triggers → somnophilia, dub-con, non-con if you blink a few times?, manipulation, toxic relationships.
content → königs a nasty mfer. piss, degradation, humiliation. könig don’t like relationship labels. dude i just dump what comes to mind onto my phone and call it a day. not proof-read
thinkin bout being wrapped in königs arms. once you head to bed for the night, he wraps himself around you from behind. completely. it’s nearly impossible to get out of his grasp once he has you. man sleeps like the dead too. all those years with severe anxiety taught him to compartmentalize, making it easy to sleep uninterrupted at home.
there was this one time you wiggled your way down the bed, out of his grasp, and to the restroom. at this point you’re used to being held captive in your own bed, always expecting it to be hard to get in and out of bed. but what you weren’t expecting was the pouting german to be directly outside the bathroom door, staring directly down at you. you two had one of those 50-years-married spats after that… just to head back to bed like nothing happened.
it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up before you, that’s just how he is. asleep by 9:30, awake by 5:30. give or take an hour or so. it also wasn’t uncommon for him to just lay in bed with you. there’s been a few really weird things he’s done.
like that time he fucked you stupid, cleaned you up, whispered sweet words and fantasies into your ear, waited for you to fall asleep, and took a bit of your pubic and armpit hair. he had started hiding your razor refills, meaning some length was there. he keeps them in small labeled jars in his gun locker, knowing you’ll never look. along with the pubic and armpit hair, he also has a jar with hair from a haircut you did a while back.
knowing he has odd tendencies, you really should’ve expected this. i mean he has asked you many times to wear his favorite pairs of panties more than one day so they become more “fragrant”.
while you were asleep, könig had carefully stuffed his nicely chubbed cock inside you. you weren’t really wet so he had to begrudgingly spit in his palm to slick himself. if he cared about you any less, he would’ve just went in dry. but he likes when you let him nurse on your tit while you study so he’ll be nice.
when you wake up, you obviously immediately your walls firmly holding his soft cock. you lay there with him at first, he’s never discussed this with you before, but you’re alright with it. each time you shift causes a little pulse to go through his cock, blood slowly filling and fattening his piece.
when you tell him you have to pee, you don’t realize your mistake at first. you just feel him pressing his nose into the base of your skull and inhaling while his hand slowly makes its way to the pudge of your belly. normal clingy moves. you sigh softly and decide to wait, it’s not that urgent.
as you wait for him to let you go, you feel him starting to press down on the area above your bladder. it keeps it very gentle for a long while, encouraging you. as you start to shift more, he continues to increase the firmness of the pressure.
when you finally whine about needing to get up now? he presses down, hard.
you squirm and whine in his arms, but he holds you exactly where and how he wants. his voice still has that early morning rasp that often tricks you into thinking maybe he has a single normal thought.
“go ahead, schatz…”
you whine that you can’t piss in the bed, let alone with his girthy cock rapidly claiming more and more of your insides. he just continues to hold you down on his dick while pressing more and more impatiently on your bladder. you know that he can out wait you, and with him pressing on your bladder? the wait wasn’t going to be much longer.
at this point, tears are welling up in your eyes. a bit pathetic isn’t it? squirming on a man’s cock when he won’t even call you his girlfriend? letting him make you piss the bed? the small grin on his face lets you know he certainly thinks you’re pathetic.
he genuinely gets enjoyment from this. he likes the way you start to bawl, humiliated as piss gushes between you. he likes the way his hips slap against your ass with the added liquid pooling between your closed thighs as he pounds you prone bone.
you wail loudly into the pillow when his palm lands on the back of your head and shoves. your bladder still emptying itself as he uses your piss soaked cunt to get himself off. he hasn’t really learned the difference between a pocket pussy and a real life, living pussy. he moves erratically, carelessly, deeply. your ass has already started to flush from how hard his hips slap against you.
when your bladder finally empties, it doesn’t take long for him to start desperately rutting against you, trying to force his spunk as deep as it can go. you let out choked cries while your jaw hangs helplessly. your tears have left their mark on your face and the pillow, your drool and maybe a little snot doing the same.
tip of the day!
going to the bathroom before bed is good for your health and sanity!
regrettably thinking of king!price and princess!reader whom had three suitors lined up but the king was not satisfied despite them being more than perfectly acceptable -- well-read, wealthy, politically intelligent, strong, and witty. none of them are fit for his princess. and he tells you so, at the end of court, while you're sat in his lap, his warm heavy hand resting at your inner thigh beneath the many skirts of the dress he had made for you. his thumb rubs to and froe. his voice is low, a breath against your neck.
