#but i think that had to be at least a little part of it

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a no-known sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm such a great guy, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[monzabee]

the nanny - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: there is a mysterious woman visiting hotch’s office... it’s his nanny? 

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.1k 

Warnings: nosy profilers, other than that none  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

“Excuse me, can you point me to the direction of Aaron Hotchner’s office?”  

Thirteen words.  

Thirteen words is exactly what it takes for the BAU to lose their minds over the fact that there is a woman who is visiting their boss.  

“Do you think that’s his girlfriend?” Penelope whispers, failing rather miserably, as they watch you retreat into Hotch’s office.  

Emily’s eyebrows raise at the insinuation, “No way, when was the last time Hotch was even on a date?” 

“Not for at least two years,” Spencer scoffs, earning glaring looks from three of his co-workers. “What?” He asks, innocently shrugging his shoulders.  

“Look at her,” JJ shakes her head, she isn’t she isn’t convinced. “She doesn’t seem like just a random visitor.” 

“Maybe she’s a lawyer,” Derek offers, arms crossed as he leans against the desk. “Or, God forbid, a new profiler.” 

Penelope gasps dramatically, pouting. “Another profiler? In our sacred little family?” 

“I don’t think so.” Emily tilts her head, watching through the glass windows of Hotch’s office. “He doesn’t look like he’s briefing her. He looks… I don’t know. Different.” 

“Different how?” Spencer asks, squinting as if he could analyze the interaction better. 

Before anyone can respond, the blinds to Hotch’s office suddenly snap shut. The team collectively inhales. 

“Oh my God.” Penelope clutches at Derek’s arm. “He never closes the blinds. Never.” 

JJ exhales, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s crazier. The fact that Hotch might actually be dating someone… or the fact that none of us had any idea.” 

If there is one thing Aaron Hotchner is good at, it would be compartmentalizing. He had to, as a unit chief who wanted to protect his team from all the bureaucratic headache that he had to endure, or as a father who wanted to shield his son from his line of work as much as possible.  

So, it came as no surprise to him to not talk about his nanny—well, not his nanny per se, but rather Jack’s nanny.  

“You’ve caused quite a scene downstairs, you know that, right?” Aaron asks you as he makes his way back to his desk from the small window overlooking the ballpen.  

“I only asked them where to find your office,” you shrug, hands folded primly on your lap — something rather uncharacteristic now that Aaron realizes. “They were very nice, though.” 

Aaron sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They're not used to seeing unfamiliar faces here. Especially in my office.” 

You raise an amused brow. “I figured as much from the way they all gawked at me like I had grown a second head.” 

He exhales, shaking his head. “You should've called. I would've met you downstairs.” 

“And miss the chance to see your team’s collective meltdown?” You smirk, crossing one leg over the other. “No way.” 

Hotch gives you a pointed look, but there's the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his usual stoic expression. “What are you doing here?” 

“I brought you lunch,” you simply shrug, placing the brown paper bag on his desk and leaning back into the chair, “I got you a sandwich from that place you like near the park.” 

Hotch looks at the bag, then back at you, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I didn’t have to. But let’s be honest, you were either going to skip lunch entirely or eat some sad excuse for a meal at your desk.” 

Aaron exhales through his nose, the closest thing to amusement you’ve seen from him in days. “I eat just fine.” 

You arch an eyebrow. “Last week, I caught you eating dry cereal straight from the box while reviewing case files.” He opens his mouth to say something in retaliation, but you stop him before he can get a word out, “Do not even dare to say it was late, I left you a whole plate of food out.” 

He gives you a pointed look, but you only grin in response. There’s a beat of silence before he reaches for the bag, opening it to inspect the contents. His lips press together in what you assume is reluctant approval. “Roast beef?” he asks. 

“With extra mustard, just how you like it,” you confirm. “I even got you one of those overpriced iced teas you pretend not to like.” 

He pulls out the bottle, eyes flicking up to you in mild disbelief. “I should consider adding you to my team.” 

“Jack and I have a system,” you reply breezily as you shrug again. “He tells me your weird habits, and I use them against you.” 

That actually earns you a soft chuckle, and for a brief moment, he looks lighter. Less like the hardened unit chief, more like the man who lets his son climb onto his back during bedtime stories. 

But the moment doesn’t last long. His gaze shifts back to you, more serious now. “Was this really just a lunch delivery, or is there something else?” 

Damn profilers. You hesitate, then sigh. “Jack asked me to check on you.” Hotch stills. “He’s fine,” you add quickly, knowing where his mind just went. “He just… he worries. He said you looked ‘extra tired’ this morning, which, considering your usual level of exhaustion, is saying something, and I’d thought I’d check up on you.” 

Aaron closes his eyes briefly before exhaling. “I don’t want him worrying about me.” 

“He’s a kid, Mister Hotchner. He’s going to worry about his dad.” You soften your tone. “And honestly? I get it. You do look extra tired.” 

He looks at you then, really looks at you, as if trying to figure out how you always manage to see right through him. 

“You know,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “you’re allowed to take a break every once in a while. Eat your sandwich. Maybe even come home before Jack falls asleep tonight.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer right away, but eventually, he reaches for the sandwich, unwrapping it with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll try.” 

“Good,” you say with a satisfied nod, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off your skirt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go face the firing squad out there. I’m assuming Penelope is probably two seconds away from storming in here for answers.” 

Hotch smirks, shaking his head. “You brought this on yourself.” 

“I promised Jack,” you say over your shoulder before heading toward the door. 

And sure enough, the second you step out of the office, six pairs of eyes snap to you, curiosity burning in their expressions. 

You grin. “What? Never seen someone bring their boss lunch before?” 

You can hear the pandemonium that ensues as you make your way towards the exit. 

[reysdriver]

Hello! I was wondering if it would be possible to write about Eddie coming over and you have cooked a big meal for the two of you and Eddie has never seen this much food. Used to a frozen meal or Mac and cheese, he is kind of scared to overindulge even though the food is mouth watering. Reader just wants to take care of him.

Eddie's stunned when you make dinner for him, and even moreso when it's the best thing he's ever tasted — eddie x reader fluff

warnings: ig just food and talks of Eddie's social status/living situation

words: 1.2k

Your multitasking skills were finally coming in handy for something important tonight. 

Tonight’s menu consisted of a main dish, sides, and dessert that you were making completely from scratch. And on top of all that cooking, you kept looking at the clock every two minutes to make sure you’re on track for when Eddie said he was coming over. 

Eddie Munson had never been a punctual person. He shows up late to class every day—which is part of the reason why he’s in his third senior year of high school—and all of his friends know to tell him to come at least a half hour earlier than everyone else because that’s the only way they can guarantee he’ll be there when they want. 

But he’s always on time for you. Whenever you have a date, he shows up exactly when he says he will. And when he’s even a few minutes late, he apologizes profusely until you promise that you’re not upset with him. 

You know he’ll be here at exactly seven o’clock, and it was almost time. 

Each tick of the clock reminding you that your boyfriend was on his way and you weren’t going to have dinner ready on time. 

You tried your best to rush the process, but the knock at the door caught you by surprise before you could fully finish cooking. 

You jogged over to the front door to let Eddie inside—even though you’ve told him before that he could let himself in—and you were met with his smiling face. 

He immediately snaked his arms around your figure and pulled you in for a kiss like he was a sailor coming back from a long voyage at sea. 

As much as you loved when he kissed you like this—and he did it quite a bit—you had to break apart because you had pasta on the stove that you were absolutely not going to let burn. 

“I’m almost done cooking dinner.” You told him as you jogged back to the kitchen.

“I thought you liked me.” Eddie says dramatically, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside. “Such a shame. I guess I’ll just go home.”

“This food took so much work. If you leave before trying it, I think I’ll cry.” 

“Well we can’t have that, now can we?”

Eddie waltzed over to where you were standing in the kitchen and leaned against your fridge, eyeing up both you and the food you were preparing. 

“What did you make?”

“Eddie, do you have any patience at all?” 

Your boyfriend shook his head, barely taking any time to think of his answer. “Little to none.”

Right after saying that, he started reaching for the covered desserts that you had placed beside the stove. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” You said while swatting his hand away and shooting him a joking glare. “Go sit at the table and wait until I’m done cooking.”

He sent you a flirty smirk before obeying what you asked of him.

“Yes ma’am.” 

As you plated up dinner, you and Eddie exchanged a bit of small talk since the both of you were trying to focus. You on dinner, and Eddie on how good you looked wearing that floral apron that was hanging from your waist. 

When you loaded plates and bowls onto the table, Eddie’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He couldn’t believe how much food you had prepared. It looked so colourful and smelled so damn good too. 

You hung your apron on the handle of the oven door and sat down across from Eddie. Noticing that he looked somewhat stunned and hadn’t yet taken a bite, you explained the dish like the chefs you had seen on TV. 

“It’s a creamy tuscan chicken. I found the recipe in a magazine.” You then pointed at the side dishes you made to go with it. “And then I made some rice pilaf and roasted vegetables to go with it. I know you don’t love vegetables but I added a balsamic glaze so it’s not so plain.”

He wanted to speak up. He wanted to thank you and tell you how excited he was to dig in. But he was still just so shocked.

Eddie had never seen this much food at once in his life. Especially not home-cooked food, and especially not on just a normal night. Neither Eddie nor his uncle Wayne had ever been good at cooking, and even if they were, their small trailer didn’t allow much room for food preparation. 

He was just stunned. No other word for it. Eddie saw all this food in front of him, but still couldn’t believe it was real. Or that his girlfriend made it for him for date night. He had to be dreaming, he was sure of it.

“Is everything alright?” You asked him, suddenly insecure about your work. 

“No! Wait, no, I mean ‘yeah’!” Eddie stumbled over his words, only now processing that you were across the table and waiting for him to say something. “It looks good, really good. Amazing actually.”

“It’s not too much? Or something you don’t like?” You asked, still unsure. “Because I could just pack it up for meals throughout the week and we could order a pizza or something?”

“No, it’s not that!” Eddie picked up his fork and eagerly scooped up some rice to prove he wanted the food. “There’s just so much, I wasn’t expecting all of this.”

“I made dessert too, brownies and chocolate chip cookies.” You said, pointing to the dish your boyfriend tried grabbing earlier. 

Eddie’s eyes widened, realizing that there was even more than what he was seeing. He didn’t believe you when you said you spent the whole day cooking—why would he? If a delicious pizza could be at his door in 30 minutes or less, how could anything good take longer than that?—but now he knew you were telling the truth. 

And now his mind was going a mile a minute trying to process everything. 

“Well now I feel like shit.” He said jokingly. 

“Why?”

“Look at this whole thing. Jesus, last week when I cooked for you, I made a can of Spaghettios!” 

“Well I liked that!” You told him, trying to clear his guilt. “I just wanted to do something special tonight and use what I know. I’m sorry it made you feel bad.”

“No, no, I was kidding about that, baby. It’s great, don’t worry.”

You smiled at him, happy that he was excited about the dinner.

“Okay.” You nodded. “Are you gonna try it, then?”

Without another word, he took a piece of the chicken and brought it to his lips. The second it touched his tongue, he felt like he had just eaten something made by Julia Child herself—and Eddie noted to himself that he should pull out that impression later.

It was easy to tell the emotions on Eddie’s face as he took that bite. So, satisfied with his reaction and proud of yourself, you started to eat too. 

With every bite Eddie took, he thought about marrying you just so he could eat like this more often.

[if-loves]

goodbye, my king 

// Mydei

sum: you knew this day was coming, that your time with him was ticking; but you'll always wish you could've had him for a little longer.

wc: 991

warnings: 3.1 story quest spoilers, ooc mydei, written before mydei release

a/n: ok maybe i did have stay a little longer and die with a smile playing when i wrote this

likes & reblogs are appreciated :)

You had a dream once, a long time ago, around the time you and Mydei had first unofficially gotten together. Most of your memory of it has been eroded by time, but you remembered one part of it quite vividly. Mydei had left, and he was never coming back.

The days following it were plagued with a relentless anxiety that took hold of your fragile state of mind, waiting anxiously for his return from his latest battle. You know death evades him now and forever, but you also knew that if death could not take him away, then he'd be the one to do it himself.

However, even before this dreaded dream, you felt as if you already knew deep down that he was going to leave you one day, even before you would die. You knew the weight of the crown that yearns to rest on his head and the burden he carries for being unable to lead his people home, and that one day he'd finally allow himself to bear its weight atop his head. You just didn't expect it to be today.

On your way back from grocery shopping at Marmoreal Market, you had overhead some gossip that started floating around. 

“I heard Mydei will be leaving Okhema.”

“Leaving? As in, permanently?”

“That's what the rumours say, that he is bidding farewell to all those dear to him.”

It had frozen you in your steps, the crowd fading into nothing but muted sounds. You could see your hands starting to shake, and you suddenly felt as if you were drowning. Your vision had started to blur, the telltale sign of tears blurring your line of sight. With your head down and anxiety clawing up your throat, you make it home and break down into silent sobs the moment the door closes.

~~

Mydei had thought long and hard about this decision of his. He could accept leaving behind most, in the name of reclaiming his home and protecting what remains of his people and the Okhemans, but if he had one regret that truly gnawed at his immortal existence, it would be leaving you behind. You, who loved him sincerely, with every beat of your mortal heart, who always waited for his return regardless of how much time had passed, who always cleaned his wounds gently even if he insisted that it was of no use. You, who did it because you loved and cared for him. And now, he has to leave you too.

The walk to your house is agonising. He finds himself taking his time, taking in the sights of Marmoreal Market, the eternal sunlight and the bustling crowd one last time. He thinks he can take the silence in Castrum Kremnos, but he doesn't know if he can take the lack of you. 

Mydei stands in front of your door, hesitant. He wants to, he has to, knock on the door. He needs to see you one last time, to feel your lips on his again, to say goodbye even as it devastates both you and him. Because you deserve at least that much.

He raises his hand, and finally knocks. You don't answer, but he opens the door anyway. He knows your schedule like the back of his hand, and he knows you're home right now. He's proven right when he sees you standing in your kitchen, your back towards him as your arms rest on the counter. You don't turn to face him, and it hurts. He deserves it.

“(Y/n),” your name leaves his lips in a sound that's all too pleasing to your ears, but you resist the desire to turn around, to see him standing in front of you. 

“Mydei.” His name leaves your lips, and he wishes that he wasn't going to do this. 

Silence settles over, Mydei not daring to push you and you not daring to face him. 

“...It's true, then? That you're leaving forever?” You force yourself to speak, desperately holding back the sobs that threaten to shatter your voice. 

“Yes, that's why I've come to see you, one last time.” He is straightforward with his answer, because he knows that time is not and never on his side. He wants you to turn around, even if your face is stained by tears.

