#SK! Matsukawa

[unicorn-gallerexy]

Hello, Sugar cubes. I have gotten sucked into twisted wonderland, figuring out college and work. I am so tired. Anyways, here's a little something from the notes. This was written before the other SK! Mattsun piece, jsyk

CW: The horny goblin wanted blood and it got it, smut, SK! Mattsun, established relationship, mentions of homicide, knife play, violence, dubcon bc he didn't really ask but reader is into it.

Argument spree

The news played in the background as I went through and edited page after page for this new book.

"According to investigators, this is connected to a recent but unsettlingly long string of crimes around the area. Detectives say that although the victims are barely anything alike, they all have one thing in common: All of them look to be crimes of passion, a small heart drawn on the back of their right hand..." I opted to stop listening after that, reaching for the remote to turn the TV off as I kept scanning over my writing. My eyes didn't fail to miss the small heart bracelet around my right wrist, a gift. I roll my eyes after a while and sigh, unable to focus on my revisions.

"Dammit." I get up and grab a drink from the fridge, going up to the shared bedroom to lay in wait. Being in love with a serial killer is not too much different from a normal relationship, minus police snooping every now and then. Arguments are just as common and after this most recent one, he's opted to go on the quickest spree I've seen, changing up to avoid normal suspicion, but knowing that I would see it. He's been gone for about a week, but has already managed to kill 9 people. I stare up at the ceiling until I dose off, *maybe a nice nap will help me get back in an editing mood*.

A hand clasps itself around my neck, immediately waking me but squeezing before I can make a sound. "***Don't. make. a sound.***" I know the voice, but because I'm on my side, I can't see the face, though the familiar hand on my throat is enough confirmation. Matsukawa presses his hips into mines, grinding as his other hand makes its way up my shirt, feeling slick and cold.

"I'm kinda upset, baby. It's been almost a week and you haven't even said a word to me. No calls, not a text, nothing. Are you still that mad at me, love?" He shifts so he's over me, releasing his hold on my throat.

"I'm not the one who started that argument, nor am I the one who went and had a murderous tantrum." I glare up at him only to have my gaze interrupted by my shirt as he forces it over my head, pulling at my pants after, feeling his hands still slick in the dimly lit room. "Is there literally blood on your hands right now?!" I asked after fully coming to my senses as he forces my pants off of me, tossing them with my shirt as I take in the fact that he has on nothing but his boxers.

"Yes, and?. I was still mad before I decided to come back so I went and carved up a girl like a fresh baked ham. Don't be jealous tho, babe, I brought back your favorite knife." He smiled as he reached over and grabbed the switch blade he took ehen he left and pressed the tip to my collarbone. I stiffen under him as he drags it across my upper chest, free hand pulling off the remaining clothes and discarding them. He pressed the tip of the knife into my skin just enough to draw blood before he attached his mouth to the wound. "1. You're absolutely disgusting for sucking my blood and smearing someone else's blood all over me, you sick fuck." I sigh as he kisses up from my collar to the center of my throat, groaning against my skin. "And 2. You killed 10 people in less than 7 days. You're nothing but evil... And it's hot, even though it shouldn't be."

He chuckled against the skin and bit into the center of my throat before moving over as I whined. He's careful with the knife as he moves my legs so that the back of my knees rest on his shoulders, pushing down his boxers as to grind himself against me skin to skin. His hand still slick, he moves it up to play with my breast, the other moving the knife behind my thigh, eyes daring me to squirm the wrong way and slice myself. "Cmon, stop teasin', Issei. You leave for a week and then come back, slather me in someone's blood and then wanna tease. That's not fa- ahh!" He cuts off middle sentence, the harsh thrust shifting me upwards.

"You're right, I'm just being mean at this point." His smile is sadistic as he sets a ,

harsh pace, pressing himself and my thighs against my chest. He buries his head into the other side of my neck, the knife sharp and more precise than one would think as he presses it into my skin, cutting slice after slice into the backs of my thighs. I squeal and mew under him, eyes glossy with tears as I squeeze around him, making him groan and bite my neck. I reach up and grab onto him, digging my nails into his back, feeling the blood from the back of my thighs trail down his chest.