'any of them would take you away. that's the nature of the thing, innit?'
Summary: When Tangerine opened an underground strip-club to cover for his murder-for-hire business operation, he wasn't expecting to become so easily distracted by one girl in particular.
Warnings: dark content, will contain smut, sexual themes, drugs, alcohol, sex for money, violence, death, murder, blood, possible mentions/depictions of sexual harassment and sexual assault. EVERY chapter will have their own warnings!
and BIG thank you to the lovely @little-miss-dilf-lover for brainstorming with me! this wouldn't be a thing without her!
♡⟡˙⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆˙⟡♡
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
♡⟡˙⋆ PLAYLIST ⋆˙⟡♡
disclaimer - like mentioned in my masterlists, y/n's character never has any physical descriptions and this includes this story. The pictures found on Pinterest are used only for this mood-board!! I want my y/n, like all my others, to be as vaguely described as possible so everyone is included 🤍
Hey All! I'm a little delayed on this, but this was my section for the True Psychic Tales Psychonauts Zines. Got the go-ahead a while ago that I could put these up. Really enjoyed doing this project.
Here's Zine physical I got a long with all the goodies! Everyone did such a great job! Would love to do something like this again!
Support me on Ko-Fi and Patreon. Would be greatly appreciated.
Thinking again about the Pepper Route I thought up, which is kind of like the Salt Route but for Tenna and relies heavily on his use of guns so instead of salt we collect bullets (pepper) that look like dead pixels (full info here).
I actually think it would be interesting that we would have had to collect these pixels across the chapters, as there were the ones that were in the final bosses area that we could see, in order to collect the rest in chapter 3.
It would play out like a genocide route, as I described, but at the point were everyone is freed from the prize balls, only Kris gets out and is separated from the rest of the party.
From there, Kris will enter the 3rd round, which because of the killing, is a western ghost town (the train segment may be included as well, perhaps it's derailed?)
Entering the town, Tenna might give some history, mainly about the cowboy puppet show and why it was canceled. Due to the subject matter in the show, gun violence, drinking, etc, some people thought it was too violent and called in to complain (*cough* Toriel *cough*) Now that's not to say it wasn't unfounded, the show did get pretty violent, but you liked it like that, didn't you Kris? You and Asgore, it was your show! You were gonna see it through to the end. No matter how dark it got, you were invested in those puppets, you needed to see how it would end!... but you never did... Left on a cliffhanger, a deadly game left unfinished... How bout we finish it now?
There would be a showdown, and we would be lead to believe at first this is the final confrontation, but then it's revealed the real last game, the final round, it a certain game you play with one bullet. The real reason the show got canceled.
In order to win this, after Tenna goes first, you have to pull the trigger towards Kris three times in a row. Each time, Kris becomes more and more distressed. The final 50/50 chance we give to Tenna, and he loses. (Again, check my info post for dialogue.)
Edit: Thinking about Spamton connections. Besides the idea of Spamton in cowboy get up, using his strings like green lassos and potentially tying people to the train tracks like an old school villain, in that final moment, I feel like he would try to intervene if certain circumstances are met (Either if we didn't do the Salt Route or we did, not sure). He might shoot his heart out to take the bullet, giving Tenna a chance to escape at the cost of his life (but Tenna would be too heartbroken/stunned to run), or use the heart to sever Tenna's arm so the shot misses, or a combination of the both. Either way, it's for naught, as Kris will end them both (maybe even ramming Spamton through Tenna's screen ala Jennifer's Death in Dream Warriors.)
Can you do a touya/Dabi fic with shotos twin sister and just had one quirk which was fire so she was tossed aside so she resented her dad and somehow she met dabi/touya and he made her his little spy but she also desperately clings to him at times when she reports to him and stays close since she never got that affection (Btw for outfits she usually wears tank tops and bootcut jeans) please and thank you
Warnings: sorry this took forever for me to get out, been meaning to get to it cuz i miss writing for dabi x todoroki!reader, tons of trigger warnings, sibling incest, siblingxsibling relationships, betrayal, manipulation, resentment, overall dark themes, dysfunctional todoroki family ft, mind the tags, don't read if you don't like the subject matter 🖤
Inhaling deeply before letting out a slow, steady, breath, you pull open the large front door of Endeavor's agency. You could survive a few hours in the presence of your father. Or rather, lingering in the background like the little ghost you were.