He takes a tentative step forward, unbecoming of a king like him. Gently, he takes you in his arms again, in a silent apology. You finally let your tears go, turning around to bury yourself in his chest, your tears running down your cheeks only to land on him. 

You don't know how long you've stayed there, crying like a child in the arms of your lover. When your sobs finally calm down into hiccups do you speak.

“Stay a little longer, please?” You plead in your broken voice, your watery eyes meeting his. “Please, just until I fall asleep.” 

Mydei has never been one to deny your requests, and he doesn't plan to start. He leads you to your room and settles on your bed, pulling you on top of him and holding you with a tenderness only you have had the privilege of seeing. 

Even as your tears continuously fall, he doesn't say anything. All he does, and all he can do, is to just hold you one last time. 

“Goodbye, my king.” You murmur, before he hears your breathing even. He waits a few moments before he manoeuvres himself out of the bed, taking great care to not wake you. He pulls the blanket over you and looks at you, trying to carve your every feature into his head. You'll always be beautiful to him, your visage forever home in him. He kneels by your side one last time, and lays a gentle kiss on your lips, savouring the feeling.

When Mydei steps out of your house and finally starts his path back home, he allows a tear to fall. 

[covenofagatha]

The psychology of love (Part 3)

Your first date with Morgan and a lesson in defense mechanisms and the delay of gratification

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: none yet, slowburn

Morgan and you go out to dinner the next day. You had seriously been considering just never texting her and making more of an effort to avoid her, but Wanda and Nat pestered you continuously during breakfast until you had given in. 

Turns out, you were both free that night. 

You had a class in the evening, so you meet her at the pizza place off-campus after. She’s wearing a light blue dress that brings out the color in her eyes and her Black Opium perfume makes you wish there was someone different sitting in front of you. 

“Did you have a good day?” she asks while you’re waiting for your pizzas to be done cooking. The awkwardness of a first date is hanging over you, coupled with the fact that her fingers were inside you on Monday. You’re still a little shocked that happened. 

But you nod and smile. Morgan is nice, and she’s trying. The least you could do is try as well. “Yeah, I had two classes. They’re both pretty easy. My hardest are definitely Physiological Psych and Personality Psych.” 

Even the mention of the latter makes your stomach clench. Agatha has wormed her way into your brain and you don’t know how to get her out. The perfume you ordered should be here tomorrow and you regret buying it. 

Realistically, what are you going to do with it? You can’t wear it—both Morgan and Agatha will pick up on it. It’d be absolutely pathetic to spray your pillow with it and imagine it’s Agatha next to you, plus Wanda would surely wonder about that. 

Which means you spent one-hundred dollars on a bottle of perfume that’s going to sit on your desk and serve as a reminder that you’re delusional. 

A waitress brings over your personal pizzas and sets them down in front of you, steam billowing off. 

Morgan’s looking at you, a little expectantly, and you clear your throat. “How was your day?” you ask, realizing that you never returned the question.

“Pretty good, thanks. I had an International Relations class. We already have a quiz next Tuesday, which is crazy considering this was our second day of meeting.” You learned that she’s a Political Science major while you were waiting in line for pizza. 

She doesn’t say anything else, so you chew on your lip and try to think of ways to get the conversation going. “So…how did you get into political science?” At least her face brightens at that. 

“My dad works in local government and I’ve always been really interested in it. I��ve interned at his office since I was probably sixteen? I’ll be able to get a job with him once I graduate and then hopefully I can be elected for something,” she says before launching into a few stories about town halls that she’s been a part of. She’s from a small town in Indiana and the people there are apparently a little unhinged.

Morgan’s just telling you about a petition one man started to make his birthday a town holiday when the door to the restaurant opens and a familiar face walks in. 

It’s Agatha’s standoffish TA. Morgan is still talking but your eyes follow Rio as she walks up to the counter and shows them her phone. The lady nods and picks up a boxed pizza that’s sitting next to her and hands it to Rio. 

As she’s walking to the exit, she tilts her head over to you like she feels you staring. You quickly look away but in your periphery, you can see her coming closer until you have no choice but to crane your neck up at her. 

“You’re in Professor Harkness’s class, aren’t you?” Rio asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. She obviously remembers you from Agatha’s office yesterday. 

You nod and she chuckles amusedly, tongue bulging in her cheek. Her complete one-eighty of a personality change is throwing you off. 

Rio glances at Morgan and then back to you, a gleam in her eyes. “Good luck.” Before you can ask what she means—is she talking about Agatha’s class? talking about Morgan?—she shifts the pizza in her arms and strolls out the door without looking back. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “That was weird.” 

You choose to not say anything and take a bite of your pizza, instantly wincing when it burns your mouth. “Did the man get his petition approved?” you refer to what she had been talking about before Rio, and Morgan dives back into that memory. 

She talks for most of dinner, only really taking a break while she’s eating, and then you walk her to her car. Thankfully, neither of you wants to hang out in the resultant once you’re both done with your food. She’s parked right in front whereas you had to find a spot in the garage behind the row of restaurants. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride to your car?” Morgan offers and you pretend to think about it before shaking your head. 

“No, that’s okay. It’s not very far.” There’s a minute of silent shuffling while you both try to figure out how to end the date. “Um, well I had a great time with you tonight. Let’s do this again soon?” 

She smiles warmly. “I’d love that.” And then Morgan leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before getting in her car. Her perfume drifts into your nostrils and lingers and you hear Agatha’s voice telling you that you did very good. Heat flashes through you but you tamp it down. 

You wait until Morgan drives off before turning to head to the parking garage, but you see another person that you know in the shadows. 

Professor Harkness. 

Your heart lurches as she pushes off the building wall she was leaning against and steps into the light. She’s wearing blue pants and a matching blazer over a black turtleneck. The gold from her necklace catches the streetlamp glow. Her long, loose hair frames her face and you can see her blue eyes glinting even in the dark.

Swallowing roughly, you irrationally worry that she’s going to be mad about you and Morgan. A part of you wants her to be mad. 

But she just smirks instead. “Dinner with a friend?” 

“Something like that,” you mutter, shrugging inconspicuously. “What are you doing here?” It seems like she’s waiting for someone—a date? Not that it matters, of course. You just want insight into your mysterious teacher. 

She moves closer to you, close enough so you can smell her perfume. It’s getting really fucking confusing with both Agatha and Morgan wearing the same scent. “I’m just picking up dinner,” she hums. “Nothing as exciting as you.” 

Your cheeks burn. “That wasn’t anything, just a first date. We met at a party a few days ago.” When I let her fuck me because she reminded me of you.

Agatha nods like she knows something you don’t. “Do you remember learning about defense mechanisms?” 

“What?” 

“In a general psych class, did you ever learn about defense mechanisms? Freudian methodology, of course, that believes our ego unconsciously wants to protect the superego from the id when we do something that would otherwise cause us anxiety, guilt, and shame.” 

“I mean, yeah?” You’ve heard of them, but why is she bringing them up? 

She waves a hand at your apparent confusion. “We’ll get more into them later in the semester. I just think it’s neat, you know? How we can be doing something and not even be aware that we’re doing it. Denial, rationalization,” she fixes you with a pointed look, “transference. The mind does really work in interesting ways.” 

You nod and bite your nails, not sure what to say. It feels like you’re missing something by a mile.

But Agatha just smiles. “See you tomorrow in class, hon.” She winks before leaving you outside and you slowly trudge back to your car, completely dumbfounded. 

Once you get back to your dorm, the conversation with Agatha still fresh in your mind, you halfheartedly return Wanda’s greeting and take out your computer and type “transference” into Google. 

Transference is the psychological phenomenon where someone redirects feelings from one person onto another. It occurs when someone unconsciously projects feelings or desires onto someone else. 

“Holy shit,” you say out loud, your blood running cold. Wanda’s head turns toward you but it’s like you have tunnel vision. 

Was Agatha implying that you going out with Morgan is you redirecting your feelings toward your professor onto someone who looks like her? 

Your heart is thumping so loud you can hear it. Are you being that obvious to Agatha? Can she tell that you have a crush on her? 

As if to make matters worse, you get an email notification saying that a package has been delivered—the perfume. A whole day early, like the universe wants to prove its point. 

You let it sit in the delivery room all night because you don’t trust yourself not to go crazy if you smell it right now. 

But you barely get any sleep at all just thinking about it. 

The next morning, Wanda and Nat interrogate you at breakfast. You had told Wanda the general basics of how the date had gone last night, but now they’re pressing you for the details, which you reluctantly give. 

“It was good, she spent a lot of time talking about interning for her town’s government. She’s a Poli-Sci major—” Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes and Wanda laughs, “—and apparently her dad is like the mayor or a council member? I don’t know, I mean, she’s nice and all…” 

“Oh, come on,” Wanda says, fond exasperation staining her voice. “You always do this. You meet a great girl and then you decide that she’s boring or that you don’t really like her or you make one tiny thing of their personality into a big problem. Why can’t you just let yourself have something?” 

It stings how well she knows you. “I just…I don’t know…I’m just not sure we’d work that well together. And it doesn’t really make sense to get into a relationship now, does it? We’re graduating in the spring so why start something new if we’re going to end up in different places? She wants to go back to Indiana and I’ll probably stay here or go back home, so it just doesn’t seem like there’s much of a point.” 

Nat looks unimpressed. “Really? That’s your excuse for why you’re going to self-sabotage? If only long-distance was a thing, god.” 

Wanda pats her girlfriend’s hand and stifles a smirk at the sarcasm. “Just because it’s not going to end in marriage doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” she says gently. “Why not go on a few more dates, just to see what happens? And who knows? She could be worth it.” 

It won’t work because she’s not at least twice my age. Except you can’t exactly tell your friends that. So instead you say, “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Even if it’s not a relationship, it could be a friends-with-benefits situation,” Natasha adds and Wanda snorts. “You’ve already had sex with her so you already know what you’d be getting into.” 

“Okay, okay,” you grimace at her crassness and push your chair back. “I have to get to class.” 

You have about twenty minutes before it starts, so you’re not in a rush, but you need the walk to clear your head and mentally prepare for seeing Agatha. The quip about transference has you still reeling and it’s only the third day of this class but it’s already the second time you’ve been nervous to look at her. You’re not sure you can get in trouble for having a crush on a teacher but you certainly don’t want Agatha being uncomfortable around you.

So you’ll keep your distance. You’ll go to class and take notes and answer questions, but you’ll leave right after. You won’t let her praise affect you and you will definitely not get close enough to smell her perfume that makes your cunt pulse. 

Practically everything you were just thinking goes out the window when you walk into class and see her standing at the front of the room. 

Agatha’s wearing another turtleneck, white this time, under a tan blazer and matching pants. You wonder if she’s been wearing them to hide hickeys on her neck—but then you remind yourself that you don’t care, despite the growing feeling of jealousy in your stomach from your absolutely baseless speculations. 

She smiles at you, something dark hidden behind her pink lips, and you shiver as you sit down. Does she know what she does to you? The praises, the projection tests from Wednesday, the way she looks at you? 

She seems to like you more than the other students in the class—is that just because you answer questions? Does she encourage you for that because she needs someone to? You’ve had classes where absolutely no one would talk and it was awful. Her praising you for that could just be her way of making sure there’s not an awkward silence. 

But it feels direct, pointed even. Like she wants it to be you.

Or is that just you hoping? 

Agatha isn’t the first teacher you’ve had a crush on, not by a long shot. There was the English teacher when you were in eighth grade. She wasn’t even your teacher, but you still found excuses to talk to her. There was your ninth grade Biology teacher, and then you took her Environmental Science class senior year just to have her again. Your Developmental Psychology professor from the spring semester of your first year in college. You’re sure there’s more. Each time, though, you were certain that you were special. 

Each time, you were sorely disappointed, but not surprised. 

You want to say that it feels different with Agatha, but you need to get a grip on yourself. 

She’s in her late forties, at least. She might have a partner. You glance at her hands as she’s typing something on the computer. No ring. That doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. 

But she could get in serious trouble for sleeping with a student. If everything else worked out, if all the other stars aligned and by some way, she did want you, she’d never risk her job over that. She has two doctorates and has published multiple articles about her research, which you’ve been meaning to read, and has won several awards for her work. She’s devoted her whole life to psychology and you are not going to change that. 

Agatha may tease, but at the end of the day, you feel confident that she will never be anything but professional, which means that you really need to get over this. 

“Okay, getting back into Trait Theory,” Agatha starts and you scramble for your notebook. She clicks present on the slideshow and you begin scribbling down everything typed on the first slide. “Theorists who approach personality through the Trait approach want to know what exactly traits are and what they do. Do they describe how we behave? Are they a sum of all we’ve learned? Do they reflect underlying personality? Are they the building blocks of our personality?” 

You chew on the tip of your pen and Agatha’s eyes flick to you with a glint in them. Her lips twitch up and you freeze. 

“The problem with traits is that people are inconsistent. We act one way when we’re by ourselves and a different way when we’re with friends versus family versus professors versus romantic partners. So do situations predict behavior more than personality traits?” 

Agatha surveys the classroom expectantly so you hesitantly raise your hand, wheels turning in your head trying to think of a sophisticated response. She smirks and nods at you. “I mean, I think situations obviously have some part in how we act, but it’s not like we’re completely different people based on who we’re interacting with. It could be kind of like, what traits do we use more of when we’re with some people and what traits do we use less of?” 

Her brows furrow and you can see her mulling it over. “So you’re saying that we have a bank of traits, of consistent traits, but which ones we tap into depends on who we’re with?” 

“Yes?” Your voice wavers but you hold eye contact with her. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully. “Very good. I like that.” Your cheeks flush and you duck your head, the eye contact becoming too intense. “And it brings us to an interesting thought. I want everyone to write down how you consider yourself personality-wise. And then write down some traits you’d use to describe your best friends.” 

You write some general words down for you and then for Wanda and Nat. It’s hard to sum someone’s personality up like that. Glancing around the room, you see everyone’s still working so you pick at your nails and pretend that you don’t feel Agatha staring at you. 

The compulsion grows too great in you, though, so you look at her. She doesn’t seem abashed that you caught her—if anything, she looks excited. You swallow roughly to get some moisture into your suddenly-dry mouth and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter, maybe just enough to be considered a wink, but then someone coughs and the moment is broken. 

Agatha clears her throat. “Take a look at what words you wrote for yourself and then compare them to the words you wrote for your friends. Chances are, there’s a good amount of overlap. Opposites attract sometimes, but it’s more often than not that we choose to surround ourselves with people that have similar personalities to us. If we do that, then our traits might be influencing the situations that we’re in, which influences our behavior. It’s a lot to think about.”

She clicks to the next slide. 

“Psychologists have found that both situations and traits influence behavior about equally after conducting some experiments that we’ll look at another time. Now,” she turns off the projection and the screen at the front of the room goes dark. Everyone looks at her. “I want to talk to you about an opportunity for next week.” 

