Content

Please I need this

Rare Variant Cover

Pairing: Jason Todd / AFAB Reader

Fandom: Batman (DC Comics)

Word Count: 3100+

Tags: SFW, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship

Synopsis: Your first meeting is inside a second-hand bookstore. Jason leaves the store in a rage and it’s all your fault.

You had been leaning against the counter with your arms crossed for over half an hour, silently following the young man with your watchful gaze. The first time he entered your store, he greeted you with a kind smile and you in turn answered with a typical friendly shop assistant's welcome. Since then he had been browsing through the rows and rows of books stacked in every nook and cranny of the room.

Most of the time you knew at first glance why someone entered your second hand bookstore and what they were looking for. It was a fun little game you played with yourself. What genre did they prefer to read? What kind of book did they want to buy? What were their favorite tropes?

Collectors looking for coveted first editions of rare classics; thrifty shoppers who wanted to experience exciting literature for a small price; walk-in customers who strolled into the store out of sheer curiosity after standing in front of the window for several minutes; library staff who tried to buy back destroyed copies of their inventory, even if they were long out of print.

After several years of selling books to avid readers, you were able to assess most of the customers who entered your store. This one was different. You just couldn't figure him out. This man looked like he could crush Superman with his thighs. He was wearing full biking gear sans the helmet, explaining the motorcycle in front of the store. He was about your age. Definitely not a teenager anymore, but it was hard to gauge exactly how old. Mid to late twenties, maybe.

He looked like a thug. Anyone would forgive you for your suspicion after he stepped into the store, clad in leather from head to toe. It wouldn't be the first time you had been mugged. It was Gotham, after all. You had seen your fair share of robberies. Why someone thought it was a good idea to rob a bookshop though, you still couldn't explain.

In the end it was the way the stranger handled the books, convincing you that he was most likely more harmless than he looked. Every time he pulled one book from the shelf, he supported the spine with one hand and turned the pages gently, cautious of never wrinkling the paper. Every single book was treated with almost loving care, as if they were living beings with heart and soul.

If he started a discussion about literature with you now, you would be convinced that this was a dream. A man this good looking sharing one of your favorite hobbies and appearing to be a gentle giant? Impossible, right?

So you should also be forgiven for your suspicious stares turning into rapturous glances.

His back was turned your way while he browsed through one of the shelves. The black leather jacket emphasized his broad shoulders. He turned to browse the shelf at his back, facing your direction once more, and you marveled at his face. Strong cheekbones and the chiseled jaw of a Greek god stood in stark contrast to full, soft lips and large, round eyes. The latter was the first indication that he was possibly younger than you had initially though. Perhaps in his early twenties?

You were aware that you shouldn't ogle your customers like this. But it was late, you were tired and there was a waking dream walking through your store. Of course you stared. Maybe you had fallen asleep on the counter?

"Excuse me?"

The voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up, somewhat taken by surprise. The handsome book lover was standing right in front of the counter. When had he come so close? The wooden floorboards throughout the store creaked, it was an old building. How had you not heard him move?

Had he caught you staring? You quickly put on your friendliest customer smile and asked, "How can I help?"

He looked at you intently for a few seconds, then returned your smile.

"Do you also sell international literature in their original language?"

His voice was pleasantly dark and raspy. A strong Gotham accent originating most likely from the poorest parts of the city. Customers from Park Row were unusual here. Your store wasn't located in the expensive districts of the city, but most Park Row residents wouldn't waste their money on public transport to shop here.

You knew the stock by heart, but it had been a long time since anyone had asked for non-English literature. It was less popular with most collectors. Another reason why the young man caught your attention. There was rarely an opportunity to sell the less sought-after items. An interesting change from your usual business.

"We have a small selection. Is there a particular language you're looking for?"

The man leaned against the counter and even through the thick leather of his jacket could you see his biceps flex. Be still, heart.

"I would prefer something in German. But French, Italian or Arabic would also be fine."

You tried to hide your surprise. Was he serious? Could he really speak all those languages?

"I can think of a few titles," you said, already going through the stock in your mind, and directed him to follow you with a quick wave of your hand.

The store wasn't big, but each of the shelves was almost bursting at the seams, filled to the top with books. It was no surprise that he hadn't discovered any suitable books during his foray through the store. You steered purposefully towards a shelf at the back of the store and pointed to a place slightly above you, out of your reach.