No one would dare to say it out loud, but everyone and their mother knew you were the spare twin compared to your slightly older brother Shoto. He was the pride and joy of the Todoroki family, unlike you. At first you believed it to be unfair. You were in the womb at the same time as him. Why didn't you get a ice and fire quirk?
Was it really because he was the first born? That couldn't be it.
Your white flames, while hotter than even your father's, did little to impress him.
You didn't turn any heads when you enter your father's personal floor of his agency's building. This task was easy. Stealing information and sending it to your older brother and his crew became a normal thing for you.
"See, I told you we should have her around." Dabi argued in your defense while caressing the side of your face. "She's a good girl who listens to her big brother, aren't you?" Some would call his tone degrading. You felt the tenderness in his hand though as it delicately angled your face upward so he could look into your mismatched eyes. One the hue of a storm in the sky, the other the color of a raging sea. That’s what Dabi always said before you closed your eyes to go to bed.
Shigaraki and the rest of the League were less thrilled about you being anywhere near them. While you weren't popular like your father or Shoto, many still knew your face. Having you around could be more of a risk than the League were willing to pay.
You just wanted to make him happy, to keep his eyes solely on you. If it involved betraying the other members of your family (including your twin brother Shoto) then so be it. You would let Dabi’s words consume you entirely, making you his mindless slave.
The rest of the League members could chalk it up to Dabi simply using sweet words to manipulate you. He didn’t care about anything. Especially his family. What made you different?
Now that was a secret that Dabi would not utter. His praise filled words were genuine when it came to you and Dabi would be damned if he had to give you up again because of Tomura. He'd make sure you'd make yourself indispensable to the League. They'd have to let you stay.
You were just as determined as Dabi was to keep your place. You hated to even pretend to be under allegiance to your father or any superhero for that matter. They'd always looked down on you for not being like Shoto. Never being enough for them or their world. But you were enough for Dabi.
Slipping the flashdrive up your sleeve, you leave just as you had arrived: unseen. Just in case the cameras hidden throughout the building were focused on you, you'd nonchalantly picked up some of your father's paperwork in appearance of tidying up his workspace like the good daughter you were.
It made you sick to your stomach thinking that not too long ago, all you'd ever wanted was Endeavor's attention and approval. Shoto suppressed his fire ability for years, associating it with his abusive father so you thought you had a shot. You spent hours upon hours practicing with your flames to make them hotter and hotter and finally to where they could melt anything and everything. Leaving not even ash behind.
When you hand Shigaraki the flashdrive, he grudgingly accepts it with a stiff nod. He didn't want to admit that you were providing them incredibly valuable information that all other villain groups lacked.
He ignores Dabi's smug grin as he slung his arm around your shoulder, giving the top of your head a peck. "Knew you could do it." His brings his hand up for his fingers to brush against your cheek.
You felt it again.
The world stopping and all breath departing from your lungs. You wanted Dabi to brand you with his palm, to use his blue flames and scorch your skin so you would always have a piece of him.
Then Dabi leans down, lips caressing the shell of your ear and in his husky tone he calls you "Good girl."
Blushing and highly aware of how Dabi simply towered over you, you shyly duck your head. "Ha. . . it was nothing."
Everyone learned to simply avert their attention when Dabi's affections for you walked on the razor's edge of what was appropriate.
You'd proven to be their perfect spy. Shigaraki couldn't wait to see you in actual battle. That would really be the test of your usefulness.
(when referring to “he”, it’s yeonjun just for some context)
“lick it.”
“wh—what?”
he had your head floating over his dick while on your knees. it was hard as hell to balance. you’d probably fall face first into his dick and he’d hold you there and let you suffocate. beomgyu was holding your hands behind your back, tight ass grip on your wrists. he was rubbing his finger and teasing your tiny little ass hole. you could only imagine what was to come.
“did i stutter?”
you still held yourself up just to float above it and he grips your hair between his fingers. god it burned. tears dripping all over his dick you start to lick it up. you kept the same slow, slow pace overall until he slapped you. telling you to pick up the pace and move faster.