Someone out of the corner of your eye perks up. “Extra credit?”

Agatha shoots him down with a glare. “It’s the third class of the semester, first of all. Second of all, there will be no extra credit in this course.” 

He slumps down, defeated. You think he might be the same person from the first day who was upset about only having five grades. 

“We will have a speaker on campus next Tuesday evening at six pm giving a presentation on fallacies from famous psychological experiments. I’ll be sending out more information about it, but I think it will be very interesting, especially for this class. It’s optional, but I do heavily recommend attending.” 

You raise your hand and she smiles. “What studies are they going to look at?” 

“Excellent question. The presentation will look at the Rosenthal study on expectancy effects, the Stanford Prison Experiment, among a few others, and one of my personal favorites: the study on delay of gratification.” 

“Is that the one—” a girl begins to say before Agatha interrupts her like she didn’t even hear the student. 

“Mischel and Ebbesen would call kids into a room one-by-one and tell them that they could either have a small candy bar right away, or wait some unknown amount of time for a larger candy bar. The researchers would leave the room and see what the kids would do.” Her blue eyes pierce into you and her face morphs into something almost predatory. “Is it better to get instant relief for something small, or to wait and let the anticipation build up for a better reward?” 

She prompts you with a tilt of her head and you wonder if she can see the slight sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. “If it’s going to be worth it to wait,” you rasp. 

Agatha licks her lips before nodding slowly and then settles back into her casual demeanor. “I mean, who doesn’t want a bigger candy bar?” she jokes and there’s a titter throughout the room. She gives you a smug smile and you face forward, cheeks burning. 

She continues talking but you’ve completely zoned out. You feel like a kid in the experiment—have something with Morgan, real but fleeting, or wait for even the possibility of Agatha? Once you’re not her student anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. And you graduate in the spring anyway. 

But that’s if Agatha would even like you back then. 

What happens if the researcher never comes back with the big candy bar after the kid waits forever? 

She finally wraps up class, saying that she needs to rush off to a meeting and you slowly pack up your bag just in case she lingers. She may be in a hurry, but it’s nothing compared to the other students and it’s only a minute before you and her are the only ones left in the room. 

The air feels thick with electricity and tension and it’s like you’re rooted to your seat when she starts to slowly walk toward you. You can feel your heartbeat increase and your breathing quickens—your body wants to run but it can’t. 

“Great job today,” she mumbles and drums her fingertips atop your desk surface, her perfume rolling over you like a wave, and you don’t even realize that she’s gone until you hear the door shut behind you. 

You shakily stand up and swing your bag onto your shoulders and go to the library, desperately trying to ignore the heat between your legs.

After dinner, you pick up the package containing the perfume on your way back to your dorm. You’re almost afraid to open and smell it because you know your body will betray your mind. Your cunt has become conditioned to the scent—conditioned to Agatha—and you really need to figure out how to stop it. You’d throw out the bottle entirely if you hadn’t spent so much money on it. You’ll find some use for it, maybe for a party or something. 

Just as you get into your room, your phone buzzes with an email. Your heart starts to race when you see Agatha Harkness at the top of it and you quickly click on it. 

To your dismay, it’s just a course email. 

Hello Personality Psych, 

Here is the link for information concerning the speaker presentation next Tuesday evening that I mentioned in class. As a reminder, you will not receive any extra credit for attending, but it is an opportunity to learn more about flaws in renowned psychological experiments. Please email me if you are interested so I can get your name on the list. 

Best, 

Professor Harkness

You chew on your lip. It’s not something that you necessarily want to go to, and for no extra credit, it might be a waste of time. 

But you do seriously doubt that anyone else in your class is going to go, which would make you stand out to Agatha. 

You imagine walking into a room full of people you don’t know, anxiously scanning the crowd, to find her smiling at you and beckoning for you to go sit next to her. She’d lean in to whisper some remarks about the speaker into your ear and her hair would tickle your skin. Maybe you’d be bouncing your leg because of your trouble sitting still and she’d put a hand on your thigh to help you focus. 

Fuck. Your cheeks are burning now and the temptation to open the perfume so it feels like she’s there is gnawing strongly inside you. 

Instead, you compose a new email. 

Hi Professor Harkness, 

I would love to attend the presentation.

Thanks! 

You sign it off with your name and hit send before you can rethink it and then throw your phone to the end of the bed. 

The moment you press your hands to your face because you can’t believe how bad this is getting, your phone vibrates. You know what it’s going to be before you even look at it, and yet you’re still surprised to find that Agatha responded almost immediately. 

I’m very glad to hear that and I look forward to seeing you there. 

Professor Harkness. 

Only this time, instead of the regular email signature under her name, and every other professor’s name in their emails, that shows her position, the university name, and her email address, there’s something else as well. 

Ten digits. Your breath catches in her throat. 

She added her phone number. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @filmedbyharkness @autbot @claramelooo @dandelions4us @agathaallalongg @jujuu23 @21cannibal @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @jeridandridge

[clockwayswrites]

Danny In Metropolis, ch3 p4

(Wow this still needs a real title.) Masterpost This isn't read over, I'm just... so very fatigued, but hopefully you enjoy.

Lois turned and pushed Clark to head towards the kitchen with the pie. “So Danny, what part of the Midwest are you from?”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck as he followed. “That obvious?”

“Well, I did marry a Midwesterner,” Lois said. “I may know what to look for.”

“Oh, yeah. I never really thought of us being that unique but moving here has sure been an experience. And Illinois, Miss Lois.”

“Chicago or…?”

“Oh, no. A place called Amity Park. It’s not known for much other than being the most haunted city in America.”

“Most haunted city in America?” Clark repeated. He set down the pie and turned back to Danny and Kon.

Not for the first time, Kon was struck by how big Clark looked in the tiny kitchen. It always bothered Kon for a reason he could never place.

“Yep, that’s what they claim at least. It’s actually a bit of a tourist draw these days, especially around summer and Halloween. They have a summer scare fest and everything these days.”

“Did growing up there make you a skeptic or do you believe in ghosts all the more?” Lois asked.

“Well, I don't think it's so much about Amity. We live in a world with heroes, with aliens and gods and lab experiments. I guess I don't see a reason the be a skeptic with all of that,” Danny said. Then he ducked his head as if his nerves hit him all at once. “Just, um, how I see it. Plus Amity is pretty convincing.”

“You’ve got a point, kid,” Lois agreed.

Clark sighed. “No, honey.”

“What?”

“I know that look, you’re thinking of a story,” Clark said, “or how to steal a slice of the pie before dinner. Either way, no.”

Lois crossed her arms with a petulant little pout.

Clark had a little smile as he pressed a kiss to Lois’ temple. “Danny is a guest and brought the pie as a gift.

“Let’s grab some sodas and escape while we can,” Kon said.

“I’ll remember this when you’re in love and ridiculous,” Lois said, “just you wait.”

Kon paused in handing Danny a drink. “Okay, coming from you that is slightly terrifying.”

Lois smiled. “I know. Take some snacks if you want, but don’t spoil your dinner.”

Kon rolled his eyes. “There’s pie, of course I’m not going to spoil my dinner.”

“Says the teenage boy,” Clark said with a chuckle. He did pass Kon a bag of chips though. “Are you going to work in the living room or yours?”

“Mine. My notes are in there,” Kon said. He snagged the wasabi peas and jellybean also.

“I’ll call you two down a bit before dinner and I’ll look over what you have.”

“Thank you, Miss Lois,” Danny said as he tried to juggle the things that Kon was handing him.

“You’re welcome, Danny,” Lois said with that smile that Kon didn’t trust.

Kon snagged Danny’s hand and pulled him out of the kitchen.

“Have fun!” Clark called after them. “Leave your—ow! What?”

“Let them…” whatever else Lois said Kon worked very hard not to hear as he led them up two sets of stairs and into his room.

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

Sentient Gotham

- Bruce regularly chats w her. Like, full blown conversations. He can see a physical manifestation of her like she’s right in front of him, but completely invisible to everyone else

- Zatanna does not believe him. She’s Gotham born and bred and a powerful magician, but she cannot sense a living breathing Gotham the way Bruce claims he can

- Constantine does believe him, but it’s mostly to spite Zatanna

- Gotham calls herself Bruce’s mom and frequently whines about him not calling her that

> “I had a mother. And a father. They’re both dead.” > “WHEN WILL YOU STOP BLAMING ME FOR THAT?!” > “When I’m convinced it’s not true.”

- Bruce’s kids also don’t believe him about the whole ‘I talk to Gotham’ thing for a long time and think he’s either lost his mind, he’s schizophrenic, or that he’s fucking w them

- they do eventually see and speak to her themselves

- Jason first sees her right before his death, which was an incredibly difficult task for her. It’s a combination of reasons. 1) like Bruce, Jason is a Gotham City native and has deep ties to the city, 2) he has deep ties to Bruce, 3) she was also there to comfort Bruce because she knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. But Jason sees this gorgeous woman who cradles his cheek and murmurs soft words to him that he’ll only end up remembering many years later

> “Your father loves you. He tried. So please don’t hate him. It’s my fault, not his.”

- Bruce frequently wonders why it’s him who can see her and no one else, to which she always just says it’s because he’s her son

- Bruce’s connection to Gotham…changes him. He is human, at least…mostly. But there’s an otherworldliness to him that grows over the years which he’s stupidly oblivious to for a very long time

- Gotham has beef w Alfred purely because he’s British

> “I could’ve raised you better than that man!” > “I do not tolerate disrespect for Alfred.” > whining, “But babyyyyyy. He’s an outsider!”

- she adores Bruce’s kids and frequently whines about how they don’t believe she’s real. But at the same time, Bruce is her absolute beloved

- after Jason’s death, she’s the one who basically sends Tim Bruce’s way to stop his self destructive behavior. Tim had been taking pictures of Batman and Robin for a while, but Gotham had fogged over his mind just a little bit to prevent him from putting the pieces together about their identity. When she stops, it finally clicks for Tim and it’s what leads him to becoming Robin

- the kids all have their moment when they finally can see and speak to her. It happens at different times, but the important reason as to why they’re able to do so is due to their relationship to Bruce and the length of time they’ve been around him. It comes at the moment where they’ve reached optimal and absolute trust in Bruce

- Bruce does actually call her ‘mom’, but it happened once and she will never let him forget it

> Bruce getting worked up during a conversation w Gotham in front of Dick and Tim > “Dick….who is he talking to?” > “You don’t want to know.” > “My mom won’t stop badgering me- No. No. I didn’t say that. I didn’t call you that! You can’t prove anything!”

- Gotham comforts Bruce often when he feels like he’s not enough. His failures weigh heavy in his heart, but she’s always there to talk him through it

> “Why me? Why am I the one you picked? I’m not enough. I never will be.” > “You are and you always will be. Bruce, you do so much for this city. For me. For your family.” > “It’s not enough.” > “You are only mostly human, Bruce Wayne. You have done things no one else could ever hope to do. If any one else were in your position, they would not have nearly enough strength as you do.”

- several months later, after Bruce is just idly going over case files, he remembers the ‘mostly human’ part of what Gotham said to him. He’d glossed over it before in his depressive spiral, but now he’s like !?

> “Gotham….” > “Yes, my dear?” > “‘Mostly human’. Care to explain what that means?” > awkward laugh, “Uh…..” > “Gotham.” > “I didn’t do it on purpose! I had no control!” > “Gotham.”

- order of who sees Gotham:

Bruce (obviously)

Jason (first time)

Tim

Duke

Jason (second time)

Steph

Dick

Cass

Damian

- the last three take a while but mostly because they’re not Gotham natives. Dick’s a little bitter about it because he practically spent his entire life in Gotham

> “You’re a traitor.” > “WHAT DID I DO?” > disgust, “Blüdhaven.” > “Oh. Whoops.”

- While Gotham is Bruce’s #1 Supporter™️, she is at times critical of his behavior and decisions. Particularly about things that damage his relationship w loved ones and things that he chooses to do in order to hurt himself

- she finds ‘Brucie’ to be distasteful

> “I didn’t raise you to be a whore.” > “You didn’t raise me to begin with.” > “STOP DENYING ME PARENTAL RIGHTS!”

- Gotham is, obviously, restricted to only appear within Gotham City’s borders. She’s only able to break through that restriction a handful of times, w the first being when Jason dies. There are a few other instances and she’s popped up on the Watchtower and jumpscared Bruce by accident. The JL were very confused and incredibly amused

- She’s able to take on the form of anyone, but sticks to a unique appearance of a woman w long black hair and pale skin. Her eyes are white and she’s typically dressed in a suit

> young Bruce, in awe, “You kind of look like me if I were cooler.” > “You’re plenty cool, Bruce.” > adult Bruce, tired, “Why are you in a suit?” > “Because I look cool, Bruce. You said so yourself.” > “I was ten!”

- she once offered to take on the appearance of his mother and Bruce shot it down so fast. She never brought it up again

- when Clark found out about her, he believed Bruce immediately. He’s the only one Bruce ever told who believed him right off the bat

> “You…don’t think I’m insane?” > “I do.” > “Then why would you lie and say you believe me?” > “Because I do. You’re insane about a lot of things, Bruce. But you sounded too serious when you told me about this, so why would I ever think you’re lying?”

- Gotham begrudgingly likes Clark

> “You hate Alfred for being an outsider, but Clark is in your good graces?” > “He’s an alien. It’s different.” > “He’s also from Metropolis.” > “Shhhhhh, don’t remind me. I’m trying to be blissfully ignorant.”

[estcaligo]

Sebek's scars

Sebek x reader, romantic A/N Technically, this shouldn't be a part of my I Love Everything About You series because it's not in the right format. But a sudden drabble formed in my head while I was rereading Sebek's Scales this morning, so I've decided to include it as a special piece.

Sebek's scales are a wonderful idea, but I need to talk about his scars.

I mentioned once his lightning scars from using his unique magic, but what about his regular ones? He has been through intense training, survival camps, combat practice, and weapon mastery. There have to be some scars on his body.

So I find myself wondering - do they (Lilia, Mama Zigvolt, or Baul) erase these marks with magic, or do they let them remain? I hope they don't remove them.

Because then, you could trace them, kiss them, and tell him how strong he is. And he'd become all smug about it, proudly recounting the stories behind each one.

Of course, he'd mention Malleus at least ten times, declaring that it's an honor to bear these marks - medals of valor earned in the service of protecting his king.

But then, as your hand gently traces along his body, you notice a small scar that appears fresh. Before you can ask about it, he suddenly tenses, trying to cover it up, his usual bravado faltering. For the first time, you catch a glimpse of shyness in his movements.

"I'm sorry, does that hurt?" you ask softly, making sure his reaction isn't caused by pain.

"No, pain is not the matter here" he replies, trying to sound indifferent.

"Oh, good. Then… what's the story behind this one?" you're careful with your question, but try to meet his eyes.

