#tw!kidnapping

he doesn’t understand what you say most of the time, leaning his temple against his curled fist as he watches you huff and puff around the cabin he calls home, mouthing off about one thing or another. so unalike the first day he brought you, shivering like a leaf on a windy day, mute and demure, unsure of what a burly man like him would want from you.

you are cultures and languages away from understanding each other, but he had nowhere else to keep you once the high of war faded away and he came to his senses. kiyoomi was supposed to be practical man; his fellow warriors at the tavern suggested he passed you to them if he got bored (women were always appreciated under men’s roofs, for all and any reason in the desolate wilderness of these mountains) but as the days passed you slowly broke out of your shell, and he soon began coming home to dusted shelves and clean linen. he decided to keep you around, if for just a while to see what else you could do.

kiyoomi is also a very meticulous man; has always been—a stark contrast to the dirt-smeared men with questionable hygiene he would turn his nose up at, the sort of men wives sniffle about their lack of sensibility at the community bakehouse. he takes pride in order and tidiness, and knows the ins and outs of his own home. and for him, routine states that everything should be put in strategic order. but now, things are all over the place and he thinks he might be beginning to hallucinate, because that item over there was supposed to be elsewhere, and he cannot find—

you come out of the outdoor storeroom, with baskets full of things out-of-place, and kiyoomi’s head spins. he stomps across the house and through the door where you stand, hoping he doesn’t seem as affronted as he feels, and grabs the offending baskets out of your surprised hands. you look at him as if he’s grown another head, taken back by what you understand is an irritated rant, watching him put away his items the way he wants them in his house. you huff irately behind his turned back, ignoring his grumbling as you dust your hands on a tattered apron you’ve found in a corner of his house. also his.

kiyoomi sees the way you look at him, as if he was odd. he wants to understand what you’re doing, why you are turning the house upside down when everything is fine, but he feels that he would be unable to get his point across unless he shook you by the shoulders until you stopped your nonsense. but kiyoomi has had little experience with women, even less with strange women from foreign lands, and something stops him from stooping low and treating you in a way that might be discourteous by any standards, whether yours of his. he recognises the nagging guilt of having towed an innocent woman away from her home, regardless of if it was common practice for warring men like him to regularly partake in raids and looting of enemy lands at the orders of their lords. pinching his brows, he silently prays thanks to good fortunes that he hasn’t done anything else that would be irreversible.

you both sleep in the same room. kiyoomi’s house is modest; he is a bachelor who often stays away due to the call of battle, but he likes to think that his room is comfortable enough to host another person. his own bedding is large enough to accommodate the length of his limbs, and your own is comprised of softer linens he had stored away, for any guests he might have had. but kiyoomi hardly has people over, and oftentimes he wakes up in the middle of the darkness to someone else’s breathing in the comfort of his room. it takes time getting used to, and sometimes he feels like he has an overstaying guest over, until you open your mouth and sharply complain about one thing or another. or at least he thinks you are complaining.

the fact that neither of you can understand each other slowly drives him up the wall, and he lays awake at night, thinking of whether this is all truly worth the headache, keeping you here—if he should just pass you on to another house; after all, helping hands would be appreciated elsewhere—but he also thinks about how he can make the best of the situation. and again, kiyoomi is a practical man, so he begins to point out certain items around the house, and repeats their name, slowly and clearly, until you enunciate well enough for him to move on to the next item.

“soap.”

“soap.”

“my soap. and don’t move it from here. please.”

“please.” you giggle behind his back, but he rolls his eyes and continues as he goes around tidying up the corners of the house. all is well and in order, until he gets to his battle gear. you questioningly peek over his broad shoulders when he stills for a moment too long, until your eyes lands on his armour.

kiyoomi quietly observes the change in your expression through his long lashes, saying nothing when your mood visibly drops. he can almost feel the sad lump in your throat, and your lips part as if to say something, but you press them together contemplatively, opting to stay quiet. sunlight shines through the window next to you, warming the gear leather he set out earlier to maintain, but he forgets about it in favour of turning his attention to you. the rays illuminate the hovering particles around you, and in the moment, he thinks they make you look soft and forlorn.

you are a pretty woman, kiyoomi muses, eyes following the arch of your brows to the slope of your nose. even the displeased press of your lips look lovely, and his hand lifts from his side with the intention of caressing the soft curve of your cheek, until you slowly look up to him with a resentful glare, acidic words piercing the silence and breaking the illusion. tender strings pull on kiyoomi’s heart as you turn away from him, the hateful stomps of your feet taking you away from him and creating a distance he didn’t think he would start to hate.

the house turns colder over the next few days. you start finding larger morsels of bread on your plate, fresh berries by your pillow in the mornings. and though kiyoomi has always done the heavier and more difficult work like wood-cutting, you find that even most of the smaller chores have also been done (like scrubbing clothes by the cold river) leaving you with some of the more relaxing tasks. you realise this because the irate man—who had taken you away from your home—has always kept an eye on you as you went around his house keeping yourself busy, and you’ve ignored his raised brow when you would snuggle in a cozy corner to slow down and do more delicate tasks like mending clothes. there is something comforting in the familiar, repeated movement of sewing, taking your mind off of other upsetting things, instead reminding yourself of what was, before you got here.

