Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Thirty minutes in, and the horror had stopped pretending.

The movie Summer picked—with the deceptively romantic title—had long since shown its teeth. What started with scenic vineyards and slow piano music now spiraled through sharp-angled shadows, demonic whispers, and a possessed child screaming backwards Latin.

Don had already lost count of how many times Samantha jumped, flinched, or outright squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to play it off, of course—her hands folded in her lap, shoulders squared like a soldier pretending not to hear gunfire.

But the way her fingers twitched every time the soundtrack dipped into silence? Dead giveaway.

Amanda had adjusted better. "Adjusted" being generous. She jumped once at a particularly gnarly exorcism scene, then immediately stood up, muttering something about "needing to pee" before walking off with her beer.

She came back without ever using the bathroom and opened her second can like it owed her an apology.

**Pssshht**

Now she sat reclined again, chewing on a slice of pizza that had gone cold, every so often giving a lazy side-eye to the screen—like daring it to scare her again.

Summer didn't flinch. Not once. Her expression hovered somewhere between deadpan and faintly amused, especially when Samantha squirmed.

Her eyes never left the screen, and every now and then, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Don noticed. But he misread it.

He thought she just liked watching other people get scared. He remembered their last movie night, when she kept peeking at him during jump scares hoping for a reaction.

She didn't get one then.

And she wasn't getting one now.

Not because he was trying to be tough. He just wasn't… affected. The movie was technically well-made—good effects, solid pacing, creepy visuals—but none of it touched him.

Whether it was his Unfazed trait at work, or the twisted mental simulations he'd endured during mental training, he couldn't say. It was like watching someone else have a nightmare on mute.

His eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

He yawned, long and slow, stretching his neck slightly. **Hhhmmnnh**

It wasn't loud, but Samantha caught it immediately.

She turned her head toward him, grateful for any excuse to look away from the screen. "Are you tired, honey?" she asked gently, voice low. "You don't have to force yourself to stay up if you want to rest. We'll understand."

Summer's eyes flicked toward her mother.

Just the smallest glance. But it carried weight.

She didn't like that phrasing—"we'll understand." Speaking for her like that. As if she was some footnote in the collective decision.

And honestly? To her at least, ff Don was bored, maybe that wouldn't have happened if they'd stuck with the original plan—just the two of them, no blankets, no distractions.

Don rubbed at the side of his neck, casually pulling his arm back from behind Samantha's shoulders. She didn't say anything, but her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly the moment his touch left her. Her hand moved toward her wrist, absently fidgeting with the bracelet there.

Don stood up with a quiet grunt and stretched again. **Crack**. A faint pop from his shoulder echoed softly in the room.

"It's not that," he said, rolling his neck. "The movie just isn't all that scary for me. But I'll manage. Let me just grab a beer."

He padded off toward the kitchen without fanfare. The TV's glow cast his silhouette across the hallway walls, stretching as he passed through.

Samantha exhaled, but not from relief. The moment his warmth left her side, a strange sort of vulnerability settled in. The movie didn't stop for her emotional dip.

If anything, it got worse. Someone onscreen was screaming in a pitch that sounded more insect than human.

She winced.

Summer didn't.

Instead, she saw her opening.

The TV reflected softly in her eyes as she leaned forward slightly and turned toward Samantha.

"Mom," she said quietly. "Could you scoot a bit so Don can be near the coffee table? He might spill beer on the couch if he dozes off."

The sentence was harmless on paper. Polite. Practical, even. But the intention was needle-thin.

Samantha blinked. "Oh…" she murmured, glancing toward the kitchen where the faint clack of a can being opened echoed. Her eyes lingered there, uncertain.

She wanted to say it wasn't necessary. That Don could sit wherever he wanted. But the words never made it past her lips. It felt… wrong to argue over seating. Petty. So instead, she just hesitated.

Summer waited, saying nothing more. She was seated on the far end of the couch near the coffee table, meaning if Samantha moved, she would too—leaving space between them, which Summer would fill and have Don sit next to her.

But as Don stepped back into the room, beer in hand, he caught the awkward silence like static in the air.

He looked between them, then raised an eyebrow.

"I'll just sit in the middle," he said casually, walking back toward the couch. "That way I can just pass it to you. Unless," he looked at Summer briefly, "you want to sit next to mom?"

Summer's stomach dropped half an inch.

She shook her head lightly. "No, that works."

Don nodded once and waited as Samantha shuffled a bit to the side, pulling the blanket over her lap as she adjusted her seat. She smiled up at him with a quiet warmth.

"Cover yourself up a little, honey," she said, lifting the edge of her blanket. "You might catch a cold."

Don didn't argue.

The room was getting a bit chilly, and his sweatpants and vest weren't helping much. He slid down between the two women, letting Samantha tuck part of the blanket over his legs as he took a sip of the beer.

Summer stared at the screen.

Blank. Still.

But inside?

A tiny, prickly thought scratched at the back of her mind, 'I should've offered mine.'