He hesitates for a few moments before finally saying "This one is because of you."

"What? I-I'm so sorry!" your first reaction is panic, as he doesn't elaborate. "D-did I hurt you somehow? If I did, then I'm really s-”

"Ha! As if a weak human like you could hurt me!" his bravado returns as he smirks.

Then, taking your hand, he presses it gently against the scar.

"This one," he says "is from when I saved you from that darkness during our dream-hopping journey! You're such a weak human - what were you thinking, jumping in there…?"

You remember that moment, when Sebek had actually saved your life - one of many, many times. He has never mentioned scars obtained because of you before, though. Is that why he was acting nervous?

"Oh… I see. Thank you, Seb, and… I am sorry." you slowly start to pull your hand away from his body, but he suddenly grabs it, holding it firmly as he meets your gaze.

"Stop apologizing! Or do you think such a trifle is something to worry about for me?" his voice is a little louder than before, and you notice a hint of blush on his cheeks.

"I'm just sorry that you have to bear it because of me now…" you murmur, still sounding guilty.

"Were you listening to me just now? Or are your human ears too weak for even my voice to reach them?!"

You blink at him in confusion. His grip on your hand tightens slightly.

"I just said that bearing scars for protecting those who are dear is a great honor for a warrior!"

"But that was about Lord Malleus-"

"About Lord Malleus, of course. But also…" his voice drops to a quieter tone. "This applies to you, too."

For a moment, there's only silence between you, the weight of his words settling like a promise.

"As long as these scars mean you are safe, I shall bear them as my armor. Do you understand?" his gaze is still locked on you - serious and unwavering.

And you return his steadfast look with a gentle smile, leaning in to draw him into your embrace.

"Bear your armor with pride then, my warrior." you whisper. "And I will make sure no scar ever reaches your heart."

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Pt. 1

You couldn't help but anxiously fiddle with the hem of your dress as you sat beside Simon, one of his hands resting on your thigh, while the other gripped the steering wheel. "It's going to be fine, sweetheart. They're going to love you." Unsure, you glanced up at him, a frown on your pretty face. "Are you sure? Maybe they'll just see me as an inconvenience that will keep you from them in the future. Or maybe they'll-" Simon interrupted you as he tightly squeezed the fat of your thigh, a possessive growl leaving his throat. "They'd never. Trust me." With a sigh, you nodded. And he was right.

From the moment you two walked into the same dingy pub where you first met, the others treated you as if they'd known you for years, and you were a part of the friend group. The entire evening, you laughed and drank, Simon's hand constantly on you. At least until he left to go take a piss and smoke a cigarette.

The moment you were alone with the three men, the Scottish one leaned across the table, a gigantic grin on his face. "So? How did ya two meet?" The older one quickly pulled the Scottish one back, a scowl on his face, as he regarded his team member, but there was a certain hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

You chuckled, thinking back to the day.

Excitement cursed through you as you stepped out of the cab, your phone in your hand as you watched your best friend type. But the moment she sent her message, the excitement dissipated. "I'm so sorry, but I can't make it! I'll make it up to you though!"

You rolled your eyes, glancing at the sign of the pub you were standing in front of. She couldn't have let you know before you made your way there, could she? Inside you, two demons started to fight. One yelling at you to go back home and gulp down an entire ice cream pint. The other one calmly stating that you were already here and should at least get a little bit wasted. Before you knew it, the calm demon had won and you walked into the pub, quickly finding a place at the bar. But you noticed him immediately. Sitting in a dark corner, his face almost completely hidden. And very obviously staring at you. It didn't matter when during the evening you turned around, his eyes were always on you. At first, it creeped you out, but before long, you felt warmth spread through you. You almost felt protected, his obvious attention keeping all the usual creepers at bay. So, you decided you at least wanted his number.

But when you paid for your tab, hoping to be able to join him at his table, you watched as he stood up and walked outside. As quickly as you could, without tripping over the air, you rushed after him, finding him outside, leaning against a wall. After taking a deep breath, you started to walk over to him, but he immediately pushed off the wall and started to walk away. Were you really this repulsing?

Before doubts could start to fill you, you called out to him. "Uhm, I'm sorry, Sir?" He stopped and slowly turned around to face you. With a small and hopeful smile, you crossed the distance. The closer you got to him, the more you could really see him. While the lower half of his face was hidden behind a black surgical mask, you could see the top of his cheeks. And they were red, practically glowing with heat. Adorable.

"I'm sorry, I hope this isn't too direct, but I wanted to ask if I could have your number? You're really handsome and seem like a nice man. Of course, it's okay if not, I don't want to pressure you or anything. I-" You stopped, your eyes wide as you watched his entire body trembling slightly. Like a robot, he slowly stretched out his hand to you. Your eyes focused on it and you watched for a few beats as the trembling only got worse. Then, you quickly pulled out your phone and handed it to him.

Once again moving like a robot, the man slowly plugged in his number, his hands trembling bad enough, that you thought he would drop your phone at some point. When he handed your phone back, you looked down and saw that he had also put in his name. But it was a mix of upper and lower cases, making you chuckle. You grinned up at him and pocketed your phone. “Thank you…well…have a good night.”

You turned around and walked a couple of steps before his shaking hand on your elbow stopped you. “U-Uh…uhm…eat? Uh now?” His voice was shaking even more than his hands and he kept stumbling over his words, but when he got the question out, you couldn’t help but nod with a smile.

“And yeah, that’s it.” The Scottish and the pretty one immediately burst into laughter, slapping their thighs and each other, while the older one just smirked, slowly shaking his head. You looked at them, confused. “What…?”

“What did I miss?” Simon slid into his chair beside you, his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders. His friends immediately started to tease him, recounting points from what you had just told them. Immediately, the blush was back on his face, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along. At least until his hand came to rest on your thigh, and squeezed tightly. Oh, you were in for a night.

A/N: Here we go! Part two and the real story all wrapped up in one! Hope you like it! Edit: Re-upload because I forgot to add tags... :)

@skeletonsucker

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: Mentions of kissing, mentions of family death, bra touching, talk of needing to piss ? 

A/N: This chapter is LONG. Lmk if we like it being this long or if I should break it up next time sorry! Proofread by @darksturnz (ty lovely girl!)

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P7: Bras & Piss

wc: 2700+

Not even a single insult. Chris barely even lingered in the main room with Matt and me—like he couldn’t even fathom breathing the same air as me. 

It hurt. The dull ache in my chest seems to worsen everytime he ignores me. Even though it’s only been a couple of days, it still just felt different, and not in a good way. 

Luckily, Chris hadn’t caught me loitering in Matt’s room to help him out with his date with Mia. Although, part of me wish he had. Maybe then he’d at least ask or say something mean. And I just wanted him to say something—anything. 

“Pleaseeee?” Matt begs, his hands clasped as if he’s praying, the same plea falling from his lips yet again. 

Ever since I helped him with his outfit, he hasn’t stopped pushing one idea—he wants to make it a double-date. That way, it wouldn’t have to be so awkward at the beginning. 

But who the fuck was I gonna take on a double-date? The only men I’ve talked to recently are Chris, Jimmy, and Shawn. 

Chris is just not an option. Even though Jimmy’s sweet, that would be weird as fuck. And Shawn…well, I’m still mad. But I have to pick. And I can’t let Matt down—not when I see how much effort he’s putting into this girl. If I couldn’t have a perfect love story, at least I could watch it. 

Shawn. 

I stare at his contact on my screen with distaste, my gaze flickering from my phone back to Matt sitting across the table from me.

“But you and her will have so much fun—”

“Please! I don’t know what I’m doing and I just…I’d feel a lot better if I know you’re there,” he says, his face contorted as if he’s in pain. 

Sighing, I look down at my screen with hesitation. My fingers brush against the key, my cheek pulsing with a sharp sting as I feel my teeth gnaw into the muscle. 

I may hate Shawn right now, but I don’t hate Matt. Matt felt like the first real friend I had made in a while, maybe even ever. And this would help our friendship grow, maybe I’d even like Mia as a friend too.

Ugh. 

|  To Shawn: Hey, do you wanna go on a double date with me this Friday?  |

I send the message before I can rethink the wording. My nose scrunches as I see the read receipt pop up immediately, three dots moving on the screen as I watch Shawn type back. 

|  From Shawn: Fuck yeah ;)  |

Ew. How did I ever think this man was crush-material? Before that dumb party, it was like some sort of unspoken thing, we were always flirting, always touching more than just friends typically would. But now even the thought of his dumb brain coming anywhere close to me made everything in my stomach churn uncomfortably. 

“Thank you, you’re the fuckin’ best!” Matt cheers, walking over to me, pulling my head in his hand before planting a platonic kiss on my head. His arms shoot up in the air. He does a stupid little victory dance, nodding his head to an imaginary beat. 

“What the fuck.” I look over, seeing Chris staring at his brother incredulously, scratching his head before nodding his face from side to side, turning around and walking back down the hallway. 

It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in days. For some reason, it makes everything inside of me feel a little bit lighter, like it’s some sort of relief. 

Maybe he’s easing up. 

I shake the thought off as Matt sits back down, blabbing on about anything and everything. 

It’s nice to have a friend. 

___

Matt was helping return the favor. It felt weird to bring a boy in the house, my mother was definitely judging. But I needed help. And I liked Matt’s style the first day we talked, plus—who the fuck else was I gonna ask?

“What do you want to wear?” he asks, flipping through the clothes in my closet while peeking his head over his shoulder to look at me sitting on the bed. 

I shrug. “Matt, I don’t know. Maybe something comfy, but like…I don’t know,” I whine, huffing as I roll my eyes. Why did this have to be so difficult? Shawn was probably gonna wear what he always wore—black jeans and a long, loose T-shirt, the ones that always had a sports number on the back. 

“What about this?” Matt pulls out a skirt. 

I immediately shake my head. “Hell no. It’s too windy, I’m not dealing with that.” 

He points, nodding as he shoves the article of clothing back into place before shuffling through more options.

“Hey, um, what even happened that night? You know…with Chris,” he mutters, his voice quieter than before. 

My face scrunches as I think back on the memory. “I don’t even know. He showed up at window at like, 2 in the morning—”

“How did he know it was your window?” Matt asks, cocking his head to the side as he turns to look at me. 

I shake my head quickly. “We made awkward eye contact when he was taking a walk—but that’s not the point. He came here, bribed me to go on a walk—”

“How did he bribe you?” Matt quips. He holds his hands up defensively as I glare at him.

“Trevour, duh.” I state, the obvious information dripping sarcastically as I let out a dramatic sigh, “Then, we went for a walk. It was… nice?” My voice rises almost as if I’m asking a question. Matt nods slowly, his scrunched face unrelenting as I continue to explain, “He gave me an apology. I mean, he didn’t say sorry, but like—well—you know what, I don’t fucking know, okay? All I know is that we came back here but my window had slipped shut. He was gonna sleep on the floor, but he just couldn’t and we were too tired to argue and—”

“And then you cuddled like a married couple?” he cuts in. 

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, squinting at him as I cross my leg over the other, resting my hands on my knee. “Matthew, shut the fuck up. I’m going on this date for you—I’d rather lick a toilet seat, fuck a splintered broom, and—”

Matt cuts me off, walking over and shoving clothes into my lap. “What about these?” he asks. 

Looking down towards the fabrics, I purse my lips to the side. Baggy cargos, a tight fitted black long sleeve shirt with lace details, and a maroon bra—

BRA?

“WHY THE FUCK—”

“WAIT SORRY!” he panics, grabbing the bra and throwing it aggressively back into the closet, “I just didn’t wanna hear about you fucking a splintered mop or whatever the fuck so I panicked and I—-I didn’t mean to, I swear!” he shouts, his eyes bulging as he covers his mouth with one of his hands. 

My face relaxes and I swallow thickly. He didn’t mean to, it’s fine. He saw my fucking bra, but it’s fine. 

“You’re lucky we’re friends and I like your dad,” I whisper lowly, my eyes twitching as I inhale a shaky breath, “-or I would slap your man tits so fucking hard they melted off your scrawny fucking chest, you stupid little—”

“Oh my god, wait! This is like—just another level of friendship for us then! Think of it that way,” he says, slapping my arm lightly. 

Is this bitch for real?

“I’m gonna go change in the bathroom,” I announce, stalking off towards the bedroom door. I turn around and point my finger directly at his chest, watching as he gulps. “Don’t touch a thing,” I warn. 

Matt nods quickly, clasping his hands together as he stands deathly still. 

At least he’ll be the only one touching my bra tonight. 

___

It wasn’t awful. 

Burst of colors and history are painted throughout canvases hung on the colossal walls. Matt and Mia had already ventured off. In fact, it didn’t really seem awkward at all. 

It made me smile watching their brief interaction. Matt was being an absolute fool, scratching the back of his neck like a damn dog. Mia, however, was shy, but excited. Apparently she really liked all of this. She loved it even more when she realized Matt would listen to her rant about each masterpiece for hours on end. 

Shawn was fine. It wasn’t anything special, but it wasn’t uncomfortable by any means. I think he could sense my stiffness, being able to understand that whatever we had going on had taken a big step back. 

“How’ve you been? Tessa said you guys haven’t hung out for a while,” he points, his hand swinging obnoxiously between our bodies. I think he was trying to hold my hand without directly asking. And it was fucking annoying.

I rub my lips together as I try to keep my gaze pointed ahead. “Yeah, I guess I just haven’t had much time with the project and all,” I answer. 

That’s a lie. I had time. Honestly, I've been kind of bored recently, but he didn’t need to know that. 

“Shame, we miss you, ya know?” he teases, bumping his shoulder into mine. 

They miss me? 

My body slumps a little more with each step. I see Matt and Mia from the corner of my eye, a smile crawling on my face as I see him utterly infatuated with her presence. Maybe that could be me someday, having someone who wanted to understand the most pointless things about me. 

“Heyyyy,” he waves his hand in front of my face, pulling my attention back to him as I feel my cheeks flush. Damn. I’m like a fucking iPad kid when it came to everything. “If they're too distracting, we can venture off further…you know, just us,” he suggests, his brows lifting on his face as he licks over his lips. 

His face is even pissing me off. Why is he looking at me like that?

“Shawn, I’m still upset with you. You drove drunk,”

“I only had a few drinks, you’re being fuckin’ dramatic,” he interupts, huffing as he rolls his eyes. 

Only a ‘few drinks’ could do a lot of damage. 

I wonder what Chris was like before he lost his mom and his brother. Maybe it was someone like Shawn. Someone so incapable of taking any sort of accountability, someone so… careless. 

Silence sinks into the air. A brush of heavy tension weighs downward as I try to create just the slightest bit more of distance between us. 

