough to evoke pleasure from her. Wanted to hear echoed moans, from either how deep you pushed into her or the depth of your teeth that suckled into her pale skin, trailed of tiny bruises already forming on her back shoulder, hands supporting motion and cupping her breast,

Leaning behind her to reach for her ear with a husk whisper– “turn around for me–“ It wasn’t a plead, rather an instruction. Swift guidance from your end and your locked on to hers, deep kisses immediately, had craved for them days apart from the last time– you wanted to prove to her just how much you’ve gotten better, even more from seeing her so wanted by others in that bar. Eyes that screamed jealousy now spoke to her in lust, almost piercing and wanted her to understand that you are affected, Jealous.

Consistency is your trademark.　You sit,　in your perch,　agonizing number of feet away from your target,　seeing every potential gridmark where your bullet may ricochet,　and you line up the shot,　and you shoot,　without fail.　You do it,　and you do it well.　You’re a valuable asset for a reason　⸻　the knowledge of this would bring a smile to your lips if that were the kind of thing you worried about.　Juvenile joys were nowhere to be found,　not upon your stony mien.　Drinking in the minuscule praises,　then you recalibrate,　adjust for the next mission made to be your trademark;　this powerlessness never disturbs you,　and you move forward as machine,　as bloodied weapon that glints its most beauteous beneath the moonlight.　What remains is always the same:　you are consistent except for when you are not.　Except for when it inconveniences the few and far between variants of ‘yourself’ that poke through the armature,　shrinking away at intimacy’s insinuation,　finding annoyance in whatever minor trait a dalliance would never observe on their own.　

It only seems right,　then,　that you’re back to Levi.　Individual attempts at leaving yourselves parted were ultimately futile,　no matter how you try to block him out,　freeze out the care or affection he could harbor for you,　and even regardless of who fucks you in his stead.　You’re wearing another’s bruises,　fresh enough in their healing process that they glow a tepid purple.　It isn’t as though you’re a jealous person,　but maybe you want him to be jealous.　Maybe you want unquestionable evidence of how much he really wants you.　You’re no one’s　⸻　barely the IRG’s,　if anything,　barely Professor’s even in spite of how you know you’re his favorite liability　⸻　but it wouldn’t be so bad if you were his.

That’s girlish think,　a foppish fable never suited for the cruelty of your life.　The force of Levi pistoning into you makes it an easy dream to cling to,　though,　particularly when you’re flipped onto your stomach and made bereft of the eye contact that intoxicates you.　You can feel him,　your own light buzz,　his lips closing in on your back and fighting for canvas space on the plane of your body,　his cock sinking in and out of you.　Virtue of your design insists you don’t feel unless it’s rough,　and perhaps this has been a personal downfall of yours,　seeking entanglements in the worst places for temporary blisses.　Levi has always been your favorite,　even as the two of you blossomed past your collective inexperience.　Has he missed you?　You hope so.　You almost miss him,　too.

And,　because you have always excelled most at following commands,　its nothing for your wry form to shift to his liking,　finally settling atop him and sealed with a passionate kiss.　You don’t like kissing,　right?　You don’t.　You know you don’t.　It is gross and messy and far too indicative of ardor taking root,　like a cavity carves its home in a tooth.　You nevertheless kiss him eagerly,　every gentle vocalization into his mouth his and his alone to swallow down.　❛❛  Mmm,  ❜❜　starts a murmur,　your own little slice of consideration.　❛❛  Fuck me better than he can.  ❜❜　Or:　you will sink down onto him,　roll your hips back as you have mastered,　covertly cherish the feeling of him inside you no matter how it beckons your defenses to flare,　and finally hope that he will concede to impulse and palm greedily at your hips to fuck up into you.

Her eagerness only made it harder, you had noticed all of her intentions and gentleman as you were, you wanted it to be right, And true. How unbelievably mysterious humans really were and these feelings were indeed far more confusing than you had witnessed above, the complexities of choices between right and wrongs were much more, the grey area in between of trying TO EXPERIENCE . she was, truly the most mysterious you’ve yet connected to. Most humans you’ve met were forward, or obvious— she was just a tether, a canvas that you wanted to discover what’s within much as you wanted to discover your own purpose here. her touch, sent these rushes of fastened pulses, somehow it felt like humanity started to form in you, merging with your holy soul, an adrenaline you’d never experienced before (was this passion? or lust that they talk about? or both?) Her deepened kiss made you breathless, but not in the way that it stopped you from breathing but craved more of it.

