#handjobs steve

LIVE

Summary:Your mind blanked, and thank god that it did, because the risky decision you made may have saved your life.

Words: 1682

A/N: It came to me in a dream, and I’m sorry.@strikecommandher you should remember this one I decided to put this sin out there, JUST BECAUSE

WARNINGS: handporn, dub/non-con, graphic violence, minor character deaths, THIS MAN IS A SERIAL KILLER I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU EXPECT

For whatever reason, you’re alive. Despite everything that had happened, you’re alive. Not a single speck of blood in sight could betray what had just transpired in your home. Your family is dead, burned and disintegrated, their bodies less than dust at this point. But not you. He let you live. You stare through the tears at the man holding your hands, running them gently across his cheeks with his own. He purrs almost like a cat as he uses your fingers to massage his temples and scratch his neck –your skin crawls as he buries his face in your palm and inhales.

“So soft,” you hear him mumble against your skin. “What might I call you, young lady?”

Your lip trembles as you hold back a sob. What is happening? Who is this man? You glance at the front door, hanging crooked by a single hinge, and feel your hope of overpowering him drain away. He did that with his bare hands –you tried not to imagine what he’d do to you with that strength. When your answer takes too long, his grip on your arm tightens –his uncanny gentleness replaced by a firm, angry tone. “Your name. Come now, I’m being polite.”

“(Y-Y/n),” you manage, and he smiles.

“Wonderful. See that wasn’t so hard, was it (Y/n)? My name is Yoshikage Kira. Nice to meet you.“

You force yourself to nod, despite the absurdity of his casual greeting.

His attention once again drifts to your hands, firmly locked into his own. Gentle fingers brush over the back of your hand, tracing the peaks and dips of your knuckles with –what you would almost call– loving fascination. You’re crying, but your sobs die down at his touch. Kira’s eyes are soft, and for a moment you forget this man is a monster. The adoration is genuine and you don’t know how to react.

“We’ll make such a lovely pair,” he muses aloud.

His gaze reluctantly moves away from your tangled fingers, and as it lands on your face, your heart begins to race. He looks cold: all that warmth you sensed before is gone, replaced by dark intent and purpose. You realize he’s going to kill you. Before you fully grasp the consequences of your actions, you carefully return the hold he has on your hands. Kira pauses, sneaking a quick glance downwards. You run your fingers across his palm, tracing imaginative shaped across his skin. He shivers, and you feel like you’ve done something right, though you’re not sure what.

“What are you doing?”

There’s a faint tremble to his voice, and you take it as a cue to continue. You go out on a limb, bringing his hands to your lips. You pause, eyes darting to his face –you’re met with a bold blush and a glazed over expression, unreadable but not angry. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths. You cup your palms around his and kiss the tips of his fingers, one by one. Your cheeks burn as your lips trace over the sides of his digits, soft smooches echoing into the quiet of your apartment.

A loud, uninhibited moan breaks the silence as your tongue drags across his middle finger. You panic as he shoves two digits into your mouth, until his free hands comes to rest on your head.

“Ssh ssssshh,” he soothes, petting your hair. You relax. There’s doubt in his actions as he presses his fingers deeper into your mouth, tentatively scissoring them against your slick tongue. He seems conflicted. “What do I do with you?” Kira sighs out.

You let out a hum, sucking on the digits between your lips. A bad move, it turns out. He curls his fingers, hooking them behind your teeth. Nails dig into your gums and you whine out in protest, before a sharp pain in the back of your head causes your vision to go hazy. Your ears ache at the monotonous ringing that invades your senses. Something warm and wet drips down your neck, but you feel colder by the second. You sink down, head smacking against the tiled kitchen floor. Everything goes black.

You’re alive. After all that, you’re still alive. You awake in a room that is not your own, in a house you don’t recognize. The morning sun shines brightly on the wooden flooring. A radio plays in the distance and the noise has you reeling. A headache nags in the back of your head and, as you reach up to sooth the dizzying feeling in your skull, you notice a wound has been cleaned and dressed. Then you remember. Cold sweat forms on your brow as you realize the situation you’re in: he took you.