“Hey, hey,” he coos, quickly tugging my hand into his before cradling it with his other. I look up at him as he stares down at me, my face twisting as I gaze around us. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s dumb, I know. I just… I guess I just wanted to have fun and make sure you had fun too, alright? That’s all it was, it won’t happen again. Swear,” he says, pulling our hands apart and interlocking our pinkies. 

My eyes squint harder at him before I let out a deep sigh, slowly nodding before retracting my hand back to my own body. At least he’s taking accountability. 

“We’re gonna go get ice cream, you guys wanna come with?” Matt asks, stalking towards us with a stupid smile on his face. My eyes fall down, seeing his hand pulling Mia’s lightly, his thumb swiveling against the back of her palm. Oh, he’s so fucking adorable with her. 

“Nah, go ahead. I’ll drive her back, go have fun,” Shawn answers before even sparring me a singular look. 

Bitch. He’s not even my boyfriend and he’s trying to speak on my behalf. Yeah, this isn’t gonna work. 

“Are you sure…?” Matt’s eyes trail to mine. 

I purse my lips before giving an affirmative nod. They’ll have more fun alone. “Yeah, go ahead. Don’t have too much fun,” I joke, offering a small wave as they walk down the marble flooring, disappearing past a corner. 

The sound of Shawn’s chuckle makes my face furrow, my lips curling into a tight line as I raise my brow at him. “What’s so funny?” I ask

Shrawn shrugs. “Just couldn’t wait to get me alone, could ya?” he teases, playfully wiggling his brows and sparing me a wink. 

I chose this over ice cream? 

___

That date hadn’t ended awful, but definitely not good, either. I was still waiting for Matt to finish up. It had been hours at this point, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be anything but happy for him. 

I didn’t know where else to go. I felt really drained, I just wanted someone to talk to. This was the only thing I could think of. And even though it seemed a bit odd at first, it felt normal, as if this was something that has happened at least twenty times before.

“And then what happened after Matt and Mia left?” Jimmy asks, petting Trevor nuzzled up in his lap as he gives me his full, undivided attention. 

He was more than happy when I showed up knocking at the door. I was just glad it wasn’t Chris who answered. And speaking of, I still didn’t know where he was. Probably in his room or something. 

“Well…” I look up to the ceiling, retracing the memory as I explain, “It wasn’t bad, I guess? We used to, I don’t know—flirt? But he’s just so…I don’t know how to explain it,” I groan, sinking further into the couch. 

Jimmy laughs. “Then what went wrong today? He seems sweet enough, why were you even mad at him?” he asks. 

My eyes scrunch close. I wasn’t gonna tell him that detail. I had already told him too much, definitely more than I should have. 

“I think he was gonna kiss me and I…I don’t know. I just kinda brushed it off and asked him to drive me home and well… here we are,” I sing, covering my face with my hands. 

The old man looks down at Trevor as he rubs the dog’s ears. “Maybe you just gotta get out of your head and give him another chance, kid. Whatever he did, just put it aside and try things out. I mean, thank god for my wife giving me chances. If not, she would’ve left me in the dust when I accidentally got paint in her damn hair,” he breathes out gruffly, laughing dryly at the reminiscent memory. 

A smile climbs on my face as I listen to his tone get softer. The slight joke holds meaning, a lot of meaning. No wonder Matt was so sweet, he knew how to treat a woman. Chris on the other hand? Maybe he did at some point. Definitely not now though. 

“Thanks, Jimmy–”

“What did I say!” he exclaims, standing up and ruffling my hair, “Call me J-Dawg!” 

I shake my head with a vicious laugh. “I’m not calling you that.” 

The man shrugs before stalking off towards the garage. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go fix this damn light switch in the garage, keep Trevor company until Matt gets home, alright?” 

I don’t have time to offer a response as I hear the heavy door click shut. My eyes drift over to the snoozing dog, my heart melting into a puddle as I watch his closed eyes flicker with a vivid dream. 

He could be dreaming of going on a walk—a walk with her, a woman I’ve never met—a woman I’d never get the chance to meet. 

Maybe Chris dreamed of her too. Maybe that was why he didn’t typically sleep well. 

“I need to pee, hold on, Trev.” I announce to the dog, slightly shaking my head at myself. Not only is he a dog, but he’s dead asleep. Did it really matter if I let him know? 

As I start to get up from the couch, I freeze hearing his voice. 

“Why’re you in my house? And why are you telling my dog you need to fuckin’ piss?” 

Chris. 

[scribblestatic]

I read this post by @diushek and I have been inspired.

Their post and mine aren't really all that related save for parts of the premise, but still, I'm thankful for the inspiration so I'd like them to get attention.

--

Shen Yuan as a spider demon(?).

In his last life, since he had a lot of free time, he, of course, dove headfirst into webnovels. But, he also grew up fixing his little sister's toys and had found out that he enjoys sewing. He was rather sickly, so it wasn't like he had much else to do.

So, he learned how to fix dolls, then design clothes for dolls. Then, he designed and made a dress for his meimei to wear for a school play, and he's spiraled out of control since.

He especially went wild while reading PIDW. Airplane was so neglectful while describing clothes, so of course, he had to design what he thought they would look like!! And, if it just so happened people would spend money to buy his outfits for their professional make and relative historical accuracy, sure!

Then PIDW ends terribly, Shen Yuan writes his last hate post, and he essentially dies from rage (his already weak heart couldn't beat properly in the end).

And the next time he's aware of himself, he's sitting neatly in the center of a well-woven web.

He can't see very well, but he can feel vibrations all over the place. He'd thought to put on his glasses, but couldn't seem to...put them on. Somehow, he knew they weren't around.

He also knows that he's quite terribly hungry.

So, he doesn't think twice when he feels a vibration in his web and he crawls over to a struggling creature. He can feel the qi coming from it, whatever it is. But that doesn't matter for now. It's just food.

And he's hungry.

So he injected his prey and began to slurp up the remains.

This continues for an indeterminate amount of time. Making webs, catching and consuming prey, moving to new areas when he decided the area was getting too crowded or was unsuitable. The more plants he finds, the more he appreciates the environment, and he tends to stick around them longer until he must move.

A little ticking clock in the back of his head seems to tell him he should be dead. That his life was extending beyond its usual limits.

However, that wasn't really something he cared too much about. Instead, if he wasn't trying to sate his deep, nearly endless hunger, there wasn't much else he cared to do. Not even the thought of reproducing enticed him.

Though, a part of him was bored. If he had something to read, that would be nice, but he had nothing. So, he'd just have to mull over a story he remembers from somewhere, a hateful little thing that, despite all its faults and failures, drags back into his mind once more.

At least playing around with plants helped a bit, moving the seeds and testing the soil with thin limbs and senses beyond anything a human has.

Some time later, he finds a little cavern with strong qi. He decides that would be nice to stay in since the plants around it are plentiful and full of energy, and he makes it his home. He connects the various webs he makes to his home web, able to feel the pull and location of each web to hunt, capture, and take it back to a much safer, more secure place.

He finds his mind becoming a bit clearer the longer he stays there. Eventually, he even finds that his eyesight is getting better as well. Although he was perfectly fine feeling through vibrations, the colors around him are quite interesting as well.

Eventually, one day, he feels something pull on one of his webs. As usual, he goes out to wrap it up. But, as he approaches his prey, it calls out to him.

"Wait! Wait! Please spare me!!"

Shen Yuan pauses. If he tries to focus his vision a bit...the form of this prey looks a bit human, doesn't it? Huh. When did humans get so small? He could've sworn they were bigger before.

"Please, I just... I just wanted the fruit!!"

The fruit...ah. Yes, he'd included a few nearby trees in his web at some point. Hadn't they just been little branches? Hm. Time sure does fly.

Shen Yuan focuses his blurry vision on the being in his web. Indeed, it seems to be human. A man, if he recalls...yes. A grown human male.

Humans... He thinks of them neutrally. Humans are not exclusively good or evil, but some tend to act more one way or another. In the end, they're just another animal trying to survive and live well.

However, that shouldn't come at the expense of stealing his fruit! He eats those because they're tasty! He brought the seeds with him when he moved from his last place and he planted them himself. They're his plants...his trees! No one else had the right to take from it.

Apparently, he lets some of this thought out, a whithery, faint hiss singing from between his fangs.

"Thieeeef..."

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please, let me go, and I won't come here ever again!"

Hmmh. Not likely. If a human came this far, then it was possible there was some sort of issue with their own food. Couldn't the humans tell that he owned this area? Well...he did hide his webs well so prey could fall into his traps.

Even so, he doesn't think there's a village or anything close to this place, so this human was likely desperate enough to come out and pursue the fruit from his trees to eat. What was more likely was that the human would wail about his presence and bring trouble back with him.

So, he had a few options.

1. Release the human foolishly and wait for them to encroach on his domain.

2. Eat the human, then wait to see if anyone would come looking for him. This would possibly lead to more problems.

3. Let the human take a fruit, to make them indebted to him...but he can't just do that out of kindness. Humans could try to take advantage of him, or maybe hunt him anyway.

4...

Equivalent exchange. Bartering. If he sets this up as something where he and the humans mutually benefit while keeping the humans indebted to him, perhaps they would be less likely to see him negatively. They would also maintain a healthy fear of him.

Goodness, he was coming up with such good ideas just from encountering a single human. Perhaps associating with them a little wouldn't be so bad.

"...Free you. Fruit...but. Paaaay..."

The man trembled in his web. It was getting rather difficult to resist eating him. Such squirming enticed his senses.

"P-Pay? Pay how??"

"...Stoooory."

The man stumbles and mutters, but eventually, he starts telling a story from his village. It's just some sort of child's tale.

Even so, it's not boring.

"Hmm... Poor quality..."

The man starts pleading again as he approaches, but his pleas quiet as he, instead of wrapping him up, starts untangling the human.

"The main character...no personalityyy. Milquetoast. The princess. Even more flat. No motivation. Cookie-cutter character. The bear. Foolish. No protective instiiiinct. Elementary. 2/10."

He ends his critique while placing a webbed bag of fruit in the man's hands.

"Begone."

The human obeys.

And just as Shen Yuan expected, that same web triggers just a few days later.

This time, it's a human female. She's not as tangled in the web as the man was, having stopped fighting as much early on.

She has two heartbeats, but is terribly thin. The human male had been quite thin as well. Why?

"Lord Spider, this lowly woman is sorry... Please, may this one...tell you a story?"

"Hmm..."

Shen Yuan settles down, curling his limbs close, and waits.

She tells a story that's better than the one the male told him. Her heart skips and jumps at points, especially when the main character—a woman this time—experiences hardship. This is quite clearly a story close to her heart.

It's full off happiness and grief. A marriage collapsing from the death of her lover, and a family who refused to support her for being barren. She fights and fights and fights, and carves a place for herself. Just when she thinks she's found happiness, a tragedy strikes. A famine. And she, having exhausted everything she had, dies.

"Hmm... Interesting. Bold protagonist. Hardyyyy. Faces a dogfight world. Should ask for heeeelp. Husband. Tragic. Death too soooon. Loved the main character. Left her behind. Family. Cruuuuel. Mindless. Women are not jusssst for breeding.

"Hmm. 7/10. Too sad, realistic still."

He adds some grasses with wisps of qi coming from it to her bundle.

"What is this?" she asks.

"For the baaaaaby."

She seems to startle at that, though he's not sure why.

"...Thanking Lord Spider."

She leaves before he has to tell her to go.

...

After that, humans become a regular enough visitor that he leaves a string with leaves on the end for them to call for him. Surely, they're stuck getting caught in his webs. More importantly, he's tired of having to rearrange them every time. They really leave his webs a tangled mess.

As the season warms further, they come with more stories. Many are quite terrible and not worth his time. He gives them fruit regardless, because at least they have staved off his boredom.

They've decided on calling him Lulin Zhizhu (绿林之主 - lǜlín zhī zhǔ - Lord of the Green Forest). Or, simply, Zhizhu.

Apparently, his webs were keeping the villagers safe? The food he'd been catching had a taste for human flesh (not that he didn't, but still), so by eating, he had been helping them without intending to. That apparently made him more reverent to them, and they put more effort into their stories based on how he rated them.

Fan Zhenzhen (范蓁蓁 - Fàn Zhēnzhēn), the second human who told him a story, quickly became one of his favorites. She told the best stories, real ones, that brought back emotions he felt had been taken over by instinct for a long while. He wouldn't say he treated her better, but he did make sure to cultivate more of the grass for the child growing within her.

The humans steadily grew stronger and meatier...perhaps tastier, but he'd lose his stories if he ate them. Eventually, whatever blight affected their village abated a bit, and they could once again start growing their own food.

Instead of abandoning him, they brought him some of the food as an offering.

"Hmm...famine," he murmured, his way of speech having improved from socializing. "The sickness. Still in the fields."

"Sickness?" a farmer asked.

"Yes. The plants, victim to illness. They will not grow well." He leaves for a moment to get something. It seems they learned his habits, as they're still waiting when he returns. He drops another plant he cultivated within the realm of his webs. "Crush these. Spread them. The fields and the water."

The farmer and his offspring bow low to the ground. "Thanking Zhizhu for his wisdom!"

The offerings they bring after that show markable improvement, and the name they gave him sticks even harder.

Of course, they continue to tell him stories, as that's the most important thing they can give him. He becomes quite settled with hearing them speak and starts to absentmindedly weave little things related to the stories they tell him.

At this, Fan Zhenzhen approaches with another idea, her stomach rounding out with child.

"Zhizhu, this lowly one apologizes for being impertent. As the days grow colder, this feeble woman fears the chill of winter more than the hunger of famine. For her next story, may she instead receive some of your silk?"

"Silk...for clothes."

"Yes, if this lowly one may ask of Zhizhu."

"Hmm... Tell the story."

So she does. As with the others, it too delves into the life of the main character, who is now a powerful figure in her village for her ability to weave. Her weaving helped the villagers trust the nearby forest god, who was frightening but gracious, wild yet magnanimous. She talks about how the character was once sold by her family to be a maid elsewhere, and how she's learned to survive and come up to her current position.

As she does, Shen Yuan eyes her. The vibrations from her voice gives him a good view of her body and shape. He unconsciously, mindlessly, weaves a coat for her.

It's thin. Surely not enough to stave off winter's chill. So, when she finishes and he gives his rating, he gives her both the thread she requested and the thin coat.

It is, according to her, magnificently beautiful. In turn, Shen Yuan can't help but feel a little puff of pride in his abdomen.

---

Ah...this is getting longer than I meant lol

I'll make another post soon.

[sugar-grigri]

CSM 194 : How Asa sacrificed herself to counter Yoru and save Denji

From Asa's point of view, sharing her mind and body with Yoru is dangerous.

Yoru can turn what belongs to her into a weapon, and it's clear that in these final chapters, unlike at the start of part 2, Asa is the one who appears, but no longer the one who manages daily life (taking part in conversations, eating, sleeping) and, above all, who makes decisions.

