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jaylienpotter · 7 months

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Rosekiller smut, requested by @star4daisy

TW: explicit sex, risky sex, blood, knife play, kink, dom sub, choking, dangerous behaviour, toxic relationship, dubious consent, mentions of necrophilia

2k words

Mental

"Hey."

"Oh hi. I thought you went to Hogsmead." Evan had stayed behind, not in the mood to be social.

"I was going to but eh. Dora is going with Lovegood, Cas is with Mckinnon and Reg wants to drink tea." Barty rolled his eyes, not a fan of the calm and quiet. He'd much rather a firewhiskey. "Besides, I don't have the patience to see him staring at Potter."

"Jealous?"

"Nah. I got a great boyfriend. And..." He got close to Rosier, holding his tie. "He's hot as fuck." Ev knew his boyfriend still had some feelings for their best friend.

"Is he?" Barty pulled the green and silver tie, slightly choking the other boy while pulling him for a kiss. They both smirked during the make out, fighting for dominance. At one point it became less kissing and more so sucking and biting, pushing each other against walls, clothes flying around.

"You're mine." Evan would make sure Barty remembered that. Possessive? Yes. But that's just how they were. Toxic. And they wouldn't have it any other way.

Barty squat down and grabbed the other boy by the legs, throwing him over his shoulder and then again on the bed, kneeling on top of his legs to trap him. For some extra dramatic effect, he took the pocket knife he had at all times (don't ask) and pressed it against the Slytherin's throat.

"I win." Ev bit his lip shamelessly, glancing at the blade touching his skin, his pupils dilating. A dark eyebrow raised and the knife was dragged down, the blade always in contact with skin, sending shivers. The heavy breaths turned into a moan when the metal touched a specific spot on his left rib.

Barty pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, wondering. His mischievous stare went from green eyes to a ribcage, where he made pressure, leaving a small cut.

"Mh- fuck!" It hurt. But pain wasn't the reason behind the grip on the bedsheets.

"Kinky bastard."

"Shut the fuck up." Blade back where it was at the beginning. "Careful with the neck!"

"I'm offended, Rosier! As if I didn't know where to cut and not to cut if I want to kill someone."

"That's hot."

"Yeah? Y'know what else is? The dirty sounds that you made just now." After whispering in his ear, Crouch bit it and sat, doing another cut without warning.

"F-fuck!" It was deeper. Not only did Barty press a little harder, Evan arched his back, digging the knife even further.

"Aww, you're bleeding." There was absolutely no remourse or guilt, the tone purely sarcastic. He cleaned the blood with his fingers, pressing the wound a little. His boyfriend's squirms got him hard, repeating the movement.

"Mmh... Barty-" Two bloody fingers were licked and sucked clean. It was wrong of Barty to do it. And wrong of Evan to like it. But fuck it. The blood was licked directly on the cut, unheavenly sounds dancing around them.

"You always did like my tongue."

"Shut the fuck up and keep fucking going."

"Bossy." One cut on his abdomen. Two. Three. The fourth on his inner thigh, his dick peeking out of the boxers. "Someone wants to get out."

"Don't you dare touch my dick with that thing. That goes past all levels of kink."

"Relax. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course not." The one on top wasn't even offended, simply shrugged.

"Fair. Don't worry, I like your cock too much to damage it."

"Good because if you do, I'm cutting off yours."

"Feisty." While kissing, Crouch started cutting the sub's boxers from the inside, the tip of the knife digging into his skin sometimes. When both sides were cut, the underwear fell out, revealing red, bruised thighs and a throbbing cock, already leaking pre-cum. "Aww, such a pathetic little whore."

That was it. The switch in the blonde's brain. Strength wasn't on his side, he was hurting from all the wounds, several of them slightly bleeding. No, he had to go for the surprise effect.

"How about you talk less and kiss more?" It did the work. Barty started a trail of kisses from his inner thigh (where he bit), to his cock, to around his upper half, licking the red liquid as if it was juice. He could be a vampire and Ev wouldn't be surprised. If anything, it made things hotter. When their lips finally met, Rosier turned them around, blade fallen from the strong grip.

"You little fucker." The gleam in those beetle eyes showed amusement. He would seem angry to everyone else, but not to his boyfriend. Those eyes also carried madness but that aspect was clear as glass. "Good job, I can't move. Someone's learning."

"From the best." Their kiss was intense, mostly tongue and bites, the taste of their salivas mixed with the iron from Rosier's blood. "Can I mark you?"

"Mark me?" Intrigued, suspicious. As he should be. "Mark me how, exactly?" The knife was held by a different hand, less harshly, more delicate, equally as deadly.

"With this."

"You want to carve into my skin?"

"Mhm. I want to write something." This was the part where people would fight for freedom, scream, or plead. Of course Crouch did none of those.

"You're mental."

"I'm mental about you."

"Alright. Do it." Green eyes turned dark, not many people got to see this side of him. If you did, you were probably dead afterwards. Evan hadn't finished the first cut before Barty started laughing. Laughing!

"What the fuck are you laughing about?? The fuck Barty?!"

"It tickles!"

"It tickles?! It tickles?! Bloody psychopath, you are. Fucking laughing, I swear to Merlin..."

"You're saying that as if it was a surprise. Come on, babe. I tried to poison my father. Twice. I carry a knife with me. I've done so much shit and only now you realise I'm out of my bloody mind?"

"Shut up. You somehow always surprise me. Now hold still while I write!" He tried, he did. But he couldn't hold in the giggles from the pain and the feeling of blood dripping down his waist or inner thigh. "Stop moving, for fuck's sake! It's cutting deeper than its supposed to because you won't stay fucking still!"

"What's taking you so long anyways? The fuck are you writing?"

"I'd be faster if you stopped being a lunatic!" He took matters to his own hands (quite literally) and choked his boyfriend, hoping he couldn't laugh without breathing. It worked, to some extent. Barty still moved and it was harder to write with one hand. "Done! Bloody hell." After a cough, Crouch slightly lifted his body to see what his boyfriend did.

"Did you fucking carve 'EVAN' on my crotch??" The blonde licked the bloody knife, his boyfriend licking his lips, momentarily forgetting his question.

"Yes. So when you or your dick think of someone else, you'll have this little reminder of who you belong to."

"You're so fucking possessive." He wasn't mad. If anything, he thought it was hot. Ev getting so worked up because of Barty's ex crush on Regulus, the darkness that possessed his eyes when no one else was around, the grip he had on his lover. If Rosier fell, you bet he'd drag him along. And Barty would let him.

"I'm just claiming what's mine."

"And I'm the psychopath?!"

"We're both mental, love. But I hide it better." Hot whispers sent shivers to the boy below, the tattooed neck was invaded with tongue, lips and teeth, used as a canvas to leave dark spots on.

"We got a problem. How are we going to have sex? That shit tickled at first but now it's burning, I don't fancy bumping it against you fast and hard, you know?"

"I'll fuck you, obviously."

"Can't bend my legs, tosser."

"You're fucking thick. Get up." Once on their feet, Evan pushed the other against the wall, grinding from behind. "I can fuck you standing up..."

"What're you waiting for then?"

"You're not stretched enough." Neither of them had monstrous dicks but it was still difficult to penetrate dry.

"Use a spell or spit then!"

"Bossy." He extended his hand in front of his boyfriend's face, who got the message and filled it with saliva. Ev stroked his cock to make it slimy and used the remains of the wet substance to prep the hole he was about to destroy. Two fingers in, curling and scissoring impatiently.

"Mmh- go in, I can take it." Lean fingers were replaced with a shiny cock, struggling to slide in. Both boys adjusted their positions and soon enough, Evan's whole length was buried inside Barty. He didn't wait for a sign, beginning fast harsh thrusts with no warning. "F-fuck!"