You try to stand, finding yourself on shaky footing but able to move. He dressed you in a short nightgown, you notice, and you feel your stomach drop. What else did he do while you were unconscious? A brief wave of panic comes over you, your hand diving into your panties and cupping your sex. There’s no pain or burning and you relax. You shuffle towards the window, sliding your feet across the floor to avoid making too much noise and alerting your captor. He already knows. Just as you’re about to reach for the sliding doors, you hear a voice come from behind you.

“Ah, you’re awake. Just in time. Let’s have breakfast together, my love.”

It’s been weeks since your disappearance, hell maybe even months. You’re not sure anymore. Kira is the perfect gentleman. He cooks for you, dotes on you and speaks gently when addressing you. Well, your hands anyway. You, as a person, don’t interest him.

“You’re warmer than the others,” he comments, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. The silver chain around your wrist slides towards him, and he hooks a finger underneath it, playing with his gift while he studies the curves of your palm. “Kiss me again, my darling.”

You swallow and run your fingers across his until they meet at the tips, then slide down to lace your hands together. This is his kiss. This is why you’re alive. Kira lets out a content sigh and pulls your hands into his chest, palms flat against him. You feel his heart beat out of control and your fingers curl instinctively. His breath hitches and you do it again, more deliberately. You turn off all common sense, and scoot closer, running your hands up his chest and into the back of his neck. Kira closes his eyes, as he always does, so he doesn’t have to see the person attached to the love of his life.

“Scratch me, my love. Please.”

You do as you’re told, knowing what disobedience would mean for you. He groans, reaching up to guide your movements to his cheeks. You once tried kissing him at this point, which ending in a brutal slap to the face –now you know better. You fingers traveled up towards his scalp, disappearing into his hairline. Kira leaned into your touch, accidentally brushing his hips against you. He was undoubtedly aroused, but you knew this already. His hands make quick work of his belt and trousers, barely pushing them out of the way to release his cock. He all but rips your hands from his face and shoves them towards his arousal. You know what to do: you don’t say a damn word, you pretend you’re not even there and you get him off, no matter what.

By now you know what he likes. You start low, dragging a single finger up the base of his length, making sure to graze it with your nail. His cock twitches in response and you know you’ve hit the spot. Your palm finds the tip, circling around the head with practiced precision. Kira lets out small huffs and moans as you continue your tentative care, eyes screwed shut as he thinks away your existence. You’ve done this a dozen times now, and you know he won’t last long. Your living, warm hand was a step up from what he had before after all.

Then, you make a mistake: Kira’s hand comes down of your own, forcing you to pick up the pace, and you let out a surprise moan. His eyes snap open and you freeze. You ruined his fantasy. Your throat goes dry as you attempt to stutter out an apology: you don’t get the chance, though. A second passes and you find yourself on your back, your captor hovering over you. He has your mouth sealed shut, palm tightly pressed over your lips.

“Be quiet, you. And finish the job.”

You nod, reaching down to grab his cock and continue your good work. You pump his shaft with hesitation, confused as to why he’s still looking at you. His eyes are open, and very much watching you. You decide to ignore it, but the longer you pleasure him, the more intense his stare becomes. A second hand comes up to your face, sliding down your neck where it wraps around your throat. He squeezes, and you produce a muted squeak. Kira presses harder and you feel his hips begin to rock into your hand vigorously. He’s close. You pick up your own pace, jerking your wrist as best you can trapped beneath this monster of a man. You struggle to breathe, feeling the effects of the force on your windpipe. With a thunderous groan, he comes undone, spilling himself into your palm and all over the nightgown he bought you last month. He releases your throat and you gasp for air, only to have it cut off again by a pair of lips. You protest weakly as Kira drives his mouth into yours, but to no avail. Only when you slap him does he return to his senses. He pulls back, seemingly horrified at what he’s done. This means nothing, he thinks, gripping the front of your gown and pulling you up, only to toss you aside.

“Clean yourself up. I’ll prepare dinner.”