This is interference, and Yoru can very well turn Asa's body into a weapon. Semantics are also important: personality. This further blurs the barrier between Yoru and Asa.

I think Asa realized that the more she gave in to Yoru, the more she lost control. When she had wanted to oppose her, Yoru had been offended that she was "afraid" of her or didn't trust her. But : there's nothing more normal than being afraid of a devil.

Asa and Yoru may share their feelings and their bodies, but that doesn't change the fact that they don't share their nature. Yoru is a devil.

Asa has become attached to Yoru, and I think that Yoru loves Asa not in a human sense, but in a purely organic, egocentric way: she's her.

Especially when Asa decides to trust Yoru, Yoru betrays her trust

She even monopolizes Asa's story

When in reality: NO, Asa is not Yoru. Yoru is a parasite who considers her body her own, but that doesn't mean she's the same entity as the invaded body and mind.

If there's one thing that shocks fans, it's the way Yoru steals Asa's first experiences: her first kiss, her """first intimate act""", in a violent way.

When Nayuta says thief, it's not necessarily to be understood as the replica of a possessive little sister, it has a double meaning: Yoru steals Denji from Asa, or rather she steals her own life from her since she steals her experiences.

For the sake of a better union, Asa has accepted this "merger", and it's been "productive".

But she now sees the downside, whether it's Yoru haggling with her body, which is a first split because Asa surely doesn't want to haggle her first time around.

Second split: turning Denji into a weapon. Asa wants to save him at all costs.

The way to save Denji lies precisely in disunity. And I imagine that what Asa would like to do / or at least could do is accentuate the differences. She can't do it through feelings, because Yoru and Asa feel the same. But she can do it through actions and, above all, through the perception of others.

This is a theory, but Asa is someone who has good ideas and who has been able to "turn" a power against a devil several times or who has used Yoru's power in an ingenious way.

So :

Basic rule: Yoru can turn anything she thinks belongs to her into a weapon. The devil of war has indeed drawn close to Denji, which allows her to reinforce this feeling of possession. This is also how Asa feels, since she shares the same feeling as Yoru.

But if she creates distance between herself and Denji, creates animosity in order to fuel a feeling of danger on his part that would push him to back off to protect himself (because he already senses danger, hence his questions to Pochita), Denji no longer belongs to the devil of war

But remember, one can't hide anything from the other, so Asa can't think of a plan

However, she can use what she has observed, how did Yoru manage to surprise her? Through her impulsiveness. Through the Bang. All she did was wait to trigger that sudden instinct to oppose Yoru. And how can she prevent Yoru from regaining control? By scaring herself. Fear is what drives them apart.

Asa did not fight against the interference, she used it: the more Yoru took control, the less she mistrusted, the more she became attached to Denji, the more painful the rejection will be and the more effective the disunity will be. Her absence is her weapon. As well as its loneliness.

Bucky is the symbol of this rejection, but also the key to it. When Asa sees all these chickens again, it is also because she is once more truly alone in her dreams, in her unconsciousness. Running for her is a positive symbol for her character. Yuko and Denji are two beacons of hope, and the fact that she runs is a sign of her emancipation. When she runs in her dreams, she breaks free from Yoru.

Her fears, whether it be the perception of others and rejection, which distanced her from others, from people, from humanity. From now on, this is her best means of rediscovering her humanity. By cutting herself off from the one who had given her back her hope in others.

[elliewrites77]

Pride and Anger

this is probably the only angst i've written to be posted, like ever. and it came to because I was thinking about Ace and Luffy, and how sad (and unnecessary, ill die on this hill) his death was. so, like most sane people, i will continue to pretend Portgas D. Ace is alive and well, and my poor Luffy did not have to go through something so traumatic by himself. I hope it doesn't come off as too angsty or all angst. that's a fun word lol

He was alive. Portgas D. Ace was alive.

Critically injured and on the brink of death, sure. But alive.

He was really alive and in front of you.

And you were furious.

You were furious with him, with the marines, with Garp, with Roger, with everyone. And that was exactly why the members of the Heart Pirates stayed as far away from you as they could get. The only person you had spoken to with even a little bit or kindness had been Law, and that's just because he saved their lives. Both boys had been on their last breath when Law saved you all in Marineford, and you were grateful to him, truly, but you were far too enraged to worry about your manners with his crew. You snapped at anyone that suggested you leave them to rest, and when Luffy finally woke up, you snapped at them when they said you should go up with him, to the island of warrior women. You refused to leave Ace's side.

You felt bad, sure. You wanted to be with Luffy, to comfort him as much as you could. But every time you tried to move, your body froze. It was keeping you there, with Ace. You knew Luffy would understand, and at least he wasn't alone. You were thankful for Jimbei too.

You keep replaying the events over and over in your head. Especially the part where Ace almost turned back. He almost turned around to fight, to die for some words. Pride, that's what almost took your closest friend. Pride over a pirate who had already given his life for Ace. Pride that almost make him break his promise to you. His promise to come back.

You don't know what stopped him, really. Maybe it was Luffy, or maybe his brain caught up with his ego. Maybe it was so he didn't disappoint Whitebeard or his crew. Maybe it was you. You didn't know, and you might not ever know. Because he was alive, yes, but it wasn't impossible for that to change, according to Law. And the fact that you still have hope but know that it could be in vain, that also made you furious.

So you stayed. You sat there, staring at his form, the wraps covering his body making him look like a mummy. You stayed, listening to his faint and abnormal breathing. You stayed, praying to whatever higher being their was that he woke up. That he survived. Because you'll be damned before if you didn't get a chance to tell him how angry you were with him. He has almost left you, just like that. Sailing away is one thing, dying is another. He wasn't allowed to die. He had promised that he wouldn't.

You were angry that he had spent his whole life thinking he wasn't loved or able to be, when you had spent your whole life loving him. More than a friend, more than a partner in crime, more than two kids who had a lot in common (including shit dad's). You were angry with yourself for never telling him, too.

You finally moved when Law came into the room, telling you that you really needed to speak to Luffy, now. Something about his look told you he was right, and your body actually let you move.

Hugging the boy you considered family was a relief, and you were close to crying into his bandaged shoulder as he hugged back. You didn't want to let go, didn't know if you could hold it together if you did. But after a few minutes, you heard him utter words that reignited your rage.

You saw the fear an most of the Heart crew when you pulled away, fire in your eyes. You saw how each one of them stepped back as if you were a bomb ready to blow. You didn't care, simply looking from Rayleigh to Luffy and back. Luffy knew the look in your eyes, and returned it with a serious one. That alone is what made you pause.

"Why?" You whispered.

"Ace almost died, he still might. I...I couldn't protect him..couldn't protect you. I have to get stronger, for you, for Ace, for the crew. If I'm ever gonna survive the New World, I have to be...better."

You wanted to argue, wanted to make him stay. 2 years? You didn't want that. But you knew Luffy, knew his determination was strong, and his desire to protect his loved ones was even stronger. So you just hugged him again.

"I swear, Luffy, you better be safe. I don't know what that weirdo is gonna have you do, but please just, try not to get hurt." You said in his ear, feeling him nod as a response. You understood, really, but that wouldn't stop you from worrying.

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It had been a few weeks since you said goodbye to Luffy. You were staying with Law, not having anywhere to go for 2 years, and since Ace still needed to be cared for, it only made sense. But everyday he didn't wake up, your hope waned. Law noticed this, offering to teach you more medical stuff or training you to fight better just to give you something to do. Both things helped, for a few hours. But at the end of the day, you returned to that cold room, and returned to watching his motionless body, the only thing telling you he was alive being the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Your anger was still there, yes, but it has lessened over time. At this point, you only held onto it because it made the hurt of everything that happened a little more bearable. It helped to talk to him, even if he couldn't hear. You confessed your anger, your worry, your pain, and your love. Getting it out, even if you were practically talking to yourself, helped you cope.

Which was good, considering he didn't wake up for an entire year.

He was in a coma for a year. His outside wounds, the small ones, healed. But there was still a large scar on his chest that would always twin with Luffy's. But he was slowly, slowly getting better, according to Law. And that gave you more hope, despite how long you waited.

And as you prepared yourself for another year of no change, you were surprised when Bepo enthusiastically approached you as you were returning to the polar tang, after spending the day on an island to gather supplies. It took a moment for your brain to process the animals words, but as soon as they did, you dropped everything.

"He woke up!"

You rushed onboard the submarine, pushing past everyone to get to that familiar room. But you froze inside the doorway. All you could see was Law, standing over Ace and talking lightly. You could barely hear his voice as he replied. It was cracked, and slow, clear that he was gathering himself after not speaking or being awake for so long.

You remained frozen until Law, who somehow knew you were there, slowly moves out of the way, revealing Ace to you once more. You had gotten so used to his 'sleeping' state, that it shocked you even more when you met his eyes.

They were dazed and tired, which was perfectly understandable. But they lit up at the sight of you, something you immediately noticed. It made you tear up as you forced your body to move closer. Law silently left the room.

Neither you nor Ace broke the silence, or eye contact. It felt like a dream, to be staring into his eyes, his beautiful eyes, once again. A dream you had for a year straight. At that thought, you did break from his gaze, your eyes running down the rest of his body in assessment, as if he grew new wounds just from waking up.

"You gonna keep checking..me out..?" He spoke gruffly, a small smirk on his face. The tears fell from your eyes instantly, and you dropped to your knees beside his bed.

"You stupid, dumb, beautiful idiot. You left me sitting here alone, for an entire year. A year of not knowing if you'd ever wake up. And the first thing you say to me is that?" you spoke through sobs, a laugh making its way through as well. You laid your head on his arm, feeling him slowly lift his other one to pat your head as you cried onto him.

"m'sorry angel...I..don't remember everything yet but...ink-dude told me a bit.." he spoke slowly. you could tell the words were hard for his throat to let out.

"Law. He's that captain of this ship." You informed through another teary laugh, lifting your head from his arm and instead grabbing his hand in yours. "don't push yourself right now. It's honestly probably best if you..don't remember everything for a little. You still need rest."

He used his free hand to rub your cheek, wiping away some of the tears still slowly rolling down your face.

"too..pretty to..cry" you heard him mumble. His eyes looked sad. You could guess why.

"You're too pretty to die. Remember that next time." you joked slightly, smiling at him. You were happy, so so happy, that he was actually awake now. Right now, that outweighed everything else.

He chuckled, coughing right after. You gave him a glass of water, holding his head to help him drink. When he was done, he laid it back down and closed his eyes for a moment. You stroked his hair, admiring him. Sure, he had his eyes closed for a year, but this was different.

His eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a smile.

"I heard ya...you know.."

Your brows furrowed. You thought he couldn't hear.

"You heard me every time?"

"I don't...think so...all I remember is...you talking about stopping for...medical gloves...and saying you love me."

Your eyes widen, and you freeze once again. That had been that very morning, before you left to get supplies. You did tell him you love him every day though, feeling like you'd regret it if you didn't. But you were okay with doing that when you thought he couldn't hear. Now that he had, you were nervous.

"I uh..I didn't...um.." You stuttered. He chuckled lightly, gripping your hand again.

"It's okay, angel...I..I'm sorry, about..this..about everything...but I need...need you to know that...I love you too." He confessed, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. Tears came to your eyes again, along with a smile, and you closed your eyes resting your forehead against his.

For the first time in over a year, you weren't angry or scared. You were at peace.

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masterlist

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Dancing with a Stranger

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: she’s got you dancing with a stranger and she’s not liking it one bit

🏷️: @yailtsv , @paxaz535 , @sitawita , @authentic-girl03 , @vamptizm

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

The club pulsed with bass, neon lights casting streaks of color across the crowded dance floor. Bodies moved against each other, heat rising in the air like static before a storm. I hadn’t even planned on going out tonight. But sitting alone in my apartment, staring at my phone, waiting for a text from Paige that wasn’t coming? That was unbearable.

So here I was.

With someone else.

A stranger’s hands rested on my waist, pulling me in closer as we swayed to the music. I barely caught his name when he introduced himself, not that it mattered. He was a distraction, a temporary fix for the ache in my chest. My fingers toyed with the rim of my glass before I drained the rest of my drink, the burn of liquor doing little to numb the feeling I was trying to shake.

Paige and I were done.

At least, that’s what she had said.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

The words replayed in my mind, cutting deeper every time. I hadn’t even fought her on it. I had too much pride for that, even though every part of me had wanted to beg her to stay. Instead, I had let her go. And now, I was here, dancing with someone who wasn’t her.

The stranger leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You good?”

I forced a smile, nodding, even though I wasn’t. “Yeah. Just in my head.”

His hands squeezed my waist in reassurance, but it wasn’t comforting. His touch wasn’t right. His body didn’t move like hers. His scent wasn’t the one that used to cling to my hoodie after late-night drives with Paige.

I closed my eyes, trying to let go, to disappear into the music.

But then, my stomach twisted.

A feeling—no, a presence.

I turned my head slightly, and there she was.

Paige.

Standing by the bar, eyes locked on me, her jaw clenched tight.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, strands falling around her face. A fitted crop top and jeans hugged her frame, and if I weren’t so bitter, I might have admitted she looked good. Too good.

But her expression?

That was a different story.

She was pissed.

Her grip tightened around the glass in her hand, knuckles white as she watched me. My body tensed, every nerve hyper-aware of the weight of her gaze.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Or maybe, I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Dancing with someone else.

Her lips parted slightly like she was about to say something, but she didn’t move.

Fine. If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a show.

I turned back to the stranger, letting my hands slide up his chest as I leaned in close. I didn’t care about him—I barely even saw him. But I wanted her to see. To feel what I felt when she walked away so easily.

Her chair scraped against the floor, and I knew she was coming before I even looked.

A second later, she was there, grabbing my wrist, yanking me back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I ripped my hand away, heart hammering. “What does it look like?”

Paige’s eyes darkened, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “You’re seriously out here with him?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

The guy beside me cleared his throat. “Uh, do you two need a minute—”

Paige’s glare shut him up instantly. “Yeah. We do.”

I rolled my eyes, stepping away from both of them. “You don’t get to do this, Paige.”

She followed me as I pushed through the crowd, the heat of her presence burning into my back.

“Do what?” she shot back.

“Act like you care.”

“I do care.”

I whirled on her the second we reached a quieter corner, away from prying eyes. “Then why did you leave?” My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it.

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

I laughed bitterly. “Bullshit. You made that decision all on your own.”

She exhaled sharply. “I was scared, alright?”

“Of what?”

She hesitated.

“Of us?” I pressed. “Of actually trying? Because you’re really good at running, Paige. Really fucking good at shutting people out when things get real.”

She flinched, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

“Well, congratulations. You did anyway.”

A tense silence settled between us.

The music pulsed in the background, distant, muffled.

Paige took a step closer, voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have left.”