"You're mine, Crouch. Got it? Mine. If I catch you with someone else, I'm killing them and then you. And I'll fuck your body afterwards." The boyfriend laughed again, it was annoying yet hot. As if he wasn't taking Rosier's words seriously. But they both knew damn well of what each other were able to do.

"Yes, my rose. Don't worry, your dick is my favourite."

"Is my dick all you care about?"

"Of course." He didn't need to see Barty's face. He knew he was smirking. He wouldn't be after his cock got grabbed, the grip too tight.

"You sure?" The one in front of him groaned and panted, reacting just the way he wanted.

"Your- lips are quite good too."

"If you're going to act like a whore, I'm gonna fucking use you like one." He grabbed a fistful of dark hair, yanking it back. His other hand still around a thick cock. He drilled himself inside the slut's ass, the intensity higher than usual. He moved his hands to choke him and press on the 'EVAN' wound.

"SHIT! Fuck!" The gasps and silent moans brought Ev to his limit, filling up his boyfriend. "Hey! Don't you fucking dare to stop! I haven't finished!"

"Too bad. You don't deserve it." Crouch leaned back, trying to go after the dick pulling out.

"You're fucking selfish! I like all of you, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes. But it's not enough. If you want to cum, earn it." A dark eyebrow raised in response to the smirk.

"If you're expecting me to beg, it's not gonna happen." Rosier wasn't going to back down, stubborn motherfucker. His boyfriend was one too, though. Plus stronger. He pulled blonde hairs and pushed down, pressing on one of the cuts to double the boy down.

"Ah! Fucker!" Having got what he wanted, Ev on his knees, Crouch forced his mouth open with his thumb and slid his cock inside.

"Bite and I'll cut your throat, got it?!" Green eyes looked up at him, showing defeat. He fucked that smart mouth deep and ruthlessly, making a mess out of his drooling boyfriend. Not even giving him a chance to breathe until he came undone. "Swallow." Rosier pulled away and opened his mouth, showing his clean tongue. Tongue he then used to lick along the bloody cuts he inflicted. "I still can't believe you fucking carved your name onto my skin. You're bloody mental." Getting up, brushing their lips together, Evan whispered in a hushed voice, just before pulling Barty in for a deep kiss.

"Right back at you."

#rosekiller #Rosekiller smut #Sorry for taking so long my dear!#marauders smut #Slytherin skittles smut #marauders #marauders era #marauders fandom #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #barty x evan #evan rosier #evan x barty #Tw sex #TW: sex #tw knife #tw: knife #TW kink #tw: kink

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a-mint-bear · 1 month

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Your Secret Admirer

Female Yandere x Reader

Part 2

Late one rainy night, you help a young woman on your way home from work, but she seems strangely familiar...

[tw: knives] no blood mentioned

Part 1

===========

It was late. You should've clocked out hours ago, but your jerk boss made you stay to cover for his nephew. Who, of course, was "sick" again. Which was code for: "Too hungover to come into work, just like every other Monday."

It was pouring when you reached your stop, but luckily, you'd remembered your umbrella like a responsible adult. There was a chill in the air that made everything seem just a little bit more miserable, but you trudged on anyway. Changing out of your work clothes and into your comfy pajamas always helped you wind down after a bad day.

The streets were about as empty as you'd expect from this time of night, save for the occasional car that rushed by threatening to douse you as they hit every puddle. You were about halfway home when you noticed something... odd.

There was a woman standing on the sidewalk, facing the road. She was soaked from the downpour, her long, dark hair clinging to her face.

At first, you barely paid her any mind. But the closer you got to her, the more your mind started racing. Why was she out so late at night? Why was she letting herself get so drenched? She wasn't really dressed for the weather either. She had to be cold... Did she have nowhere to go? Was she... trying to do something? She was about halfway to the curb... was she waiting for the right moment? The thought doused you like ice water, the fear and doubt somehow colder than the rain.

You were almost face to face with her when something was eating away at you. Guilt? Sympathy? A weird sense of responsibility for this stranger?

But the strangest thing nagging at the back of your mind was...

She looked... familiar?

You couldn't stop your body from stopping in front of her, doing your best to have your umbrella cover her, despite the fact that she was already soaked.

You always had a bit of a soft spot for helping people, even if it wasn't always the smartest idea.

You ask her if she's alright. She doesn't react.

Your mind kept racing. Was she homeless? She seemed well taken care of, her clothes looked nice if soaked through. Was she running from something, or someone? She looked maybe about your age, but... If she could go home why hadn't she?

You tried again, hoping she just hadn't heard you over the rain hitting the fabric of your umbrella. When she finally lifted her gaze to yours, that same feeling of familiarity kept on poking you in the side while you were trying to focus on the scene before you.

She stared into your eyes, and her breathing seemed shaky.

She needed help, maybe, but what could you do? You told her that your phone was almost dead, but you could walk with her somewhere safer. Somewhere she could call someone? Maybe you could walk her home? You offered, hoping she had somewhere to go at all.

You could feel your back getting wet from trying to cover her more than yourself. She smiled, but it seemed off, almost... bitter. When she finally spoke, it was almost drowned out by the downpour hitting the concrete.

"You're... being so nice."

You smiled back, trying your best to comfort her, still running through possible solutions you could offer... What you could do for her...

Would it be nuts to take her back to your apartment? You wonder. To offer a warm shower and a change of clothes while you throw hers in your dryer? She was a stranger, sure, but she obviously needed help. It was only a couple blocks away... she could get dry and then you could get some real answers out of her to figure out what to do next.

You end up making the offer and wordlessly, she agreed. All with that same sad look in her eyes. She clung to you all the way home, holding onto your arm with a death grip.

You fiddle with your keys at the door, all too aware of how the welcome mat is getting soaked. Hurrying in, you go to grab her a towel.

She followed after you, trailing water all the way. She didn't make a move to take it from you, so you took a chance and carefully draped it over her shoulders, starting to work it against her hair. You watch for any sign of discomfort or sign that she'd want you to stop, but no such sign ever came.

You guide her to the bathroom, handing her more towels.

You tell her if she hands you out her clothes, you'd be happy to throw them in the dryer. After a hot shower and a set of your clothes for her to change into, you pass them through the crack in the door, telling her you're leaving to make her a warm drink.

"No!"

She'd grabbed onto your wrist so tightly. The desperation in her voice, her breath hitching as she trembled, all of it made you pause, unsure what to do.

"Sorry, I just..."

She let go with a tired sigh, her face appearing the in crack of the door. Her hair clung to her face as steam rolled out into the hall, you quickly looked away when you saw a hint of the white fluffy towel below her bare shoulders, her hand clasping it tightly to her chest.

"Stay... I mean, would you p-please... stay close? " she stuttered, her eyes cast to the floor in... shame? Embarrassment? "Just... in the hall? Outside the door?"

Was she scared you would leave? Or had you become the barrier between her and whatever she was running from? You promise her you won't go go anywhere, and she seems to relax a little. You keep your back to the wall beside the door and your eyes forward, not wanting to betray the little trust she'd decided to put in you.

You couldn't lie, she was pretty, and the sight of her in your clothes didn't hurt that AT ALL. But she was trusting you. To be thinking of her like... that? It was neither the time nor the place.

She sat on the couch beside you with a hot mug of tea, and she looked down into it with that same sad expression.

"Thank you. You've been so... nice to me. I never thought that I'd be treated like this."

By you? By anyone? You don't notice her hand reaching for yours until her fingers brush against your own. You didn't think of it as anything but her looking for safety, but the look she was giving you was telling you otherwise.

You told her she doesn't have to do that, trying to be vague enough as not to embarrass her. But she just smiled that sad, bitter smile. She set the mug down on the side table, her fingers gently caressing yours.

"... All I ever wanted was... someone to see me. Only me. What they saw or how they felt about me, it didn't really matter. But you're so... worried. So... thoughtful."

She sounded almost... upset, the last word weighed down with so much regret, it threw you.

