hello angels! this october, i will be participating in kinktober. essentially, kinktober is where i will be posting a small blurb about a kink with a celebrity/character of your choosing for the days leading up to halloween. send in any character/celebrity that i write for + a day, and i will add it to this masterlist. every character i write for is in the tags!
day one. voyeurism with olivia dejonge
day two. roleplay with austin butler
day three. mommy kink with phoenix
day four. orgasm control with phoenix
day five. praise kink with miles teller
day six. degradation with austin butler
day seven. bondage with austin butler and olivia dejonge
day eight. shower sex with rooster
day nine. breeding kink with austin!elvis
day ten. mutual masturbation with rooster
day eleven. phone sex with austin butler
day twelve. public play with austin butler
day thirteen. knife kink with olivia dejonge
day fourteen. daddy kink with hangman
day fifteen. hate sex with rooster
day sixteen. thigh riding with austin butler
day seventeen. sex tape with austin butler and olivia dejonge
day eighteen. squirting with miles teller
day nineteen. threesome with austin!elvis and olivia!priscilla
day twenty. cockwarming with hangman
day twenty-one. corruption kink with austin butler and olivia dejonge
day twenty-two. sex toys with austin butler
day twenty-three. spanking with austin butler and priscilla!reader
knife kink (n): a form of consensual BDSM edgeplay involving knives as a source of physical and mental stimulation
nsfw!
note ; welcome to kinkvember DKDDJDJ i refuse to leave anything unfinished soooooo we’re just gonna keep posting blurbs like it’s October still…. anywho first time writing knife kink but I hope it’s good also ik this is longer than normal but y’all deserve it
warnings ; knife play, some good ol enemies to lovers, dirty talk, blah blah
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
You’ve come to terms with one thing: Olivia DeJonge can kiss your ass.
She just has a way of getting under your skin.
Maybe it was her annoyingly chipper voice that raised twenty octaves when she was in your vicinity, or the looks she threw your way that could kill you if they were weapons. The way her presence could put put you in a bad mood within seconds. You two had always ran in the same friend group, but for some inconspicuous reason, could never see eye-to-eye.
While aimlessly browsing over the pages of your favorite book, you swirl the dark crimson wine in your glass. The cheese board you were previously nibbling on is now down to its final few pieces, with a knife set next to it. Your cozy home is filled with white noise as the rain patters against the glass and thunder claps softly in the distance. All you wanted to do was read and drink after a difficult week that included your boss running amok in your office and irrationally suggesting that you take on more projects.
The rap of knuckles on your door makes that plan seem a little more distant.
With a roll of your eyes and a slam of your novel against your wooden table, you shuffle into your slippers and make your way to your front door, swinging it open as you bury homicidal urges. Those urges become even more prominent when you see Olivia DeJonge on your doorstep, drenched in rain and staring at you like a deer in headlights.
“What the fuck?” Is the first and only thing that blurts out of your mouth. Your disdain is painted all over your face.
She blinks twice, “Uh, I was out, uh, drinking, needed a place to dry off.”
You snort, “So go home then.”
She wraps her arms around her body, a shiver coursing through her body. Her eyes are more telling than her facial features, and there’s an angel on your shoulder that’s feeding you guilt. “I-I can’t, I’m a little drunk if you couldn’t tell.”
You really couldn’t tell, because she stands on your porch clear as day, not a figment of your imagination surprisingly. She doesn’t look disheveled, just a little like a wet, helpless dog. In the name of civility, you open the door an inch more. “Bathrooms to the left. Be quick.”
She scurries past you, her drenched shoulder brushing against yours. You shudder at the sensation and move away, closing the door behind her. There’s a thickness that lies in the air with her body in your home. Despite the mutual friends you share, there’s not really much else to it. Some light hatred perhaps.
You retreat back to the living room couch, a sigh escaping your lips. Loud and long-suffering. There’s barely a moment of peace before the bathroom door swings open and she’s running back out into your hallway like a murderer on the loose. “I-I lied.”
“What?” You turn your head to look at her, taking in her frazzled expression.
“I’m not, I’m not here to pee. Or dry off. Or anything like that. I just,” she pauses to hiccup, and it’s then that you realize how drunk she is. “It’s just that I can’t do this sober. And I’m here now. So…”
You raise an eyebrow, “Come on, out with it, Olivia.”
Fiddling with her thumbs, she fixates her eyes on your carpeted floors. Floors that she’s staining with her damp shoes. You’ll Venmo request her for the cleaning fee later. “It’s just that I know you hate me. And I kinda hate you too. In some weird way. I just… I just hate the fact that you make me feel like this.”
“What are you talking about?” You say, unable to take your eyes off her.
She glances back at you, opens her mouth like she’s about to make a bold statement. Nothing comes out, just the silence that engulfs your living room and the thunder that claps in the distance. The thickness that swallowed the room previously is now replaced with a tension that causes you to shift in your chair, wiggle around like an animal in heat. She finally speaks, “I hate the fact that I want you.”
Heart stills in your chest. Black pools your vision. There’s a moment where your lungs stop inhaling air and just sits like a motor that’s continuously revving its engine, hoping for some take. You refuse to look at her, just keep your eyes trained on your wine glass that’s half-empty.
And then you’re thinking. Thinking how she used to make fun of you, used to tease you for things that were out of your control. Thinking of how she lingered near you despite her consistent hatred. Thinking of the times she’s made eye contact with you before swiveling her head to face somewhere else. Thinking how you could have missed this.
“What?” You whisper.
“I-I’m sorry, I can just go, this is a lot,” You hear her feet shuffle across the floor, and it’s enough to stir you out of your thoughts. You stand up on your feet, limbs shaky.