I didn’t move. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

She swallowed hard. “And I sure as hell shouldn’t have let you think I didn’t want you.”

My breath hitched.

Because that was the thing—Paige had always wanted me. But she had never been good at showing it.

She reached out, hesitating for a second before her fingers brushed against mine. “I miss you.”

I closed my eyes. “Paige—”

“I miss everything. Us. You. Your stupid movie nights where you force me to watch rom-coms. The way you steal my hoodies even though you have your own. The way you—” She exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “I miss the way you love me.”

I looked away, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

Paige reached for my hand fully this time, lacing her fingers with mine. “I don’t wanna be alone tonight,” she murmured, echoing the song playing in the background.

I sighed, leaning my head back against the wall. “I don’t either.”

Her thumb brushed against my palm, gentle, hesitant. “Come home with me.”

I exhaled sharply. “Paige—”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” she admitted. “I know I fucked up. But let me fix it.”

I studied her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all I saw was sincerity.

I wanted to be mad.

I was mad.

But I also wanted her.

Always had.

So, I made a choice.

I sighed, squeezing her hand. “You’re lucky I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

Paige let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

A slow smile spread across her lips as she pulled me closer. “Then let’s get out of here.”

I let her lead me out of the club, the stranger long forgotten.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how hard I tried—

Paige was the only one I ever wanted to dance with.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[arxiwon]

hi hi! can i request a fic where the reader and jake are childhood best friends (joined at the hip, did everything together), and one day when they’re in high school/college he suddenly realizes he likes her and starts acting awkward around her and stuff and the reader’s just like ??? fluff with a tiny bit of angst please!! 🫶🏼

Sure honey, I'll make this one shot 🤍

More Than Best Friends

Pairing: Jake × Reader

Genre: Childhood Friends-to-Lovers, Fluff, Slight Angst

Synopsis: You and Jake have been inseparable since childhood, always side by side, always just friends. At least, that's what you thought—until he starts acting strange. Avoiding your touch, dodging eye contact, getting awkward around you. Something's wrong, and when you finally confront him, he blurts out the one thing that could change everything.

Jake had always been by your side.

From the moment you scraped your knee in kindergarten and he dramatically declared himself your "lifelong protector," to the time he snuck out of his house at midnight just to bring you ice cream after a bad day—he was always there.

People called you two inseparable, and it was true. Where there was you, there was Jake, and vice versa.

But lately… something was off.

Jake wasn’t acting like himself.

It started small—he’d randomly get quiet in the middle of a conversation, like he forgot how to speak. His usual teasing remarks were cut short, replaced with nervous laughter. And the worst part? He had started avoiding eye contact, which was just weird because Jake had never been shy a day in his life.

At first, you thought maybe he was going through something. You tried asking, but he just brushed it off with a lame excuse.

Then came the physical distance.

Jake, your Jake, who had never hesitated to throw an arm over your shoulder or dramatically collapse onto you like you were a human pillow, suddenly stiffened whenever you got too close.

It was driving you insane.

So, naturally, you confronted him.

"Okay, spill it," you said, standing in front of him as he sat on the edge of your bed, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

He looked up, eyes wide. "Spill what?"

"You! Acting weird. Acting like I suddenly have cooties or something. If I did something, tell me."

His ears turned red. That was new.

"You didn’t do anything," he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

You crossed your arms. "Then what is it?"

He swallowed hard. You saw his fingers dig into the fabric of his hoodie like he was holding onto it for dear life.

"Jake."

He exhaled sharply, finally meeting your eyes. And for the first time in weeks, you saw something raw there—something vulnerable.

"I like you."

The words hung between you like a held breath.

Your heart stuttered. "...What?"

"I like you," he repeated, a little firmer this time. "Like, not in a best friend way. In a—" He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "God, I don’t know. I just—one day I looked at you and realized I wanted to hold your hand for real. Not in a joking way. Not because we’re messing around. Because I actually want to. And it freaked me out, okay?"

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

Jake… liked you?

Your Jake?

Your brain was short-circuiting.

Meanwhile, he was growing more and more restless, clearly taking your silence as rejection.

"Look, just—forget I said anything, alright? It’s fine. We can pretend it didn’t—"

"Shut up, Jake."

He blinked, stunned. "Huh?"

Your face was burning, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "I didn’t say I don’t like you back."

The sheer hope that flooded his expression nearly knocked the wind out of you.

"Wait. Are you serious?"

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "I mean, yeah, you idiot. Did you really think you could confess and I’d just be like, ‘Okay, thanks for sharing, let’s go back to being normal’?"

His mouth opened and closed, as if he hadn’t considered that possibility.

Then, after a beat—

"Can I hold your hand now?"

Your chest tightened, and you huffed out a laugh. "You’re ridiculous."

But you took his hand anyway.

[kaisacobra]

Speak No Evil - Sam Carpenter

Part 1 of Dark Knight series

Summary: You think Tara's sister hates you, or, at least, she is embarrassingly aware of your little crush on her. You couldn't be further from the truth, but Sam wouldn't let you know the length she'd go to protect you.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Stalker!Sam, violence, blood, character death (not main) mentions of sex, cursing, mostly following canon.

w.c: 5.6 k

“Ugh, I just want to get home and throw myself on the couch.”

“Real.”

You and Tara climbed the stairs to her apartment side by side, dragging your feet more than anything else due to the exhaustion of the grueling day in college. You almost sighed with relief when you arrived in front of the familiar door, seeing your best friend take the key out of her pocket and open the lock with her shoulder already against the wall.

She entered the house already throwing her own bag aside, without even noticing the object sliding across the wooden floor. Being a visitor, you couldn't afford the same carelessness, opting to leave your bag on one of the small sofas. Your shoulders thanked you when they were spared the weight of the textbooks after long minutes on the subway and walking.

“You're home early, Sam.”

Automatically, your heart started racing when you heard Tara's simple words and you turned around at lightning speed to see Samantha Carpenter emerging from the kitchen, wearing nothing more than a gray tank top and black pants, comfortable to wear at home but dangerous for your eyes.

“They robbed that electronics store next to the bar.” She shrugged at her own explanation, but you were more focused on the way her biceps seemed to bulge when she crossed her arms. “The boss chose to close it for safety reasons, plus no one would want to drink with a police car parked right outside the door.”

“H-Hi, Sam!” You raised your hand to greet her, but your brain froze as you decided between a gesture, and you ended up with a strange three-fingered salute.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you instantly regretted your action, especially after Sam barely reacted to your presence, with nothing more than a nod to indicate that she had heard you. She had barely finished greeting you when she turned to Tara again. “Since I'm here, I can cook something for dinner instead of getting takeout.”

“Great!” Tara agreed beside you. “Just don't do too much. Y/n and I are going to make popcorn and watch a movie right now, I won't be that hungry later.”

“And I'm not staying for dinner!” You hastened to say, not wanting to give Sam any more trouble, especially when she seemed to stare into the depths of your soul with those piercing dark eyes. “I-I still have a lot to study, I have to get back early.”

Still remaining a woman of few words, Sam merely nodded and began to retreat to the kitchen again, before stopping to point at Tara. “Just don't make it too loud. Last time I had to listen to a lot of complaints from the lady upstairs.”

“You got it.” Tara replied with a joking salute and the older sister just rolled her eyes before finally leaving the two of you alone. It wasn't long before you became the butt of Tara's jokes, as she mimicked your voice in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. “H-Hi, S-S-Sam...”

“Fuck you.” You punched the girl weakly in the shoulder as you walked over to the couch, throwing yourself against the cushions with your arms crossed. Tara paid no attention to the micro-aggression, laughing even louder as she sat down next to you, crossing her legs on the furniture.

A sigh escaped your throat as Tara turned on the television and flipped through the catalog of some streaming network, probably looking for another horror movie. “I think your sister hates me.”

“Nah, that's just how she is.” The shorter girl threw a gesture of indifference. “But she surely knows about this big ass crush you have on her.”

You felt your face catch fire again at the accusation. “I don’t- .”

“Yes, you do. It's obvious and it's disgusting.”

“Yeah?” You decided to join in Tara's teasing game, knowing that this was just one of your usual friendly banter. “Like the crush you have on that blonde from the basketball team?”

“Look, i’ll have you know that-”

You interrupt Tara with a shush escaping from between your lips, parted in a smile. Your phone had just beeped with a notification and you quickly pulled it out of your pocket to see Mindy's text on your lock screen.

Unfortunately, the content of the message instantly broke the fun mood. “Shit.” You cursed through your teeth, feeling the corners of your lips drop.

You could feel Tara stirring on the sofa, dragging herself to your side as she tried to read what was on your screen. “What?”

A sigh. “Mindy's asking me about what happened at ARCS.”

“Oh.”

Analysis and Reflection on Contemporary Society, also called ARCS, was an elective that you and Tara were taking and it basically consisted of having a debate on a topic proposed by the teacher every class. You had joined because the proposal was interesting, but most of the students were only there because Professor Ross graded you through attendance and not through exams.

Which was a good indicator of the type of person who was attending those classes.

The moment of silence was broken by your best friend's hesitant voice. “Do you... want to talk about what happened?” 

Tara, bless her heart, wasn't the best person to offer emotional support and you knew that very well, both because of the long year you'd been friends for and because of the complete awkwardness she found herself in. Even so, you knew she wouldn't rest until you took some of the weight off your back.

“I don't want to pay too much attention to this.” You huffed, shoving your phone back into your pocket as if it were the reason for your anger. “E.J. Abrams called me a bitch to the whole class, who cares? Everyone knows I was getting his ass in that debate.”

Seeing that you were more annoyed than hurt, Tara jumped at the chance to curse the boy, feeling much more comfortable now that the topic seemed to be centered on hatred. “That little shit. He thinks he can do whatever he wants because he's blond and strong and some dumb girls suck his toes.”

“I think it's more the fact that he's a medal-winning swimmer on the Olympic team and he's in one of the most exclusive fraternities on campus.”

“Well, fuck that ridiculous fraternity and fuck his medals too.” Tara continued, seeming to enjoy the way the F-word came out of her mouth. “I can't believe Professor Ross didn't even give him a warning.”

“I can.” You retorted without much joy, knowing damn well that the man would never intervene in any discussion between students because it was all part of the “debate experience”. Which, in fact, seemed more like an excuse so that he wouldn't have to get directly involved in any conflict.

With the movie completely forgotten in the background, you and Tara continued to curse every last generation of E.J., transferring all your indignation into words that the boy would probably never hear.

Meanwhile, someone else was listening to the entire conversation through the thin walls of the apartment, making a mental note to do more research on E.J. Abrams another time.

__

Sam was glad she had decided to wear a stronger jacket. New York nights were gradually getting colder as winter approached.

If she turned around, she would probably see students rushing around as they crossed campus, trying to get to their dorms before the curfew. Without even looking at her watch, Sam knew that they had approximately 5 minutes before 10:30 pm. She liked to arrive at 10.

But she didn't turn around, choosing to keep her back against the bars of the fire exit one floor above yours. She still couldn't believe that she had a perfect, hidden view of your entire room through your window, but Sam would never complain about that gift.

It was a safety issue, yes, but you were never going to be in danger when she was right there, in that fire exit, every night. No other person would harm you as long as she was there.

“Are you still hiding behind false pretenses?”

Sam would recognize that dry, slurred voice anywhere. She barely had to turn her head to see her father, or the image of him, sitting right in front of her with that familiar mischievous smile. He looked as he always did, not that a hallucination could have such a vast closet. White blouse stained with blood, messy black hair and eyes that Sam sometimes recognized in the mirror.

“There's nothing false about what I'm doing.” Sam muttered in response, even though she knew she shouldn't. 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.” Billy continued, his smile getting wider with the attention he was receiving. “I know more than anyone that everyone needs a good obsession. Obsession makes perfect, doesn't it?”

This time, Samantha chose to leave him without an answer. Obsession. That word sounded so ugly to her ears, completely wrong too. She wasn't obsessed with you, she was just... protecting you.

At first, that hadn't exactly been Sam's intention, of course. When Tara talked about a new friendship, her protective big sister instincts instantly went on alert. No one could blame her after everything they'd been through in Woodsboro and more recently in her own apartment.

But she also couldn't deprive Tara of having a normal life and interacting with other people. Not everyone was a psycho waiting for an opportunity to stick a knife in the Carpenters. Still, Sam wanted to make sure that you weren't going to be another disappointment in her sister's life.

That's how she found herself on that fire escape for the first time, making sure that you really lived in the dorms, that you hadn't lied about your identity, that you didn't have a secret agenda or sneak out at night to play God and take some lives.

But you were... normal. Sam would even say that you were more normal than she and Tara would ever be. Everything about you was genuine and you carried with you a kindness that made Sam stop thinking of you as a suspect to someone she put on her mental protection list.

And it was by studying your normality, immersing herself in your pure and well-intentioned actions that Sam realized she was no longer watching you because she lacked trust in your person, but rather because she wanted that for herself. Those moments watching you from afar, seeing you live your life, brought an inner peace to Sam that she couldn't even explain.

It had been months since she had started this routine, so Sam knew very well that in a few minutes your roommate would open the window to use her pink-flavored vape, since you hated the smell being trapped in the room. The open window would allow Sam to eavesdrop on 20 minutes of conversation between you and your friend, which Sam thought was perfect for finding out at least a little about what was going on in your life.

Just as planned, the blonde opened the window and leaned both elbows on the sill, letting the flavored smoke escape through her lips as she took another drag of the pink device. Sam didn't like your roommate, Sammy - yes, she had also found the coincidence of names a bit ironic -  because she thought the girl was... too clingy with you.

But as far as Sam knew, it wasn't a crime to be a clingy friend. It was just annoying. Annoying wasn't enough reason for Sam to do anything about it.

“... Well, frat guys are shit.” Sammy spoke over another puff of smoke, probably finishing answering something. “They must have a total of two neurons combined.”

“I knoooww...” You whined, rubbing a hand across your face in frustration. Sam could see you lying on your bed with your phone in your hand, certain that you must’ve been scrolling on your social media, as you always did at that time. “But the people in class laughed at me at the time and, I don't know, I don't want to be made a laughing stock.”

Sam felt an angry pulse in her neck. It was outrageous that you were afraid of being ridiculed in your class because some idiot thought it was funny to interrupt your debate to call you a bitch. She could almost picture the scene if she closed her eyes, and just the thought of seeing your lost and embarrassed expression made her blood boil.

“Did they put any videos online? If you want, I can delete it.”

The proposal was genuine. While Sam was still doing her own research on your life (for safety's sake, of course), she had found your roommate's data as well. Sammy was a computer science major and, from the internship she had landed with a great salary, she must have been very good at what she did.

“I'll take a look.” You answered in a low voice, your eyes frantically running over the phone screen, looking for something that Sam would never be able to see from that distance.

