angel

When he's done with you, when he's looking up at you with his chin propped on the mound of your cunt, looking at you so reverent that you can almost feel the soft underbelly of his love, that's when you try and tell yourself that you didn't feel the ghost of his teeth at all.

After he leaves you in the morning, it's rare to see him until early afternoon. He almost always comes home with a hunting rifle over his shoulder and fresh meat on the back of his horse.

The moment he steps through the door, the first thing he does is kiss you. One arm wrapped around your waist, his lips warm from the sun. When he pulls away, he tends to smile and touch his knuckles to your cheek.

"How have you been, beauty?"

You don't want to lie to him, so you usually say nothing at all. You just lean into his touch and think how nice it is that at least one pair of hands don't leave bruises behind.

He doesn't just like kissing you. He also does it constantly. And openly.

The others don't like it much. At first, you think it's the way he touches you without once caring who else has staked their claim. But over time, you realise that's not it at all. The others touch you just as openly, but there doesn't seem to be the same undercurrent of jealousy as when he does it.

He isn't afraid of being soft with you in front of them either. Tilting your chin towards him and wiping some dust off your cheek. Offering you food off his own plate. Pulling you into his lap when you walk past, and pressing his lips against your neck when you gasp.

You don't realise it, but he's the first one you actually smile at. One of the only ones you say thank you to.

You don't realise it, but the others most definitely do.

They see the way you relax when he kisses you. The way you lean into him, the way you almost kiss him back.

He likes having you with him in the stables during the afternoon. He usually has a lot of work to do when it comes to tending the horses; outlaws rely on their mounts as much as they do on their guns, and he’s the only one the boss trusts to keep them in shape. 

Afternoons in the stables with him are a mercy. The gunslingers are often too busy to stop by, and the boss rarely tends to his horse personally. Perks of being top dog, you suppose. So it's usually just you and the wrangler.

 Mostly, he goes about his work without much fuss. He might brush his hand down your back when he passes by, or he might reach over your head to grab something, but he doesn't linger.

 He spends the afternoons talking to you in that calm, soft voice. Getting you to open up to him a little at a time. As careful with you as he is with his horses.

 "How did you get that scar on your cheek, beauty?"

"Did you ever think of taking a lover?"

"Do you want to hear a story? My mother told it to me once, long ago."

Your answers come a little easier each time — I fell when I was a little girl, I never thought I'd have a lover, yes I'd love to hear your stories.

 You make the mistake of thinking his kindness swallows up his hunger. That maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want you for your body.

 Foolish girl, when will you learn?

It's one of those miserably hot afternoons when he finally makes his move. The air is too still and the hay dust clings to the back of your neck no matter how hard you brush it away.

It starts with a little water. The outlaws keep huge basins of well water in the stables. Not just for the horses to drink, but for mucking out and cooling off.

 He's leaning over one, soaking his bandana, when you walk past. You're untangling a coil of rope and silently cursing the idiot who tangled it. Brow furrowed, clearly too hot to bother hiding your annoyance.

 Adorable, really. Too tempting for your own good. Any man worth the iron in his blood would want to smooth that frown. When he stands and steps behind you, you don't even notice. He has the tread of a mountain lion, his boots barely whispering against the wood.

 "Come here, beauty. Let me cool you off."

You gasp when he grabs you, and then again when he sweeps you up and forces you against the wall. One hand curls around your waist and the other comes to rest above your head.

 His hands are icy cold from the water — you can feel the chill through the thin linen of your dress.

 He grins at you, his head tilted like a hawk's.

"Won't you kiss me, beauty? Feel how cool I am."

He leans down and touches the corner of your lips with his own.

 You lean into him, not fully aware you're even moving. You're blazing hot and any relief is welcome, even a kiss from an outlaw.

 He purrs, and drops his lips to your neck. His tongue is cool too and when he slips it across your collarbones, you arch against him.

"Lover," you murmur as you lock your arms around his neck.

He tenses for a second, and then keeps on kissing you. "That's right, beauty. I'm your lover. Yours."

There's something quietly fierce in the way he says it. A claim staked on you that you aren't sure you understand. He pulls away from your neck and smiles at you, hazel eyes glinting gold.

 "Kiss me back, wiwaśteka."

You do. God help you, you do.

 You're shy, mostly. Nervous as a girl at her first dance, and nevermind that he's kissed you more times than you can count. Because choosing to kiss him is different. It's vulnerable. It's like flaying yourself open and letting him root through the pieces. 