kiyoomi leaves you be, mind easing as you take to thread and needle by the sunny corner of his lodgements. it is definitely the guilt driving his mind and limbs to get menial work out of the way of your comfort, but he doesn’t mind, seeing the way your eyebrow relaxes and then frowns in concentration. the realisation that he wants to care for you is not lost on him; he wants to do more. he wants you to look at him, turn your chin in his direction wherever he goes, and lord help him, he wants your attention for himself. there is something rising fast within him—a need to monopolise you.

but you already have. she is yours. a despicable voice in his mind whispers, and kiyoomi tightens his curled fists, willing the crescent of his nails against his palms to distract him from the fast throbbing of his pulse, his mind daring him to act on the growing desire in his heart.

he takes it to the nearest tavern instead, braving the cold gusts to clear his mind. the air inside is stuffy, and the drink he orders does a quick job of warming him up again when he settles. he doesn’t speak nor socialise, instead letting the surrounding conversation flow through his ears to stop his treacherous mind from drifting into territory he would rather avoid. he doesn’t want to think about the consequences of certain thoughts, washing away everything with another sip of his drink.

“—yeah but you see, and who will they run off to? they are way less trouble than the lasses from the village.”

kiyoomi catches the tail of a conversation, not really paying attention.

“…and they picked some sturdy ones from the loot. the lord kept some of the better ones for labour… but some of the men were given other women for their effort…”

he grimaces, the drink making his tongue bitter.

“…my wife doesn’t live with me anymore… and these girls are better at doing all the house maintenance. so i borrowed one to come over to… she looked young and a bit testy, so i—“

blurred images unwillingly flood his mind. slamming his unfinished mug on the wood, kiyoomi stands when the conversation takes a grisly turn too close for comfort, exiting the establishment into the darkness of the evening to return to the comfort of his own house. except you are there, standing by the door when he enters, candle illuminating your frown. the cold air from the open door blows your (his) wayward shawl, and you shiver through the thin layers of your night clothes.

he stands towering over you like a shadow, neck bent and dark curls falling over his eyes. maybe it is the homey atmosphere under the candlelight, but your pinched brows remind him of a wife waiting for her wayward husband. he thinks you look cute, and instinct makes him stroke the space between your eyebrows. you step back in surprise, and the wide-eyed look you give him through your lashes makes desire overtake his being. he wants you. he wants to make you his! he wants to be the only man to touch you, to be the only one to have rights over you. to touch the skin hidden under all the layers keeping you from him. to take your heat from himself, your lips on him, the soft sounds you would make for him only—

he briefly comes to reality when one of your hands grips his wrist, blunt nails digging into his skin. the wrist connected to the hand on your neck, his large palm covering your thundering pulse. you’re looking at him with parted lips, an unsure look in your eyes, but the small touch you give him burns him, and he throws all reason out of the door, pushing you back with his larger frame. you nearly stumble on the wooden floor, bare feet stepping on his boots, grabbing on the lapels of his coat so you don’t fall back.

kiyoomi’s lips are on yours in a searing hot kiss, sealing away any regrets and melting into a relief he thinks a thirsty man in hot lands would feel when he reaches an oasis. he ignores your gasps and swallows any words you might utter, dragging his wet tongue against yours, then on the outline of your lips. you taste so sweet, and he wants to consume you whole, take everything you have to offer.

his hands run down your heated skin, pressing your body to his tightly, closing any gaps for doubts of his intentions as his hands gather and bundle your long layers of skirt to grope at the flesh of your thighs. you squeal in his ear as he moves to press open-mouthed kisses to your neck, sucking and biting every time you pull on his hair in shaky breaths. you say something tensely to him, but he’s too occupied with the soft skin of your throat, until he feels the uncomfortable tightness in his trousers pressing against your stomach.

kiyoomi takes a moment in his madness to take a look at you; your wobbly chin and wet eyes look so pretty to him as you still hold on his black curls in tight fists, and he knows he wants you desperately this instant.

“you can hold me properly in a moment.”

you look like you’re about to say something until he pulls your dress off, and in the chill of his chambers, your hands fly up to save any remaining modesty you can salvage.