Billy chose that moment to come back to torment his daughter, his evil smile almost shining in the moonlight. “It's so good that there are so many people who care about our girl, isn't it?”

“Shut up.” Sam grunted through her teeth. He could even be a figment of her mind, but Sam was never going to let Billy ever refer to you as his possession.

In response, he just laughed, his dead head falling back as he amused himself at the girl's growing annoyance. If Billy had a material body, Sam would already have provided a fresh wave of red on his stained shirt.

“FUCK!”

Sam turned her head towards the window like a bolt of lightning as soon as she heard your cry of outrage. Sammy had also done the same, removing the vape from her lips as she turned around with wide eyes. “What?! What?!”

“Look at this shit!” You squawked, waving your phone in the blonde's direction. From a distance, the most Sam could see was the layout of the app. It looked like twitter, but she couldn't be sure.

Not that that was going to be a problem. Carpenter quickly took her phone out of her pocket, opening it to the app that used to have a bird as its icon. Fortunately, the account she wanted to use was already open and she had no trouble finding what she was looking for.

Yes, Sam had also created one or two fake social media accounts when she was investigating you, just to be safe. She had gotten the data from a Gordon Wu, who was majoring in engineering at your university and had apparently never created an account for himself. Sam thought he wouldn't mind if she borrowed it.

It was easy to create a profile with no photos and start following other students at the university to keep up to date with everything that was going on, as well as other random accounts such as soccer memes and Pokémon just to keep her little disguise authentic. Fortunately, the app's algorithm seemed to understand that what Sam really wanted to know was what was going on at Blackmore.

So it wasn't long before she saw E.J Abrams' verified account on her timeline, with a tweet that had over 2k likes:

@themanEJ: That bitch in ARCS just got mad cause she wants this d again

Sam's eye twitched.

“I can't believe he posted that!” You complained even louder, a mixture of anger and dread in your voice. “I've never slept with him! Never! And I never want to!”

The comments were horrible. Men encouraging E.J., calling you crazy and giving reason to his lies, women saying they wouldn't miss the same opportunity or adding fuel to the gossip, asking for the name of the mysterious bitch.

“I'll see if I can delete it, okay?” Sammy patted your shoulder before going to her own side of the room, opening her computer while trying to somehow take down that tweet. Meanwhile, Sam's hands clenched into a fist in the pockets of her jacket.

“You know what to do, Sam.” That familiar voice whispered in her ear, like a snake tempting her to bite the apple. “Are you really going to let that fucker hurt our girl?”

“She's not your girl.”

“But she's yours, isn't she?” Billy retorted without wasting any time, his dark eyes sparkling at the mere idea of having fun in his favorite way. “Don't you remember how good it felt to finish off Bailey? How amazing you felt sticking that knife, my knife, in his eye after he played with your family?”

Sam remembered the excitement, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she took revenge for everything he and his family had done, the smile that automatically opened on her face after he had stopped moving. She remembered how satisfying it had been to slit Richie's throat as if he were a fish, watching him beg for air as the blood dripped to the floor.

E.J... he hadn't killed anyone, but... he deserved it, didn't he? He shouldn't have messed with you. Someone had to teach him a lesson.

“You know you want this, Sam. Don't fight your instincts.”

She felt the weight of Billy's knife in her pocket, serving as a nudge, as if it were another way for the universe to tell her that she was right, that she should do it. 

For the first time in months, Sam looked behind her at the fire escape, now no longer focused on your window, but on the entrance to the house of a famous fraternity that wasn't that far from your dorm.

__

It was incredibly easy to get into the house. Really. The front door was open.

Sam didn't even have to make an effort to get to the boy's room, as her footsteps were completely drowned out by the loud trap music that was blasting from the speakers. She caught a glimpse of four guys playing ping-pong in the kitchen and another two playing video games in the living room.

None noticed her presence and she didn't make a point of being seen either, especially while she was dodging protein bar wrappers and plastic cups that were lying on the floor. She climbed the stairs two steps at a time, wanting to do what she needed to do right away to get out of that nightmare of a place.

She took her phone out of her pocket as soon as she reached the top floor, looking at one of the photos E.J. had posted on his Instagram that showed a bit of his bedroom from the back. The walls were dark blue with some of his medals hanging on them, along with photos of him receiving them. Sam hoped that the boys' rooms weren't all the same.

Fortunately, the first door she walked through was exactly where she needed to be. E.J.'s room wasn't much better than she had imagined. Pants and boxers (which she hoped were clean) were scattered all over the floor and the room smelled of an uncomfortable mixture of aftershave and an extremely woody perfume, to the point of making Sam's nose sting in response.

And there it was, the blue wall full of medals and photos of the boy, like a mural entirely dedicated to his narcissism. Sam was tempted to destroy some of those pictures, punch them right in the middle of that static smile of the boy-next-door that she knew very well was completely fake. There was nothing good about E.J. The world would be a better place without him.

Sam sat on the completely messed up bed, with one sheet turned over and two pillows completely crumpled. E.J. seemed to be the kind of guy who had someone to do the cleaning for him at home, of course he wouldn't be able to do something as simple as making his own bed. He probably thought it wasn't his job.

Speaking of the devil, it didn't take long for E.J. to walk into his own room and be surprised by the sight of the brunette in his bed. He was tall and strong, as an athlete should be, of course. Some people would say he almost looked like Captain America, if you completely ignored the part about having moral values.

Not that that would intimidate Sam. If anything, it would only make the result all the more satisfying.

“Heeey, babe.” Abrams cracked a mischievous smile, analyzing Sam as if she were a piece of meat. “I don't remember having anything scheduled today. Did the guys fix you up for me?”

She had to press her black gloved hands against her thighs to stop herself from immediately jumping on the boy's neck. Act, Sam. Billy's voice and her own were mixing in her head, trying to keep her in line. Sam cracked the best smile she could manage. 

“I just had to have a chance with the hottest guy in Blackmore.” She winked, trying to swallow the disgust she felt at those words. Sam got out of bed slowly, her movements being followed by E.J. like a hungry predator. “Better lock the door, huh? We don't want any interruptions.”

“You're right, beautiful.” The boy quickly agreed, turning the lock behind him at the same time as Sam reached him, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. “You've got attitude, kitten. I like that.”

“I bet.” Sam smiled again, knocking him onto the bed just as he made a move to try and grab her waist. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying her best to maintain a seductive voice. “Why don't you take it off for me, E.J.?”

“Right away.” He nodded, making a show of opening the only three buttons on his polo shirt before pulling the green fabric off over his head, as if Sam was interested in seeing that pile of muscles that would soon spasm until they stiffened.

Sam took a single step closer to the bed, watching the boy crawl through the messy covers until he rested his back on the headboard, spreading his legs as if to invite Sam in. She just tilted her head to the side, her arms crossed. “E.J… What does it stand for?”

“W-What?” The athlete muttered, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he tried to pull himself together in his fake suave persona. “You don't need to know that, kitten. Come here and I'll give you something else to think about.”

“Can I guess, then?” Sam continued, finally climbing onto the bed, her knees sinking into the soft mattress right next to Abrams' thick thighs, pinning him in place. He only nodded, biting his lip as he appreciated the sight above him. “I'd say it's... Edward Jacob Abrams. But you tell everyone you're Edward James, so you don't have to admit that your mother named you after the two hot guys from Twilight. You don't think that's a very manly name, do you?”

E.J.'s expression went from surprise, to panic, to pure hatred. His set jaw quickly clenched and he made a point of getting up to confront Sam. “Listen here, you bitch - OOF.”

Whatever he was going to complain about was interrupted by a swift punch right in his Adam's apple, causing the boy's hands to go up to his throat as he searched for air. His white face quickly turned red and a few tears escaped from his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

Sam smiled at the scene. “You're really like calling women by that word, huh? It's about time someone shut your filthy mouth.”

With a lot of effort and his eyes twitching, E.J. managed to spit out a few words. “Y-You're c-crazy!” He coughed, the veins in his throat widening with the effort, his skin almost turning a purplish hue.

“Maybe.” Carpenter murmured, calmly taking the knife out of her pocket, admiring how the metal of the blade glistened against the moon rays coming through the window. “But you need to learn a thing or two about swallowing your words.”

In one swift movement, Sam used the handle of the knife to strike E.J.'s fingers with a resounding crack, making him grunt in pain and pull his hands away from the front of his neck, which had been Samantha's target all along. He raised his hands, trying to reach the woman to strangle her, but Sam had been faster.

With a single blow, now with the blade, E.J.'s throat had been slit open, spurting wine-red blood from his neck down his bare torso like a waterfall. He opened his eyes wide, his vocal cords gurgling in an attempt to speak, or to call for help, but nothing came out.

He struggled with one last effort to escape, but Sam also had strength in her lower limbs and trapped E.J.'s thighs between her own, forcing him to stay in place while he lost more and more blood and oxygen.

In a way, it was as if Sam was stealing his soul. Her eyes glowed maniacally as the brightness of the boy's eyes dimmed, his muscles growing weaker and his limbs abandoned him, giving up any chance of salvation.

Sam leaned forward, not minding the way her gloves got stained with the blood that now covered the entire bed. She moved closer to E.J.'s ear and whispered, “Who's the bitch now?”

Taking advantage of the boy's almost deoxygenated state, Sam opened his mouth without resistance, aligning her knife with E.J.'s tongue. Through the reflex of the blade, she swore she’d seen Billy’s eyes staring back at hers.

The sharp object descended on the tip of the athlete’s tongue, cutting the muscle with fluidity and letting the small piece fall back into EJ’s trachea, making it even more difficult for the boy to breathe, who at that point was a few seconds from fainting. His mouth was filled with blood, escaping from his lips and mixing with the red that drenched his neck.

E.J was finally unresponsive, breathing non-existent as well as his pulse. The boy’s blue eyes were completely lifeless, staring at Sam in an empty expression. She thought she’d feel a little bad. He was young and had not done much more than stupid mistakes of a 20-something asshole.

But she didn’t feel bad. Because that stupid mistake had been made against you, so he deserved it.

"You didn’t have to do this thing in the end, you know?" Billy commented in a faux bored voice, walking through EJ’s room with his hands behind his back, admiring the walls. "You’re more of a dramatic killer than I am."

"Shut up." Sam muttered back, feeling the tiredness begin to take over. She looked at the digital clock by E.J’s bed, which marked 00:04. Maybe she could be in bed by 1 am, which would give her six hours of sleep before she needed to get up for work. It was more than Sam usually slept, but she had the feeling her sleep would be hard as a stone that night.

Sam stood up from bed carefully, murmuring swears as she saw that the blood had stained her gloves and pants. She had expected to throw the gloves off but, man, she liked these pants.

"Who would’ve guessed that the impulse you needed to become like me was to mess with your heart and not your head."

"I’m not like you." Sam denied, turning to the image of her father in the corner of the room, his damn smirk seemed bigger than ever. She did not try to deny the rest of the sentence, however, because she knew it was true.

Her heart was her greatest weakness. And you seemed to be taking up a lot of space in it.

Billy laughed, approaching his daughter with slow, calculated steps. "You can deny as much as you like, Samantha. You have my blood in your veins and other’s blood on your hands. You cannot escape your family line."

"But, of course, you only did what you did because you needed to defend the honor of the poor and helpless Y/n." he continued, mockery escaping from his non-living lips, feeding on the growing anger in Sam’s chest. "Her knight in shining armour. No, scratch that. There’s nothing shining about you, Sam. You’re her Dark Knight"

She looked into the eyes of her father, seeing her clenched jaw being reflected in the pupil surrounded by an onyx iris. As much as she hated the way he talked about you, Sam couldn’t say that she hated the idea of being your knight, however twisted it was.

"I’ll up the dose of my medication."

"Ha! It’s gonna take more than a few pills to get rid of me, Samantha." Billy shook his head, a humorous smile still on his face. He bypassed his daughter, analyzing the crime scene as an art expert analyzes a painting. "Now let’s clean that up, shall we? No Loomis leaves behind evidence."

__

"If anyone asks me about E.J today, I’ll kill myself."

"Woah! Okay, how about we avoid suicide here?" Mindy replied from your side, gently pushing her shoulder with yours as you walked around the campus. 

"Yeah, if someone has to die here, it’s got to be the people who come and try to fuck with you." Tara added, walking on your other side with the headphones hanging from her neck. "I’ll do it!"

"How about we don’t kill anyone?" Chad joined the conversation, a little further behind you while still struggling to put on his football jacket. Anika, next to Mindy, rolled his eyes with the boy’s words.

"Stop being boring, dude."

The familiarity of the conversation with your friends relieved some of your anxiety, but not completely. E.J’s tweet had gotten more than 3k likes throughout the night and most of them came from people from your college. As stupid as he was, people liked to be siding with a pretty face.

As you approached the communal area of students, more you felt a weight falling on your shoulders. It was almost as if your body was anticipating the looks, whispers and fingers pointed in your direction, as if you were a circus attraction - "The girl rejected by E.J Abrams"

But that never came, not even when you approached the tables occupied by several students. They all seemed more concerned to look at their own phones, apparently immersed in some gossip by the increasing volume of whispers in unison.

"What happened?" You turned to your friends with furrowed eyebrows, watching Mindy mumble a brief I don’t know while pulling the phone out of her pocket. Around you, people seemed scared, as if something terrible had happened. 

You unconsciously thought it might be something else related to the ghostface attacks and the hell your friends had experienced in the past. You had heard the stories, had sympathized with the trauma experienced by them, although you secretly wished that the same fate would never fall on you.

Maybe that was the universe signaling you had no escape.

"Oh My God!" Mindy exclaimed as she opened her phone. Anika, beside her, took a hand to her mouth in complete horror and shock. You, Chad and Tara rushed to surround her, trying to read the news that had left the entire student body in a state of dread.

Athlete and fraternity member is found dead this morning. Suspicion of foul play falls on his roommates.

Gasps were slipping out of your throat as you kept reading the news. E.J Abrams was dead. His throat and tongue had been cut and the boy had bled to death in his own bed. The police had found some traces of hair from the other residents of the fraternity on his nails and they were the main suspects, with the current theory that it had been a prank that ended very badly.

You had a ringing in your ear. You’d woken up this morning wishing EJ would die, but now that he was really dead you felt... What? Relief? Revenge? Disgust? Fear?

A silence fell on your friends, but you could understand the thought that was being shared even without words. None of you felt bad for EJ, but the idea of your cursing suddenly being materialized seemed eerily real.

"Well, I hope they don’t cancel classes." Tara shrugged, being the first to give up pretending to care about the situation. "I didn’t walk all this way for nothing."

She pulled you by the arm, taking you out of your inner thoughts for a moment as you went towards the ARCS room, both knowing that one of the chairs would be empty but with the sketch of a body that was once there.

E.J was dead, but instead of relief, you felt in your guts that something was wrong.