You aren’t really sure why you do it. He’s fucked you plenty since they stole you away — his head buried in the curve of your neck when he comes, his voice infinitely soft — but not once did you agree to it. Not once did you say yes. 

Maybe he’s softened you up, or maybe you just like the promise of cool skin against yours. Or maybe giving in to him and the others was inevitable. You’re only human. How much of their love and their touch were you supposed to take before some traitorous part of you felt it wasn’t so bad?

Your kiss takes him by surprise and he tenses up for a second. He doesn’t kiss you back right away, but when he does it's almost desperate. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and pushes himself up against you.

“That’s it, just kiss me. I’ll make you feel good, I promise. Just keep kissing me.”

You don’t much know how to kiss. When the outlaws kiss you, you’re always just trying to survive it more than anything else. And so you copy what you’ve learnt as best you can. You bring a hand up to his cheek and carefully pull his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like peppermint — he has a tendency to pull the leaves off the plant by the back door and chew them — and just a little like whiskey.

He hums against your lips and lets his hand drift down your waist until he’s got a fistful of your ass. He uses his hold to pull you closer against him, and when he shifts forward a little you feel the bulge of his jeans rubbing against you.

Did you really get him worked up that fast? 

You pull away from the kiss, breathing hard. But he’s in no mood to let you go so easily. He follows you and kisses you again, something like a growl rumbling in his throat. 

Being active in the kiss is different somehow. Your heart is still in your throat, but there’s a bit of excitement mixed in with your nervousness. Would he like it if you bit his lip? If you ran your tongue across his teeth? 

You slip your lips off his and drag them down his jaw, feeling the cool smoothness of his skin. The outlaws like to kiss and suck on your neck. It always makes you feel tender and high strung. Would kissing his neck do the same thing?

You kiss right under his ear and then a little lower, until you can feel his pulse racing. You catch the scent of his hair and when you suck his skin it’s just a little salty. Hmm, not a bad taste at all. 

He moans softly, squeezing your ass. You can’t help but giggle.

“Why so sensitive, handsome?” you tease, “Never been kissed here before?”

“Never by you,” he mutters. He pulls in a sharp breath when you nip at his neck.

“Lots of places I haven’t kissed you. Awful shame, isn’t it?”

“...You’re cruel, beauty.”

“Nah. I’m only giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

Speaking of…

You suck at his neck a little harder, until you’re sure you’ve left a mark. When you pull away, there’s a rosy red bruise forming against his copper skin. What did the gunslingers call it? A lovebite? Not really sure if love is the right name, but it’s a pretty look on him nonetheless.

“There. Now we’re matching.” You push at his chest a little and then duck out from under his arms. “Thanks for cooling me off, cowboy. Appreciate it.”

You get about five steps before he pulls you back.

“Oh no you don’t. Where do you think you’re going? Can’t just leave a man high and dry like that, beauty.”

His voice is syrup sweet, but there’s a desperation under it that makes you squirm.

“You’ve got work,” you remind him. You try to pry his arm off without any luck. “Don’t want to get caught slacking, do you?”

“Doesn’t matter. You ought to finish what you started.”

“I was just teasing. C’mon, let me go.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He tosses you onto the hay. One moment you’re on your own two feet and the next you’re on your back with all the wind knocked out of you. The hay bales are big squares of tight packed grass about as high as your hip, and you find yourself looking up at him. His smile is teasing but his eyes are sharp.

“C’mon, beauty. Give me the rest of my medicine.” 

You don’t have time to answer. He leans over you with his hand next to your head and one knee brushing your hip. He kisses your cheek — soft and lingering.

“I’m only a man. You can’t kiss me and expect me to let you go.”

There’s more to his words, an implication you aren’t sure you like.

I’ve been gentle. I’ve been kind. Even when I fuck you, I force myself to be nice. But I’m still a man. I want to sharpen my teeth on you and lick up the blood.

And you — girl that you are, far out and far from home — how are you supposed to stop him? Stop any of them? 

He drags one hand up your thigh, gathering your dress. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, he swipes his thumb down the slit of your cunt. You’re burning hot and slick from the summer. He whistles softly.

“Really do need to cool you off, huh?”

He brings his thumb to his mouth and licks your taste off his finger, his eyes on yours all the while. You knot your fingers in his shirt — not pushing him off you, not quite, but enough pressure in your hands to keep him from getting closer.