You asked her if that was a bad thing, and she just smiled.

"When I see you... it's like everything just... makes sense. Like my whole life has just been cold and dead. No one... sees me."

Before you could ask what she meant by that, she squeezed your hand, bringing it up as she gently pressed your fingers to her lips. You couldn't help but feel a little flustered, your face getting warm.

"I knew..."

She caressed your face, and you froze, unsure where any of it was going. Or if you wanted it to.

"I knew that when you finally saw me, it would be everything I ever wanted..."

She spoke like... she knew you? But that didn’t make any sense, you'd never met her before.

Right?

Something felt...odd. Alarm bells were ringing and you couldn't tell what had set them off.

The necklace she wore sat comfortably on top of your shirt. Soft, tiny white flowers trapped in resin, encircled in gold on a delicate chain. Something about it... About her.

You'd seen those eyes before... staring at you from the edges of your day-to-day life but never really in full view. The feeling you dismissed when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, the same feeling you got whenever you found those weird gifts all over.

The trinkets and treats, the love notes that ranged from awkward confessions to clumsy retellings of fantasies you starred in...

And her necklace... the same tiny flowers were dried and pressed in a bookmark you'd found in the book you'd been reading one day.

Your eyes went wide, and she let out a shaky gasp. A wide, warm smile spread on her face as she got to her knees on the couch, swinging a leg over to seat herself in your lap.

"You see me now, don't you?" She smiled sweetly, holding your face in her hands. "I'm right here..."

You couldn't look away. All you could ask was the obvious question: Was it her?

A dark blush spread across her cheeks, her hands still holding your face to look only in her direction. "I needed this... I needed you to really see me. You stopped paying attention to my gifts, my notes... Did you like them? Did it... scare you?"

Your heart was beating too fast. You tried to move, to avert your eyes and figure out what to do, but she turned your face back, pressing into you, her thighs squeezed yours almost painfully.

"Tell me. Please, tell me... " She was breathing funny again. She hadn't blinked, like she didn't want to look away for even a moment.

You felt something pressing under your jaw, and it didn't click what was happening until you felt something sharp bite into your skin.

When did she get a knife? Was this her plan from the start, or had you done something to set her off?

You couldn't stop the fear that flashed across your face. But her reaction was somehow odder.

Her gaze on you softened as she bit her lip, blushing as her eyes glazed over. She let out a sweet, content sigh as she cupped your cheek in her hand. The pressure of the knife on your skin relaxed just a bit, but not enough to try and make a move.

You try to diffuse things, being honest with her. You didn't know who any of the stuff was from. You had no way of saying yes or no to her feelings, so you were waiting for her to show up in person. It felt rude to leave her a note back with something so serious, you wanted to do things right.

"But you ignored me..." Her face was suddenly calm, the blush and soft, adoring eyes went back to the cold stare she'd had in the rain in an instant. "You looked right at me and you saw nothing... I was nothing..."

You try and reassure her, telling her that it wasn't true, if only to calm her down. Her fingers worked into your hair, the sensation giving you goosebumps you couldn't fight. Your startled gasp choked into a hiss of pain behind your teeth when she yanked you closer by your hair. Her face was so close to yours you could feel her breath on your face.

You glared at her before you could stop yourself and that look was back. It was like she was completely smitten with it, with you.

"When you see me... really see me... I can't stop myself. It's so... wonderful. I've been empty for so long, but that fear in your eyes... How much you just despise me... Your smiles and laugh, all of it's a part of you."

She leaned to whisper into your ear. It sent chills down your back.

"Little pieces of you filling up that empty space... You can't take it away from me again..."

Her long, dark hair spilled onto your shoulders, it smelled like your shampoo. You close your eyes, tucking your chin into your chest in a desperate attempt to pull away. It was all too much.

"No... no, please. Don't..." You could hear her plead, her voice wavering with fear and desperation so intense it haunts you. "Love me, hate me, anything! Just don't look away. I can't go back to how it used to be... Please..."

You open your eyes again, afraid what would happen if you didn't. She smiled, it seemed so sweet and gentle, coldly contrasted by the knife in her hand.

"There you are..." she let out a little gasp, pressing her forehead to yours. "I don't really want to hurt you, I promise. I'd be... all alone again. Everything about you... good or bad, it's all so, so precious to me..."

She kissed between your eyes, her lips lingered there too long. Your face felt warm, the fear in your gut was getting entwined with something else... Your thoughts were jumbled, all of it was too much. She sat up, looking down at you... Something about all of it, how close she was... her warmth, her words... She had a hold on you, and you didn't know what you wanted to do.

"I can be anything you need me to be."

She brought your hand to her lips, kissing the palm of your hand, all the while staring into your eyes. There was a devotion there that you'd never seen in your entire life. You couldn't breathe.

"Just..."

The knife pressed under your chin to lift it, but your gaze was already locked with hers.

"Look at me."

===========

shout out to @magical-grrl-usami who wanted to be notified when part 2 came out, hope you like it :o

#i don't know if this came out good but here it is #female yandere #yandere girl #yandere #yandere imagines #The Secret Admirer #female yandere x reader #female yandere x y/n #genderless y/n #genderless reader #i am ace as hell so pardon if certain parts read weird #i debated including any quote unquote violence #but yanderes gonna yandere i suppose #lady yanderes need an edge sometimes #badum-tish #tw: knives #tw: knife

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gourmet-trash · 1 year

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Okay so hear me out but Rose working on some creative writing assignment or short story that involves a character getting stabbed or cut or whatever. And Corinthian proofreading like, "The lead up is good, but I'm telling you, Rosebud, this just isn't what it's like." "I can't write it the way you described it!" "Well why not? I'm the authority here, aren't I?" Rose throws her hands up. "Because you like stabbing things, and the protagonist doesn't like getting stabbed."

Corinthian clicks all three of his tongues and flips to the next page. "That doesn't excuse a poor description of handling the knife."

"I'm sorry, all right? I just understand better when I'm seeing stuff rather than just hearing about it," Rose says, sighing. She shouldn't have waited so long to start this project. And it's not like her creative writing professor is going to spend this much time fussing over the scene, but now that she's aware it's wrong, it's going to eat at her until she gets a pass from the Corinthian.

Corinthian who, after a moment, lifts his head from the pages he's reviewing. And even with his sunglasses on, Rose has learned to recognize that particular look on his face. This can't be good.

"You know," he says, drawing his words out the way he usually does when he's leading into the kind of suggestion he knows doesn't align with "human moral values" as he's put it on more than one occassion. "If you need a visual and a more first hand account of what getting stabbed feels like..."

"No," Rose says immediately.

"Why not? It's a perfect solution!" Corinthian insists.

"I'm not gonna watch you kill somebody!" Rose says. "...Again."

There's a soft click-click of unseen teeth that Rose associates with Corinthian's version of "rolling your eyes." "I'm not suggesting we kill somebody," he says, "Couldn't if I tried anyway!"

"No," Rose repeats when she realizes what, exactly the Corinthian is suggesting.

"Oh, come on," Corinthian says, waving the heavily marked pages of her story between them. "We could at least ask, right? And he could definitely give you some pointers on writing about being stabbed."

"....Well...that part's probably true," Rose admits slowly. Being able to ask specific questions would also be more useful than a bunch of questionable Google searches.

"So....?" She sighs and gets up from her desk, rolling her eyes at the wide grin Corinthian flashes for it. "Just to ask if he can give me some advice! That's it," she says, pulling in the same firm voice she uses to tell Jed that they absolutely are not having chicken fingers for dinner again.

"You want to stab me for a creative writing assignment?" Professor Gadling repeats slowly.

"No!" Rose says at the same time Corinthian says, "Yeah, that sums it up."

Rose shifts on Professor Gadling's couch so she can kick Corinthian's ankle beside her, feeling vindicated by the echoing hiss of air between teeth. "Well that was uncalled for," he grouses, pointedly proping that ankle up on his knee away from her. Like she can't reach the other one if she wants.