"Here are the non-English books we currently have in stock. I could get a step stool-"

You had already noticed how tall the man was, but now that he stood right next to you, with him being able to read the spines of the books you could barely reach, you truly realized his height. It should be intimidating, with him almost looming over you. You just thought it was hot as hell.

When you looked up to meet his eyes - blue-green like the sea and just as deep - you also noticed his smug grin.

You stopping in the middle of your sentence seemed to tell him exactly what you were thinking. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. His grin only grew, showing a hint of teeth.

"Thank you, a step stool shouldn't be necessary," he said, amused, only slowly averting his gaze from your face to scrutinize the old books in front of him.

He stretched out his hand and ran a finger over the spines of the books. Every now and then he pulled one out before pushing it back in disinterest.

"Are you looking for a present?" you asked.

You just had to know. Maybe he wasn't interested in books himself and was just looking to buy a present. You hoped that he wasn't here for a present.

"No, I'm looking for myself."

The answer came after a brief moment of hesitation. He gave you a cold sideways glance, then turned back to the shelf. Any friendliness drained from his voice. Did you say something wrong?

"If you need any help, you know where to find me," you said, giving him a nervous smile and pointing towards the counter.

He met your eyes once more, it felt almost scrutinizing. Without his smile he was intimidating. Nothing hot as hell about a man that looked so annoyed, like he would curb stomp you the second you opened your mouth again. 

"Sure. I'll let you know if I need you."

Crude and tight-lipped. That was definitely the end of your conversation.

For the next thirty minutes, your full attention was almost exclusively on the stranger. Only when another customer had a question were you able to focus on you work. Every time he caught you staring, you averted your gaze in shame.

"I'd like to pay," said a voice to your right.

You flinched and your head jerked to the side. There was Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, standing right next to you. He had a look on his face that rivaled your annoyance-levels when you were just about to close the store and someone entered anyway. He placed a single book on the counter. You asked yourself once again, how he managed to approach you without you noticing. How did he manage to evade the squeaky floorboards?

With one hand on your chest, you laughed breathlessly. "What are you, a ninja?"

His cold expression gave way to the slightest of smiles. His change of mood gave you whiplash. What was his problem? Were you the problem? Maybe he just suffered from resting bitch face syndrome and his mood-changes only seemed so extreme because he had a wonderful smile?

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

You waved him off and scanned the book. Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. You had tried to figure out his taste in literature, but nothing about his person screamed Sturm und Drang to you.

"I always try to guess what my customers will buy. I was really unsure about you, but I certainly wasn't expecting this!" you said with a genuine laugh. The man was a real surprise. In a positive sense.

Instead of responding to your statement, the corners of his mouth turned downward once more.

"Do you have any older literature? First editions?" he asked. Hard change of topic, but okay.

You nodded in reply. Most of your books were on the younger side, but occasionally you came into the possession of older first editions. Not the kind of books you had to pay a fortune for, but expensive nonetheless.

"I have a few first editions, but I store them elsewhere. The storage conditions in this building are not suited for brittle paper. You can tell me if you're looking for something specific or give me your email address and I can send you a list of what I have. But first editions can be quite expensive, are you sure you're looking for something like that?"

There was no reply for a few moments after you finished your sentence. You looked up at the man, confusion written all over your face. Anger burned in his eyes. Surprised, you took a step back.

"What's your fucking problem? I don't understand you. First you stare at me like I'm trying to steal something. Which, okay, it's Gotham. I don't exactly look friendly. I can understand being cautious. But then you start to undress me with your eyes, only to call me stupid the next moment? Then you stare at me like that. Again! Following up with claiming I'm what? To stupid to understand Goethe? Laughing at me? And now you assume I'm poor. Why? Because of my accent? My appearance?"

He slammed a hundred dollar bill on the counter. "Fuck you and your prejudices."

With those sharp words, he grabbed the book, left the store and rode off on his motorcycle with a roaring roar.

He left behind too much money for a single book and a trembling shop assistant. What the hell just happened? Well. Maybe Sturm und Drang suited the stranger just fine after all.

---

You were convinced that you would never see the literature-loving stranger again. Gotham was big and he would never voluntarily set foot in your store again. Still, you wished you had a chance to apologize.