When he reaches down and undoes his belt you look away from him. Your cheeks feel warm, and it’s only when he touches your face that you realise you’re crying.

“Shhh, beauty. Those tears have no place here. I’ve never hurt you. And I never will.”

It’s not about the pain. He’s a smart man, he must realise that. He can hurt you plenty without ever raising a hand to you.

The head of his cock brushes through your folds and then he’s grabbing your wrists and pinning them down on each side of your head. 

“Brought this on yourself. Pretty girl, lovely thing.” He kisses your cheek and then kisses your lips. You can taste the salt of your tears on his tongue. “Shouldn’t have been so kind, shouldn't have been so sweet. Shouldn’t have caught our eye in the first place.”

“Not my fault,” you mumble. Oh, but it’s too late for that isn’t it? You’re all caught now — in their arms and in their sheets.

He pushes inside you with a groan. His cock is just as cool as the rest of him. Or maybe you’re just burning too hot for your own good. 

You’ve gotten better at taking their cocks, at accommodating the stretch. But it still makes the breath catch in your throat. His grip tightens around your wrists.

“Look at me, beauty.”

His hair has come loose from its plait and it hangs down past his face in a dark curtain. His eyes are bright, as gold as an eagle’s. 

“Tell me you want this,” he says. His jaw is tight. “Say you want to do this with me.”

You don’t. You don’t want him inside you. But you kissed him, didn’t you? What did you think would happen? You played with fire and now you were getting burnt. Why try and fight it? When has that ever done any good? 

“I want this,” you say, “I want you.”

He kisses you right before he starts thrusting. He goes slow — you can feel every inch slotting itself inside you. His strokes are as languid as a summer afternoon. Careful, relaxed, like he’s savouring the heat and squeeze of you. He’s chatty too — maybe the taste of you loosens his tongue.

“You’re lovely, so lovely. My little fox with her pretty tongue.” He bottoms out with a satisfied sigh.

“Can’t help the way you make me feel, beauty. Can’t help myself around you at all.” 

Your cunt is slippery slick and his cock feels velvet smooth inside you. You whine without meaning to, high and needy. He chuckles, brushing his teeth down your jaw. 

“Listen to you, beauty. Like the feel of me, don’t you? Want me deep inside?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just rocks his hips forward and splits you open all over again.

“I would have taken you either way, y’know,” he continues, “My stolen treasure. My hoard.”

You want him to keep talking. Want him to keep calling you lovely and pretty and sweet. Some stupid — oh so stupid and cockdrunk and needy — part of you likes how possessive he sounds. Likes the rough edge to his usual sweetness.

“I shouldn’t keep you, but darling girl, oh I can’t let you go.”

He sighs and moves his hands up your wrists until his fingers are tangled with yours. He grunts when you shift under him, his strokes getting just a little faster. You don't want to think too hard about any of it. You just want to feel his lips at your neck and the strength of his body above you. Guilt and shame can wait until it's over, until it's the dark of the night and you have to admit to yourself that some part of you likes the way the outlaws handle you.

Taking you was a hanging offence. Why risk it? Why go through all the trouble for you? They're terrible — every single one of them — but they're almost devoted to you. Stupid. It's stupid and arrogant of you to care about any of it. 

“Where's your mind gone, beauty?” He pulls back a little to look at you. “Stay with me, stay and feel me inside you.”

“I'm right here,” you say.

And here you'll stay. 

He's getting close. His thrusts are still slow and gentle, but he squeezes your hands just a little tighter. You're so hot, and your thighs are a sticky mess of sweat and slick. The cock that ruts itself inside you feels like it's covered in warm honey. 

His eyes flicker across your face like he's drinking in every half expression and simper. 

“Niye mitawa.”

You don't understand him, but maybe you don't need to. The way he looks at you says enough. 

He kisses you when he comes. A slow, deep kiss that makes you tilt your head back against the hay. 

When he pulls away he keeps his cock deep inside you. He makes you look into his eyes — killer gold, coyote gold — before he slowly drags his dick out of you. 

“Micante iyacu.”

When he pulls you to your feet, he does so carefully. You don't flinch when he straightens your skirt, but you can't make yourself look at him either. 

“All cooled off, beauty?”

You nod and swipe a palm across your cheeks. Why are you still crying? Why won’t the tears stop? 

He sighs and pulls you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, sure and strong.