“no—let me see you,” he says desperately, pushing your wrists away from your body. he’s unable to tear his eyes away from the sway of your tits when you try to pull away, but kiyoomi is too far gone, a man lost too deep in his desires. he will make you his, and please you until you forget everything else; about the home you were forced to leave and the worries that cross your mind when you frown at him.

he traps your wrists behind your back in one hand, pushing you down on the bedding laid out underneath, your knees knocking against his and pressing on his sides. your breathy whines fill the room as he deliriously takes your nipple in his mouth, his hot tongue lapping at your sensitive nerves. you try to wriggle away from his attentions and ticklish touches, tears streaming down the sides of your face. kiyoomi drags himself down to your navel, which rises and falls with your shallow breaths, hiccups escaping your parted, wet lips. he thinks you looks ravishing, body quivering and trembling under him, chest pushed out over your trapped hands and nipples stiff in the quickly warming room. you try pressing your knees together, wriggling nervously with his face so close to the apex of your thighs. you’re repeating something under your breath, but he doesn’t understand what you say, and with the smell of your arousal so close, he loses his senses. 

though deep down he knows it isn’t true, he thinks it’s partially your fault for being so alluring. when did this start? kiyoomi can’t tell right from left and beginning from end, and he lets go of your wrists to part your thighs and expose your hot cunt to his prying eyes. your hands fly to cover yourself and to press against his forehead, looking down at him through the valley of your breasts with eyes desperately relaying something.

but he has run out of patience with your trembling cries, so he bites your fingers. when you take them away by surprise, he takes the chance to bury his nose into the fragrance of your folds, tongue lapping at your dripping cunt like a starved man. he hears you crying at this point, but your arousal is evident to him by the musk coating his tongue, and he presses inside of you, tasting as much as he can until the point of suffocation.

the wind wildly knocks on the window, drowned out by the wet slurping of kiyoomi’s insistent efforts. your thighs tremble around his head, feet pressing into his clothed back. when your rising whimpers alert him of your mounting peak, he slurps and sucks until your high-pitched moan breaks into the steamy room, body twitching and hips swaying against his tongue as he aids you through your high.

kiyoomi backs away for a moment to take you in; tremors wrack your body as you try to suppress any further noise by covering your mouth, with your glistening cunt exposed to him, your cum dripping out in pearly drops onto the linen underneath. he takes this moment to rid himself of his own clothes, and you watch from the corner of your eyes as his battle scars and hard muscle are exposed to the dimming candle. you knew this man was a soldier, but some of these scars still look fresh.

he notices your staring. “they are of no consequence. they won’t stop me.”

he sees your gears turning to say something witty he imagines, but he drags your body down with strong arms until he is directly over you, curls falling around his eyes and onto his damp forehead. burdened with the intense gaze he keeps on you, you focus on the beauty spots under his eye instead, jolting when your hands graze something hot. and hard.

he observes your dumbfounded expression with a shaky exhale as he intertwines your fingers with his on his leaking cock, dragging your hands along its length as he lets out shivering breaths. he’s tainting your skin with his own arousal, the thought lighting a fire below his navel. his cock falls heavily on your still wet cunt when he lets go, and kiyoomi sees you starting to shy away again, pressing your palms on his chest as he slowly drags his tip along your folds.

you say something desperately to him, almost on the verge of tears again, but he’s already pushing past the initial resistance of your heat, and he sees you struggling to breathe.

“shh… relax. i will make you feel good.” you’re shaking your head, but the soft gasps and sobs escaping your lips are immensely sweet to his ears, he decides he wants to hear more. so he pushes himself all the way inside you, the heat of your tight cunt making him lose composure as he takes a moment to gather himself.

you’re gripping his forearms, nails digging red crescents into his skin, and he peppers kisses all over your face in an attempt to sooth your tense visage

“let me take care of you.” he shushes you before beginning to move, slowly dragging his hips back until he sheaths himself up to his balls again, over and over, until he’s panting over you and you’re crying, begging please, please in his language. a greedy heat blooms in kiyoomi’s chest at your beseech. you feel so unbelievably good, that whatever guilt he was previously feeling melts away between your bodies until he’s forgotten all about his previous worries. 

the wet slapping of his hips has his ears turning red, as he looks down to your tear-streaked face and curled fists with a certain fondness. he wants to hear your sweet moans, but choked out words escape your lips instead, and in irritation he flips you on your side, pressing his cock into your sweet cunt from another angle, one of your legs raised above his shoulder.

you’re drooling on his pillow by now but he pays no mind, instead trailing his fingers along your thigh to press into the bundle of nerves of your clit, and your strained moans fill the room again. the light of the flickering candle cast moving shadows on the walls in an imitation of your acts. kiyoomi thinks he’s close now and he feels you are too, so with a few drags of his hips and the insistent rubbing of his thumb over your swollen clit, he comes undone when you wetly tighten around him. your hips thrash under his hold, but he keeps his cock still inside you, releasing his cum in the heat of your body.

you’re both sweating profusely now, room reeking of arousal. kiyoomi watches over your collapsed body on his knees, coming down to wipe away your forehead with the back of his fingers. “i told you to let me take care of you.” he coos at your whimpers and teary eyes. “rest now, and let me handle everything else.” 

still seeing white, you’re too exhausted to say anything when he rolls you on your stomach, his hands sliding up your back, pressing into your sore muscles and loosening them under the ministrations of his long fingers. your knees twitch when you feel something wet at the hole of your cunt again, heavy breaths and whispered pleas muffled against the pillow under you.