You really screwed it up. At first, you didn't understand why he suddenly snapped at you, but it had been over a month since his angry escape and you had spent enough time thinking about that day. Your behavior, even if unintentional, had been an absolute disaster. He had misinterpreted your every question, your every action. You had never meant to offend him, but looking back, you could understand why he had taken it the wrong way.

And there he was. In a BatBurger across the street. He was sitting at a table with several people, chatting animatedly. You met him again by pure chance.

You could walk away. Let him enjoy the rest of the day with his friends in peace. He looked so happy, with a slight grin on his lips, leaning back and relaxing as he listened to the rambling tales of another black-haired man.

You should walk away, but your guilty conscience has been gnawing at the back of your mind for over a month. Even if he raised his voice at you, you wanted to at least try to apologize.

Your legs started moving without permission. You crossed the busy street and pushed open the door to the BatBurger before fear could catch up.

With sure steps, you moved towards the table. God, the people were all absolutely gorgeous. Did the handsome stranger only have even better-looking friends? A gathering of models, perhaps.

Halfway to the table, several people of the group lifted their heads to look at you. A mix of friendly but suspicious glances. The latter was the least you expected of residents of Gotham.

When the handsome stranger raised his head, however, his expression darkened abruptly. Understandable, but intimidating. You swallowed your growing fear and came to a halt in front of the group.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" you asked. A quick sideways glance at the other people at the table, "Alone?"

Everyone's eyes wandered back and forth between you and the man. The attention only fueled your nervousness. Instead of getting up and following you or telling you to get lost, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared you down with a cold gaze.

Even though he was sitting and had to look up at you, you felt tiny.

"Anything you want to tell me, you can tell me right here."

You swallowed, anxiety rising in your veins. All eyes were on you, scrutinizing you with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"I'm sorry!" you said in a firm voice, a little too loud for the small room. Before you could lose your courage again, you began your rambling explanation.

"I didn't understand why you were so angry at first. Honestly, I still don't quite get it. All I know is that I hurt you and I'm sorry! You have to believe me that wasn't my intention. The whole situation? A huge misunderstanding! Granted, at first I kept an eye on you because you looked like trouble and I've been mugged several times. So yes, that was a prejudice on my part. But after that, I was just trying to make small talk! I was staring at you because you're smoking hot and you like books. I thought I was dreaming. I mean, where else would I find a man like that? You're just totally my type and then I make such an ass of myself. I've been meaning to apologize to you since the incident and then I happen to see you just sitting here and now here we are. And, well-"

You looked around. Your heart was pounding in your throat. Everyone stared at you with wide eyes. A tall, black-haired man stifled a laugh, holding a hand over his mouth. A blonde girl inconspicuously held a phone above the tabletop and filmed you. The unknown stranger sat in his seat with his eyes wide open, mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what. The situation couldn't get any more awkward.

Throwing your last sense of shame overboard, you focus your gaze on the stranger. This was your last and only chance. What could possibly happen? He snaps at you?

"I owe you ninety-three dollars and five cents. That's a lot of BatBurger meals. Or a couple cups of coffee. Maybe dinner for two at a good restaurant? You could explain to me in detail all the wrong things I've said to upset you, so I won't say them again."

You felt the blush rise to your face, refusing to look at anyone else at the table except the handsome stranger. He, too, was bright red in the face, his lips moving as if he was trying to form words that just wouldn't come.

A few moments passed. Neither he nor his friends said anything. The entire room was silent. Your sense of shame won the silent battle. 

"Okay, got it. Sorry for the interruption!"

You turned on your heel and left the restaurant with quick steps.

That was by far the most embarrassing thing you had ever done. A rejection wouldn't even be that big of a deal, but the embarrassment of being watched by an entire group of friends while getting rejected? Suppressing your tears, you tried to escape as quickly as possible.

You didn't get very far. Just a few buildings down the street, a loud voice called out behind you: "Hey, just wait a minute!"

You recognized his voice immediately and quickened your steps. Whatever else he had to say to you - it couldn't be good. Just a few seconds later, he passed you with a short sprint and came to a sudden stop in front of you. You had to halt in the middle of the pavement, earning a few rude comments from pedestrians in turn. The stranger snarled at a few of them, before turning to you, a concerned expression on his - sadly still extremely handsome - face. 

"Sorry. You just caught me off guard. Let's try this again, all right? My name is Jason. And you are?"