“The heart cannot choose, beauty.” And the unspoken part; If it could, I would let you go.

It's a late summer evening when he tells you that he loves you. 

Most of the gang is away and he's the lucky one left behind to keep an eye on you. A thunderstorm is blowing in — one of those huge, roaring ones that only seem to show up on the plains — and he takes you out onto the porch to watch the sunset. The wind is picking up and it blows your dress against your body until you shiver. 

“Do you see the lightning starting all the way in the west, beauty?”

He wraps his arm around your waist from behind and props his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes. What about it?”

“It means you're supposed to give me a kiss for good luck, or else the storm will keep going for days.”

“You're lying.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You know all my traditions and beliefs then?”

“No…”

“So give me a kiss, beauty. You don't want the thunder to bring the sky down on us, do you?”

He turns you around to face him, his hands on your hips. “Well? I'm waiting.”

You frown at him and then at the sky. You hate storms. You've hated them since you were a girl and lightning set your father's north field on fire. You could smell the smoke for days. 

You aren't superstitious, but what's the harm in a little luck? You stand on your toes and kiss his cheek. He's clean shaven, and his skin is pleasantly smooth. 

“There. You happy now?” you ask. 

He touches the spot you kissed. “You ought to do it again. Just to be sure.”

“Oh, now you're just playing with me. Bet ‘lightning in the west’ isn't a real tradition or belief at all.”

He can't hide his smile. “No, it isn't. But maybe it ought to be, because I definitely feel lucky.”

“You're terrible.”

“The worst,” he agrees. “You should keep kissing me, beauty. That will really show me the error of my ways.”

His long hair stirs in the breeze and when he smiles, his hazel eyes catch the light of the setting sun. He's beautiful. If he were anyone else, you wouldn't have minded kissing him at all. 

Thunders cracks overhead, terribly close. You jump, your fingers knotting in his shirt without realising. He pulls you closer to him on instinct and sighs when he feels your heart.

“Did that scare you, beauty?”

You nod against his chest. 

“Come inside then. These storms pass quick. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

It isn't long after you're inside that the storm starts in earnest. With a huge boom of thunder, the clouds burst and rain lashes against the windows. You wrap your arms around yourself — the rain brings a terrible chill with it. 

The gas lights burn low and you yelp when lightning lights up the whole parlour. The wrangler fiddles with the gramophone for a second or two before soft music starts to play. A waltz, if you can trust your country girl knowledge. 

“Take it easy, beauty.” The wrangler takes your hand in his and pulls you closer to him. His shirt is soft cotton, and he smells like soap and pine. “You're safe with me, no matter what.”

Are you really? He stole you away. He's just as guilty as the others. No matter how tender he is, he's still an outlaw. 

You don't know much dancing, but your ma wanted you to be raised a proper lady. Moving through a simple box step waltz with the wrangler makes you think of those late Sunday lessons of hers. She'd make you and your pa dance together, the old man grumbling all the while.

“Do you ever miss home?” you ask the wrangler.

“All the time.”

Thunder rumbles again, and he pulls you a little closer, until your head is on his shoulder and you're breathing in the scent of his skin. 

“I miss home too,” you say, “I wish I knew if my family is holding out fine.”

He's quiet for a long time. He moves through the steps with a dangerous sort of grace, his arm loose around your waist. The rain hammers at the glass but the music goes on playing.

“They're still looking for you,” he says at last. “That sheriff is like a mad dog with a bone.”

You jerk to a standstill, your eyes wide. This is the first news you've had since they took you. 

“They're looking for me?”

“Of course they are. Who wouldn't want you back?”

He drums his fingers against your back until you start dancing again. If they’re still looking for you, then it means your pa is alive and well. Only the old man could get the sheriff so worked up about something. 

“There's a deputy who seems to care a whole lot about you, too. Who is he?”

It takes a second to register who the wrangler is asking about.

“The neighbour's son,” you say, “We used to be friends when we were young.”

“He loves you.”

“You think so? We haven't spoken in years.”

The wrangler scoffs, an oddly mocking sound from someone usually so calm. 

“I loved you before I even met you. That boy is probably head over heels.” He spins you around. “He's headed for an early grave if he doesn't stop looking for you soon.”

That chills you straight to the bone. “You'll kill him? He's harmless!”

