Hoodie X Reader - Tumblr Posts

MASKY FAN FICTION?!?!?

I dare you to write NSFW hcs 😈 (I love your work by the way <3)

i wrote this instead of getting ready for work >;3 took me a long time too (still not great at writing smut and i need to figure out the tags help are these okay idk) but it is done and i hope im feeding you guys well <33 i didnt write headcanons because i wanted to try something else but i think thats alright haha - - - - - - - -

! - MDNI - !

smut drabbles

features: slenderman, eyeless jack, jeff the killer, timothy w. [masky], brian t. [hoodie], ticci toby [seperate]

reader: pronouns not specified but female anatomy described

! warnings: shameless smut, monsterfucking, restraints, tentacles, rough sex, premature ejaculation, some other things that are less 'severe'

...

SLENDERMAN

Sitting in Slenderman’s lap, barely clothed at all, while he watches you get off on his spindly thighs with wild abandon. Your bright blush spreads down your body with every movement that denounces his own godhood, degrading him to be nothing more than your mere sex toy – and he loves it. He’s so powerful, so deadly, yet you are the only one in this world whom he would kneel for. You deserve pleasure and he takes great pride in your shared… creativity in the bedroom.

You don’t even register the booming voice echoing through your mind while black tendrils sneak up your bouncing body to grasp at every bit of your exposed skin and tug you further into his being, to make it seem as though you can be one.

“Trust me, my love.”

And he can’t help but preen at the sight of you clenching around nothing when one of his tentacles prods at your entrance, eyes closed and only thinking of him.

EYELESS JACK

“I know it’s a lot… You’re doing so well for me.”

You felt like you were being cut wide open with the way Jack was impaling you on his girth. No amount of foreplay, which he had mastered by now, could ever prepare you for the intrusion of his cock. Every time he retracted himself to push himself just an inch further into your pussy he let out a groan, sweat collecting at the tip of his nose before it dripped down onto you. You wouldn’t ever be able to decipher the look in his empty eye sockets, so deeply black that they peered right into his stained soul, but you knew that he looked at you with so much love that it was worth it.

“Fuck-”

A growl escaped his throat once he bottomed out inside of you, his hips meeting yours… You felt his tip kiss your cervix with every experimentally shallow thrust he offered in apology for his heavy shaft, kissing you deeply to make you feel better and let you brace yourself for his full strength.

It’s not like you could ever be mad at him anyway, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

JEFFREY WOODS

Jeff would push your face down into the mattress by the back of your skull, effectively choking you without putting his hands anywhere near your throat. That wicked grin he flashed you from behind once he tugged you back into him… you having to arch your back by the way he grips onto your hair as he takes you from behind. You never kept up with the sway of his hips and you were always reminded of just how strong he really was even though he didn’t exactly take the best care of his health…

His thick arms caged you in from behind as he adjusted the angle of his cock pointedly hitting all those sensitive parts within you.

“I should fucking punish you for ruining me, fuck.”

His heavy breaths made it quite obvious that he exerted himself to no end just to hold his brutal pace.

“Take you with me everywhere I go, show you off-”

He pushed you back down, effectively fucking you into the bed and hammering the headboard into the wall that seemed to slowly crumble away with every thrust.

“Fuck you until you’re obsessed with me.”

TIMOTHY WRIGHT [MASKY]

“Haaaah… more?”

Tim groaned deeply as soon as he heard your pleas for him to quicken his thrusts, to take you just a little harder. He was a slave to your words, looking down at your trembling form with a fire in his usually kind eyes. Whenever Tim looked at you, it was filled with adoration and he seemed to have this quaint glow around him in your proximity, but when he took you to bed, he became another person indeed.

He wanted you with so much fervor that his enthusiasm consumed you whole sometimes, willing to push yourself to your own limits just to see him lose it…

“I- ah! I love you.” Tim choked on his own saliva as your legs gently circled his thick waist, drawing him even closer to you and locking him in place. His face fell into the junction of your neck and shoulder, breathing heavily to contain himself.

He was mewling in pleasure, grunting at every drag of his heavy cock, but you knew that you fucked up when you felt a dark chuckle against your sweaty skin.

“Knew you just needed to be fucked by me, you dirty, little whore.”

Fuck, Masky…

BRIAN THOMAS [HOODIE]

“He always prepares you so well, sweetheart. Makin’ me lose my goddamn mind.”

Hoodie had been toying with you for hours… Or what felt like hours, surely. Worst thing was that he never meant for you to be so overstimulated… He just does what he does best – loving you, gently and thoroughly. Now that you’re dealing with Brian, however,… his tone of voice might have been just as delicate as Hoodie’s actions, but the former liked to order you around and make you fall apart for him.

“On your knees. That’s it, pretty… So sweet. Look at you.”

He held onto the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin sharply, earning a light hiss from you as you were forced to sit in a puddle of your own fluids. He just smirked down at you.

“Made for me.”

Brian circled around you like a predator, occasionally caressing your warm cheeks and pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

Sitting down on the bed, he slapped his clothed thighs with a wolfish grin.

“Come to Daddy.”

TOBIAS E. ROGERS

“Just the tip, please– please–”

Toby squeezed you just a little tighter than what would have been acceptable, but you found it endearing to have him so desperate under you. Your folds were coating his bright pink length in your juices, which had him thinking that you were finally ready to ride him, but he cannot deny that he loved it when you made him beg for it.

He didn’t know his own strength, but he knew that he could easily overpower you anytime. Somehow it was way hotter to hand the control over to you. Most of the time anyway.

You kissed him passionately, hands wandering down his lean body, fingers caressing every crevice and scar, but just when he thought that you were about to touch him, you lifted yourself off his lap to slam down on his cock.

And after all that teasing, Toby just couldn’t hold it in any longer…

“F-Fuck! O-oh my fucking God, I c-can’t, I fucking can’t!”

But he did like seeing his cum drip out of you.

proxy twitter au part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tag list:

@vanillawurld @mossygremlinchild

Hello :) I plan on writing a creepypasta fanfiction, currently I'm just gathering different information on certain topics. Typical fanfic writer things.

This fic will be posted on A03, Quotev, and maybe Tumblr as well. So far I have nothing planned out other than the general idea I want and some original characters. I was just wondering since the creepypasta fandom is deprived from actual good fanfics and not the ones written in like 2013 with shit grammar and terrible characterization 😭

What would you like to see in the fic? Please drop ideas or anything that bugs you when reading a creepypasta fanfiction. I'd like to make this as perfect as possible. Of course it won't be as amazing as 'spill your guts' or 'this apartment has horrors in it' or 'delirium' (WHICH ARE ALL AMAZING CREEPYPASTA FANFICS YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY READ THEM IF YOU HAVENT !!) but I want it to be my best work.

Currently suffering from writer's block...I'm still working on the fic but I can't find the motivation to write anything ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌ maybe if I open up requests I can force myself to actually write something instead of just staring at my drafts for 15 minutes straight and then exiting the notes app with zero progress. I'll make a pinned post soon about the things I can and can't write ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡ don't let me down guys.

Wait guys do you prefer the Slender-mansion au or should I just write the main proxies? I don't know if I should write those three or is it better to include more of the well-known creepypasta characters ૮꒰ྀི ◡ ˶ ◡ ꒱ྀི১

Hello again! Its me the one who requested the proxies with a forest ranger S/o

I sawed your post and kinda went 😮 when I found out forest rangers and fire looksouts aren’t the same thing too ngl. I originally got the idea when I watched/played ‘Fears to fathom: Ironbark lookout’. I actually looked it up and I guess the correct term would be “Park ranger” (I still don’t know bro I could be wrong) but I originally got the idea from the fears to fathom so I guess you could kinda base it off that (minus the cult) but I just thought it would be a cool idea. Like for example on the fire watch aspect, Tim is chronic Smoker and Toby is canonically a pyromaniac (idk about brain in this situation) so like Tim could be smoking or toby could be setting something on fire and you would be side eyeing tf out of them. OR, You could just be trying to peacefully sleep in your watch tower (assuming there is one) and One of them would be knocking at your damn door/window in the dead ass of the night and your just there either terrified, confused, or annoyed (its up to your interpretation).

But anyway sorry for the ramble and confusion, As always I appreciate you and hope you have a wonderful day (remember to drink water) buh/bye now <3

(♡) Authors note; in my old author's note I literally said it was inspired byironbark lookout but then I hesitated bcs I thought it wasn't what you're looking for. good thing I didn't delete the previous work :3 SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT I DIDN'T HAVE ANY MOTIVATION TO WRITE ANYTHING :(

HOODIE;

-before the relationship between you two, he knew about your job as a park ranger/ fire lookout.

-actually, he knew about everything. From the tasks you usually handle to your working schedule.

-the reason he didn't kill you off was because part of your job is keeping campers away from the unregistered camp grounds which was quite convenient on his part. (Perhaps convenient for all of them)

-that way he wouldn't risk getting caught on the way/back from a mission, even though he usually drives to his destinations with a beaten up old truck. He knows how nosey some people are and would definitely pull a curiosity move and possibly find his resort.

-but he also couldn't let you run around freely around the forest either, he just kept an eye on you for a while in case you were too close to finding out about his...'business'

-i can see him stalking you slowly seeping into his routine. could be out of curiosity or genuine interest.

-during your relationship, he'd drop by from time to time in the watch tower even though it's against the rules. He'll be careful, he says.

-he's still an asshole very much like his friends, would probably disregard his mudded hiking boots by the entrance and just throw himself on your bed. Not caring if whatever substance he was covered in (blood) stains your bedsheets or something.

-to make up for it he cooks you food with whatever ingredients you have to offer :3 I like to think he's a good cook, staying out in the forest for long periods of time gained him that skill.

-if he isn't too busy, you two would watch the scenery together :) a little nice bonding moment.

MASKY;

-sigh... This motherfucker would NOT be good company for you at all.

-you could be sleeping peacefully just to wake up and find him standing at the foot of your bed just...staring.

-he's making sure they don't get you lol

-who the fuck is "they" (...does anyone get the reference)

-steals any lighters he finds in the shack just to light up his cigarettes.

-yes, when he puts out his cigarettes he just throws them on the ground. not caring if it's against the rules to litter the forest. at this point they're all trying to get you in trouble whether it's intentionally or not.

-unlike Toby, he doesn't help around that much with your tasks.

-if you manage to convince him to bring up some firewood from the shack so you can light up the fire, just praise him. it's enough to boost his already humongous ego and he might consider helping every now and then just so you could call him your strong, manly boyfrie–

TOBY;

-This stupid fucker would send you disturbing messages on his old ass flip phone at night whenever you still have the planks up.