“fuck— that’s better. makes you look like a cock hungry little whore. god i wish i could take a picture.”
you suck the air through your teeth and keep the pace. his grip on your hair still burningly tight. it started to become easy to disassociate but that was until you got this burning pain in your ass and you when to scream, but yeonjun just forces your head down and mouth onto his dick to cut you off. your eyes were wide open and it had to be one of the worst pains that you ever felt in your life.
“god, your ass is s’fucking tight—”
he slaps your ass. it was beomgyu that cheeky fuck. you had a face full of cock in your mouth and and ass full of it. you were stuffed. you thought about biting down but you knew he’d probably kill you a throw you out into some random ally. you tried to scream while on his cock. and it only made him grip your hair tighter. mumbling a string of curses. the vibration around his dick only making him feel all the more better. he didn’t even offer to let you do it yourself, he just moved your head up and down his dick using the grip he had on your hair. using you like their own personal sex doll. yeonjun was greatful as fuck for beomgyu right about now because one, all his thrusting into your ass was causing your head to move on his dick a little, and two, the pain you felt from him stretching your little ass hole out made you scream and cry all over his dick and the vibrations made him feel like he was on cloud fucking nine. everytime he felt the lightest graze of teeth when you thought he couldn’t grip your hair any harder, he did. your jaw was hurting trying to force it as wide as you could to keep from your teeth grazing him, so much drool dribbling out of your mouth. there was literally a swimming pool starting to form on his dick from all the drool you were leaving behind.
TW: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT!!, canon complicit violence, murder, knife to reader’s throat, manipulation, smut (p in v), dubcon, friends to ???, begging, objectification, degradation, possessiveness, pet names
MINORS DNI !!! 🔞
Word count: 2,539
A/N: omfg i actually cannot believe how long it’s been since i’ve properly posted on here. so much has happened irl (the writer's cure is real!) and i’ve been really busy, but i hope to get more fics done soon! this may be the longest fic i have ever posted on here, so i hope you all enjoy it! it’s named after a line from THIS fall out boy song, so if you’d like, you can give it a listen before/while you read. this was originally intended to release on valentine's this year, but it kept getting delayed. honestly, we really have @kirschface to thank for this (ily). i really hope you guys enjoy :)
banners are from @/maysdigitalarts and @/uzmacchiato
You really didn’t want to believe he was capable of something like this.
Sure, Richie was a huge fan of Stab, but he wasn’t violent– you’d known him since childhood, he’d never hurt you, or anyone else, for that matter. Despite being tall as hell, he was always scared of physicality, you’d always joked about him being too delicate for his favorite franchise.
And yet;
You cower in the dim light of the parking garage, using a stranger’s car to shield you from the scene unfolding before you.
Someone draped in a black cloak and Ghostface mask towers over a man, and seconds later, blood spills silently from a small, but effective hole in the victim’s temple. The imposter Ghostface seems satisfied for a moment, before appearing to panic, and then, speaking out loud, “Shit! Holy fuck! Where’s my car?”
You began to panic, praying he wouldn’t approach you. He kept muttering under his breath about his keys, and something began to gnaw at you—his voice. His voice modulator was not on, and he sounded familiar. He finally found his keys and hit the button on his car. A sigh of relief escaped you noticing it was on the opposite side of the garage. However, as you watched the killer carry the body back to his car, your chest tightened once more, as you realized that the car was Richie’s silver Prius. Shock fell over you as you put the pieces together, and you sit in stunned silence until the car left the garage, trying to justify Richie’s innocence the whole ride home.
You sit at home, contemplating the idea of him, all your memories together, why and how he would do this. You had heard of the killings on TV. In fact, you had spoken about them with Richie; you’d both commented on how disgusted you were with the killer and he had been a stain of the good name of the Stab franchise, how all copycats were pathetic lowlifes seeking fame. You didn’t understand how he could lie to you, above all people. He had been your best friend. You wallowed for what felt like hours. And then your phone buzzed.
Rich 📼🔪: you busy? I’m kinda feeling a stabathon and chill
You think for a minute, about running to the police, anywhere away from him, but you can’t resist.
Y: be right there, gimme 30
You fix your face and get there in 20.
Upon knocking on the door, there is no answer. It was unlocked. This was not unusual, so you open it. You call out for him, looking briefly, before finding the bathroom door open and the sound of the sink on.
What follows suit was him soaked to his elbows in blood, with some on his shirt as well, covering his abdomen. He notices you quickly, and throws an annoyed glance, before looking at the clock on the wall, and then back to you.