She said nothing.

And the movie kept playing.

———

Another thirty minutes passed.

The movie hadn't lost its horror edge, but it did take a sharp detour—right into a bedroom.

What started as a quiet conversation between two supporting characters suddenly escalated into full-blown moans and aggressive kissing.

Clothes came off fast, the camera pulling no punches as the two actors locked limbs on a creaky bed.

The soundtrack switched to slow electric guitar, heavy and sleazy, like it had been ripped from a forgotten 80s adult film.

Amanda—mid-sip—paused as the scene started.

Then grinned.

She lowered her can and said, loud and pleased, "Finally. Some real action."

Summer froze.

Her head dipped slightly, chin nearly touching her chest as her eyes stayed fixed on the corner of the screen—deliberately not watching.

'Fuck… I forgot about the cheesy sex scene. Mom's totally going to flip.' She pressed her lips into a tight line, trying not to cringe.

The audio alone was already bad. Lots of exaggerated breathing and soft slapping noises. She could feel secondhand embarrassment spreading across her back like heat.

Samantha turned red instantly.

Not just a faint blush, but a full-on, visible bloom of color from her cheeks to her ears. Her spine went ramrod straight, but unlike Summer, she didn't look away.

She couldn't.

Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, following every rough motion like she was caught between curiosity and guilt. She didn't enjoy it—at least, not the way Amanda clearly did—but she was engrossed in a way that surprised even her.

'Goodness… he's so rough with her, she thought, eyebrows twitching upward. Should we really be watching this as a family? Maybe I'm overthinking it… besides, Summer and Donnie are grown up now.'

She exhaled slowly through her nose. Tried to seem normal. Tried not to react. But her gaze still drifted—just for a second—toward Don.

He wasn't paying attention to the scene at all. Or maybe he was, but it wasn't registering. His expression was blank, half-tired. One hand rested on the beer can in his lap, fingers tapping the rim idly.

Samantha bit the inside of her cheek.

'I hope this scene doesn't leave him pent up…' She swallowed lightly, 'I-I should ask him when the night is over.'

The thought hit her harder than expected, and her blush deepened by a full shade. She pulled the blanket a little tighter over her lap and kept her eyes low.

Thankfully, the scene ended as abruptly as it began. No pillow talk. No post-coital moment. Just a hard cut back to a shadowy hallway and more demon stuff.

Summer let out a breath of relief. 'Thank God no one commented.' She hadn't wanted to pause, explain, or—worst case—have to skip forward and make things awkward.

From there, the movie reentered its horror roots, all candles, whispering spirits, and aggressive jump cuts.

Samantha and Amanda both did their best to suppress any major reactions. Amanda stopped jumping entirely and relied on her beer for support, sipping through the tense scenes like they were traffic reports.

Samantha kept one hand clasped on her blanket like it was the only thing keeping her stable.

Don, meanwhile, was starting to zone out again. His fingers had stopped tapping. His gaze remained fixed, but it was the kind of fixed that came with a heavy lid and slow blinks.

By the time the climactic exorcism hit—a chaotic mess of Latin shouting, blood, and literal limbs bending—the tension was at its highest.

Only two characters survived. The rest were either dead, possessed, or exploded off-screen.

The credits rolled.

Samantha's shoulders dropped like someone had finally taken the weight off them. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her whole posture softening.

Amanda yawned and crushed her empty can with one hand.

**Crunch**

She placed it lazily on the stable beside the recliner before stretching her arms.

"Well, uhm…" Samantha started, voice shaky but pleasant. "That was fun. We should do this more often. Maybe with a more family-oriented movie."

Summer's smile evaporated.

Don, oblivious to her reaction, nodded. "We should. You calling it a night?"

The moment he asked, Summer's ears perked up. Her eyes drifted toward Samantha with muted anticipation.

Samantha didn't take long to answer.

She nodded her head lightly and began to rise, folding the blanket as she stood. "I think I'm calling it a night, sweetie. You guys stay up if you want."

She turned her head as she walked, glancing once more at Don.

'I'll just ask him tomorrow… if he… uhm… needs help.' Her face twitched at the thought. She didn't dare let it show. Just a warm smile as she exited the room.

Amanda followed right after.

She was still stretching both arms above her head, yawning again. "Think I'm gonna hit the hay too… before I black out here."

She scratched the side of her neck and wandered out of the living, leaving a trail of half-finished beer buzz and pizza crumbs behind her.

Summer didn't move from her spot.

Didn't flinch. Just waited.

Once she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, she smiled—fully, openly.

"Me and Don will just stay up for one more movie," she said, almost sing-song. "Goodnight, you two."

Don narrowed his eyes.

He hadn't agreed to anything. But he didn't argue.

Samantha's voice called faintly from the hallway as they ascended the stairs. "Goodnight, you two…"

Then silence.

Summer leaned back into the couch, crossed her arms lightly over her chest, and thought, 'Finally… it's just me and Donnie.'