-some shit like 'i c yu :-)'

-... yeah he never likes typing his sentences properly because he still uses those number keyboards (I don't know what they're called)

-it gives you a heart attack everytime untill you look out the window and see that it's Toby being a weirdo again.

-like anon said, he always sets random stuff on fire which always gets him in trouble, you end up reminding him that you aren't the only fire lookout in the forest and that another worker will report it.

-he doesn't listen.

-he definitely scares off any campers in areas they aren't supposed to be. Hey, at least he isn't completely useless!

-the opposite of Brian/Hoodie, instead of cooking for you he absolutely ravishes anything you have in the fridge.

-no, he isn't sorry.

-other than the things that he does to piss you off he actually does help from time to time like helping you fill in the service reporting— using the anemometer, checking the thermometer...etc

-he thinks the devices look neat :)

something regarding the fanfic I talked about during the very beginning of my blog... what setting do you guys prefer? atmosphere and vibe wise. decided to finally get my ass up and do some work, in fact, I was halfway through with the first chapter but I felt like there were too many unnecessary details in it and that I just rushed the idea so I started over. also ignore the weird fucking descriptions I'm just trying to get the vision across.

yandere hoodie x reader HC's

Stalker! No question no buts no nothing

Watches you 24/7

Loves to hold you in his arms

Hates when your with other people

Loves to kiss you cheek

Wont really kiss your lips but will if you want to

Kinda pervert but not as bad as jeff

Nicknames for you areeeeeeeeee

Sweets, sweetheart, baby, mine, love

Cooks for you

Movie nights

Loves to cuddle you at night with your face in his chest

You are his

But he is really cool after you listen to him and his rules

hope you guys like!

𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 - 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 [𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖]

This is a preview of my Creepypasta fanfiction 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 on Quotev! If this piques your interest, you can check out the full story here. :)

Y/N was a sharp and resolute woman. She stood tall in her field of work. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd wanted to be a police officer. She always wondered what went on into criminals minds and what drove them to commit such violent crimes. Blood, death, and violence were her key interests as a child. It often scared others away from her, but it never tore her down. And as she grew, she found herself in the exact position she'd dreamt of.

Her new house stood as a symbol of fresh beginnings, a sanctuary she had recently moved into. Weeks had passed since she settled into the quiet neighborhood. She was quite happy with it. Everything was as normal and plain as plain can be. That was up until oddities began appearing. Strange sightings began to be whispered about. Then, disappearances, followed by brutal murders that shook everyone to their core.

The atmosphere became charged with tension, both among the residents and the law enforcement tasked with solving the heinous crimes. Y/N was taken by surprise just as much as everyone else had been. The chief was on her tail, as he was on everyone else's to figure out who was doing all of this. She could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders, the burden of unraveling the mysteries that unfolded before them. Throughout her career, she had faced a myriad of criminals, from petty thieves to rapists and rebellious teenagers. However, the presence of a murderer, especially a serial killer, was a rarity that sent chills down her spine.

Y/N found herself on edge, just like the rest of the community. She yearned to understand what was going on. Over time, more victims were discovered, each murder somehow, some way more violent than the last. One woman; Amybeth Merritt, a 37-year-old. She was discovered in her own bedroom, half naked and suspended on the wall with her hands nailed to the surface, her own intestines twisted around her neck like a noose. Her stomach appeared to be sliced open, her body adorned with countless lacerations. Her death was no doubt agonizing, not to mention untimely as her family continues to mourn.

And another, poor 22 year old Makayla Addams, found naked on her bed with nothing but a silk crimson blanket covering her body. It had been bitten into in various places; her neck, her hip, her thigh--even her most delicate areas. It's believed she had participated in consensual sexual activity prior to her death.

There have been no leads, nor any suspects. Whoever is doing this is clever and they likely won't be stopping any time soon.

Y/N found solace within the walls of her home office. Bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, the room emanated an air of security. The hushed whispers of the wind danced through the trees outside, a soothing melody that complemented the rhythmic scribbling of her pen on paper.

The office, her sanctuary, embraced her with its warmth and familiarity. The shelves, adorned with a vast collection of books, whispered tales of knowledge and wisdom. The dark oakwood desk, worn with time, bore witness to countless hours of dedication and determination. Its expansive surface was adorned with stacks of paperwork, neatly organized into boxes at the corners of the room, alongside other important items. As Y/N delved into the sea of documents, her focus unwavering, a sense of purpose filled the room. Each stroke of her pen carried weight, each decision made with meticulous care. The night seemed to envelop her, embracing the solitude and serenity that only the late hours could offer.

Outside her window, the moon cast a gentle glow, casting long shadows that danced across the floor. The wind rustled the leaves, a gentle reminder of the world beyond her office walls. In this stillness, Y/N's mind was clear, her thoughts sharp, as she navigated the complexities of her work.

Amidst the calmness of the night, Y/N's dedication burned bright. The night sky bore witness to her unwavering commitment to the pursuit of justice. And as she continued to toil into the early hours, the quietude of the night became a testament to her unwavering resolve. Despite all that had been unfolding outside, she felt safe and happy.

Suddenly, Y/N's head snapped forward at the abrupt sound of the doorbell. The pen she held in her hand found its place on the desk, carefully set down as she rose from her chair. With a swift motion, she pushed the chair back, causing it to spin momentarily before colliding with the edge of the desk. Curiosity tinged with a hint of caution danced in her eyes as she exited her office, her steps starting off awfully slow as she felt this feeling of foreboding wash over her for no real reason. One step after the other, she hurried over to the door. Each footfall echoed through the hallway, the silence broken by the soft shuffle of her shoes on the floor. Questions swirled in her mind, wondering who could be at her doorstep at such a late hour.

The hallway led her closer to the front door, anticipation building with each passing moment. She couldn't help but wonder about the possibilities that awaited her on the other side.

As Y/N reached the entrance, her hand reached out for the doorknob. She hesitated for a brief moment, her mind contemplating the potential risks of opening that door. She couldn't figure out why, but something was urging her to back away and stay inside. Alas, she didn't listen.

With a steady breath, Y/N turned the doorknob and swung open the door, the night air seeping into the threshold. Her eyes scanned the darkness, eventually moving down to the concrete step below her feet. There she was greeted with a large package. A plain light-brown box adorned with tape at the creases.

Her curiosity piqued, her warm eyes fixated on the unassuming box. Simple and worn, it held an untold secret within. With a mix of caution and anticipation, she picked it up, feeling its weight—light yet heavy with an unknown power.

Bringing the box inside her cozy home, a dimly lit foyer and a light presence welcomed her. Time seemed suspended, caught between suspense and the hunger for answers. Y/N placed the box on an aged wooden table, its surface bearing stories of the past. Quickly, she ventures off into the kitchen, fetching a pair of cooking scissors. She rushed back, pulling the box closer to her. With a calculated force, she drove the scissors into the top of the box, puncturing the tape and creating a starting point. Sensing the resistance give way, she swiftly withdrew her hand, allowing the tape to peel back and form a neat, precise slit. She drops the tool and uses her hands to tear the two cardboard folds apart, revealing a collection of mysterious jewel cases inside.

The detective couldn't help but furrow her brows, her gaze unable to pull away from the handful of DVDs. Beginning to wonder if she had opened someone else's package, she starts to feel almost regretful. There was no return address, or even a name on the box. But yet, she still felt as if something was terribly wrong.

Reluctantly, she reaches inside, wrapping her fingers around one of the clear cases. She squeezed it, pulling it back from the box. As the light reflected off of the surface, large words in what appeared to be black marker read; TAPE 1.

Y/N's curiosity compelled her to set the box aside momentarily and return to her office. With a purposeful stride, she crossed the threshold and made her way back to her desk. The familiar creak of the chair greeted her as she settled back down, pulling herself closer to the expansive dark oakwood desk. The jewel case rests in her hand, its contents beckoning with an air of mystery.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N's shaky hand tightened on the jewel case, her fingertips tracing the smooth surface. With a deft motion, she released the clasp and lifted the lid, revealing the gleaming CD nestled inside. Its mirrored surface caught the dim light of her office, adding an ethereal glimmer to the room.

Her eyes flicked to the small side button on the CD player built into her computer. Without hesitation, she pressed the button, hearing a satisfying click as the tray slid open. Gently, she placed the CD onto the tray, the metallic surface fitting perfectly within the grooves. With a soft push, the tray glided back into place, securing the CD within the confines of the computer.

As the CD player whirred to life, anticipation coursed through Y/N's veins. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

The video player on her computer screen flickered to life, a small loading icon spinning in the center. Her heart raced with as she leaned forward, tapping her finger nervously on the desk all while she rested her free hand at the bottom of her jaw. The tension hung in the air, as palpable as the tension that gripped her.

Time seemed to stretch as the loading process dragged on, the progress bar advancing sluggishly. Y/N's impatience grew, her finger tapping faster on the desk. The video player appeared to stutter, almost glitching at times, adding to her mounting frustration.

Unable to bear the slow progress any longer, Y/N pushed herself up from her chair and made her way to the kitchen. She needed a momentary distraction to ease her restlessness. Quietly, she filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. As the water over time came to a boil, Y/N prepared a cup of tea, carefully selecting her favorite blend. The fragrant steam wafted upwards, enveloping her senses. With the cup cradled in her hands, she took a moment to collect herself, savoring the warmth and aroma.

Even as she sipped her tea, Y/N's mind remained fixated on the video waiting to be watched. The lure of the unknown beckoned her back to her office, hoping that it must be loaded up on the screen by now.

Balancing the cup of tea in her hands, Y/N made her way back to her office, the warm ceramic radiating comfort against her palms. She carefully sat down in her chair, setting the cup on a coaster beside her. Heaving a sigh of hope, she directed her attention back to the computer screen.

To her relief, the video loaded, a peculiar thumbnail appeared, its image distorted and unclear. Excitement washed over her, before replacing itself with a sense of confusion. Y/N squinted, trying to make out the details, but it seemed intentionally messy, like a sepia-filtered photograph with streaks of red liquid cascading along the bottom. The sight puzzled her, the abstract pattern and intensity of saturation leaving her with more questions than answers.

Curiosity mingled with a touch of unease as she questioned the nature of the video she was about to watch. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was making a serious mistake. She began having second thoughts as she rested her hand over the mouse, biting her lip. Perhaps she should put the CD back in the box? Bring it to her team? So many ideas, so many queer thoughts. The image teased at her senses, its cryptic appearance fueling her further.

Unable to take the mental torture any longer, she gives in.

"Ah, what the hell—"

THRU THE LOOKING GLASS

•°. *࿐ քʀօʟօɢʊɛ ➻

.·:*¨༺ 𝘼 𝙂𝙖𝙯𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙒𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙༻¨*:·.

