Student!Norway X Teacher!Reader X Student!DenmarkMore Like This
“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you look today?” Mathias Kohler, your Danish student in fourth-period AP World History leaned on your desk and stared lovingly into your eyes. You could smell the gel from his hair and you tried not to wrinkle your nose in respect for you student, although it was clear he had no respect for your personal bubble of space. Your business suit wrinkled as you practically were pushed up against the wall.
“You’ve told me every day since school started, Kohler,” you smartly said, standing up to go put away the graded paper in your hand into a folder, “and I’ve told you, it will not raise you 82% in this class to an A.” You opened the filing cabinet, turning to look at him with a dubious glare.
“Who said this was about grades? I just want to honestly tell you how beautiful you look. Every day.”
“It would make me happier if you would go to your seat and be quiet. Like Lukas.” You motioned
CreepyPasta: Mind Your MommaMore Like This
Mind Your Momma
Ever since I was a child I've had an affinity for adventure. Nothing fills me with the same sense of overwhelming joy and adrenaline than running through the forest at dusk, and exploring forgotten ruins of old buildings left to rot away. This same passion of mine has always filled my mother with great disapproval.
Every time I would prepare to embark on a new journey, she'd give me the same old spiel about how foolish and dangerous such behaviors were, and how I really should listen when she told me not to go.
Despite her warnings, I never ran into trouble. Sure, I'd gotten my fare share of bumps and bruises from rough spills while hiking, but I wore them like battle scars. I knew the woods behind my house like the back of my hand. So well, in fact, that I began to grow bored with them.
However, to my delight, a few weeks ago my mother informed me that we would be moving to a new town to be closer to my Uncle. I won't list the name of said town because I don't trust y
Creepy Pasta: The PuppeteerMore Like This
I had this doll for quite a while now.
It was a beautiful porcelain doll. You know, the way that most porcelain doll looks like. I was just like that. Wavy, long blonde curls. Black eyes. A beautiful pink and red dress with a typical headband with lace around the edges. It was a doll I received from my mother at an early age. At that age I always thought it was such a pretty doll - A perfect look. My grandmother had almost fifty dolls of that kind. All of them beautiful, perfect porcelain dolls. But this one in particular, the blonde with the red dress, I will always remember.
Because this is the one that would be the death of me.
I lived alone for quite awhile, had now. I had just gotten into college, seeing my whole life lay in front of me and all I had to do was to just go and pick out what I wanted. Easy as that. I was aiming for Psychology - A subject I had started to respect and enjoy the last three years. Seeing as my mother was a nurse and my dad a therapist, It was