They spend a few moments glowering at each other - Rose trying to decide if she wants to kick him again and Corinthian trying to predict said kick so he can avoid it. They're both interrupted by Professor Gadling setting mugs in front of them and lowering himself into an arm chair.

"Thank you, Professor," Rose insists, reaching out to take hers. "What Corinthian meant to say is that I'm working on a story for class and he doesn't think my action scenes are...authentic enough. I was wondering if you might be willing to proofread a bit? Or give me some advice to make it sound more realistic?"

"On account of you having been stabbed so many of times," Corinthian helpfully adds over the top of his mug. Rose doesn't know a lot about British tea, but she knows there's an absurd amount of milk (and probably sugar) in his judging by the color.

Professor Gadling, thank god, looks more amused than anything else. Rose suspects he's used to a lot of this on account of whatever is going on between him and Corinthian and Uncle Morpheus, but she keeps that particular thought to herself. That's a topic better left for gossping with Matthew.

"That is, unfortunately, true," Professor Gadling agrees. "I'm happy to answer any questions you have."

"Now, Rose, didn't you tell me earlier that you have a hard time understanding something that's just said out loud to you, though?" Corinthian drawls.

"Maybe it's just the way you describe things that's hard," she argues, rolling her eyes again when he lays his fingertips against his chest like a stricken southern belle.

Professor Gadling chuckles into his own tea while he watches them bicker, and after a moment he shrugs and rocks back onto his feet. "All right, come on. We're not doing this so close to the rug and the furniture."

"What?" Rose says, but Professor Gadling is already carrying his tea towards the kitchen, and Corinthian wastes no time abandoning his own mug on the coffee table to follow. Rose curses softly and moves Corinthian's mug onto a coaster before hurrying after them.

"Professor, you really don't have to do this," she insists.

But by then, Professor Gadling has already shrugged out of his cardigan and is considering the shirt underneath. "Probably more helpful to see the blood spread on the fabric, right?"

"Yeah, that would fit the scene better," Corinthian agrees, flipping a knife over his fingers and looking her way. "Right, Rosebud?"

When she doesn't immediately answer, Professor Gadling looks over, and something in her expression must read as more than concerned for his safety, because he walks over and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. If it'll help what you're writing, I really don't mind, Rose. And frankly, if I don't let him stab something now, he's probably going to find something to stab," he jokes with a pointed glance at Corinthian.

Corinthian does not correct him, so he's probably right about that.

Even so, Professor Gadling's expression is soft when he turns back to her." But if it's not something you're going to be comfortable seeing, we also don't have to do this. We can go back to the couch and you can ask questions. I'll try to describe things better than Cor does."

She makes a small, amused sound, but she still feels her brows knitting in together. Was she comfortable seeing this? She hadn't even stopped to consider that, so set as she'd been that this wouldn't be a possibility in the first place. And now that it was, she didn't know if she wanted it to be.

Corinthian leans his hip against the counter beside them and tilts his head. "You like horror movies, Rose?"

She blinks, turning from Professor Gadling's concerned expression to Corinthian's considerably more mild one. "Um...yeah, I do."

"Cause in a horror movie, even if people are getting hurt, you know they're actually okay, right?" he reasons. "The actors walk away right as rain after the credits start rolling."

She frowns slightly but nods.

"Hob does that too. You know he's actually okay and he'll walk away right as rain after all this. Not that different from watching a real good horror movie."

Professor Gadling makes a soft, amused sound, and when Rose glances back at him, he has a wry, affectionate look on his face. "That's...not a bad way of putting it," he agrees. "Even though none of those actors are actually getting stabbed."

"Details," Corinthian scoffs.

"And you're sure you're okay with this Professor?" Rose asks, relaxing a bit when he nods.

"I wouldn't have said yes otherwise. And stab wounds don't take that long to heal. I can even show you when it's healed up if that'll help."

Rose glances between them, Professor Gadling waiting patiently for her to decide what she'd like to do and Corinthian looking like he might jump in and start stabbing at a moment's notice regardless.

Something about the scenario feels a little too familiar. Not for her, of course. But between the two of them. She's starting to think this isn't the first time Professor Gadling has let himself get stabbed, and she's starting to think she doesn't want to look too closely into that.

"....Uncle Morpheus isn't going to like this," she points out, watching the two of them exchange a quiet, but communicative glance.

"Well your Uncle Morpheus doesn't have to know if we hurry up," Corinthian insists, lifting a wrist to check his watch. "We still got some time before he gets back with Jed."

Professor Gadling snorts softly. "We'll worry about Morpheus," he says. "So?"

"....Okay. Okay, yeah, let me just grab my notebook!"

"Attagirl!" Corinthian crows, shaking his knife a bit like one might a trophy they've won. And as soon as she's back, he waves her over to show her the grip he has on the handle so she can jot down notes.

And that's how Rose spends the afternoon in Professor Gadling's kitchen being shown precise knife handling techniques, blood spatter behavior, and getting a first hand account of what being stabbed feels like in real time. All of it turn out to be tremendously helpful in her story edits - she gets Corinthian and Professor Gadling's approval before turning it in. (The former insists she should consider writing more action like this in the future and he's, of course, happy to help with additional research.)

She gets an A. [ next → ]

#it's a win-win-win for everybody your honor!#either dream has no idea hob and corinthian do this and has a little meltdown over it #or he does but he finds out they were doing it IN FRONT OF HIS NIECE and he has a little meltdown over it #i just think corinthian would always be looking for an excuse to stab #and hob would probably fucking let him #it's that or he's stabbing other people right?#(he's definitely still stabbing over people just maybe with a more discerning hand)#rose walker #hob gadling #the corinthian #the sandman #hobrinthian #hobrintheus #fic #tw: stabbing #tw: knife

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rainbowd00dles · 4 months

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2019 vs 2023

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #david wymack #the foxhole court #tfc #myart #redraw #tw: knives #tw: knife

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fivenightsatgifs · 4 months

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"I believe we've met before..."

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revehae · 2 months

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yes please!!! need that monster-based yuta/johnny request again 🥹 also kinda hoping you would make make a fic centered around yuta someday, he kinda fits the type of stories you do because of the strong aura he gives off

tw // implied drugging, kidnapping, knife play, noncon, oral (m receiving)

how you ended up here, in bed with two of (who you thought were) your dearest friends, was way beyond you. but there was no going back.

not when they were bent on having their way with you.

you were naked, that was for certain. very, very naked. it was cold in the basement you’d been confined to, for obvious reasons, but that was to say nothing of the heat of their bodies radiating onto yours and johnny’s breath on your neck. all of the hairs on your body were raised. you could have died then, if he really wanted to make that happen, but apparently having a breathing sex slave was a whole lot better than a dead one.

“lay back and touch yourself. i want to watch,” was what he’d told you.

you’d given him a look, almost opening your mouth to protest, but he’d beat you to a word.

“don’t talk - just spread your legs,” johnny had said with a certain darkness in his eyes that chilled your blood. “yuta over here isn’t opposed to cutting off your tongue. you’d live, but you’d wish you wouldn’t.”

yuta had waved at you from the side, smiling devilishly at you. you were sick to your stomach. you’d trusted him, more than anybody on this planet. he made you think he cared.

you gazed at him, betrayed. you whispered with hardly any strength, “why?”

“because why not?” yuta scoffed, snickering. “you’re so easy to fool, you know? all it took was a little reverse psychology. tell you to stay at taeyong’s knowing you’ll do the complete opposite, because you don’t listen to anyone but your fucking self. and boom, here we are.”

johnny and yuta shared a laugh at your expense, because apparently this was just some huge fucking joke to them.

yuta pointed a knife at you and said, “now spread your fucking legs and touch yourself.”

you did as told, because you didn’t really have much options. you stuck a hand between your thighs, rubbing your clit, trying to please them enough that they’d decide against killing you. the worst part was that you’d started to become somewhat aroused, which was the last thing that you wanted. you fought back moans, not wanting to give them too much satisfaction.