Confused, you look up at him. You definitely hadn't expected that. Hesitantly, you told him your name.

"Hi," he said, followed by your name. Each syllable carefully accentuated, as if he was trying to taste the letters. Your name sounded so enticing from his lips. The warm smile he gave you afterward made your heart flutter.

"I'm incredibly sorry for screaming at you. Whether I was right or wrong, I should never have raised my voice. I overreacted and took my frustration out on you. Totally out of character for me. I was having a bad day, you hit a few sore spots. I should have come by again to apologize, but I assumed you wouldn't want to see that crazy customer again."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, embarrassment written all over his face. You marveled at the splotchy flush on his cheeks. He was just as uncomfortable with the whole situation as you were. It was kind of endearing.

"So, getting back to your offer," he mumbled hesitantly, "a dinner to talk about everything would be good. Really good. Fantastic, actually."

Everyone had prejudices, you of all people knew that. Getting to know the handsome stranger would hopefully clear up some of yours. You were confident that your date would turn out just fine.

Blame this guy named tony for this ok😭

Don’t Scream

IMAGINE: The original Ghostface killers have focused on their new target, you. Their plans change, however, when someone else threatens your life. After that night, nothing will ever be the same for you. Set in modern times! WORD COUNT:  3.4k  WARNINGS: Mentions of blood & gore, shitty ending.

“Darcy, how do you expect Lizzie to accept your proposal if you keep insulting her by bringing up the differences between your classes?” You shout at the tv screen.

Here you were, alone in your house on a Friday night, watching Pride and Prejudice. Fun, huh?

“Matthew, don’t pout like that!” You tell the actor on screen. “You knew this was coming, don’t act like an idiot!”

But how could you stay angry at Matthew for so long? He was only playing his part.

As the scene moves on, you suddenly find yourself distracted by a sudden noise. Thinking it might’ve been your parents, you tentatively call out for them. “Mom? Dad? You guys back already?”

When nothing else happens, you shrug your shoulders and shut everything down. It was getting late anyway, and you just wanted to fall asleep in your own bed.

Just as you finally cleaned up the mess you had made, you were taken aback when the house phone rang. Against your better judgment, you picked up the phone without even looking at the ID on the dim screen.

“Hello, (Last Name) residence,” you utter into the speaker, attempting to seem more awake than you were.

“Hello there,” a voice on the other line drawled.

“Hi,” you reply, scrunching your forehead in confusion. This voice didn’t seem to register in your half-asleep mind as you tried to figure out who it was.

“Who’s this?” You ask politely.

“No one,” the voice answered. “I must have called the wrong number.”

Stifling a laugh, you feel yourself shake your head. “Oh, I hate it when that happens,” you say honestly. “Lemme guess you accidentally butt-dialed me?” 

“No,” the voice chuckled, the smooth tone of it convincing you it was a man on the other side of the line. “I was just-”

You quickly tuned out the man when you heard another noise, slightly louder than the one you heard before. As you try to figure out what it was, you quickly remember your unseen guest.

“-hat noise?”

“What?” You whisper into the phone.

“What was that noise I heard?” The man asked.

“I’m not-” You stick your head around the corner and quickly clamp a hand over your mouth.

A duo of men was standing in front of your open door. They had broken a nearby window from the outside and the door looked like someone had kicked it open.

Seeing as the men had not noticed you yet, you quickly slip back into the living room and search for a hiding spot. A few whimpers escaped your throat, just soft enough for the intruders to dismiss but loud enough for the phone’s microphone to pick up.

“What’s going on?!” The voice demanded.

“There are men… In my house,” you hiss, trying not to catch unwanted attention.

Silence was all you heard. You were afraid they had cut the phone line when the man came back, his voice sounding harsh and cold.

“Find somewhere to hide and stay there,” he commanded stiffly. Your body suddenly hesitated, and for good reason.

You didn’t even know whoever was on the other side of the line, and yet they were here, helping keep you alive. But you quickly snapped out of your trance as you heeded his words. Fear was eating you alive as you struggled to not lose it.

If you weren’t so panic-stricken, you might’ve hung up the phone and called the police!

Pressing the phone to your chest, you sneakily made your way past the burglars as they ransacked your home. You thought your heart would just burst out of your chest as you crept into your bedroom. With shaky hands, you locked the door.