Her grant for your permission made you confident, had known above about sexual intimacy and what it means or looks to ‘make love’ or so that’s what you had known but knowing and experiencing were two different scenes. Though it felt, Natural to action. Maybe it was the human in you that reflected, or just instinct but you know you wanted to serve her right. If it was going to break rules, you wanted to do it right. Especially by her. These confirmed agonising, yearning for something you thought was beyond impossible, now in your arms, your hands, your lips, all of her was with all of you. and you wanted to prove that this wasn’t going to be a mistake, or regret. You wanted this, You just couldn’t believe it was finally happening.

You don’t know exactly how you should be feeling:　everything in the world is composed of terse blacks and whites,　never any ambiguity to seek in how every occurrence plays out,　and still you find no comfort in this,　how you have somehow morphed into shapeless grey area.　You don’t know sexy beyond that of the behavior stuffed into late-night videos emanating a cerulean glow onto the mien of someone pervert,　and that is wrong,　so wrong,　wrong like you know truth from falsehood.　Sexy like that feels wrong,　like you can cache its insincerity from behind the screen.　Do you want to be sincere?　You don’t have a sincere bone in that body of yours.　What you know is order,　obedience,　striking in the dead of night when no resistance can stand in your way.　There is nothing obedient right now.　Not a soul,　not a sliver.　

The way Levi captivates you cannot be articulated through word alone.　It’s sickening is what it is,　a breach of the defenses you’ve spent two decades building a barricade of.　He intrigues you,　burdens you with the grotesque want to entirely dismantle him　⸻　maybe it is a lesson about getting involved with girls like yourself with no future to look forward to.　No prospects,　no hope,　no dreams of being saved.　It’s not like you want him to suffer,　but maybe it feels good having someone be lowered to the agonizing depths you inhabit,　the very lowest point of yourself.　He wants you,　he alleges.　You allege to yourself that you want him too,　even if it is a mere intrigue of what you can do to him,　him to you,　the both of you to each other.　People hurt.　That is what they do to themselves and one another.　He has innocence and you want to destroy it;　crush,　harm,　maim,　damage.　You do it all.　It’s what you are capable of.

Rewarding his exploration with a soft hum　⸻　this,　too,　is not entirely real,　but the video girls are loud,　loud seems to mean good,　you don’t do loud but you can try,　you don’t think you need this to be good but you want him to want you.　It will make the bad parts easier,　simpler in their swift execution.　You get to enjoy the little things,　then.　Savoring the gentle caress of his fingers,　digits slipped up past the stretch of red satin,　the monstrosity of yourself can’t help but feel at ease with the combination of him.　Lips,　fingerpad’s touch,　both fighting tirelessly against your self-protection.　It wouldn’t be so bad if the walls were to come down.　For an hour,　two.　Enough to feel the rush and the come down in his arms.　Enough to pretend this means nothing to you.

Your hips shift from the attention,　from where he has caged you against the wall,　keeping you up with shocking strength.　Should you touch him,　too?　Arms hang limp like a neglected doll,　devoid of purpose to course life through you.　You want.　You do want,　in a way.　You just don’t know what to do with yourself.　Right hand rises up,　cradles the line of his jaw　⸻　you think about squeezing or hitting or breaking,　briefly,　and then realize you don’t want your perversions to completely taint this moment;　these hands of yours,　they can hold,　too　⸻　stroking your thumb in saccharine adoration across his cheek.　❛❛  I want you,　Levi.  ❜❜　

it wasn’t like you were never already drawn to sharing intimacy with her, patience is virtue. though patience sometimes challenge with the brush of her hands against yours, the lingering energy that struck every time your bodies were in close proximity of each other, ‘sinful’ thoughts (or so they say) would bless your mind with the thoughts of just taking her in your arms. and there were times you nearly did, maybe you still couldn’t read properly —of her signals or your signals clashing but you knew, those newfound emotions whenever you held her hand sparked a thousand more growing to intertwine longer.

the more resistance held, the more that band of string tightened until eventually snapping to actioning thoughts, reciprocating hers. Finally alignment in place and soon enough, you could finally give her the kiss of what you had hoped for. gentle, yet longingly determined— could easily feel the slightest moment of smile in between her lips before deepening it. admitting how long he’s yearned to hold her this way, a hand cupping her face close while the other travelled down to her waist, pulling her close to close any gap that separated her from you. god that red dress, seeing her in it, beautiful in your eyes as ever and always, your arms fit perfectly to holding her, unaware of what’s behind her but supported her enough to hit the wall behind her.