“Hold on,” You swallow thickly. “You’re telling me… this whole time, you’ve treated me like shit because you had some kind of little crush on me?”
And your mind is whirling, steam-rolled and blended into nothingness. Palms sweaty, eyes incessantly blinking. Feels like time lulls and there’s glue poured between the hands of your wooden clock. How could you have missed this?
It’s just you and her. Her big brown orbs seem smaller than usual, you note.
She kicks the carpet with her shoe, “I’m sorry, this is really weird, I should go —“
“Olivia,” you say sternly. There’s a hint of aggression behind your tone that forces her eyes in your direction.
“Yes?” She squeaks.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You cross your arms over your shoulder, cocking your head to the side, observing her for all she is. For now, she’s a helpless girl who couldn’t outwardly put a name on her feelings towards you. There’s a tiny part of you that is attracted to her submissiveness.
“Because I don’t like you — or well, I didn’t like you. I think… think you’re a little bit of a brat. Always want it your way or the highway, always need someone there to take care of you. So I don’t really know why I feel like this, why I want you,” She seems to cut herself off before she can speak more.
You take a step forward. And maybe it’s the rainy weather, or the hovering buzz of the wine you drank earlier, that feels like there’s a magnetic pull between you two, but you ignore it all and take another step. She doesn’t back away.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t like you either,” Your voice comes out as a low whisper that only she can comprehend.
“Hm?” She swallows, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.
You take another step, only a mere few inches away from her face. You can see every freckle, every pore of her alabaster skin that glows underneath the light in your home. Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted slightly. Some animalistic part of you wants to reach out and see what those lips would feel like against your own. “What did you come over here to do, Olivia? Tell me you hate me but want me and then leave?”
Her eyes darken at the realization that there’s a possibility you might not actually be rejecting her. Her body straightens, tongue pokes out to wet her lips. “Came over here to see if there was a chance you wanted me to.”
And you’re on her within seconds. Lips meshing with a gnash of teeth, all messy and filthy and everything you could imagine it to be. It feels as though the world stops spinning on its axis, like the rain clears away. Your hands cup her warm cheeks, pull her body closer into you. She’s reaching for you too, trying to feel anything, decipher if this is real or something her drunken mind has concocted.
Somehow in the darkened room that feels unfamiliar in this context, you two tumble backwards onto the couch, a tangle of limbs hoping to feel the sensation of one another. She moans a little into the kiss, and you take the moment to feel the way her soft lips melt into your own, taste the leftover tequila on her tongue. Your spine presses into the cushion, her hand cupping your cheek.
You’re still a little shocked this is even happening.
As if she is baffled as well, she pulls away, says, “Are you sure,” she presses another kiss to your jawline. “You sure this is good?”
You roll your eyes so far they almost fall through the back of your brain, “Just shut up and kiss me, Olivia.”
Her lips meld into yours once more, and you hear the thunder clap in the far distance. She straddles you, her thighs strategically placed on either side of you. There’s a dominant side that is burning like a fire inside her, and you find yourself intrigued enough to not blow it out.
Your eyes are squeezed tight, hands wandering to feel up her curves that are accentuated in her black jeans. Her hips rut into your own crotch, and that receives an unsolicited whimper from your mouth that only fuels her more. “Jesus,” you groan into her mouth, while she takes the opportunity to nip and bite down your jawline to your neck.
Nothing about this is soft or forlorn or hopelessly romantic, and despite the cliche, you’re pleasantly surprised at her skill. Her fingers move swiftly to pull down your silk shorts, notice the pretty lace underwear that’s underneath. She doesn’t need to see anything else to know you’re soaking with the way you shake with each touch.
“Come on, get on with it,” You speak through gritted teeth. She looks back up at you, a sinister smirk a stark contrast on her face from her previous expression.
“Didn’t know you were such a fucking whore,” She sneers, resuming the pace of her hips against your aching cunt. Another soft moan exits you with no warning.
“Didn’t know you were such a bitch,” Your jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. “Oh wait, I fucking did.”
And if it weren’t for the venomous look she gave you next, or the fact that you were so eager for any form of stimulation, you wouldn’t have let her pick up the knife you had placed on your table earlier, and feel the sharp ridges against your neck. You gasp at the sensation, struggling to move away from her advances. “Olivia, what the fuck?”
Although your automatic response is fear, the butterflies in your stomach don’t go unnoticed. You haven’t been handled like this in a while, let alone by someone who’s harbored sexual tension with you for the past couple of years. She just smirks, her plump lips wet with your saliva, “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, babe.”
She drags the dull side of the knife down your throat, past the lump that you’ve swallowed and down to your breasts, encircling the hardened nipple. Your breaths are shallow, caught in your lungs and your mind is fuzzy as you try to think of something to combat her, to gain your dominance back.
But you’re all out of words when her free hand roams back down to your underwear that is now soaked with your own juices, dripping with desire and adrenaline. She’s pleasantly surprised at how easy it is to catch you in this position.
“Fuck, I don’t know how you make me feel like this,” She murmurs, mostly to herself, partially to you. You’re unable to retort, still under the hypnotic sensation of the cold metal against your burning skin. Her nimble fingers find their way to your burning core, pressing against your clitoris and anticipating the way your body jolts at the feeling.
She isn't acting gentle as she grips the back of your head, holding a few of your hair strands in her fingers. You can tell she’s having fun, despite the hostility that still lingers in the air, her exasperation, and the intense smug on her face. You wonder if maybe you have crossed the appropriate line that was drawn once before.
“Now, be a good girl for me and take whatever I give you.”