“What now?” You whisper into the phone, terrified that one of your guests might hear you.

“Get in the closet and stay there,” the man ordered.

“I-I…. I c-can’t,” you stutter quietly, finding yourself rooted to the floor. You couldn’t move, no matter how much you wanted to.

“DO IT NOW!” The voice snarled, scaring you out of your wits.

Suddenly frightened at the anger in his voice, you toss the phone away. The fear grew stronger as the device smacked into the wall. The sheer force of it had created a sharp ‘smack’ that rattled you to the core.

Sending out a silent plea that you hadn’t been heard, you hold in a shriek as you hear the men from before start talking to one another.

“Did you hear that, Antoine?” One of them questioned, his voice hoarse and in desperate need of a glass of water.

“Yes, I did. It seems we’re not the only ones here,” came a dark reply, the voice rougher than the sharpest piece of sandpaper.

You could feel the air harshly leave your body as you struggled to gain a proper breath.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to-

Your panicked thoughts were quickly interrupted as you heard the front door slam against the wall. You heard the men shout in alarm as they focused on their new distraction.

The sounds of blood-curdling wails filled your ears as you listened to the men grunt and shout as they fought.

But what was there to fight? Besides the intruders, you were the only one in the house. Surely, they weren’t stupid enough to turn on each other.

“Get away from him!” Said the second man as a series of crashes echoed through the hall. He let out a cry as he too was attacked.

A mangled sob escaped your lips as you listened to the men scream and scream until their pitiful wails suddenly cut off rather quickly.

Tears ran down your face, creating a steady stream that cascaded down your chin like heavy rain. As they fell to the floor, you realized that the third party made himself known as heavy footsteps stomped down the hallway causing a ruckus.

The fear in your chest grew as you realized they were heading towards your room.

Snapping out your immobile state, you rushed to your open closet and hid inside, quietly closing the doors. Almost immediately, you heard someone banging on your bedroom door as they struggled to open it. A series of low grunts reached your ears as you heard someone throwing themselves against the weakening slab of wood.

Definitely going to die. Going to die right now. I will never tell (Favorite Actor) that I love them. I-

You stopped your internal rambling once you realized that you no longer heard that awful banging. You couldn’t help but hope that whoever was on the other side of the door left and wouldn’t return.

What luck you had.

You screamed out into your hand as the door slammed open, falling onto your hardwood floors with another harsh bang. With both hands cupping your mouth now, you tried to control your breathing that came out in short, uneven puffs that resembled a panting bear.

You listened carefully as you looked under the small gap under the closet to watch a dark shadow pace around your room. You heard them shuffle around as they ransacked the area.

The surrounding air grew thick as the shadow suddenly froze. Within seconds, the closet door flew open to reveal your unknown attacker.

A tall figure wearing a Father Death costume glared down at you from above. The mask was splattered with a dark crimson fluid that trailed down the face like murky tears. He carried a hunting dagger coated in the same substance by his side and held it menacingly.

You couldn’t help but stare at the knife as blood dripped to the floor almost hypnotically. The killer noticed you staring and tilted his head to the side as he looked you over.

Guessing that he was planning on how to kill you, you asked for a last request before your time was over.

“Please,” you tell the killer, unable to get your voice louder than a whisper. “Just make it quick.”

You looked away from the messenger of death as he raised the blade. This was it. Your life was over and you’d never taste another (Favorite Snack) again.  

It surprised you when you felt nothing. Not the swing of a knife cutting through your flesh. The pain of having blood filling your throat. Not even the warmth leaving your body as you died.

With stiff movements, you slowly open your eyes, only to see the masked figure offering a gloved hand. Seeing that you were wary, the man twitched his fingers, repeating his silent request. 

“Just take it,” he finally spat.

Recognizing that smooth tone to be the same one from the call, you finally grasp his hand. The second you closed your fingers around his covered palm, he hoisted you to your feet. Once you had your feet firmly planted on the ground, you realized the killer hadn’t let go of you.

The stillness in the room reminded you of what had happened only minutes ago. Just recalling the horrible screams made your skin crawl as you looked at the masked man.

“What happened to those men?” You ask meekly.

When he doesn’t answer, you look at the blade in his other hand. The killer followed your gaze and quickly pocketed the knife.

“I have dealt with them,” was the reply you received. Without another word, the man dragged you out of your bedroom.