Thru The Looking Glass is a creepypasta x f! reader fanfic I started writing months ago but only just now published. Now, I'm here to do the same for this silly little site! Warnings and story under the cut.

WARNINGS: This story contains content that may not be suitable for any of my younger followers. This story contains heavy depictions of gore, violence, murder, death, abuse, childhood abuse, SA, derealization, mental health issues, and other topics. + my over the top writing (oops)..This is a more realistic approach while also having fun with it. I needed something new to work on while I go about with my other stories.

word count: 5,722

summary: In this OC-worthy tale of horror and pain, we follow the story of Y/N, a young woman whose life has been shattered by tragedy and abuse. Haunted by hallucinations and plagued by violent outbursts, Y/N is trapped in a cycle of torment, unable to escape the clutches of her controlling and abusive father. A retired doctor with a zealot's faith, he subjects his daughter to a range of experimental treatments in his quest to purge her of demons that he believes have sought refuge in her pure form.

As Y/N struggles to retain her grip on reality, wonderland and real life alike, she must unravel the thick web of her father's madness, and reclaim her identity before it's too late.

A large building loomed over the street, its windows black and empty. The darkness outside was all-encompassing, the kind that seeps into your bones and fills you with a deep sense of dread. The wind howled like a wounded animal, rattling the windows in their frames and sending shivers down the spines of anyone brave enough to venture out. The streetlights flickered sporadically, casting an eerie glow over the empty sidewalks. There was no sign of life, no sound except the wail of the wind. It was a ghost town, a place where nightmares come to life. And for Y/N, it was hell.

Y/N stumbled into her old cramped bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest. She locked the door behind her, feeling a fleeting sense of safety. But the feeling was fleeting indeed, as the dark room seemed to close in on her. The vintage wallpaper, once vibrant and lively, now peeled and faded, hung like a veil of sadness around the room. The creaky floorboards groaned in protest beneath her feet, as if they too shared her burden.

She let out a ragged sigh and collapsed onto her bed, her limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative. The mattress, worn and lumpy, offered no comfort, and she winced as fresh pain shot up from the bruises on her arms and legs. Her eyes, swollen and red from tears, took in her surroundings: the small desk and chair, both rickety and unsteady, pushed up against one wall; a dresser with a chipped mirror in the opposite corner; and the twin-sized bed with a faded floral bedspread, now more depressing than cheerful. The room was still and quiet, save for her ragged breaths that echoed off the walls. It felt like a prison, and she was the only inmate.

Soft eyes slowly opened to the sight of an unfamiliar space, filled with nature and elegant wildlife. The plush bed she lied in was covered with a down comforter and fluffy pillows, the area's furnishings exuding a timeless charm. A vintage dresser with an ornate mirror stood high, while a side table held a delicate antique lamp that cast a warm glow that seemed to produce a warm barrier of protection despite its irrelevancy,  the sunlight covering the wooded area with a blanket of warmth. She could recognize these items as her own, however they seemed to look brighter. They looked as if she had just gotten them. As she sat up, Y/N felt a soft breeze settle against her skin, rustling the trees--almost like a nurturing embrace from mother nature.

She looked out into the forest beyond, where the trees stood tall and majestic, their leaves a riot of colors in shades of green, red, orange, and gold. The forest was kind of quiet, yet alive with the soft sounds of chirping birds and other forms of wildlife. There was an atmosphere of mystery and enchantment within this queer place. She looked around, noticing she wasn't in her bedroom, or even in a building. Her bed, the dresser and the table were placed in the middle of a plethora of trees in which surrounded her, a long, endless pathway splitting feet away. Curious, the young woman pulled the covers over her side, kicking her legs over the bed as she further took in her surroundings.

She shivered as she stood up, the lace at the bottom of her nightgown flowing with the breeze that swept over her body. She took a deep breath, the scent of damp earth and crisp leaves filling her lungs. The forest seemed to stretch out endlessly, the trees towering over her like sentinels. The ground was soft beneath her feet, the fallen leaves cushioning her every step. She wondered how she'd gotten here, and why she was in the middle of a forest. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her own bed, her father's voice echoing in her mind. Here she is now, surrounded by the beauty of nature. She felt a sense of calm wash over her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. In this moment, a blurry cloud filled her mind. All she knew were the sights before her.

As she looked around, she noticed something strange. Moving along the brown trail, she began to see dolls. These dolls hung by thread, some even from rope with a tight loop around their necks, creating a noose. They were a mixture of old and new, ranging from simple cloth dolls to elaborate porcelain ones. The closer she looked, the more she realized that some of the dolls had an uncanny resemblance to her. Most were in one piece, while there were also random doll parts such as heads and legs, swinging with the wind.

She continued, the dolls on the branches seeming to multiply as she walked further. Some of them were cracked and broken, their once beautiful, fresh features now twisted and corrupted. The air grew colder, and the sky turned from a calming blue to a deep, foreboding red. The trees themselves began to ooze from their trunks, a mysterious liquid easing into the forest floor. This liquid was rich and thick, possessing a deep shade of red, matching the sky. Y/N could feel her heart sink as that calming feeling dissolved, replaced with a painful twist in her stomach.

The dolls seemed to come alive, their heads turning to watch her as she passed by. Their once happy faces twisted into expressions of anger and disgust, their eyes seeming to follow her every move. The path became more treacherous, the ground uneven and full of roots and rocks. Y/N stumbled, her foot catching on a branch and sending her tumbling to the ground. As she picked herself up, she noticed a doll lying on the ground next to her. It was cracked and its eyes were closed. Its skin was pale and its hair was tangled, a familiar red liquid oozing from the creases of its broken cheeks. She rushed away from it, stumbling as she made her way deeper into the infinite amounts of trees.

Y/N felt like she had been wandering for hours, the path ahead of her only seeming to stretch further. The forest grew darker as she pressed on, the sky overhead seeming to darken its hue. The once tranquil sounds of nature had been silenced. It was quiet. Too quiet.

She stumbled upon a clearing, the ground beneath her feet soft and spongy. She looked around, noticing that the trees here were different from the rest, their bark gnarled and twisted. As she stepped forward, a voice suddenly spoke from the shadows, causing her to jump in surprise.

"Who are you? What brings you to my domain?"

The voice boomed, deep and menacing. Y/N looked around frantically, trying to locate the source of the voice. She saw a large wolf-like animal standing before her, its coat a deep red with a black mane and tail. Its glossy white eyes glinted in the dim light, and its sharp teeth were bared in a grin that sent shivers down her spine. The dog took a step forward, its powerful muscles rippling under its sleek fur. Y/N couldn't help but feel both confused and unsettled by the sight of the creature. It was like no other canine she had ever seen, and the way it spoke only added to her confusion

"I-...I appear to be lost," she stammered, her heart pounding in her chest.

The dog stepped closer, its eyes seeming to glow in the darkness as it revealed itself further from within the trees. "Lost, you say?" it hissed, its breath hot against her face. "Perhaps I can help you find your way."

Y/N took a step back, unsure of whether to trust this hound. But with no other option and a clouded mind, she nodded.

The hound turned around and began to walk, its massive form barely making a sound as it moved through the forest. Y/N hesitantly followed, her senses on high alert as the silence around them grew deafening. The once beautiful trees now looked twisted and gnarled, their branches stretching out like long fingers. The ground was littered with fallen leaves and broken twigs, and the red hue of the sky made the forest appear even darker.

As they walked, Y/N couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched. Every now and then, the hound would pause, as if sensing something that she could neither see nor hear. She shuddered, feeling as if the forest was closing in around her.

Her head was spinning, and the scent of blood grew stronger, overwhelming her senses. She felt her stomach churn, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. Something felt terribly wrong about this place. Just then, the hound stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, and Y/N watched as he silently dissolved away into a mist. The mist surrounded her, and she was left standing alone in the darkness. She couldn't see her own hands in front of her face, and the smell of blood was suffocating. The mist, thick and ethereal, stretched out before her, obscuring her vision like the veil of a widow.

"Hell- Hello?" She croaked in a small voice, seeking out for her new friend. Where could he have gone?

She pressed on, eventually giving up. Determined to find her way out., time seemed to blur as she walked, her senses stuffed with cotton. After what felt like forever, she began to notice the mist was starting to clear. In time, she found herself deeper in the dim-lit forest. The sun, barely visible through the dense canopy of towering trees, cast fragmented rays of light that danced upon the forest floor. The air was heavy with the earthy scent of rain, hinting at the recent downpour that had bathed the woods.

As Y/N ventured deeper, the bark of the trees became darker and more weathered. Their branches reached out like gnarled fingers, seemingly whispering secrets to one another. Shadows played tricks on her eyes, making it difficult to discern the true path ahead. Despite the sickening feeling inside, Y/N's building fight or flight sent her forward. She yearned for the warmth of sunlight on her skin, or better yet, to find herself entangled in the covers of her thick blanket in her own bed. The mist persisted, swirling around her like a cloak, but she refused to be once again consumed by it again.

A sense of relief washed over her as she found herself in the presence of this quieter, more secluded part of the forest. The soft filtered sunlight offered a flickering respite from the shadows. The air was gentle and easy on the senses, scents of rainwater and fresh grass replacing the stomach-churning scent of blood. It felt familiar, comforting. But as moments turned into minutes, a growing unease crept back into Y/N's consciousness. It started as a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck, an instinctual warning. She strained her ears, trying to decipher any peculiar sounds within the natural symphony of the forest.

Suddenly, a faint snap shattered the growing atmosphere of ease. Y/N's head snapped in the direction of the noise, gasping involuntarily. Her eyes darted through the dimly lit surroundings, searching for the source, but all she saw were dancing shadows and swaying branches. It was as if the forest itself played tricks on her, taunting her, keeping its secrets hidden from view. A shiver raced down her spine, casting a chill in the air. The forest, of which was peaceful and quiet, now seemed to become more ever twisted than before. Y/N quickened her pace, fear fueling her steps. She refused to be consumed by fear or doubt. All she wanted was to get home.

She pressed forward, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. She knew she had to keep going, as the answers she sought lay somewhere within the heart of the trees. A darkness loomed in her mind, urging her to turn back, but she refused. Guided by a glimmer of hope that rested deep within her trauma-trenched soul, she ventured deeper, making sure to follow each step of the path that only seemed to stretch further and further, edging her with the chance of safely finding her way.

The world around Y/N felt as though it had ceased to exist beyond the immediate circle of shadows and rustling leaves. Every nerve ending tingled with an acute awareness of impending ruin. As she strained her senses to decipher the source of the sounds, she felt herself submerged in overwhelming dread. It was an inexplicable dread, one that didn't just linger in the air but seeped into her flesh and clawed its way into her core. Then there was a smell. The stench intensified—a putrid mixture of decay and coppery undertones—coiling around her like a serpent. 