“Trying to find you and take you away is more than enough reason. I don't want to, beauty. Trust me, I don't like the thought much either.” He comes to a standstill and presses his palm flat against your lower back. “The boss doesn't want us telling you anything. And he's right. You shouldn't care what happens in the outside world. Your old life is dead and buried, gone the day we took you.”

You don't like looking in his eyes. Maybe it's the dark and the storm, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you. But his usual kindness is long gone. 

“You belong here, beauty. With us. With me. There's nothing and no one else for you, you get that?”

You shake your head slowly. The music is winding down and you can hear the thunder coming closer. 

“Why? Why can't you just let me go?”

“Because I love you, beauty. You would tempt even a saint.”

He tilts your chin up towards him, one arm still around your waist. 

“I love you, beautiful girl. Sinner that I am, how was I supposed to resist you?”

You want to cry. How can love be so heartless? How can he love you and still keep you trapped here? And worst of all — why does a small part of you feel soft and tender when it comes to him?

He drops his head until his lips are hovering above yours. You're in the heart of the storm, now. No running from it, no hiding. 

“Say it back,” he whispers. “Say you love me too.”

“I…”

How can you love him? Love any of them? They're monsters. Killers. Thieves. Outlaws. 

“Say it, wiwaśteka.”

“I can't. I won't.”

He stays hunched over you, his breathing soft and even. You wouldn't dare have refused if it was the boss or the gunslingers. But lying to them comes easy. Not so with the Lakota. 

“I can't,” you say again. “What kind of woman would I be if I loved any of you?”

“I see.” He presses his lips to yours for a second, his touch soft and slow. “Best get yourself along to bed, beauty. The weather is no good for you.”

When he pulls away, you can't read his face. You feel cold when he lets go of you.

“I'm sorry,” you murmur. You can't say the rest; that you would have loved him easy, if he wasn't such a difficult man to love. If he hadn't split you open on his cock and then kissed the blood away. 

“Don't be.” There's a sardonic tilt to his smile. “I don't know what I was expecting.”

When you turn to leave, he doesn't follow you. 

You curl up in bed and listen to the rain. You're drifting off when you hear his boots on the steps. The door to your room opens quietly and he stands there for a while, watching you.

When he finally crosses the room and sits on the edge of your bed, you pretend to still be asleep. He takes his boots off slowly. You can smell the tang of whiskey on him, and since he doesn't drink that often you aren't sure what to expect. 

He doesn't do anything terrible. He just climbs under the sheets and curls an arm around your belly. His breath is cool against the back of your neck. 

you wait for the door’s bell. when it comes, you give yourself a few seconds and fix your hair before walking to the door. you can’t make it seem like you’d been waiting, that’d be ridiculous. suddenly your thoughts of changing your clothes because it’s a bit too chilly pass your mind when you see him. like lava streams in your blood, you warm up to a casual nanami. a pretty man dressed in a gray sweatshirt that painfully compliments his skin showed up timely to spend time with his girlfriend on valentine’s, you could faint!

“hello. picked up flowers on the way, these are for you.” he tilts the bouquet, your favorite, towards you gently, grinning warmly, making his eyes squint. you swear you could eat his face. 

“thank you, thank you!” you’re handed the flowers as he steps closer to you, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you take them, inhaling the floral aroma mixed with his peppery and woody cologne.

“i love them, but you didn’t have to, really.”

“it’s valentine’s day and the least i could do.” same soft smile on his lips. 

you smile, too hard, at his gesture and move to the side to let him in. he kicks off his shoes as you quickly close and lock the front door, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter. 

“it’s not too hot in here, i hope.” 

“it’s just fine,” he offhandedly observes the room, an appreciation for what you’ve done to the place. he tugs at his sleeves and rolls them up, revealing strong forearms. jesus christ. you snap out of your gaze and rush to sit at the couch, a thick blanket and a couple of fluffy pillows decorated the comfy space. rich chocolate and drinks already set at the coffee-table, and his favorite desserts from a bakery? you pat at the spot next to you and hold back a giggle when he sits next to you. his black pants spreading neatly over his thighs, your eyes carefully wandering to the seam of the zipper, your mouth pooling. 

“here, get comfy.” you toss the large pull-over on the both of you, taking in the sight of him, shuffling closer to you and warming up to the blanket around him. 

“quite a fine home you’ve got, it’s extremely cozy.” he throws an arm over you. 

“i try. it’s not usually this… tidy.”

“what? you’re trying to impress me?” he teases. 

“it’s your first time over, i wanna make you feel good an’ comfy.” 