“I thought you said 30 minutes.”
“I got here quick.”
Silence covers the room as he scrubs his hands. You almost speak up a few times, but shyness overwhelms you. At once, Richie turns the faucet off, his hands clean of blood, save for the fingernails.
“I saw you in the garage today.” You say, trying to pry any leverage possible from him.
“So did I.” He steps forward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway, cornering you against the wall.
You gulp, again wishing to speak, but failing to do so. He places a hand around your throat, gently, as a reminder of the power he held over you.
“Everything inside of me was screaming at me to pin you down and slit your throat, and yet, here you are.” His voice is thick with malice and unknowing.
He’s even closer to you, pausing again, thinking.
“Richie, why did you let me live? You had plenty of chances to kill me.”
His head is every bit as fuzzy as yours. He nuzzles into you, absentmindedly before snapping out it and pulling away and answering.
“I’m…not sure. I didn’t know I’d feel this way.” He is being sincere. You haven’t seen him like this in years. “I want to kill you. I’m supposed to kill you, but I can’t make myself.”
He smirks to himself, knowing, as if he’d answered his own question, quite satisfied with himself. Then, the moment ends, ‘normal’ Richie is back.
“Y’know, I could ask the same of you.” he whispers, still smirking, but now with a more sinister connotation.
“What are you talking about?”
“Why haven’t you reported me? You saw me kill a guy and didn’t even call the cops– that makes you an accessory. It’s almost like you want me to get away with it.” He chuckles a little as he taunts you, scanning your face for a reaction.
“No! Why would you say that?! I was scared for my life! I’ve spent the last two hours trying to convince myself it wasn’t you in that damn garage!”
He stands close with an unnerving smile.
“You sure that’s why?”
Tears threaten to spill over. You turn your head, refusing to look him in the eyes as you answer.
“I was afraid I’d never see you again if I did.”
“Oh?” He says as he moves closer, turning your head to force you to look at him. “You’d miss me that much?”
He tightens his grip on your neck, not so much to cause any pain, but enough to earn a small squeak from you. He hums, bringing his lips close to yours, enough to brush, but not kiss. His hand leaves your neck and moves to cradle your head as his lips crash into yours. He is hungry, but restricting himself. His other hand is roaming, grabbing, unable to stay in one place. He is greedy. He pulls back, out of breath, and whispers, “Bed. Now."
You start to rush to his bedroom, but it is not fast enough– you are in his arms in an instant, and then very quickly, on the bed. He is above you, his belt already off, pulling his pants down. He begins to work on yours, his fingers clawing teasingly towards your underwear. He nuzzles into you, stopping to suck and bite where he sees fit. His hips grind forward, pushing his cock against your thigh; Pre-cum soaks his boxers as they begin to strain, and he sits up a little.
“T-tell me you want this.” He demands. There is an infatuated look in his eyes as he runs his hands up and down your thighs. His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. For a moment, you almost forget what you saw in the parking garage today.
“Richie, I want this. So bad.”
That's enough for him.
He pushes you back down to the bed, immediately attaching himself to your mouth. His hands are all over. You feel him grabbing and traversing every part of you needily. He pries his lips away, that same obsessed look in his eyes and he pulls down your underwear, then his, and then slinks down, immediately attaching his lips to your clit, sucking and licking with the same fervor he used on your mouth just moments before.
He feels up and down your thighs again, and then, gently, he takes one of his slender fingers and fills your cunt with it. You gasp, surprised at how full you feel. You had always imagined what his fingers would feel like inside you, but never in all of your fantasies did you think they would feel this big. For a moment, you become lost in the idea, letting him slowly drag it in and out, your mind wandering to how full you’ll really feel when he finally puts his cock in you.
Your bubble bursts as he puts in another finger, and you cry out, reaching for him. He cups your face, and whispers, “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” His eyes start to soften as he pets your hair, “We don’t have to do this. I won’t be mad.”
“I’m okay, Rich,” He scans your face, unsure but willing to trust you, “I’m just sensitive.Keep going”
He’s still a little weary, but he smiles and presses a kiss to your temple.
“Anything for you, babe.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but deep down, he means it.
He finally pulls his boxers off and frees his aching cock, tip pink and leaky. You reach down to palm it, and he actually fucking whimpers. He pulls your hands away, “Let me take care of you, okay?” And he gives another soft kiss to your temple, before kissing all along your jaw, eventually landing on your lips.