Feeling sick to her stomach, Y/N couldn't bear to move. Her mind raced with fearful thoughts. Was it a wild animal? Was it a corpse?

A twig snapped with a crisp sound, closer this time. Y/N's heart lurched into her throat, rendering speech and movement impossible. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence now an unbearable weight pressing on her shoulders. She strained to pinpoint the origin of the noises, but the darkness thwarted her efforts, rendering everything beyond a few feet an empty abyss. Each and every second felt like an eternity, as if time itself had chosen this moment to stretch and distort. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, the cold air burning her lungs. The once comforting rustle of leaves became a taunting chant, mocking her. Daring her to move.

Summoning every ounce of energy and courage she could possibly find, Y/N willed herself to move, to break free from the shackles fear had locked on her fragile limbs. But her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if held by an unseen force. The forest seemed to converge upon her, the trees closing ranks, confining her within them. Desperation clawed at her chest as she fought against the panic threatening to consume her entirely. She had to escape, had to find a way out before whatever lurked in the never ending darkness closed in on her. But with each passing moment, the forest's malevolence seemed to intensify, never ceasing to remind her she wasn't alone. 

She slowly brings her leg to push forward, taking a step. She slowly rested her foot upon the dirt trail, like a child sneaking into the kitchen to find their way to the cookie jar. With a shallow exhale, she pushes her body forward, gently resting her other foot beside her left. Although tense, she seemed to relax, convincing herself if she were quiet, she wouldn't startle whatever it was that had desired to make itself known. In the thick shroud of the oppressive darkness, just before she was about to take another step, a queer and haunting clicking noise pierced through the silence, sending shivers down Y/N's spine. It was a sound that liquidated explanation—a disconcerting blend of a whine and the creak of an old, rusted door. The unsettling cry echoed around her, the trees seeming to tremble in fear.

She kept still. Nothing. She then took a few hesitant steps forward, her pulse thundering in her ears, each beat she felt in her flesh. But as her foot grazed the forest floor, convinced she would make it out, a sudden, heart-wrenching cry shattered that hope. It was a mournful sound, tinged with an unbearable sadness that clawed at the deepest parts of her soul (not to mention her ear drums). The cry seemed to emanate from the same entity, the trees now beginning to literally shake in shared anguish of the young woman.

Y/N's steps faltered, her breath hitching in her throat. Despite her fear, she felt a surge of empathy flood through her—a strange connection to the mournful sound from what could have been an injured animal. Her heart ached, entwined with the dread that held her. As if in response, the darkness seemed to coalesce, thickening around her. The forest itself seemed to draw even closer, pressing in on her from all sides.

She strained to discern any movement. But the more she strained herself, the more the shadows seemed to morph and shift, concealing whatever lurked just beyond her line of sight. Time seemed to warp and twist, elongating the moments into an eternity of psychological torture. The air around her crackled with an otherworldly tension, growing bitter and cold. Her every muscle tensed, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Yet, she found herself stuck by some force, held captive by an invisible barrier.

The cry echoed once more, only this time, it was closer. It was as though the injured creature sought solace in her presence.

She wanted so badly to run. A foreboding sensation crept up her spine, adding on to the building tension, causing her muscles to tense, locking themselves up so tight it was nearly painful. Her eyes widened in alarm, the adrenaline urging her to move, to flee. Yet, her strength allowed her only to do the bare minimum—a cautious, subtle glance, an attempt to discern the source of her dread without confronting it head on.

Slowly, her gaze shifted, almost sidelong, toward the space behind her. She dared not make direct eye contact, fearing whatever it was that lurked from behind. Her heart pounded furiously, echoing in her ears like a funeral drum, while her throat ran dry. The air was freezing by now. She felt as if she could get frostbite, feeling nips on her fingers and her bare toes, rendering her limbs tremulous and her breaths shallow. The clicking sound persisted, as the creature crept in from behind her. 

An ache spread within her skull as she tried to catch a glimpse of what it was, only met with moving twig-like parts, what she could only assume to be arms. Her vision was obscured, offering mere glimpses of disjointed blotches. She discerned the unsettling silhouette of blotchy limbs, strange colors melded together. The creature's form appeared surreal, an amalgamation of beige tainted with splotches of crimson that resembled dried blood, twisted in abstract patterns across its strange horror-novel-esque frame.

Her breath hitched as she briefly caught sight of its torso—a bony structure, taut around its ribs, adorned with protruding spikes that seemed to glisten in the faint dim source of light. The sight sent her fear into overdrive, a primal instinct warning her of imminent danger. And then, she thought she saw its face—or what could pass for one. Black voids for eyes seemed to peer into the depths of her own, unnerving in their emptiness, devoid of any emotion or life. A hole of a mouth gaped open, revealing jagged, serrated teeth that protruded like sharp daggers.

In the shifting darkness, her gaze traced what she could only assume were its arms—twig-like appendages that moved sinuously. They were twisted and unnaturally long. The creature appeared to be tall, taller than her, and for its arms, hooked at the very edge where its hand would be, to touch the ground, she realized this was no wild animal. Y/N's mind reeled at the sight, grappling with the horrifying reality that stood before her—she was in a nightmare. She was in hell.

In her mind she screamed at herself to run before it was too late. Yet she still couldn't. Her bones felt fragile, as if the weight of her fear could shatter them into a million shards. She stood, transfixed by terror, caught between the compulsion to confront the creature and the overwhelming urge to book it. Straining her senses, specifically her sight and her hearing, caused her physical damage as she snapped her gaze back ahead, shutting her eyes tightly. 

Suddenly, her ears began to ring. It numbed the back of her eyeballs while also sending a sharp pain through them. Instinctively, Y/N throws her hands up to her ears in attempts to blocking out the noise. She's unsure of whether or not that was the extra push she needed, but regardless, she found herself running. Her joints were unlocked, each movement swift and fluid. She just kept running, running through the dark, the tips of her fingernails digging into the sides of her head. She could feel herself scratching her hair follicles, digging into her skin as her faced scrunched in agony. She didn't dare open her eyes just yet, allowing her legs to carry her wherever they ended up. 

In a sudden burst of light, a flash erupted from the depths of the forest. The light filtered through her eyelids, nearly blinding her as they shot open. She could feel herself stumble back, completely caught off guard. She stood there, head darting around the area. She found her footing light and her breath heavy, heart racing as she tried to process it all at once. It was as if the world around her transformed, and she found herself in a clearing bathed in filtered sunlight. The forest gave way to a serene oasis, where the gentle sounds of rustling leaves and distant birdsong filled the air. Y/N took a moment to absorb her surroundings, her senses recalibrating to this sudden peace. The trees, though still towering and ancient, now seemed to share a quiet wisdom rather than wicked darkness and sheer terror. The ground beneath her feet felt soft and mossy, inviting her into a haven of comfort and warmth.

Every ounce of unease and fear slowly but surely began to melt away as she calmly strolled through. All of this was too much—all she wanted was to go home. Perhaps it's this way? 

It was fairly uneventful, her journey. She would take occasional twists and turns, following the path etched into the dirt that was awfully gentle on the skin of her bare feet. In this strange contrast to the previous forest, Y/N wandered along the winding paths, enveloped in its atmosphere of charm. The vintage allure of the surroundings added a familiar home-like touch to the scene. Oil-lit street lamps cast a warm, golden glow, illuminating the path as if guiding her through a bygone memory. The air was filled with fluttering butterflies, their vibrant wings painting the air with kaleidoscopic hues.

As she ventured deeper, she was swarmed with curious sights that felt oddly enchanting. Hanging delicately from branches were dolls, but not suspended by rope around their necks as she had seen before. Instead, they dangled by slender pastel and rich-colored ribbons tied around their wrists, and sum even by the cuffs of their blouses and shirts, their porcelain faces serene yet haunting in their stillness.

Elegant decorations adorned the foliage, ornate carvings and nostalgic old trinkets nestled amidst the tapestry. It felt like a stroll through a forgotten memory, deep within the core of her mind, where time stood still.

However, as she tip-toed further along the trail, the ambiance began to shift once more. The air dropped, becoming cooler, and the light dimmed ever so slightly as if a cloud had passed over the sun. A peculiar sensation settled over her, a feeling that she wasn't alone. It wasn't all that threatening, however. Strange noises began to merge within the symphony of the forest. Heavy footsteps echoed in the distance, accompanied by laughter that seemed to reverberate from somewhere unseen. Intrigued, while also apprehensive, Y/N couldn't resist the urge to investigate.

The noises grew closer, drawing her towards the edge of the path where it abruptly ended. Peering around the corner, she encountered an inexplicable sight—a fuzzy distortion, as if the fabric of reality blurred before her eyes. Through the haze and the surrealistic feeling she felt brewing inside of her, she captured glimpses of an odd scene—a pair of dark pants, knives glinting in a faint light. She strained her senses, having recovered from earlier, picking up what she could only discern into screams. They were faint and muffled, though, before she could hear something more. A low, infernal growl, or was it a groan? It settled into her ears, bringing a physical sense of warmth over her, however it wasn't anything positive.

Splashes of crimson caught her attention, vivid against the strange blurry backdrop. Then, from the distorted void, something popped itself forward, its head emerging through the blurry portal, locking eyes with hers. Y/N gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

Without a second thought, she turned and fled, her heart pounding in terror. She ran aimlessly, jumping over twigs and large rocks, completely disregarding the rest of the trail that seemed to go in many directions until, by sheer chance or fate, she nearly ran into a rusted brown door reminiscent of the one in her bedroom. It rested, open just a crack. Without hesitation, she yanked the doorknob back and leaped through, the metallic clang echoing behind her as she slammed it shut.

She had practically jumped into the open space, and her body went rigid, her muscles tensing on impact. But instead of the anticipated collision with a harsh surface, she found herself sinking into something soft, almost cushion-like. Confusion began to cloud her fear as her hands met the padded interior of what seemed to be a room. Her movements were sluggish, almost as if she were submerged in water, every action a struggle against unseen resistance. Crawling on hands and knees, she blinked repeatedly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim, eerie glow that emanated from the sparse lighting in the room.

A solitary window perched high above caught her attention, moonbeams casting soft shadows across the room. The faint glow of moonlight offered her some kind of comfort. At least she wasn't in a ditch somewhere. The light, guiding her unsteady steps towards the distant window, felt kind of warm compared to the awfully cold air that nipped at her skin. Disoriented and off-balance, she stumbled, her senses still reeling from the transition.

As she approached the window, her hands brushed against the padded walls, seeking stability. She raised her gaze, fixating on the distant glimmer of the moonlight filtering through the solitary window.

