2p!England x Reader: How was your sleep?
You were definately sure you had locked all the doors last night, you even took the precaution of bolting shut all your windows. But still he managed to break into your home, just like every other time. That man sure was a creep, a man by the name of Oliver Kirkland.
You were woken up by warm breath on your neck, it began to tickle so you forced your eyes open with a giggle. Your grin was immediately wiped off when you caught sight of who was in your bedroom. Oliver was sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning over you, a cheshire smile stretching his features. His sky blue eyes sparkled at you and his strawberry blond hair was in disarray, probably because of the traps you set up the night earlier.
"How did you manage to get in here?", you inquired as you sat up in bed, tugging your blanket closer to you in an attempt to tip him onto the floor.
"That is not of importance, love", he cooed, reaching over to cup your cheek.
His slender fingers carressed your face as he stared at you wistfully. You let him continue his affectionate actions, stifling a yawn as you looked back at him with lidded eyes. He positioned himself closer to you, mattress sinking as he comfortably sat by your side.
"How was your sleep, ____?", he asked pleasantly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Fine I guess...", you trailed off lazily as you rubbed your eyes. You didn't appreciate Oliver poking at your business like this.
A certain spark twinkled in his eyes and his grin widened horrificly, "Don't lie to me, poppet", he whispered darkly, "I was watching you"
The hand which was stroking your cheek recoiled slightly, allowing a large knife to slide from his jacket cuff and take its place between his fingers. Oliver began gently tracing the blade over your neck, pinning your frightened form onto the bed. He forced the knife to break your skin, bright crimson blood emerged from the small wounds, trickling down your body in thin trails.
He leaned down to your neck, repeating the puffs of breath which originally woke you up. His tounge slowly lapped up the bubbles of red liquid and he licked his lips hungrily. Droplets of tears formed at the rims of your eyes, the cuts stung badly, his tounge wiping against them made them burn even more ferociously.
He moved up to your mouth and kissed you possessively, his lips merging with yours. His tounge danced with yours in a heated frenzy, you could taste the bitterness of your own blood, and you began to weave your fingers through his blond locks, absentmindedly pulling him closer to you.
The english man pulled away, a silver strand connecting your lips together as he smirked down at you, "So how was your sleep?", he pushed further, demanding an answer from you.
You veered you gaze away from him and tried to hide your flushed face. While he watched you awkwardly trying to avoid his question and attempting to make up an excuse, he chuckled.
"I heard you moaning my name last night, why is that, love?", he laughed sadistically at your embarrased expression and laid down beside you in bed. His eyes turned up happily as he snuggled closer to you, "Maybe I'll just have to find out", he suggested before he pinned you onto your mattress again.
After that sexually pleasant morning, you decided to secure your house even more. If Oliver Kirkland wanted you to be his that badly, he would have to prove himself.