“well, it’s working.” he smooths his hand over your hot cheek, the metal of his ringed index finger brushing over you.

you spend the remaining time opening chocolate and bakery boxes, feeding each other and occasionally kissing while a movie plays in the background. you hope for any move during the time he’s with you, any move at all. maybe a lingering kiss. it’s so distracting the way the shadows of the dark room and light source from the tv brighten his sharp features. you’re leaning into his warm chest as his fingers graze over your exposed thighs, sipping the wine you bought that he surprisingly, and thankfully, really enjoyed. 

another scene of the characters just talking and spilling lore, he sets the half-full glass down and focuses on you. eyes on the screen but his palm has splayed to soothe and grope over your thigh. he notices your obedience, spreading your legs just by the tiniest bit. his slips his hand into your inner thigh and that’s where you roll your body slowly. 

his eyes are now on you, and your bodies mingled under the sheet as you watch the movie. mmm, thank god you wore thin shorts and a random t-shirt. you feel as his fingers graze over your thinly covered cunt, tips coming down to rub your clit. your gaze stays straight but you don’t focus, you’re unable too.

“c’mere,” nanami fixes your slouched posture so you sit with your back on his chest, your legs open and pliable for him to touch and grope at your body. 

“kento.” you mumble, dazed, when his hand slides underneath your damp panties to tease at your folds. 

“mhm, you’re so beautiful.” he sniffs at your hair as his other hand grips under your bra to hold and fondle your breast. the wine was really getting to you both. a sudden pulse at your lower back as he grinds gently into you, how tight had his pants gotten? 

finally, finally, he got his hands on you. even under a blanket, you look down to watch the fabric move in waves as he rubbed your most sensitive parts, the alcohol heightening your senses. skilled hands pacing gentle but greedy circles on your buds as you gripped the remote. you appreciate his sexual activity, it’s just so much more aggressive than you thought he ever could be. his sweet words and gestures all hid his intrusive and perverse actions.

“god, i need to feel you.” he highlights his eagerness with an extra squeeze. you pathetically push the blanket off the couch and with trembling hands, you move yourself to face him. he lays himself down as you sit on his lap. you moan quietly when you feel him against your soiled shorts, bucking your hips down to get more of the twitching sensation below his belt. humping the fat chub under his pants, you craved it more than anything.

“uh-huh, that’s good. baby, you’re so good to me. that’s it.” his hands hold a bruising grip on your hips as you grind slowly but firmly on his hard cock. 

“couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he groans when you rub your fat cunt directly on his tip, “this pretty body on mine, you’re so fucking hard to resist.” his cursing going right to your achy clit. you hop off and watch him violently take his belt off, switching your spots and filling the void between your legs with his hips. pulling his sweater off and tossing it as you do the same with your top. his pale skin so handsome and soft with his softer muscles and a layer of fat on his stomach from eating all his favorite breads. so sexy, you wrap your legs around his waist. you shake your head at the condom he pulls out from his pocket. 

“needa feel you, your cock in me, please. don’t want anything between us, kento, please please. it’s valentine’s, let me do this for you.” 

“perfect girl, you’re gonna kill me.” but he complies, gladly tossing the latex and pulling the confinements of his cock down. you whine at his contents. big and hard, the first time you’ve seen this part of him. you love it, he hasn’t even fucked you and you already love it, love him. 

you nod aggressively when he lines his chubby, weeping tip against your soppy pussy. letting it catch a few times as he rocks back and forth, the moves of his sexy hips making you throb. he fulfills his own fantasies of his raw cock on his beautiful girl’s wet cunt whilst she begs for him to fill her up and make her his. 

“you want it, sweetheart?”

“more than anything, yes yes yes.” 

“no protection, nothing protecting you? you sure, love? it’s risky.”

“don’t care. i’ll have your babies if you want to, if i have to – jus’ give it to me.” 

“mmm, babies, huh… you sure that’s not the wine talking?” sick, even if it wasn’t the lust from being slightly tipsy, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop himself.

you could cry with all the teasing he’s doing but you lose your breath when he pushes himself into your perfect, tight cunt. all his. he takes your limp and delicate upper frame to his advantage and undoes your bra. nanami rolls himself deeper into you as he watches your pretty tits bounce with every move. 