Fumbling and uncertain, she traced the contours of the walls with her hands, feeling the padded surface in an attempt to ground herself. But before she could fully process her surroundings, a sound—a shuffle, perhaps footsteps—outside the door snapped her attention away. Her breath hitched as she stared at the door, her heart thundering in her chest. The faint glimmer of light danced across the space as a slider on the door moved, revealing only a pair of eyes peering in at her. They glinted with curiosity, holding her gaze in a silent exchange.

Y/N's mind raced with questions, her mouth parting as if to speak, yet no words came. A chill crept down her spine as a surge of apprehension washed over her. Her hand involuntarily pressed against the padded wall, seeking a false sense of security as she struggled to comprehend the oddity of her situation. 

Y/N watches intently as the person on the other side of the door turns the knob, the hinges creaking as it swings open. A blinding light spills into the room, causing Y/N to instinctively avert her gaze and squint against the sudden brightness. Slowly, her eyes adjust to the illumination, allowing her to steal a side glance at the figure that stood just at the doorway.

Recognition flickers across Y/N's mind as she discerns the person before her—a woman with fair skin and ginger hair elegantly tied up with swept, fluffy parted bangs. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she notes the woman's attire—a surgeon's uniform—with a mask loosely hanging under her chin. However, the most startling detail catches Y/N off guard—the absence of the woman's eyes. Instead, there's an unnerving expanse of smooth, featureless skin where her eyes should have been.

Confusion mingles with disbelief in Y/N's thoughts. She blinks repeatedly, hoping to dispel this surreal image that feels like a figment of her imagination. Her mind races with questions, her mouth opening as if to voice her bewilderment, yet still, she was silent.

Desperately seeking some form of reassurance, her hand instinctively presses against the padded wall behind her, though it offers no comfort against the unsettling reality she's confronted with. In a state of disbelief and growing unease, Y/N froze. Her eyes were wide, eyebrows high. She felt so cold, despite the warmth that spilled into the room from the other side. The woman's plump, glossy pink lips held a cigarette. She seemed confused, arms crossed as she leaned on her hip. A dent formed in which her eyebrows were meant to be, as if she was contemplating how this stranger got here. 

For an eternal moment that feels suspended in time, Y/N remains frozen, unable to process the nightmarish sight before her. Yet, as she blinks, a sudden change unfolds. The woman, initially standing at the door, now leans in, her hands extending around the doorframe as her body seems to elongate. Her foot juts forward as if ready to step inside, but something is different.

The woman looms taller, her head protruding into the room, and a ghastly grin spreads across her face, her jaw extended to an inhumane rate. Y/N's horrified gaze fixates on a single, glistening eyeball resting upon the woman's tongue. The eye seems to fixate directly on Y/N, the same tint of amber from the slider on the door. Unable to contain her ever-growing (and never ending, it seems) fear, Y/N chokes up, her breath catching in her throat, a primal instinct compelling her to scream. But before the scream could tear from her throat, the woman, now twisting her body with a series of bone-cracking sounds, begins to crawl into the padded room. Her movements contort unnaturally as if defying the laws of physics, each bone-crunching twist amplifying the discomfort building in the atmosphere.

The cigarette that dangled from the woman's lips moments ago falls, landing on the padded floor. Strangely, it doesn't extinguish upon impact but continues to burn, creating a sizzling sound against the padded surface. The acrid scent of burning material adds to the sensory overload of the scene before the innocent woman, feeling herself begin to slip from the fingers of reality. If, that's what you could call this.

As the woman morphs further, her form distorts into something incomprehensible. The room seems to warp around her, shadows elongating and contorting with her every movement. The mask that rested underneath her chin disintegrated, along with her fair skin that seemed to burn away in Swiss-cheese like patterns until patches of the meat and muscle became apparent, her skin just barely hanging on. Her hair seemed to thin and fall out, while the cap dissolved, the faint sound of cracking bones intermingles with a low, guttural growl emanating from the creature, now towering over Y/N, its jaw hanging for its eye to continue to stare down upon her. 

It drew nearer, emitting a stomach-churning odor of decaying flesh and bone and blood that overwhelmed her senses. Tears welled in her eyes, her brows and lip quivering as she recoiled, attempting to move as far back as possible while the creature advanced. In the depths of its mouth, its eye swiveled around, a soft clicking resonating through its towering form. Y/N's fingers dug into the wall behind her, desperately seeking something to hold onto.

"N—No. . ." A feeble protest escaped her parched throat, the words torn from her with the anguish of a thousand blades slicing through her vocal cords.

"NO!" A shriek tore from her throat, a mix of revulsion and fury contorting her face as she glared up at the creature.

Sliding down the wall in a final attempt to escape, she scrambled to the corner of the room. Only upon huddling up into the corner and snapping her gaze toward where the creature would have been did she realize that it was gone. The overpowering stench that had made her wanna hurl had dissipated, leaving a heavy silence in the air.

Reluctantly, Y/N lowered her gaze, turning her attention to the woman by the door. Standing with arms at her sides, instead of moving forward, she was stepping back. Her wide amber eyes shook with fear, her cigarette burnt to the butt, a small mound of ashes on the cold floor beneath. Her skin remained intact, her entire form unaltered. If anything, she seemed just as terrified as Y/N. Before Y/N could comprehend what just had happened, the woman forcefully shut the door, the lock clicking into place. Breathing heavily, Y/N was left in her confusion. She squeezed her eyes shut, the sounds of heavy footsteps and soft creaking floorboards settling into her ears, the light fading away, dominated by the darkness.

For a while, the world remained distant, her mind a jumble of fragmented thoughts and sensations before it all began to slip away. She felt herself floating, while she began to feel her limbs spread underneath a warm, familiar fabric. The creaking of the floorboards continued, accompanied by the gentle click of an opening door. Then, a soft breath caressed her ear, and a delicate touch brushed against a strand of her hair. She froze, every muscle tensing as a gentle hand continued, tenderly stroking her hair. As the fingers trailed down the strand, Y/N remained motionless, her body unresponsive. A voice, momentarily unfamiliar, deep and paternal, settled through her eardrums like melted butter.

"It's time for your medicine, my dear," the man's voice resonated softly, hardly above a whisper.

Every single Proxies x Reader fanfiction ever:

OK HEAR me out CREEPYPASTA X READER

BUTUTUT

Reader has a Glock

[BRIAN THOMAS, TOBY ROGERS, TIMOTHY WRIGHT x FEM! READER]

chapter warning. gore, death, mutilation, maggots, talk of killing an animal, gutting an animal.

wc. 7860

authors note. this fic gonna be long asf so buckle up. sorry its lowkey boring up yk its building suspense. any questions about the fic or concerns please submit an ask!

important, read. even though this is implied to be a female reader that has she/her pronouns, I suggest downloading this extension for Microsoft edge to replace [Y/N] as your name and to replace she/her with your preferred pronouns to make you feel more comfortable if you do not identify as a female.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏: 𝐇𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄

meaning. a mushroom that grows over decaying bodies

As the sun rose above the eastern horizon, casting its golden hues across the land, a lone car ventured forth on the winding roads leading to Grove, Oklahoma. The engine purred softly, its rhythmic hum blending harmoniously with the melody of nature. With the sounds of soft rock and country preoccupying the silence that the car held in its void. The silence was filled with the songs of Linda Ronstadt, and Deana Carter; two maestros of musical storytelling, graced the airwaves, serenading the passenger with a poignant repertoire of cherished memories. The tunes resounded with the recollections of sun-drenched summers spent in the Western fields, where her mother's berry farm unfurled its emerald charm.

[Y/N]’s mind wandered back to the days when the weathered white barn stood as a sentinel, and the family's nearly antique truck nestled alongside, an endearing relic from bygone eras. Each note carried her back to the sight of verdant paint curling and surrendering to the passage of time, revealing glimpses of raw metal beneath. She vividly recalled the delicate act of running her nails over the lifted layers of paint, peeling them away one by one, as if uncovering the hidden stories embedded within the truck's weathered facade.

In nothing but her nightgown, [Y/N] ventured out, her bare feet delicately dangling just beyond the worn-out Ford logo adorning the truck bed. Wandering through the fields, she traversed the rough terrain, her feet bearing the brunt of her barefoot journey. The berry saplings, a recurring sight in spring and summer, had now blossomed, displaying their succulent fruits as late summer approached. Yet before their transformation, the bushes stood tall, their leaves pointed and vigorous. Her path, confined to the Western fields, beckoned her toward the barn. Basking in abundant sunlight, the western expanse fostered accelerated growth, causing the saplings there to sprout thorns at a rapid pace. As a consequence, the girl’s feet endured the accumulation of mud and crusty blood, an undeniable testament to her traversing the formidable fields.

With dirtied feet and a stained nightgown, she embarked on her ritual every morning, just before the sun's radiant glow graced the sky. Ascending the antique truck, she found her perch, eagerly awaiting the mesmerizing spectacle of the sun's rays stretching across the vast expanse of land. Yet, amidst this ethereal beauty, her heart danced with anticipation for a different kind of awakening.

As the first glimmers of light began to peek over the horizon, a familiar melody filled the airwaves, heralding the start of a brand new day. Soft country tunes, like those sung by Tanya Tucker and The Judds, tenderly embraced her senses. However, her ears strained for one particular tune, a treasure she yearned for each morning at 8 AM.

And then it happened—John Denver's timeless classic, "Take Me Home, Country Roads," resounded through the airwaves, soothing her soul with its heartfelt lyrics. Sitting atop her vantage point, she became a symphony of joy, her voice bursting forth despite its imperfections. With every note, she poured her heart into the song, her little lungs valiantly attempting to reach every high and low.

Though [Y/N]’s singing may have lacked finesse, it mattered not, for her spirit soared with unbridled enthusiasm. Without pausing for breath, she sang the entire composition, as if on a sacred mission to carry its melody across the rolling hills and valleys. In those precious moments, the world was her stage, and she, the star of her own enchanting performance.

 Queens ensemble of trumpets and brass instruments harmoniously faded into a gentle hum, merging with the engine's subtle vibrations. With every turn of the wheel, a captivating journey unfolded, transporting her to an enchanting realm where time lost its urgency, and the world transformed into a vibrant symphony of colors.

[Y/N]’s grip on the steering wheel remained relaxed, a testament to her confidence in navigating the road ahead. However, the weight of exhaustion was evident beneath her eyes, concealed by bags that hung like heavy burdens. Her gaze alternated between the winding road and the small, blaring red text of the clock on her car monitor: 7:59 A.M.

Anxiously, her fingers drummed against the supple leather steering wheel, mirroring the racing beat of her heart. Her eyes darted back and forth, desperately seeking confirmation of the fleeting minutes. As the hum of the engine threatened to engulf her senses, its dominance was suddenly overpowered by the opening notes of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads."