"Fuck~ fuck, Issei, please~" he pulls away from my neck to press his lips to my ear.

"Say you're mines, darling. Say you belong to me." His voice has a gentle tone of desperation, his hands let go of the knife in favor of gripping the front of my thighs to pull my lower half closer to his. The pain forces a broken moan from me as I fist the sheets at my sides, tears streaming from the corner of my eyes.

"I'm yours, Issei! Only yours, I swear." I babble out as his hips speed up, the sounds and feeling much wetter than normal, though my mind is too mushy to care. My back arches as I whine and keen beneath him, gushing around him as he soon follows, stilling as he grunts and fills me completely. He pulls away so I can properly see his face, giving me a gentle kiss as he moves a hand to cup my face. "I really do love you, you know?" I ask with the softest voice I can, completely tired and limp under him. He chuckles and sits up to put my legs down, his movements slow and gentle.

"I know, and I love you too. Now, how about I clean you up and then we cuddle?" I nod as I watch him disappear into the bathroom, still feeling lucky as ever.

[unicorn-gallerexy]

Serial Killer!Matsukawa x Reader: First Date

Being an introverted horror writer was harder than I thought it would be. It wasn't the lack of motivation, or the odd fan letters, or any other typical problem that got me half the time, it was the fact that I've had the police at to my door more than thrice. The first time, I was startled. A published book involving some scarily accurate, previously used methods for a murder, dismember, dispose kind of job and then i get questioned by police a week later due to certain details. Thankfully they later told me that it was a misunderstanding and let me go. Come to find out via the news another week later, they had been investigating a case and one of the scenes had matched up in more ways than one with the actual murder. Similar victim, similar method. A fair mistake, as i was shocked too. They eventually caught the guy, but i couldn't help but be a bit proud.

The second time, the same detectives came by to ask me about some details of a short story i had published on my blog. I keep it around and publish stories that wouldn't do well if I was to try and lengthen them or make them into a book, and had just had a one-off idea. It was typed up in a night, mildly proofread and posted before i crashed and slept only to have a solid few knocks on my door about 2 days later. Similar situation. A few questions, an alibi as solid as a few sheets of paper because i live alone and don't have a partner or many friends who aren't busy, and they left without much fuss. I stayed glued to the news for the next few days but still didn't find out until people tagged my on twitter about the case and how similar it was.

it wasn't like i was trying to do any of it on purpose, i just liked being accurate and the research part was fascinating. Crime series and documentaries, article after article, little tidbits from the internet here and there and the material writes itself. Now, whenever it happens, i take it as a compliment more than anything and keep to answering my door to them with one sentence.

"Whatever similarities are in my story a coincidence and i was home all day like usual." There's a little variation here and there to account for things like shopping or the rare hangout with friends, but the point still stands. Just about every time it happens, i can't help but be giddy. Knowing there will be people old and new flocking to my work because it feels so real, and some even seem to match up with actual crimes. It gives a sense of pride and motivation in my work, but a woman still has needs.

The other hard part about it all isn't one that came with the work. To say i don't like living alone and being to myself is a lie. I enjoy the quiet, no one around to bother me and the ability to focus on my work is lovely. But, that's not to say that i wouldn't enjoy the company of someone every now and then. Friends are fine and dandy and i cherish the days that we're able to spend together, but i can't help but be a bit envious of those with partners and relationships. When i started writing and got published, i was happy but it also gave me another strike in the dating pool apparently. I've been told that i look like the type to write that kind of stuff. From men who heard i wrote horror and ghosted, to those who've read my work and said i was too gruesome, and those who truly believed that i was a murderer solely because of my writing and knowledge. It sucks.

But, a friend has set me up with a friend of a friend and I opt not to turn her down seeing no valid reason to. She seemed so excited to help me out, remarks of how the extended friend fit my type, how he would probably more intrigued by my writing instead of freaked out, etc were constant as the days passed. I appreciated her constant encouragement, still tempering my expectations. With her continuous joy filled pestering, the days pass by fast. I find myself writing short stories to pass time, all of them morbidly starting with blind dates, and turning into a fight for life or a blood bath. I call it simply getting it out of my system and treating first date jitters.