“that’s it. that’s a good girl,” yuta crooned, like you were some fucking animal.

eventually though, his self-restraint dissipated watching you touch yourself for them, and that was how you winded up here - with him hanging over you, his dick teasing your hole, and a knife to your throat.

“scream and you’ll never make a sound again,” he threatened, pressing the knife ever so slightly against your skin while looking into your teary eyes.

then, he thrusted into you, making you bite back a noise.

“i’ll make sure she doesn’t scream,” johnny said, sliding up the bed where your head was. he took off his sweats, exposing his hard cock to you, and tapping your cheek with the tip. “open up. i don’t think i have to tell you what happens if you don’t.”

you fought an irritated roll of your eyes and opened your mouth, accepting his cock down your throat. “there you go,” he sang. “and when i cum - swallow. all of it.”

#nct 127 smut #johnny suh smut #nakamoto yuta smut #nct smut #tw: noncon #tw: knife #tw: kidnapping

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m-ayo-o · 6 months

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SWEENEY TODD X JUJUTSU KAISEN

KINKTOBER V: KNIFE PLAY starring: f!reader, kento nanami, satoru gojo synopsis: a young female barber colludes with her sweet customers, offering her services in return for payment. warnings: horror themes ⋆⁺ bloody murder, spirits + curses ⁺⋆ very submissive reader. honorifics use [mr. + sir]. pet name use. knife play. fingering. f. oral. impact play. unprotected sex. kidnapping (lol). restraints. lil somno. cnc. dub-con. m. oral. overstimulation. wc ⋆ one: 2.7k ⋆ two: 2.9k ⋆ total: 6k :(

⋆⁺/ don't like it? block it / do not interact consent + protection = necessary. this is fiction

18+ EXPLICIT SEX | DARK CONTENT | HORROR THEMES

After your parent’s untimely death, at fifteen and with nowhere else to turn, you were forced into inheriting your grandfather’s barber shop, formerly known as Sweeney Todd’s.

You always knew it was haunted; a hollow pit of stained floorboards and troubled souls, the single, free standing mirror still spattered with encrusted blood mixed with rust.

But thanks to your steely resolve and blind naivety, you’ve survived and worked in this hell hole for nearly ten years.

Not without paying a price, however. The malevolent spirits in the walls have slowly seeped into your mind and body during your restless nights, the fear eroding your soul away.

You’ve been carved out and corrupted, left with a legacy and a razor blade sharper than death’s scythe.

And your customers.

Oh, your sweet, charming customers who pass through your living nightmare, only hearing whispers of what’s happened here.

And they certainly don’t expect a seemingly bright, young woman such as yourself to be driven by evil.

The blade in your hand tells you otherwise. With the memory instilled in the handle, guiding your motions with murderous intent, eternally hellbent on revenge.

Luckily for you, you’ve had some reliable customers who pay in full, often leaving generous tips, and have been your saving graces in holding you on the edge of sanity and off the streets.

In all these years, you’ve only succumbed to killing a few of your most treacherous clients. But now you’re running dry, with only your innocent patrons remaining. You can’t bring yourself to hurt them.

That brings you to this evening, where you find yourself striking up an unusual deal with one of your favourite customers.

Your Tuesday six o’clock slot arrives precisely on time every week, sporting a myriad of suits, ranging from business attire, pinstripes and cufflinks, to more outlandish combinations that make you wonder where he might be wearing them.

Regardless of his style, your head never fails to whip around when he enters your shop, watching him strip off his jacket and hang it on the coat rack.

However wrong it may be to ogle one of your loyal customers, you can’t help but daydream about his body as he undresses himself, watching his hulking shoulders emerge, with those hefty straps digging into the muscles.

From the first time you met, his powerful energy has never failed to make you nervous.

And this evening is no exception.

Your eyes have lingered over his body for too long, imagining how it’d feel to run your hands through his hair, down the back of his neck, over the swell of his chest. Then you’d slink your fingers over that leather belt, toying and–

“Any chance of a shave?”

His eyes make contact with yours from behind those unusual glasses.

You jolt upright, your thoughts interrupted, then let out a quiet sigh of embarrassment. It’s not the first time he’s caught you. Still, the way his lips twitch into a little smirk upon seeing your blush makes it almost worth it.

You’ve gotten to know the reserved man slowly, learning the details of his routines, including how he likes his tea and which newspaper he reads.

You find yourself darting about for him, so eager to please, earning the softest thanks from the curt man.

And soon enough, he starts returning your longing stares, his sharp eyes following while you prepare your supplies.

He watches you bend and reach, admiring your figure in that cute pinafore, and the way your apron cinches around your waist.

He has to loosen his tie from the heat he’s feeling in his body, tugging at the material impatiently before returning his focus to you. You have his full attention. He gets lost in a deep stare, watching the feminine sway of your hips as you step up to him.

He clears his throat, snapping himself out of a gaze as you approach and begin your work.

His stern and quiet presence gives way to many silences, creating such an unbearable tension between the two of you that’s only fueled by the intimate nature of your services.

It simmers, like a pot on the stove, threatening to bubble over each time you lay a delicate hand on his face, maintaining his perfect image with every precise sweep of your blade over his jaw.

Your proximity to him is killing you– every fleeting touch threatens to develop into something more. You can feel him reacting to your body, craving more and more, until your imagination runs away with you and it becomes difficult to focus.

You often find yourself holding your breath, struggling to keep your hand steady. But you must. You cannot leave a single nick on his skin.

But this time, when you’re finishing the details of his shave, wiping the last of the cream from his neck and applying his favourite aftershave, he strikes up a rather dark conversation.

“I know what your blade needs,” his voice is low, discerning eyes focusing on the silver in your hand.

You pause and blink in disbelief, “...excuse me?”

Setting the expensive bottle of liquid on the dresser, you bury the razor in the front pocket of your apron and try to brush off his comment.

“Look, I know you’ve got a nasty curse. But it’s far too late for a spirit like that to be exorcised.”

You’re taken aback, eyes flying wide.

How could he possibly know the details of your deepest secret?

“But, I can bring you someone who will help.”

“H-how–”

He gives you a wry smile, continuing to offer you his solution. “I’ll bring you my ex-boss. You can do whatever you want with him.”

He recounts the man’s crimes, as if to justify the act for you.

His usually soft voice is now laced with malcontent, recalling how he was worked to the bone, his greedy boss taking advantage of good people, stealing their money and ruining their lives.

“I would love nothing more than to see his ugly head sliced clean from his neck.”

You can’t help but shiver, hearing a venomous tone surface from the polite man, your ears enrapt by every hiss and twist of his tongue.

He wants justice. He wants revenge.

And that speaks to you. It speaks to the razor blade in your pocket.

So you get wrapped up in your scheming long after his shave is finished, and agree that he should lure your next victim to your shop.

“Come here,” he leans back on the red seat, “I’ll help you with your little problem. How about it?”

You nod and swallow thickly, feeling the heat from his body through that vivid blue shirt as you edge closer. One of his big hands finds your pinafore, now tugging you directly in between his legs.

“I’ll even pay you for it,” he looks up at you, a smile playing on his usually stiff lips, “half now, half later, okay?”

You grab your wallet in anticipation of receiving a wad of cash from the man.

“Oh no,” he lets off a dry laugh, pushing your hand back, “I won’t be paying you with money, silly girl.”

You freeze, the weight of his words sinking in ever so slowly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

He gives your body a final tug, bringing you flush with his crotch.

“mm–” you can’t control the nervous whimper when you feel his intimidating bulge on your small body.

“N-no it’s ok, Mr. Nanami, sir, bring me the man, and that’s enough.” You stutter out, trying to back up, helplessly caught in his grip.