“Stop!” You shout at him, immediately tugging at your wrist.

This guy slaughtered two burglars in such a way that made your stomach twist and recoil in ways it shouldn’t. There was no way in hell that you would go with this man willingly.

“Stop struggling,” the man spat out, squeezing your arm painfully as he led you to the front door. You passed the bodies as you did so, and it only made your fear increase tenfold.

“Please,” you cried out softly, catching the man’s attention.

He turned around to face you; his covered eyes boring into your own as he waited for you to speak. Your mouth suddenly became dry as you struggled to talk.

“Don’t prolong the inevitable. Just kill me and get it over with. I know that’s what you’re going to do, anyway.”

The man observed you as you eyed his frozen figure as if he were a predator ready to pounce on his prey. And you were the cute fuzzy bunny the big bad wolf wanted for dinner.

“I will not kill you,” the man told you stiffly. “I’m here to... Help.”

"Help?" You repeated. "But why-"

"Don't ask questions!" The man snarled. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Shutting your mouth, you let the man drag you onto your front lawn with no more complaints. It doesn’t stop you from dragging your feet just the tiniest bit. This didn’t go unnoticed by your rescuer.

“Would you stop?!” He practically growled at you. With his free hand, he whipped out his knife he had planned on leaving out of this. “Don’t fight me!”

His words only spurred you to struggle more. This was part of his plan somehow. He would get you to lower your guard, and when you least expected it? He’d rip you apart, just like he did those burglars.

When you refused to listen to him, he let out an angry grunt before bashing the butt of the knife on the back of your head. The sheer force of it sent you tumbling down like JENGA® blocks.

“Son of a-”

It seemed so fuzzy to you. You could register the mask hovering over your face, the steady droning sound in your ears, pale moonlight glimmering on his knife. Then it disappeared out of your line of sight.

If you could think clearly, you would have worried where it was going. Instead, you could only whine softly, slowly blinking as you waited for something to happen.

“They’ll find you here,” you heard him mumble to himself, his voice sounding as if he were underwater. “You’ll be ok.”

What the hell is he talking about?

You stared at the midnight sky behind his head, your mind refusing to focus on anything. The buzzing grew louder, forcing you to shut your eyes. It drowned everything out, leaving you with your rambling thoughts.

For a moment you could think before you felt yourself slip away. The sudden fear overwhelmed you, reminding you of what was happening in the actual world.

Please don’t let me die, not like this.

-

You didn’t remember much after that.

The next time you opened your eyes, you had been in the hospital, attempting to focus on a doctor. With the help of a nurse, they explained you had been attacked. Luckily, someone had tipped off the authorities who rescued you in time before anything else happened.

The interrogation with the cops was a blur. They spun some story about 3 intruders being breaking into your house, with the third one turning his back on his partners and sparing you from his rage.

One officer offered this as being connected to the other murders, but they had shot it down. While they had found records of someone calling the house before the killings, nothing else had fit the profile. They figured the mutilation only occurred because of an unknown argument between the intruders.

They tried pushing you into remembering what happened, but you couldn’t. All you could focus on was the fear you felt at the moment, sending you in tears each time.

It took you a few days after getting released from the hospital, but you finally convinced your parents to let you return to school. You were just so tired of being afraid; you wanted to return to some normalcy.

It was a rocky start. The second you stepped on school grounds, all eyes were on you. You could hear the whispers as you walked by, everyone trying to figure out how you lived. Keeping your head high, you blocked all of it out, intent on putting that behind you.

Unbeknownst to you, you failed to notice two boys during the newfound attention, the two of them sharing unnerving grins as their eyes followed your every move.

-

You couldn’t stop the cry that escaped your throat as you shut your locker, coming face to face with a guy you recognized from your history class. “Fuck!” You practically shouted in his face.

“Sorry about that, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his Cheshire grin implying he was anything but sorry.

“It's ok,” you replied, shaking it off. No one says anything at that point, leaving him staring while you shuffled nervously.

“You’re uh... You’re Stu, right?” You asked suddenly. “I sit behind you in history. You’re funny.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he gave a mock bow. “That’s me, at your service!” Stu glanced around the hallway, frowning when he saw teenagers scattered about. “You got anyone to sit with?” He asked.

You shook your head sadly. Your friends didn’t have the same lunch period as you, leaving you munching on your food alone often.