The fumble of her digits attempting to unbutton your shirt made you chuckle, it was barely seconds, impatiently excited and quickly parting from her lips and quickly guiding hers with a kiss, a glance at her to say ‘I’ll do it’ and rushingly removing your sleeve polo off. —A fairly sized scar present on waist exposed, reminder of his wings that struck it when he fell— and warmly pressing against her with much more passion this time. So swiftly lifting her, unusual ease of carrying her bound by godly strength, the intensity of heated moment had travelling hand slowly lifting her dress by thigh and leaving trails of kisses to her neck, hand tugging inside of the dress, the hem of her garment, just teasingly— wanting consent, Didn’t know how well you were doing so but definitely wanting to make her feel, good.

You’ve been waiting on this to play out for far too long.　Always nudging,　always prodding,　seeing how far you can push until his malleable innocence is yours to you with.　Something that cannot be helped　/　your burgeoning curiosity　/　his untainted purity　/　a lethal combination.　The thought snakes treacherously through your mind,　if he’s at all taken notice of your little teases,　fumbling and fledgling attempts at pushing him beyond the point of no return,　a line he could no longer uncross.　A divergence in your apparel,　foremost,　straying away from stiff leather’s sole deployment upon you in favor of fabrics clinging more tenderly to your frame.　Bidding for his attention,　goading toward the rotted parts of yourself.　Dress yourself up nicely,　then.　You don’t wear red,　but it felt fitting,　a statement piece wherein all you had to say was how badly,　carnally,　whatever you wanted him.　(This is never to say you know a damn thing about seduction.　You don’t.　You really don’t.　You know not what to do with your eyes　⸻　gaping and bereft of soul,　set on Levi because he is the prey framed gorgeously by your crosshairs　⸻　nor your mouth,　and your body has only ever excelled in matters of malice,　vigilance.　Light as a feather,　stiff as a board.)

Finally,　finally he moves in,　angel-soft lips pressing into yours.　Your body does not move,　taking him as he is,　mouth parting inadvertent.　How strange,　how curious.　You do not do anything inadvertently,　but you similarly have never kissed nor been kissed before.　Maybe there is a first time for everything,　and you,　the fail-safe,　the cheat code,　the insurance policy,　are left to endure your missing pieces.　Levi is kissing you,　and you are doomed to crave more.　Fuck,　you really should be above this,　but an unrelenting mechanism in your chest ticks and ticks and ticks.　Victim to your own petulance,　it’s mere seconds before your fingers are zealously wedging buttons through their containing slits.　It might be that you aren’t paying attention,　or perhaps your damn curiosity insisting upon a reaction from him,　but you falter,　awaiting his assistance in a takeover,　watching intently as he bares his torso.　You have a weird fascination with scars,　you’ve come to realize,　and it cannot be helped　⸻　your comparatively blank canvas of a body indicates how you have never so much as struggled on a mission;　have never been harmed in a capacity worth leaving the schematics of;　scars imply history,　imply damage;　you are a blot on the sanctity of life,　and you find grotesque intrigue in where damage has been done.　You look,　but don’t touch.

He touches,　though,　creeping up the hemline of rubied silk you’re clad in.　Though you’ve internalized far too many pornographic approximations,　they seem inaccurate for the moment.　You could delineate any emotion you thought suitable,　but none spring to mind.　You almost want to be sincere,　no matter the improbability of the notion.　You are not capable of it,　anyways,　skin numbed to the most agonizing of stimulus,　cognition numbed to reality.　Contented by the simplicity,　you acquiesce,　head angling back in a presumption,　some play by play of what you think should be occurring.　You will tip your head back,　roar some dame’s lavish moan from the depths of your throat.　You want this to be good for you,　after all.　Conduit of that fucking facility,　tucked away far north in the harsh Canadian tundra,　it has deprived you have all these so-called life experiences.　That lack of humanity scrapes your chest clean,　hollows you to a complete void.　Kiss to tepid embrace,　embrace to whatever escalation shall come.　Time is on your side.　You want to ruin him.

❛❛  Yes,  ❜❜　comes the consoling,　sugared and insincere.　Near anything you could say would impel him onward,　seemingly.　Fuck all the hesitation,　the virginal meandering.　You want this.　You want him.　❛❛  Keep going.  ❜❜　Not softened with a girlish plead nor rasped in impassioned mockery,　you simply are:　not good or evil.　Fingers inch toward his free hand,　bringing it to palm clumsily at your tit.　While the idea of mewling out some coquettish dialogue crosses you,　you evade it,　figuring you’d only ever make a fool of yourself in your rich monotone.　Instead,　you deepen that kiss,　it which rests too faint against you,　still wondering how far you can take this.　As if you even know what you’re doing,　you who mirrors back Levi’s inexperience.