He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, enjoying the feeling as he slowly rocks his hips, now enough to cause sheath himself in your pussy, but just enough to wet your folds with the precum he’d soaked his boxers with. Richie hums, content, and then begins to beg, “Please,” his eyes still wild, seemingly moreso by the minute, “Please let me fuck you.” Again, his lips attack your neck, giving you no chance to answer him. But he’s becoming antsy,and pulls away.
“Please, I won’t hurt you. Forget what you saw and let m–” You cut him off with a kiss, and it’s all he needs.
In one swift move, he angles your hips closer to him and pushes himself inside you, hissing and muttering to himself like a madman. You yelp again, grabbing onto him and, in turn, he wraps an arm around you, soothing you and pulling you impossibly closer as he begins to thrust into you.
He is still muttering, now louder, that you are his, that he needs you, that he owns you, that you will never leave, things that make your head spin. His thrusts speed up, and he moves his hand to circle your clit. Your moans get louder at the sensation and he nuzzles himself into your neck. With his mouth next to your ear, the muttering is impossible to ignore.
“You’re such a good toy, letting me use you like this,” You clench down, and he chuckles.
“Such a good slut. Didn’t even have to train you.” You’re so close. He can feel it. You’re not sure if he’s aware of what he’s saying, and witnessing him like this, though foreign, is maybe the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
He adjusts himself to look you in the eye, “Say that you’re mine,” He huffs out, desperate, and needy.
Barely holding on, you whimper, “All yours, Richie,” He circles your clit faster, eliciting a desperate moan from you, “Only yours, oh, fuck!.” You clench harder in a failed attempt of holding your orgasm back. He lets out a deep groan and grips your hips.
“Oh, fuck, that’s it. You take me so well. I know you're close, sweetheart, cum on my cock for me.”
It comes over you in waves, as he continues to thrust in you; and then, not long after, he collapses into a moaning mess on top of you, still muttering and nuzzling into your neck. Eventually, you both fall asleep in each other's arms, exhausted, but safe.
The next morning, you wake up to the smell of breakfast and coffee. One of his shirts is laid out on the bed, along with a clean pair of boxers and pajama shorts. You join him in the kitchen, there’s waffles and coffee, Stab on TV, and that cheery gleam in his eye, it’s like nothing ever happened in that parking garage yesterday, you think. You grab a plate and pour yourself a cup. Richie’s eyes track your every movement, you begin to realize this is a feeling you might have to get used to.
“You’re awake! I thought you were gonna sleep all day!” He teases. There’s a smugness on his face that wasn’t there yesterday.
You chuckle and take the moment of stillness to inspect his face as he plates the food. The conflict is eating you alive. The rational part of you is screaming to leave and never look back, after all, the man is clearly deranged, but something inside of you can’t let go, and the last 12 hours have been nothing but a testament to that. He’s best friend, and after being defiled by him, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to betray him, even if it means betraying your humanity.
“I can tell you’re getting stuck in your head again,” He says, snapping you out of your contemplative daze. “Go on ahead and eat, it’s not poisoned or anything.” He takes a bite of his own to prove it, shrugging his shoulders as if to say ‘I told you so’.
You eat in relative peace, making trivial small talk about the Stab sequel on in the background. He finishes before you, and begins to clean up, but as he starts to wash the dishes, he goes silent.
“I know you’re probably pretty freaked out,” His back is to you, and it’s difficult to decipher his tone, “The truth is, I want to hate you, but I don't. I don't think that’s who I am. I told myself when I started this that there’d be no witnesses, no exceptions. But, with you, it's different, I just–”
While he was talking, you stand, moving closer, attempting to comfort him by placing a hand on the small of his back. Startled by this, in one swift motion, he pins you to the counter and presses a steak knife that had been sitting on the counter to your throat. Though dull, you feel the implication of the blade as it threatens your skin.
He looks into your eyes for a moment, then lowers his guard.
“I want you to understand what will happen if you tell anyone what you saw.” You nod, just enough, slightly flustered from the close proximity.
He leans in closer, almost enough for a kiss, but not quite. “Tell anyone and I tie you up and take you somewhere where no one’s even heard of Ghostface, do you understand me?” You nod again, eyes pleading with him to understand.
He removes the knife, letting it clatter carelessly into the sink, and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple.
“You still up for that Stab-o-thon?” A grin plasters itself on his face; He knows he’s won.