“I want to help you,” he coos, big hands pressing firmly on your back.

“Now, why don’t you show me what that knife can do?”

His eyes dart to your pocket, signalling for you to bring out the cursed blade once more.

You obey, flicking the straight razor open and twirling it through your fingers, his eyes following your skilled movements.

“Very good,” he watches you firmly grip the handle, “now come and sit down.”

He pats his lap then spreads your thighs to get you perched nice and close, legs reflexively wrapping around his waist.

“That’s it,” he takes your hand, the one holding the blade, and brings it to his throat.

“No, no don’t, sir–” his lips twitch, enjoying the panicked look on your face.

Your arm all but freezes, submitting to his tight grip as he tugs at your dress, bringing your face inches from his.

“Will this payment” his eyes drop to your lips, “suffice?”

You nod urgently. He’s got you wound as tight as a bow string, the tension bound to snap any second.

“Then kiss me.”

Petrified of your perfectly sharp blade on his neck, you lean in gingerly and place an ever so delicate peck to his lips.

This earns you a little smile.

“Don’t be a prude, sweetheart.”

“Ah– w-wait–”

He has a knife on his throat. How else am I supposed to kiss him??

You lean in again, sealing his lips, giving him a little a lick… his mouth opens, and god it’s getting hot.

Every movement is agonisingly slow, tonguing turning to sucking, then biting, until you’re moaning and breathing hard and fast, starting to grind on your handsome customer’s lap.

Then his free hand works between your legs, fingers skimming under the material, finding the slick waiting for him.

“Ohh, pretty girl, what’s this?” He groans, sliding through your folds.

You were probably like this from the moment he caught you staring. Every time he looks at you, it just does things to your body.

Then you have to do your job, caressing his perfect face, your eyes drinking in his beautiful features all evening. You really have to bite your tongue some nights, desperately holding back your desire for his attention.

He pulls the knife away, allowing you to close the blade and slip it into your pocket safely.

“You know, I love a girl who gets all wet from a little kissing,” he comments, starting to press at your entrance with two big fingers. Your small hands find his shoulders now, gripping tightly to balance yourself as he works his way in.

Your head flies back when he starts arching and digging his fingers deeper, making you squirm and gush on his lap until his tan pants are soaked with your juices.

“Mr. Nanami–” you can’t help but ride his fingers, enjoying the press on that tight spot, his thumb slipping over your clit, “sir– I, I’m–”

He cuts you off with another deep kiss, his free hand on the back of your neck, squeezing as he tongues you.

“Call me Kento, darling,” his voice, sweet and dark like caramel, is all it takes for that hot pleasure to pulse and spread. Once, twice, three times, you thrust onto his hand.

He continues his movements, slow and deep.

“That’s it,” his lips remain over yours as he lifts you and presses your ass onto the wooden dresser.

“Shall we see how wet you can get?” He asks, proceeding to kneel and bury his face between your legs, now tapping at your clit with his tongue.

Your eyes roll back in your head, arms barely able to support your body, your legs shaking with another orgasm as he starts to suck on your bud with fresh need.

“Make a mess, fuck–” he slurs over your wet heat, sinking his tongue into you now.

And after the most eager, thorough tongue fucking of your life, your head still spinning from the rush, he finally pulls away.

“When the job is complete,” he peppers a few final kisses over your throbbing clit, “you’ll get the full payment.”

You can only shudder and nod, watching him stand before you again.

⋆₊

A few days later, you recognise a new customer as your target. You get him seated and start your routine, applying shaving foam and readying your blade.

You slip the cool silver over his jaw, down his neck, then tilt it suddenly, making his breath catch in shock.

Your eyes flick to his in the mirror, before slitting his throat, “Nanami sends his regards.”

Blood squirts and flows from his veins, dribbling down his slackening body as you tap the lever below the chair, sending him to his grave.

Your blade is satisfied for now. But that one was easy.

⋆₊

Hearing the clock chime six the following Tuesday, Nanami returns.

Pleased with the news, he gets straight to fulfilling his payment.

His shave can wait.

You would’ve gladly accepted his money– which he seems to have plenty of– but you both agree that this way is more mutually beneficial.

So you accept the way he presses your body against the dresser, lifting you and sinking his hands into the fat of your thighs.

And you accept his hungry kisses, the languid thrusts of his hips, and the way he groans into your mouth.

Then he reaches for your blade, placing it in your pretty little hand.

“Can’t believe– mm, you did it,” he breathes into the gap between your lips.

He compliments and praises you, then tells you to press the blade on his throat.

“Do it. Hold it here,” he brings your hand up to his neck.

“Yeah, like that,” his eyes roll back, feeling the metal digging into his skin.

He can’t lean into your kiss anymore, his body frozen in place save for the relentless movements of his hips, rubbing his clothed erection over you again and again.

So you keep the knife on his throat, unzipping his pants and yanking down his underwear, earning a strained sigh.

Then, pushing your skimpy panties aside, you take his length and pull him up between your parted legs.

“Nnhh– fuck–” he groans, watching you stimulate your clit with his fat tip.

“Need that pussy–” he starts bucking his hips, cautiously eyeing the cool silver in your hand.

You love how he’s getting so needy. Such a powerful man, his body full of tense and bulging muscles, now seeking the fleeting pleasure of his cock slipping over your heat.

You’d love nothing more than to get him nestled deep in your tight hole. You can tell, now you can feel his girth in your hand, that he’s going to get you cumming in no time.

But what’s the harm in a little teasing?

“Can’t you wait a bit longer, Kento?”

You watch his eyelids flutter, emitting another deep groan as he manages to sink his tip into your entrance.

You tut, pulling him away and up to your clit again, where you start to rub slow, sensual circles.

His cock smears your juice so deliciously, getting you all worked up until your hips jolt with your first orgasm.

Your hand flies away from his neck, slamming the knife on the dresser as the other grips at his fat cock.

“Nnggh— Kento!” you scream his name, your slick running down your thighs and coating the wood below.

With his throat free, he takes this opportunity to seize the knife and flick it against you, slamming you down on the table with a growl.

“I said, I need that fucking pussy,” he repeats, taking the razor to your neck.

Your hands claw and grip at the wooden dresser, your breathing getting restless while your heart hammers in your chest.

He’s got you on the edge, ready to beg for your life, until you hear the distinct sound of stitches coming undone.

“Oh,” your eyes flit down, “oh no, n-not my dress, please, s-sir–”

You look up at him now, feeling the undeniable ache of your pussy as he starts tugging the knife through your collar.

“Don’t–” you plead, while you can only feel yourself getting wetter, almost throbbing from the tension.

You want him to rip it. You want him to ravage you. You need him.

“I’m going to cut this open. And I’m going to fuck you like the nasty girl you are. And you’re going to enjoy it, ok sweetheart?”

He’s got your lips quivering, feeling the pointy blade on your skin. He could easily tear through you right now. He could slit you open.

You know that’s what the twisted curse in your blade wants.

Watching your pupils go wide, he jerks the knife down, slicing the dress clean from your skin, leaving you bare and ready for him.

“Was just helping you out– ‘n you get all greedy like that– fuck, gotta teach you a lesson, little girl,” he mutters, stabbing the knife into the dresser.

He flips you over, ripping away the shredded material and pressing your tits into the wood, pulling your ass up and panties off.

“K-Kento– s-sorry–” your whimpers do nothing to appease the man, feeling him press your wrists to your lower back.

The next sensation you get is a fiery slap of leather across your ass.

He grips his belt, spanking harder as you start to wriggle and clench your legs together with need.

“Think you can get away– with using my cock like that?” he seethes, your spine arching from every mean spank.

“Mm– I’ll show a nasty girl like you–” he thumbs your pussy now, spreading your hole, “what this cock can do.”

He glides in, deep and hard, earning a series of choked moans and apologies from your lips when you feel how ruthless he’s getting.