In that moment, her attention was captivated by the red letters once more, and they revealed the time: 8:00 A.M. A gentle hum escaped her lips, akin to a sigh of relief, as she muttered along with the song's lyrics, embracing them with unwavering devotion. Without pausing to catch her breath, she sang along, infusing her voice with the song's nostalgic melodies.

The road stretched out like an asphalt ribbon, carving its way through sprawling meadows and rolling hills. Fields of emerald green extended as far as the eye could see, adorned with delicate wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze. The air, crisp and invigorating, carried with it the scent of earth and the promise of new beginnings.

As the car glided forward, the scenery unfolded like pages in a vivid tapestry.Towering trees lined the roadside, their branches stretching toward the heavens like ancient sentinels. Leaves shimmered with a kaleidoscope of autumnal shades, painting the landscape with fiery reds, burnt oranges, and golden yellows. The trees seemed to whisper secrets to one another, their rustling leaves creating a symphony of nature's own design.

The road wound its way up and down gentle slopes, revealing panoramic vistas that stole the breath away. Mountain ranges stood majestically in the distance, their peaks kissed by the wisps of ethereal clouds. They stood as guardians of the landscape, their stony faces etched with the stories of ages gone by. But nothing could compare to Grand Lake. 

The bridge, spanning what felt like endless miles, gracefully arched over the water, its reflection shimmering in the gentle waves. As if in a dance, a multitude of boats navigated the water's expanse, trailing wakes that glistened in the crystalline depths, mirroring the celestial azure above and the passing cars on the bridge. The radiant spectacle transformed the water into an irrefutably luminous spectacle. It seemed as though liquid silver veins intricately intertwined with the land, carrying the harmonious melodies of life and the captivating tales of the creatures that resided within its mysterious depths. Geese gracefully etched invisible patterns against the vast canvas of the heavens, casting a mesmerizing spell on the onlookers below.

The scratching of gears wound up, blending into the symphony of sound, as the window glass slowly rolled down. The mechanical protest produced a terrible screeching sound, reminiscent of an animal's anguished cry, piercing the air and capturing her attention. Her eyes widened, captivated by the scene that unfolded before her.

Inhaling deeply, she savored the dewy summer air that gracefully entered her lungs, infusing her with an ardent fervor. Each breath became an embrace of life itself. The atmosphere, cool and revitalizing, carried a tangible energy, blending the essence of earth with the promise of new beginnings. The aroma of raindrops and freshly cut grass intermingled, filling her senses with a harmonious fragrance that evoked a sense of contentment. As she exhaled, a sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips, releasing any lingering tension—contentment.

The car engine purred in agreement at the sight of landscape, the tranquility of and complete beauty was simply enchanting.  

In a graceful display of poise and determination, she effortlessly steered the sleek vehicle away from the confines of the bustling main road, opting instead for a captivating detour onto a secluded single-lane path. As the tires glided over the uneven terrain, the verdant canopy of lush green forests enveloped the winding road.

Along this path, a humble dirt road emerged, veering away from the well-trodden route. Its weathered surface, pockmarked and rough, dictated a slower pace, Each jolt and tremor sent ripples of anticipation coursing through her veins, heightening her senses as she pressed on with unwavering resolve.

Gradually, the path unveiled a breathtaking vista, an opening that seemed to materialize from the very fabric of a storybook. A small pond, its crystalline waters shimmering under the gentle caress of the sunlight, beckoned with an irresistible allure. Nestled harmoniously by its side, a resplendent cabin emerged, a captivating testament to rustic beauty.

The cabin, although once a haven of tranquility, now appeared as a relic of forgotten memories, as if time itself had woven a shroud of neglect around its weathered exterior. Weeds triumphantly sprawled across the surroundings, their emerald tendrils dancing in the wind, while determined vines conquered the cabin's weathered facade, gracefully ascending its walls in a seemingly eternal embrace with nature itself.

In this serene tableau, the intrepid traveler found herself drawn to the essence of this forgotten refuge. Its dilapidated state only served to enhance the mystique, inviting her to uncover the tales that lay dormant within its timeworn walls. She sensed that beneath the encroaching foliage and the fading echoes of life, whispers of untold stories and echoes of forgotten laughter still resonated within, yearning for someone to listen, to breathe new life into their cherished existence.

As the shadows danced amidst the rustling leaves, she stepped out of her vehicle, her footsteps cautious yet filled with reverence as the gravel beneath her crunched. The air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, as if the surroundings acknowledged her arrival, recognizing the significance of this encounter.

As her boots pressed against the gravel roadway, their crunch merged seamlessly with the harmonious of natural sounds that enveloped the picturesque surroundings. Advancing towards the cabin, each step resonated through the ancient floorboards of the front porch, releasing a melancholic creak as if the timeworn planks were exhaling with a subtle sigh. Weathered by countless footsteps, the wooden planks bore the indelible marks of their enduring journey, their once vibrant hue now transformed into a rich, dark oak shade. Inhaling deeply, she absorbed the essence of the place, her hand gravitating toward the doorknob of the screen door. For a fleeting moment, her gaze caught the old rocking chair, swaying gently in response to the playful caress of the breeze that meandered through the air. Finally, [Y/N]’s turned the the doorknob as the screen door creaked open—exhaling.

 She inhaled, the sharp fragrance of pine and bleach wove its way into her senses, its pungency tugging at her  nostrils. Their potent combination was not without consequence, for it provoked a reaction within her, eliciting a gentle scrunching of her nose. 

The house exuded an eerie aura of both familiarity and enigma.  She found herself standing in an expansive, open area cabin, devoid of hallways, which seemed to beckon her further inside. With each step, the immaculate cleanliness of the interior revealed itself, creating an almost surreal ambiance.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the second floor, with its single set of stairs ascending like a mysterious gateway to another realm. On the ground floor, to her right, lay a quaint and compact kitchen, an intimate space that appeared to have witnessed the preparation of countless meals and conversations with its worn down appliances. 

To her left, the living room stretched before her like a tapestry of memories. A comfortable couch adorned the space, an inviting haven where the occupants must have spent many hours engrossed in captivating tales or deep contemplation. In front of the couch, the heart of the room resided—a grand fireplace. Its flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, seemingly whispering forgotten secrets.

Perched atop the fireplace, an old flat screen TV served as a window to the past, where characters from era that might have come alive came alive, momentarily escaping their scripted confines. The juxtaposition of the antiquated screen and the modernity it once represented painted a vivid portrait of the house's intriguing history.

Yet, despite all the intriguing elements that adorned the room, her gaze eventually shifted downward to the very foundation of the space. The wooden floor bore the weight of countless footsteps and stories, its grainy texture inviting her to feel the past as she walked upon it.

In the realm of her consciousness, she possessed an intimate knowledge of the house's history. In the era preceding her own, her beloved grandparents had entrusted its care to a man of enigmatic nature, one by the name of Willard Tucker. The townsfolk, adorned with tales and whispers, had deemed him a peculiar figure, cloaked in the shadows of perceived insanity. Yet, the precise details eluded her, veiled behind a shroud of uncertainty. All that remained were fragments of narratives whispered through the winds of time—stories suggesting that the man, his heart shattered by the loss of his wife, had departed for the fertile lands of West Virginia, seeking solace within the embrace of family ties, all while taking up farming.

She had guessed that Willard was the reason for the foul smell of cleaning products. Cleaning and scrubbing off residue so as to not leave it behind for the next tenant. That being her—a girl from small town Kansas in the depths of the west. However, she secretly cursed Willard for using so much of the cleaning product.

Upstairs and to the left, In the midst of simplicity, her bedroom exuded a quiet charm. Nestled against the wall, a regal queen-sized bed commanded the center stage, flanked by two modest nightstands. On the left, a generous window framed the wall, revealing a glimpse of the  wooden sanctuary beyond.

As she gazed through the window's translucent pane, a tingle of anticipation caressed her being. It was as if the wistful tendrils of nature, woven into the fabric of the scene, beckoned her. The sheer simplicity of the room was deceptive, for within its unassuming boundaries. A shiver traced its delicate fingers along her spine, electrifying the air with a gentle chill.

She shook it off as paranoia. 

As she ventured into the confines of the bathroom, her delicate fingers gently placed the small pills of respite into the trinity of mirrors ensconced within the cabinet. Ambien, a faithful companion in her torment against insomnia, found solace in this sanctuary. The affliction had haunted her since the early years of her high school debut when a merciless onslaught of ghastly nightmares infiltrated her slumber. Rarely, she could sleep without nightmares, rarely she could sleep at all. Not through a full night at least. In a valiant attempt to retain her grasp on reality, she adorned her abode with vibrant beacons of guidance, neon yellow sticky notes that served as simple reminders.

Before she placed the pills in their place, with meticulous care, she tenderly appraised the contents of each vial, her discerning gaze fixed upon the pills nested within. Twelve, she confirms. Retrieving a vibrant yellow sticky note from her pocket from her linen jacket, her blue pen danced across the note, etching the numbers upon the labels of both bottles with blue ink. 

Nestled gently beside the cabin lies a quaint garden, albeit a modest one, marred by a profusion of resilient weeds. Throughout her family’s lineage, they had cultivated a bounteous farm teeming with an abundance of blossoms, nourishing produce, and succulent fruits. This trio, her mother, father, and herself, helmed a "berry utopia"—an expanse of verdant fields, stretching across countless acres, brimming with an assortment of fruit:  blueberries, blackberries, vibrant raspberries, strawberries, and cranberries—each variety harvested with unyielding dedication.

As her gaze fell upon the  garden, now overrun and wild, a surge of nostalgia washed over her like a familiar melody from a song. The sight evoked memories of her home, where there were fields upon fields of saplings of fresh berries. Determination welled up within her, fueled by a profound sense of connection. With resolute certainty, she understood that this hallowed ground deserved to be restored to its former glory. And then this became her mission.

With a hum, she nestled into the plush embrace into the seat of her car, releasing a wearied sigh that spoke volumes about her exhaustion. The weight of countless sleepless nights seemed to settle beneath her eyes, casting shadowy hues that deepened with each passing moment. Her gaze drifted toward the console, where a vibrant neon yellow sticky note had found a temporary perch upon the sleek gear shift. Delicately scripted upon its surface were two simple yet poignant words: "Call Mom."

A flicker of recollection sparked within her. Reminding her of the promise she had made to her worry-laden mother. A call was expected, an assurance of her safe arrival. Jane, her mother, possessed a peculiar knack for turning fret into an art form, yet in her own idiosyncratic way, her daughter desired nothing more than the act of vanishing without a trace.