When the night comes, i get dressed in something simple and cute after getting the text from my friend about the location of the date. The entire drive there is more nerve wracking than usual. Had the break from dating been that long? Or was my friend's heavy praise of the guy actually weighing on my mind more than I expected? Either way, my blouse was starting to feel itchy at the collar and i couldn't help but fuss over my my skirt. I question my choices in clothes as i park and get out of the car, the restaurant in front of me looms over and brings a new wave of anxiety. As my eyes scan over it again, my eyes finally catch on the guy standing off to the side of the door. Before i can give him a proper once over, i'm being waved over, his hand extended in greeting as i approach.

With greetings exchanged, i learn his name finally: Issei Matsukawa. As we go in, i see him fall into a natural lead type of role. The restaurant is classy but casual, Issei asking for the table reserved under his name and guiding me with a gentle hand on my center back. I take the short bit of time to properly look him over. He's tall, tan and the sleepy expression adds to the alluring smirk he keeps. His voice is deep, conveying a sense of confidence and control whilst remaining soothing, wrapping you in a sense of security. He's dangerous and i can tell. I've watched too many shows, written and read to many stories to not at least take note of the similarities but i go with the flow and allow him to guide me into my seat before sitting himself.

"So, Makki tells me that you're a horror novel writer. Ya have fun or is it more of a drag now?" I tilt my head at the question as I look at the menu, other men normally try to avoid my writing but this is a nice chance of pace.

"It's still fun. Didn't think I'd be under so much suspicion, but I say that adds to the fun. You, on the other hand, were left as a mystery to me. What do you do for a living?" When I ask, the smile that he gives sends a cold shiver down my spine. He's smiling, it reaches his eyes, but I can't shake the feeling of something being mildly wrong about the expression.

"I work in a funeral home. I can kinda relate about to the suspicious thing, the amount of times I've had people question me over crimes that happen within my area is ridiculous, but I guess fair. Adds to the fun though, right?" The smile gets just a bit wider, as do his eyes, he looks more awake. I hum, and can't help but laugh a little. Though he seems curious, he holds his question until after the waiter that comes up leaves with our orders.

"What's the giggling about?" He tilts his head after resting his chin on top of his hands, eyes full of intent. I can't help but give my own smile in return.

"Nothing really. I just think I should start taking a break from writing so much, that's all." I gently shake my head as I grab for my drink, taking a sip as we fall just a bit too easily into conversation. He's charismatic and charming, easy to talk to and funny. I still can't shake the feeling that it feels like something out of a thriller movie or book, even as we get our food or after. As we both finish up, he insists on walking me to my car. I oblige to be nice, but once there I stand in front of the back.

"Well, I had a lovely time tonight." I conclude, hearing him hum in agreement as he slips his hand into his pocket. His keys jingle as he slips them out of his pocket, his height seeming towering as he stands just a bit close for comfort.

"So, can I tail you home? I know it sounds odd, but I'm only offering because there's supposedly a serial killer running around. You can say no, if you like." His eyes and stance say something different, he stopped me before I could balk at such an odd question and the way he's starting to lean ever so slightly over me is actually intimidating. Another shiver travels up my spine, and I slide between him and my car to get around to the driver's side.

"I appreciate it, Issei. Really, a sweet gesture but I think I'll be just fine." I stand up straight, and look him in the face the entire time. Even as he straightens up, even as he closes his eyes and gives a simple shrug.

"If you say so but, that aside, can I see you again?" Why did it sound so sinister? The feeling of something being off with him finally forms itself into a single thought.

'He's too perfect.'

He's got this face of perfection, voice to accompany it and a facade like a man trying to hide something evil. There's plenty that says we should end it here, one date and it's done. On the other hand, there's something all too alluring about meeting someone who's exactly what I aim to write. When I agree, he seems equal parts surprised and pleased.

He can't stop smiling as we exchange numbers, he's honestly giddy as he makes his way back to his car acrosd the lot. Even then, he watches me get in before he gets in himself and let's me leave before even cranking on his car.

He might've seen my license place, but he didnt realize I gave him by burner number.

Let the cat and mouse game begin.