He all but rams you, shaking the dresser and all its contents, making the legs tremble beneath the weight of his thrusts.

“Oh god, K-Kento, ah– sir–”

“You like being bent over like this?”

He keeps rutting you into the wood.

“Bet none of your other customers do this for you…”

“Do they?” He presses.

“No,” you shake your head, “they don’t, Kento, s-sir–”

He’s lost to his desires now, and there’s no turning back till your body is aching and swelling full of his seed.

Now this first unusual encounter has come to pass, your regular customer getting more than he bargains for each time he enters your shop, you’re barely surprised by the second.

He’s your dedicated weekend customer. He arrives any time. Even in the dead of night, sometimes with the faintest spatter of blood on the pristine white of his shirt.

He finds your seemingly innocent charm so alluring, appreciating how you refrain from commenting on his appearance, and that your door is always open for him.

He starts opening up to you– not just the fun stuff, about his students and colleagues, the drama, the discourse– but the more troublesome details of his life. How he’s struggling with the higher ups at work, how they’re suffocating and ruining all of his plans– for what? Because he’s too strong and they can’t handle him?

“Why don’t you just… kill them?”

“I’ve contemplated it many times,” his voice turns serious again, “trust me.”

He explains that there would be massive ramifications if a single hair on their wrinkly bodies were touched by him. They’d try to seal or imprison him, banishing him from jujutsu sorcery for eternity.

“I’ll do it.”

You suggest it so openly, as if you’re offering a simple shave.

Satoru has always admired the way you hold those razors with such balance and poise– as if you’re wielding a weapon, rather than a tool. It’s in your blood, after all.

“You would do that, for me?” His eyes light up, leaning on the counter as he hands over his fee, plus a hefty tip.

You nod, a pretty smile emerging on your features as you take his money.

You slot it into the ancient register and find your hands clasped by his; long fingers and massive palms.

“Whatever can I do…” he pulls you closer, eyes trailing to your lips, “to repay you?”

The taste of death, your blade claiming a soul, is enough payment to quiet the restless energy surging through you.

But you know what he’s asking. And who are you to pass up an offer so kind from someone such as himself?

An angel. A god. With you, your body corrupted by a spirit darker than the bags under your eyes.

If only you knew… the darkness within your sweet customer could swallow yours in its entirety.

If only you knew the things he has done. The death toll hanging over his head could quiet the spirits in your walls for the rest of your miserable life.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you feel the metal slipping through your fingers.

He turns on you, taking the blade in his hand.

He feels it. You know he can feel the spirit residing in the cold silver.

“If you slip up, it’ll be my head.”

He slides it over your throat, pausing dangerously close to your jugular where he taps and plays with the vein.

He pulls it away with a pleased giggle, bringing it to his own lips.

His mouth parts, shimmering blue irises focused on your wide eyes, and licks a long stripe up the metal, making you shudder.

He gives you a mad smile, clearly getting a rush off how close he is to slitting his tongue.

Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t care, only succumbing to his own reckless whimsies.

He sets the knife back in your palm, securing plans to lure your next victims to the barber shop and slice them up one by one. He looks pained to tell you he can’t stop by to watch the bloody murder, but promises to help clean up afterwards.

⋆₊

The look of relief and… wonder on his face is almost worth all the killing in itself.

He steps around the basement, checking off all the bodies with a giddy smile.

He’s finally free. There’s nothing holding him back now.

And it’s all thanks to you.

“You did… so good.” He turns to you now, with that crazed look in his eyes as he takes your hands, the dingy room flashing and blurring away in an instant.

You open your eyes to find yourself in a neat apartment, where he coerces you into his bed with his lips, getting you stripped to your underwear and tied up in seconds.

But he’s just messing around; playing. You’re but a little mouse, caught in his trap.

“Now they’re gone,” he pulls away, “I have some business to attend to.”

That serious tone emerges again, while he covers his bright eyes with a pair of black glasses.

“Wait here.”

As if you have a choice. You watch him flash away, letting out a defeated moan as you sink into the mattress. Your body starts to feel tired, suddenly realising how late it is, eyelids slowly dropping as you succumb to a restless sleep.

⋆₊

You’re awoken by a warm sensation in your gut, eyes fluttering open as you gradually gain awareness. Then you find your voice.

“Oh– Mr. Gojo, sir, w-what are you– ah–”

Your senses come back to you, ears trained on the suckling noises of his mouth, your eyes darting about, finding your ripped underwear on his bed, then trailing down to see his head of messy white locks between your legs.

“Oh, god–! W-wait, I’m, I’m–”

How did he get me so wet already? How long has he been doing this?

He lets out a deep hum of satisfaction, brilliant eyes flicking up to yours; wide and panicking. And he grins, tonguing you through a long, sickly sweet orgasm.

You shudder, eyes losing focus, getting bleary from the pleasure.

You start to come down, breathing heavy, when you notice the light of morning seeping through the blinds.

“Mr. Gojo, my customers!” You cry out, suddenly realising you’re not where you’re supposed to be.

“They can wait,” he utters, pressing kisses to your thighs.

“I’m not done thanking you yet.”

He’s just so pleased with your work. He can’t let you go now.

So he slips a hand into his pocket, retrieving something familiar.

You watch the cold light dance over the silver, until you realise he has stolen your prized razor.

“N-no you can’t– give it back!” You’re surprised by the aggression in your voice, hands forming fists and tugging at the bed frame.

He flicks it open, admiring the intricate pattern on the handle, watching the slightly curved blade gleam.

“It’s a pretty thing,” he murmurs, lost in thought.

He refocuses, leaning over you.

“Almost as pretty as its owner,” he eyes you down, trailing the knife over your body, his movements lazy and slow.

He slides it between the swell of your breasts, making you gasp and shiver as he toys with your nipples using the blunt edge.

He continues down, the cold metal leaving goosebumps in its wake, over your stomach, your hips, finally reaching between your legs.

“Spread ‘em wider,” he commands, giving your leg a threatening tap.

“Mm- p-please– not there–” you whimper, biting your lip to stop the trembling, while your hips squirm.

“Careful, wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, pressing the knife flat over your entrance.

Your body tenses, holding back a shiver from the cold, smooth contact.

“Hm,” his grin grows wider, now sliding the blunt edge to part your labia, finding your little bud.

Resting his head on your thigh, he starts to tease your clit with the metal. He makes a little disappointed pout, spreading soothing circles with his free hand as your eyes well up with tears.

“Hey,” he coos, pressing a few kisses over your plush skin, “let’s just have a little fun, ok?”

He sounds sweet, but not quite sweet enough to hide the menacing undertone in his voice.

He taps at your clit, tilting the blade, making your breath falter.

He nudges your raised bud so precisely, over and over, watching your expression turn softer as you ease into the undeniable pleasure.

You can’t believe you’re feeling so close from his tantalisingly threatening movements.

He builds you up, using the edge to flick and toy until you’re crying for him to stop.

If he gets you cumming on this blade there’s no telling what your body might do. If your hips move an inch he’s going to cut you.

Your lip trembles, voice quaking with each sob and plea.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you,” he can tell you’re going to spill any second.

“Just relax, pretty girl, let me finish,” his free hand presses down hard on your hip, stilling your shaking completely.

Your body freezes in suspension as he works you over, your orgasm sustained with every gentle tap of the cold metal.

“Yes,” he watches your eyes roll back, your body motionless as you receive the deadly pleasure.

“That’s it,” he brings you down, “so good.”

While you’re still dizzy, he takes the metal and presses it flat over your hole, smearing your juices.

“Hah– ahh– no, no, please– s’cold, s– too, too much–!!”

“Hm,” he slides it away, “I’ll decide what’s too much, sweetheart.”

He finally sits up, drawing himself away, admiring your slick coating the silver.

And he brings it to your lips.

“Open up.”

He taps your lower lip.