“so good, ken, thank you..!” as he presses himself into the depths of your cunt. you're unbelievably tight and so warm when he bottoms out as far as he can without really breaking you in. 

he’s slow, eager and certainly not collected as he usually is but he takes his time to fuck you. you’re so drunk on lust and sex that you just agree to whatever he says. his pretty girl wants to be all his? have his kids? marry him and be taken care of and fucked so good daily? you nod and babble to all of it. as he speeds up, his sloppy kisses and skilled tongue on your nipples slow and he concentrates on making you both come. the movie ended a while ago and the rooms filled with groans and moans, sloppy and slippery squelches and slaps. 

his kisses his thumb wet and massages little circles into your sensitive clit. you writhe at not only the delicious friction but how you tighten up again around his cock, stretching you out all over again. 

“close, i’m close. keep fucking me, kento, yes, mhm. yesyesyes..” you jump at the overwhelming, intense orgasm and milk out every single ribbon of creamy cum into you. growling and furrowing his dark brows as he creams directly at your cervix. 

“good, good girl.” he snaps through his teeth as he finishes inside you. smoothing his hand over your pelvis and under your naval. gasping and panting as you both collect yourselves. he sinks down to rub his sweating face into your neck, kissing you gently again as you pull and stroke his blonde locks. ending such a day with all his love! <3

happy valentine's day you FREAKS

you wait for the door’s bell. when it comes, you give yourself a few seconds and fix your hair before walking to the door. you can’t make it seem like you’d been waiting, that’d be ridiculous. suddenly your thoughts of changing your clothes because it’s a bit too chilly pass your mind when you see him. like lava streams in your blood, you warm up to a casual nanami. a pretty man dressed in a gray sweatshirt that painfully compliments his skin showed up timely to spend time with his girlfriend on valentine’s, you could faint!

“hello. picked up flowers on the way, these are for you.” he tilts the bouquet, your favorite, towards you gently, grinning warmly, making his eyes squint. you swear you could eat his face. 

“thank you, thank you!” you’re handed the flowers as he steps closer to you, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you take them, inhaling the floral aroma mixed with his peppery and woody cologne.

“i love them, but you didn’t have to, really.”

“it’s valentine’s day and the least i could do.” same soft smile on his lips. 

you smile, too hard, at his gesture and move to the side to let him in. he kicks off his shoes as you quickly close and lock the front door, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter. 

“it’s not too hot in here, i hope.” 

“it’s just fine,” he offhandedly observes the room, an appreciation for what you’ve done to the place. he tugs at his sleeves and rolls them up, revealing strong forearms. jesus christ. you snap out of your gaze and rush to sit at the couch, a thick blanket and a couple of fluffy pillows decorated the comfy space. rich chocolate and drinks already set at the coffee-table, and his favorite desserts from a bakery? you pat at the spot next to you and hold back a giggle when he sits next to you. his black pants spreading neatly over his thighs, your eyes carefully wandering to the seam of the zipper, your mouth pooling. 

“here, get comfy.” you toss the large pull-over on the both of you, taking in the sight of him, shuffling closer to you and warming up to the blanket around him. 

“quite a fine home you’ve got, it’s extremely cozy.” he throws an arm over you. 

“i try. it’s not usually this… tidy.”

“what? you’re trying to impress me?” he teases. 

“it’s your first time over, i wanna make you feel good an’ comfy.” 

“well, it’s working.” he smooths his hand over your hot cheek, the metal of his ringed index finger brushing over you.

you spend the remaining time opening chocolate and bakery boxes, feeding each other and occasionally kissing while a movie plays in the background. you hope for any move during the time he’s with you, any move at all. maybe a lingering kiss. it’s so distracting the way the shadows of the dark room and light source from the tv brighten his sharp features. you’re leaning into his warm chest as his fingers graze over your exposed thighs, sipping the wine you bought that he surprisingly, and thankfully, really enjoyed. 

another scene of the characters just talking and spilling lore, he sets the half-full glass down and focuses on you. eyes on the screen but his palm has splayed to soothe and grope over your thigh. he notices your obedience, spreading your legs just by the tiniest bit. his slips his hand into your inner thigh and that’s where you roll your body slowly. 

his eyes are now on you, and your bodies mingled under the sheet as you watch the movie. mmm, thank god you wore thin shorts and a random t-shirt. you feel as his fingers graze over your thinly covered cunt, tips coming down to rub your clit. your gaze stays straight but you don’t focus, you’re unable too.

“c’mere,” nanami fixes your slouched posture so you sit with your back on his chest, your legs open and pliable for him to touch and grope at your body. 