“That won’t do,” Stu complained as he held out his hand. He managed a reassuring smile when you seemed hesitant to take it. “I won’t bite, my friend and I could use the company, anyway. Let’s go.” By the time you had reached the courtyard fountain, Stu practically had you in tears from how hard you were laughing.

You noticed his friend was another guy you recognized class, Billy; you think his name was.

“What’s so funny?” He chuckled, noticing the way you two were struggling to breathe.

“Listen to this,” Stu struggled to say. “The other day, my sister asked me to pass her lipstick, but I accidentally passed her a glue stick. She still isn't talking to me.”

The boy chuckled. “That would be funny, except you don’t have a sister Stu.”

Stu rolled his eyes, gently sitting you down between the two of them. Billy spares you a glance before holding out a bag of chips. When you just stared at it, he rolled his eyes. 

“Do you want one or not?” He finally asked. You a shy nod, thanking him when you took a chip.

“So...” You drawled out, tired of the silence that had fallen on the three of you. That, and you were desperate to know why they were so interested in you suddenly. Both of them look surprised when you voiced your concerns.

“After what happened,” Billy began, “you looked like you just needed a friend.”

“Yeah!” Stu added. “You laugh at my jokes, and you’re pretty easy on the eyes too!”

-

Billy couldn’t help but think about the knife hidden in his backpack as you squirmed in your spot. Stu couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked in those pants.

It had been Stu’s idea to make you Ghostface’s next target. The two had seen you around the school; no one would suspect them if you were killed. You were barely a blip on their radar, publicly at least.

Billy was the one on the phone with you that night, putting on the facade he had contacted the wrong house. It had been going fine until Stu reported that someone was at the front door. He had been posted at the side, waiting for his partner’s word to break into the window.

The two hadn’t counted on their unexpected company to ruin their plans. You were theirs to kill; they would not let two low-life burglars take the money shot.

Stu was the one who ran inside, killing the men with no mercy to spare. He had been the one to sneak into your bedroom, fully prepared to finish you as planned. Billy warned him you had hidden in the closet, the perfect place for an easy target.

There had been something about the way you looked at Stu, your (Eye Color) eyes practically boring into his own. Then, instead of pleading with him to spare your life, you had asked that he kill you quickly. Not a single one of his victims had done that.

Somewhere in his sick, twisted little mind, he couldn’t find it in him to murder you.

It pissed Billy off when Stu returned, admitting that he didn’t finish the job. He had almost gone back to do it himself when Stu wrestled him back.

“They’re different!” The taller one shouted in his ear, attempting to keep the argument as quiet as he could. They were killers in public. “We already got in some kills; the police will never think it was us! And Y/N will never know either!”

It was pure luck that Billy agreed to his partner’s demands. It was the same luck that later spared your life; when it came out that you couldn’t remember the night of the attack, Billy let you live. To ensure that you wouldn’t squeal to the authorities if the memories ever came back, the boys came to the idea that they needed to insert themselves into your life.

“You guys are nice,” you admitted. “But you wouldn’t hurt me, right? I don’t want to get my feelings hurt.”

It wouldn’t just be your feelings getting hurt! Stu thought maniacally.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” Billy assured you, his thoughts straying away from his weapon.

For the moment Billy believed his own words. He could pretend that he and his best friend never tried killing you, befriending you on the idea that maybe you were a good person to be friends with. He wouldn’t have to worry about you discovering that they had plotted to kill you for their demented pleasure.

If things went right in this friendship, you would never have to discover their dark secret.

Coming to you soon...

Daydreaming about my book:

Writing my book:

🟢 You are still a writer even when you haven't written in a while.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you feel like you aren't writing enough.

🟢 You are still a writer when you feel like your work isn't good.

🟢 You are still a writer when other people don't like your work.

🟢 You are still a writer when you aren't published.

🟢 You are still a writer when you only have works in progress.

🟢 You are still a writer if all you write is fanfiction.

the first time i cried in thunderbolts was when they all worked together to save that woman from the chunk of a building

superhero movies are about people who have the ability to help people and choose to do so

that isn’t all there is but i think the mcu has gotten so focused in the weeds of the multiverse and inner group politics and whatever that they forgot that the reason we watch superhero movies is because we want to watch good guys fight bad guys, but more importantly, we want to watch them help people because that’s why they fight the bad guys in the first place