In the tender embrace of  Jane’s watchful care, her protective nature has forever been her daughters steadfast companion. Jane ardently desired for [Y/N] to remain by her side, nestled within the sanctuary of her love, tending to the bountiful fields of the farm until the end of days. Undoubtedly, affection for her only child knows no bounds, yet an undeniable sense of confinement subtly gnawed at her being. 

Since the untimely demise of [Y/N]’s beloved father, a transformative shift enveloped her mother's being. Like a shadow cast by the moon's gentle glow, she became an ever-watchful sentinel, closely monitoring her daughter's every step with unwavering dedication. Her love took on an armor of protection, shielding [Y/N] from the world's perils with an intensity that left her in awe. The mere notion of forging friendships seemed inconceivable, friends were near to few, yet she made it through. 

As she embarked on her journey to the store, a fleeting thought of reaching out to her beloved mother danced in her mind, promising to materialize into a heartfelt conversation once she fulfilled her immediate errands. Before delving into the realm of garden essentials, a trusty blue ballpoint pen found its place in her hand, etching a list: a delightful assortment of blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and  blackberries. A sudden mishap tainted the pristine clarity of the yellow paper, as her thumb inadvertently collided with the wet ink, obfuscating the very last word with an smudge, rendering it a mere blur, without her noticing

The jingle reverberating through the air above the door was no delightful melody, but rather a haunting creak that sent shivers down one's spine. As the door swung shut, it unleashed a piercing screech, its brass hinges groaning under the weight of accumulated rust. In that moment, it seemed as though a flurry of white paint chips had erupted into the air, propelled by the force with which the door had slammed shut. She was consumed by a wave of embarrassment, cast her gaze around, desperately seeking an opportunity to offer a timid apology to the cashier. Regrettably, the name tag affixed to the cashier's uniform bore the name "Ranae Reeds," yet the older woman remained oblivious to the commotion, deeply engrossed in the captivating narrative of her newspaper, so captivated that she spared not even a passing glance.

The quaint little store exuded an ambiance both intimate and grundgy. Its petite dimensions were adorned with luminous streams of yellow light, gently cascading overhead, a mesmerizing sight that lured a vibrant array of insects, their presence immortalized by a delicate layer of expired life at the base of the ceiling fixtures. Amidst this glow, a second source of illumination emerged from the rear of the store, emanating from the flickering glow of the freezers, whose contents contained nothing but dairy products.

Four rows stood in perfect formation, each aisle beckoning with an irresistible allure. Yet, it was the initial 3rd island that caught her attention. Like echoes from her college days, these rows overflowed with an abundance of budget-friendly delights, an ensemble of delectable junk food.

On the 4th and final row, she found what she needed; seeds.  She picked up a variety of packets of seeds, holding the small packets between her fingers. Blueberry, Raspberries, and strawberries—She was missing one thing

She nestled her hands into the cozy refuge of her coat pocket, avidly searching for that elusive neon yellow sticky note. Days of inadequate slumber had exacted their toll, leaving her mental acuity adrift in a sea of drowsiness, a constant companion to her weary mind.

The yellow paper must have slipped out somewhere. 

As she turned to retrace her steps, her gaze fell upon a figure standing a few feet away. Dressed in a dark hoodie that seemed to swallow his form, he was an enigmatic presence amidst the mundane shopping atmosphere. His face was partially concealed by a dark yellow hood, casting intriguing shadows upon his features.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should approach him. But something compelled her to step forward, her curiosity overpowering any apprehension she might have felt. With a nervous yet determined smile, she approached the figure.

"’scuse me," she began, her voice tentative but polite with a southern accent slipping through her lips. "I seem to have dropped something, and was wonderin if you happened to see a yellow sticky note?"

He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers through the darkness of the hood. His gaze was intense, as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden behind her words. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the stray yellow sticky note from the floor, holding it out to her.

Relief washed over her as she accepted the note, feeling a strange connection form in that brief exchange. "Thank you lots," she said, her gratitude evident in her voice. "I wouldve been lost without this."

As she looked up to thank him, her eyes widened in surprise. The hood that had previously obscured his face had fallen back, revealing his features in full. His brown hair was unkempt, falling across his forehead in a disheveled manner, matching the roughness of his beard. There was a weariness etched into his face, as if he carried the weight of a world unseen.

His eyes, though tired, possessed an unmistakable glimmer of something deep and complex. They held a mix of vulnerability and strength, as if he had seen things that most could never comprehend. The lines around his eyes spoke of experiences that had left their mark, making him seem older than his years.

He was quite handsome, [Y/N] thought.

A ghost of a smile played upon his lips as he nodded in response to her thanks, acknowledging her gratitude. “Ain't no trouble.," he replied, his voice a low rumble that held a hint of grave and southern twang. "Happy to lend a hand."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, as if both of them were caught in a suspended moment, each waiting for the other to break the spell. It seemed like the man found himself unable to tear his gaze away. 

‘Dude, fucking break eye contact, this is getting weird’, She thought as an awkward frown formed on her face.

Her eyes flickered to the red gallon he held in his hand, the word gasoline emblazoned across it. Questions formed in her mind, but she hesitated, deciding against asking him directly. There was an unspoken understanding that some things were better left unsaid.

Instead, she mustered a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, thanks again," she said, her voice warm with sincerity. "It was nice of ya to help me out."

His lips curled into a slightly deeper smile, a tooth gap evident, a hint of something genuine breaking through his stoic demeanor. "No worries," he replied, his voice tinged with a quiet appreciation, before going back to looking at the seeds. 

The way his lips curled into a grin, sent shivers down the curve of her spine. Though his smile, expansive and brimming with teeth, held a peculiar detachment within the depths of his eyes, a dissonance that left her unsettled. His lips, etched into a smile, never reached his eyes. Like an emotionless facaque. He had something of a crooked grin, skewed in its authenticity, that just didn't seem right Deep within her core, an unsettling awareness resonated, silently cautioning her about the man before her. Still, an irresistible force tugged at her very being, pulling her closer to his presence.

She glanced down at her yellow sticky note for the last item, only for the blue writing to be smudged. 

“Fuck.”

The man couldn’t help but notice the frustration on her face as she stared at the yellow sticky note in her hand. The item she had written on it was smudged, rendering it illegible. He cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them in the garden aisle at the back of the store.

"Hey again,  uh... , 'scuse me for interrupting but aah couldn't help but notice yer frustration. Do you still need a hand?" The man had asked, his voice gentle and concerned.

Startled by his sudden address, she looked up, her eyes meeting his. She blinked a few times, trying to regain her composure. "Oh, hey. uh... i was just trying to remember what i needed to buy," she stammered, a hint of embarrassment displayed on her face. 

He nodded, understanding the struggle of forgetfulness. His gaze fell upon a rack of seed packets nearby. "Well, if yer open to suggestions, there's this type of berry seed that might do the trick.  They're strong and grow plenty. Might just be what ya searchin for.”

She hummed, her eyes widening as she turned her attention to the seed packets he indicated. She scanned them, reading the descriptions and imagining the bountiful berries that could grow from them. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Imma give em’ a try," [Y/N] replied, grateful for the suggestion,"Thank you."

He reached out, plucked a seed packet from the rack, and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed briefly, a fleeting connection that sent a shiver down her spine. She accepted the packet, feeling the weight of the possibilities it held.

"Yer welcome," He had said with a genuine smile that still didn't reach his eyes. "Aah sure hope they bring you a fruitful harvest." he laughs.

As she held the seed packet in her hand, she couldn't help but be struck by a sudden curiosity. "Do you gotta a garden?" [Y/N] laughed, “You sure seemed to know lots bout’ plants and whatnot.”

His smile faltered slightly, and he glanced away for a moment. "Well, I used to have one," he replied softly. "But things shifted ‘round, and aah had to leave it behind… but ah’m fixin’ to start a new’un.” He drawled out with a smile. 

Understanding flickered in her eyes, and she nodded in sympathy. Sometimes life forces people to leave behind things they hold dear. It reminded her of something, but she just couldnt put her finger on it. Before she could delve further into the subject, his phone buzzed loudly, interrupting their conversation.

He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. A serious expression settled on his face as he answered the call. His voice was barely audible, and he moved away from her, creating a physical distance between them.

She watched him, a mixture of caution and curiosity mingling within her. His hushed conversation gave away little, leaving her to wonder about the nature of the call. 

As the call ended, He turned back to face her, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and urgency. He didn't say a word but mouthed a goodbye, his hand waving gently in farewell. Without another word, he swiftly made his way out of the garden aisle, leaving her standing there, holding the seed packet in her hand.

“I wish i would’ve at least gotten his name.” [Y/N] hummed, rubbing the packet in her hand. She really hopes that the man was right about this seed packet.

She read the packet again, more carefully. The packet read Boysenberry. A cross between  a raspberry, blackberry, dewberry, and loganberry. She could make this work. The picture showed something like a blackberry , yet it was enlongated and a deep red, almost black color. The description read that when freshly picked, it tasted like a sweet blueberry with a tangy aftertaste. 

[Y/N] grabbed a few more more things: 2 bags of fertilizer, Top Soil, and Green gloves

She sighed, walking towards the front desk, flashing a soft smile towards the cashier, Ranae Reeds, she recalled. The woman’s name tag was worn around the edges, with her name partially faded. Much like the name tag, Ranae was a little worn around the edges. With her gray roots, her deep smile lines told tales of a younger, happier her.  

Ranae Reeds delicately placed her magazine, adorned with the captivating headline, "Infamous Serial Killer, Jeffery Woods caught," on the polished surface before her. [Y/N]’s eyes beheld the image of a man whose countenance bore the unmistakable evidence of two hauntingly deep gashes etched into his cheeks, and a profound sensation seized her being. The spectacle unfolded before her like an eerie tableau—an unsettling tableau that seemed to suspend the very breath in her throat. Its sheer grotesqueness sent tremors coursing through her, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to rise in response.

Ranae cashier merely looked at the younger girl, almost with sympathy.

The cashier took the seed packets with a shaky hand, her golden bracelet jingling  as she scanned the packets of seeds with a ding of the scanner, “I ain’t neva seen ya round’ before.” Ranae spoke with assertiveness and confidence, surprisingly, as her stature was rather petite and she seemed to be soft-spoken. But that was in fact not the case.

[Y/N] was taken aback by her sudden curiosity, she blinked and said, “I just got ere’ this morning, moved in today.” She rocked back and forth on her toes and heels, eagerly wanting to leave already.

Ranae looked at her up and down with a bored expression on her face and asked, “Where yer from girl?” Her lips never moved from the straight line that almost seemed to be formed. Her freckled hands grabbed the fertilizer as she scraped the bag of pellets across the scanner, never taking her eyes off of  [Y/N].

DING. 