“kento.” you mumble, dazed, when his hand slides underneath your damp panties to tease at your folds. 

“mhm, you’re so beautiful.” he sniffs at your hair as his other hand grips under your bra to hold and fondle your breast. the wine was really getting to you both. a sudden pulse at your lower back as he grinds gently into you, how tight had his pants gotten? 

finally, finally, he got his hands on you. even under a blanket, you look down to watch the fabric move in waves as he rubbed your most sensitive parts, the alcohol heightening your senses. skilled hands pacing gentle but greedy circles on your buds as you gripped the remote. you appreciate his sexual activity, it’s just so much more aggressive than you thought he ever could be. his sweet words and gestures all hid his intrusive and perverse actions.

“god, i need to feel you.” he highlights his eagerness with an extra squeeze. you pathetically push the blanket off the couch and with trembling hands, you move yourself to face him. he lays himself down as you sit on his lap. you moan quietly when you feel him against your soiled shorts, bucking your hips down to get more of the twitching sensation below his belt. humping the fat chub under his pants, you craved it more than anything.

“uh-huh, that’s good. baby, you’re so good to me. that’s it.” his hands hold a bruising grip on your hips as you grind slowly but firmly on his hard cock. 

“couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he groans when you rub your fat cunt directly on his tip, “this pretty body on mine, you’re so fucking hard to resist.” his cursing going right to your achy clit. you hop off and watch him violently take his belt off, switching your spots and filling the void between your legs with his hips. pulling his sweater off and tossing it as you do the same with your top. his pale skin so handsome and soft with his softer muscles and a layer of fat on his stomach from eating all his favorite breads. so sexy, you wrap your legs around his waist. you shake your head at the condom he pulls out from his pocket. 

“needa feel you, your cock in me, please. don’t want anything between us, kento, please please. it’s valentine’s, let me do this for you.” 

“perfect girl, you’re gonna kill me.” but he complies, gladly tossing the latex and pulling the confinements of his cock down. you whine at his contents. big and hard, the first time you’ve seen this part of him. you love it, he hasn’t even fucked you and you already love it, love him. 

you nod aggressively when he lines his chubby, weeping tip against your soppy pussy. letting it catch a few times as he rocks back and forth, the moves of his sexy hips making you throb. he fulfills his own fantasies of his raw cock on his beautiful girl’s wet cunt whilst she begs for him to fill her up and make her his. 

“you want it, sweetheart?”

“more than anything, yes yes yes.” 

“no protection, nothing protecting you? you sure, love? it’s risky.”

“don’t care. i’ll have your babies if you want to, if i have to – jus’ give it to me.” 

“mmm, babies, huh… you sure that’s not the wine talking?” sick, even if it wasn’t the lust from being slightly tipsy, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop himself.

you could cry with all the teasing he’s doing but you lose your breath when he pushes himself into your perfect, tight cunt. all his. he takes your limp and delicate upper frame to his advantage and undoes your bra. nanami rolls himself deeper into you as he watches your pretty tits bounce with every move. 

“so good, ken, thank you..!” as he presses himself into the depths of your cunt. you're unbelievably tight and so warm when he bottoms out as far as he can without really breaking you in. 

he’s slow, eager and certainly not collected as he usually is but he takes his time to fuck you. you’re so drunk on lust and sex that you just agree to whatever he says. his pretty girl wants to be all his? have his kids? marry him and be taken care of and fucked so good daily? you nod and babble to all of it. as he speeds up, his sloppy kisses and skilled tongue on your nipples slow and he concentrates on making you both come. the movie ended a while ago and the rooms filled with groans and moans, sloppy and slippery squelches and slaps. 

his kisses his thumb wet and massages little circles into your sensitive clit. you writhe at not only the delicious friction but how you tighten up again around his cock, stretching you out all over again. 

“close, i’m close. keep fucking me, kento, yes, mhm. yesyesyes..” you jump at the overwhelming, intense orgasm and milk out every single ribbon of creamy cum into you. growling and furrowing his dark brows as he creams directly at your cervix. 

“good, good girl.” he snaps through his teeth as he finishes inside you. smoothing his hand over your pelvis and under your naval. gasping and panting as you both collect yourselves. he sinks down to rub his sweating face into your neck, kissing you gently again as you pull and stroke his blonde locks. ending such a day with all his love! <3

happy valentine's day you FREAKS