You try to edge away, helplessly. The headboard stops your movements.

You have nowhere to turn. Your wrists are bound and aching. If you don’t do this, it might get worse.

Your lips slowly part, and he urges you to lick the blade clean, tasting yourself and shuddering at the metallic tinge on your tongue.

“Oh, well done,” he praises you, watching you swallow.

Your eyes fall closed, hoping that he’s finished, a calm clarity washing over you as you realise you’ve remained unscathed.

He swipes your lip with his thumb then flashes away again, disappearing from his apartment.

You let out a quiet sob, feeling utterly hopeless.

⋆₊

Upon his return, the instant relief quickly fades to fear when he steps closer, your eyes finding the blood on his ruined uniform.

“Miss me?” His eyes flash and burn into yours while he approaches your weak form on his bed.

You beg him for a drink– you’re aware that you’ve been here for about two days now.

He slits the restraints with your knife and allows you to eat, drink and wash up, keeping his eyes on you, before pulling you back to the bed.

“Kneel.” He’s not in the mood for conversation today.

And he’s not feeling entirely patient either.

He watches you perch on his bed, nervous eyes hovering over the deep, red stains.

“Look at me.”

He stands before you, flicking the blade out, lifting your chin up, a conflicting feeling of terror and lust surging through your body.

“W-where have you been?” You dare to ask.

He glares before opening his mouth again.

“Setting everything straight. Everything’s better now.” His eyes remain unblinking as he continues, “Now I need one more favour.”

He has you stripping his bathrobe off your beautiful body, leaving you exposed for him once again.

“Touch yourself.”

His commands are quiet, deep whispers that make you shiver and comply without hesitation.

Especially since there’s a knife pressed under your chin.

You trail a hand down your body, only reaching your chest before he speaks again.

“Stop.”

He eyes your gorgeous tits, making you realise what he wants you to do.

You obey, squeezing sensually at your breasts while he watches.

You reach for a nipple, gently taking it between your finger and thumb, feeling the heat building up.

“Harder.”

He encourages you with a tilt of the knife.

You bite back a whimper, now pinching at the stiffened nipple, watching a smile emerge on his lips.

“Good girl,” he can’t help but place his free hand on your face, his thumb swiping gently at your satin smooth cheek.

“Now lower.”

“Mm” you whine a little sound of agreement, your hand reaching down between your legs.

From the way you’re kneeling, your entrance is parted nicely and ready for your fingers. So you slide up and down, slowly, steadily, collecting your sweet juice over your already puffy clit.

He watches you sink into the rhythm, working yourself up, and starts noticing a throb in his own crotch.

“Open.”

He leaves you without a choice, your lips parted by the cold metal in his hand.

You continue your movements, arousal pooling and spilling now you see him reaching into his pants.

“You want this?”

He looks dizzy, almost drunk, when he slips his cock out, keeping the knife under your chin.

Your eyes dart down, finding his flushed and hard member, focusing on his tip where a clear drop of precum oozes. You nearly start drooling, following the languid movements of his fist.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.”

He watches in a trance as you look up, mouth hanging wider, tongue pushing forward as if to invite him in.

“Hm,” he chuckles and lets his cock hang and bounce in front of your face, tantalisingly close, “come and get it.”

You whine, eyebrows screwing up, “Nhgg– closer, please!”

You can’t reach him. You can’t move your damn head!

So you stick out your tongue, managing to swipe his tip.

He inches closer and moves the knife to your nape, enjoying the teasing pleasure, until he feels your lips finally wrap around him.

“Ugh, yeah–” he lets out a relieved groan, sinking himself in.

Your fingers continue toying with your clit between your parted legs, your free hand resting on his hip. He urges you to take him deeper, starting to moan and thrust when he nudges the back of your throat.

“You close?”

You nod, looking up at him with an expression so cute he just wants to smear your face with his cum.

But he resists, fucking your mouth slow and deep until he slips you off and pushes you around to face away from him.

“Cum on my cock.”

He remains standing behind you and sinks himself into your tight hole, making you do just that.

“You like that?”

You see the knife get tossed to the side of the bed now, one of his massive hands fisting your hair while the other grips at your hip, slamming you back on him with force.

Your head is pulled back now, your body in a deep arch, letting out little whimpers in reply.

“Talk to me,” he tugs your hair, “tell me how much you love my cock.”

“Mr. Gojo, sir, I, I...”

“Can’t fucking hear you, princess”

“I, I love it– oh my god– it, it’s so–”

He jolts your neck. He’s heard that line a thousand times before.

“I know it’s big, tell me how you feel,” he orders, his deeper tone making you squeeze and clench.

“Ah– I, I, feel like– ‘m, ‘m gonna cum again–” you sob and moan, arching yourself and humping stupidly into his hard thrusts.

“More.”

“S-s’too much, s-sirrr, uuhh– f-feel too hot– ah, and, and too full…” you sniffle, earning a sadistic laugh from the man, “n-need you to– to cum, plee-eeeasee!”

“Oh, angel, I’ll cum… don’t need to beg for it like that–” he still sounds perfectly cool, while his pumping says otherwise, getting so mean your pussy starts to ache, “can’t have a pretty little thing like you begging now, can we?”

“B-but, Mr. Gojo, I, I need it,” your body can’t lie, your lips are moving on their own, you’re so far gone you couldn’t care what he does to you now.

“Fuck,” he feels you grip at him again, making him lose his damn mind, his head rolling back from the pleasure around his cock.

“O-oh, fuck, you’re gonna get it– yesssyess, fffuck– princess!”

The sounds that leave his mouth make you tremble and shake, your pussy milking every last inch of his member till he’s dry and choking from overstimulation.

But he keeps going, massaging the fat of your ass as he grinds into you, feeling the throbbing and pulsing die down.

He pulls out slowly, still achingly hard, spreading your hole.

“Let me see,” you feel him sink to his knees behind you, your neck craning back to find him bent over.

He presses his lips to your entrance and sucks.

You squirm, trying to escape, but he grabs at your hips and shoves his tongue inside, tasting himself with a long groan.

He pulls away, repositioning you to his liking, your head shaking when his cock rears up to nudge at your leaking hole again.

“No, no, no–” your head shakes, but your hips buck to take him in.

“I told you, I need to thank you”

“It’s– s’already enough–”

He lets out a little laugh, then proceeds to fuck you dumb.

The kind of dumb that has your brain all muddled– to the point where it seems to disconnect from the rest of your body, which can only succumb to the feeling of his cock.

Your tongue is loose, your pussy tight, your mouth dry from screaming.

Then, and only then, does he let you rest.

He takes you in his arms when the morning comes, finally transporting you back to your dingy shop, where he places you in your apartment upstairs and takes his leave.

You slowly recover and reopen the shop, inviting in your regulars, along with a particularly intimidating man who seems to be interested in your other services.

You offer them to him freely, asking who his target is.

But he declines, “Oh no, I’ve already got it covered, doll.”

He eyes you up and down as you watch him lean back on the same chair that was dripping with blood only days ago.

“And what’s a pretty girl like you doing, offering a service like that?”

He snorts and watches you squirm, saying that your secret is safe, as long as you don’t start overreaching and stepping on his toes.

He doesn’t need another prolific killer on his turf. But you assure him that you’re not interested in bounties– you were only helping your customers.

“Sure,” he utters as you finish up your work, applying his aftershave of choice, watching him stand and admire himself with a grin.

“I’ll pay ya next time, ok?” He drawls and turns to face you.

He towers over you, reaching a hand up to your head, making you recoil.

But he only pats you gently and turns to take his leave.

“Hey!” you call after him, but the bell on your door chimes– he’s already gone.

You clench the blade in your hand, muttering to yourself. He better come back. You roll your eyes and get back to work, the familiar vengeful thoughts entering your mind once more, wondering if they will ever be quieted.

⋆⁺ [see you in hell]

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