“Oh, aah’m from Kansas. Born n’ raised.” [Y/N] didn't have a Southern dialect—well, not anymore. It only slips out on occasion, particularly when talking to someone else with a southern twang. Her momma and daddy always had a thick southern voice, as they were both from Texas and moved to Kansas. 

Kansasans don’t exactly have an accent, besides not pronouncing the “R” in words. Yet, they got a way of speaking that you can clearly tell their from somewhere in the West.  If you went south, close to the Oklahoma border, the accent would get thicker as you went. 

Ranae hummed, almost like she had something to say, yet she bit her tongue. She scanned the items slowly, like she was purposely taking her time.

[Y/N] shook her leg rapidly, impatience growing within her as she watched Ranae struggle to bag the items in a brown paper bag. 

DING.

“My PawPaw and MawMaw died recently, so I inherited their cabin down by Grand Lake,” She said in attempt to fill the silence that annoyed her so much, in hope to pass the time. [Y/N] has always been rather extroverted, starting conversations with strangers she didn't mind, it was this silence that ate at her. The silence was bugs crawling underneath her skin, like roaches gnawing at her veins as they swam in her blood. 

Ranae merely hummed again, scanning an item, completely uninterested in the  conversation at hand, letting silence fall over the conversation once more. The silence was only broken by tapping of [Y/N]’s leather boots, which were worn out and needed replacement. 

“A man named Willard Tucker used to live there—“

DING.

“Ya best be careful round that house,” Ranae suddenly spoke up, her brown eyes boring into the girls, a serious expression took over her features,“There been rumors bout’ some folks down by those parts doing god knows what.” The woman's veiny hands wandered through the bag of fertilizer in search of the bar code.

[Y/N] stiffened at her sudden demeanor. “I see,” She watched intensively as Ranae scanned the last item before bagging it into a brown bag and pushing it towards [Y/N].  

Y/N smiles, “I’Il be sure to be careful—“

“And ya best be careful round that man that was in ere’ earlier. Aah’ve seen him do some suspicious things with those little friends of his.” Ranae cut her off once again, except her loud and apprehensive nature was no more; instead, it was quiet, and she was talking merely above a whisper. 

“He’s up to no good, girl.” Ranae’s eyes once again, bore into [Y/N]’s with a sense of urgency and protection. Ranae reminded [Y/N] of her mother, Jane. From the way, she spoke with a protectiveness of a mother to her veiny freckled hands that trembled constantly. 

DING.

[Y/N] hummed, taking the brown bags underneath her arms hastily, “I will don't worry.” She reassured Ranae with a tight-lipped smile, before pushing through the door that opened with a groan.

The smell of summer once again hit her, and she inhaled the sweet, tangy air. It was humid as well, the weather was hot and sticky. [Y/N] was used to it from being on a farm for all of her life, yet she never really enjoyed it. Her dad, Steve, enjoyed the heat, he loved it. He would always drag her out of the house when it was well into the 90’s.

She really misses her dad.

[Y/N] threw the brown bags in the tail bed of her 1995 Ford 150. She slid into the plush fabric of her seat, shutting the car door behind her as she slumped against the leather steering wheel. 

“Why in the hell is it so damn hot?” 

She peeled herself off of the steering wheel, her head heavy as drowsiness took over. partly from the lack of sleep, and the warm sun that scattered it’s light against her face.

She shoves the old, almost rusty, key into the ignition, turning it to start the car. The car sputtered, before failing to start. [Y/N] sighed, before trying again, turning the key in the ignition. Yet again, it groaned and sputtered with a metallic scratching noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. 

It was an old truck, a gift for her 16th birthday. Painted a dark red that rusted around its silver rims, the truck was a relic, almost like a family heirloom that her family passed down from one generation to the next. It was frequent that the truck wouldn't start, constantly breaking down from a plethora of problems. It wasn't just one problem with the truck, but everything. The engine, the ground cables, the filter, overheating-- the truck almost had every problem in the book.

“I swear to fucking god,” She turns it for the third time, Please, god, start.” She pleaded as the engine sputtered once more, before roaring to life with fever. 

[Y/N] slumped her head on her steering wheel once more and said, “Thank you,” She kissed the leather steering wheel, thankful that the universe had answered her pleas. 

With the roar of the engine [Y/N] peeled out of the small parking lot of the Grocery Store.

Within the forgotten garden, an eerie silence lingered, broken only by the faint rustle of weeds that thrived unchecked. Like rebellious tendrils, the vibrant greens stretched beyond the confines of the patch of tilled earth, entwining their wiry strands with the blades of grass and any unsuspecting object within reach. Mushrooms and fungi covered the garden like a blanket, growing in mass abundance. This unruly congregation of vegetation and fungi seemed to possess a will of its own, reclaiming its dominion over a forsaken realm. Amongst the overgrown foliage, unseen insects and arachnids sought refuge, their presence betrayed only by an occasional scuttle or a shimmer of silken threads. Camouflaged amidst the verdant chaos, they patiently awaited their next unsuspecting prey, ready to seize upon any who ventured too close. 

As the sun descended in the western sky, its golden rays extended through the dense foliage of towering oak trees, painting a mesmerizing tapestry of light and shadow. The ethereal dance of illumination and obscurity enveloped the scene, amplifying the eeriness that permeated the air. The songs of robins and mourning doves serenaded the somber landscape, their delicate melodies contrasting with the ominous backdrop. Amidst the rustling leaves and trilling birds, She heard the distant grunt of a white-tailed deer. And as the final rays of sunlight retreated beyond the horizon, they bathed the discovery in a soft, eerie glow, accentuating the unsettling sight before the witness's eyes.

[Y/N] glanced at her phone, which glowed an illuminating white. She looked at the white numbers that read: 6:00 PM.  

She stretched her limps as they  ached from hours of being hunched over digging to completely remove the wild grass and herbs that grew. Her arms gave a satisfying crack, just as her back did in response. She had napped for a satisfying 7 hours,only waking a few times. [Y/N] was suprised that she was able to nap in general. She was content and fully recharged. On the downside, she probably won’t be able to get any rest tonight. 

At least she'll be able to stay awake binging Netflix.

With a determined grip, she thrust her green gloves into the yielding earth, their fabric sinking into the damp soil as she uprooted the herbs with a swift, purposeful tug. As she pulled, the tips of her gloves absorbed the essence of the earth, their vibrant hue now tainted by the stubborn remnants of the earth's bounty. The once-pristine fingers of her gloves were adorned with a telltale shade of brown, evidence of their close association with the soil. And beneath the surface, her nails bore the weight of the garden's secrets, caked with a fine layer of dirt that clung tenaciously to the thin, porous material. 

[Y/N]’s mind wandered as she aimlessly dug through the soil, ripping the herbs from their roots like tendrils. Until her hands gripped something that squished beneath her fingers.

She gazed down, her eyes widening in pure horror, as a gut-wrenching sight unfolded before her. In her trembling hands, a writhing mass of maggots squirmed with repulsive vigor, their pale bodies contorting and intertwining in an unsettling dance. The pungent stench of decay wafted through the air, assaulting her senses and threatening to overpower her resolve. As her grip tightened involuntarily, the soft flesh of the larvae ruptured, smearing her trembling hands with a sickening mixture of viscera and fluids. The once-innocent soil beneath her feet became a graveyard for crushed worms, their slimy remnants mingling with her fingers, an unholy stain that marked her as both witness and participant in this grotesque scene. 

[Y/N] let out a blood churdling scream as she stumbled backwards from her squatting position, landing on her backside. She frantically swiped her hands together to get the maggots off as they fell into the grass beside her. 

The squirming maggots, now a grotesque spectacle in the dew-kissed grass, seemed to writhe in agony. Their once pale, plump bodies were now stained crimson, their delicate flesh bearing the gruesome evidence of their fallen brethren.  Each wriggling creature fought desperately, their tiny frames flayed violently as they were torn away from their decaying feast. The gore of destruction painted the once vibrant green blades of grass a haunting shade of red.

“What the actual fuck?” 

Laying where [Y/N]’s gloved hand dug, was a mound of dirt that maggots swarmed, their white skin hiding beneath the dirt.

[Y/N]’s curiosity peaked exponentially as she moved closer to the mound, dirt staining her knees brown. Her gloves dug through the maggots filled mound, her stomach filling with uneasiness as they glided through the soil.

Suddenly, her hands struck a soft, pudgy, material. [Y/N] dug through the dirt to fully uncover the mound, and as maggots crawled anxiously around her hands, she recoiled in disgust. She was sure it must be a dead animal, and the land must have grown around it, right? 

[Y/N] knew the stench of death, and didn't partially mind the sight of dead animals. Her father, Steve, was a frequent hunter of deer and other game, to which [Y/N] accompanied him. Steve had taught her from a young age how to field dress a deer. Hanging the deer up by its hooves to a tree, she remembers taking her father's hunting knife and running it down the belly of the animal-- very gently to not puncture the belly. Scooping the contents of the deer out, leaving the inside of the deer completely bare. That was the easy part. Now to field dress the deer, was a tedious and lengthy process, using the tip of her knife to slowly peel the hide off of the animal. Hours would pass in the blistering Kansas heat and wind. It was revolting, yet she grew accustomed to the sight.

For her 13th birthday, she was gifted an old 22. rifle from Steve—an old gun that needed to constantly be cleaned and scoped in. The bullets weren’t made for large game such as deer, but they did work on prairie dogs that plagued cow farmers' fields. Eventually, she got a .300 WIN MAG, which now sat below her bed.

She had guessed the rotting carcass of an anwinsle from the potent smell wafting through the air. An unmistakable and haunting odor tainted the air, suffusing every inhalation with a chilling foreboding. It was the stench of death, a macabre orchestra composed of decaying flesh and the ghostly remnants of blood.  

As she slowly uncovered the mound, it became more and more apparent what the mound was. Her hands swiped away the last layer of dirt and maggots to reveal the form underneath the soil. 

[Y/N]’s features contorted with sheer terror again, the lines of his face etched deep with despair. The pallor of her skin turned with goosebumps, a stark contrast to the clammy beads of perspiration that clung to her furrowed brow. Eyes wide, they became twin portals to the void, reflecting the depths of her fear—paralyzed.

A corpse, abandoned to the earth, lies in a state of advanced decomposition. Its once vibrant form is now a haunting testament to the inevitability of mortality. The body, stripped of life, is a pillar of grotesque transformations. The flesh has given way to a grotesque canvas, with patches of decomposed tissue revealing glimpses of bone beneath. The skin, mottled and discolored, hangs loosely, tattered and ravaged by relentless decay. Time etched deep crevices into the once-familiar countenance, obscuring any resemblance to the person it once was. Swarms of maggots and other scavengers feast upon the remains, their writhing presence further amplifying the scene's repulsive nature. 

 Bile crawled up through [Y/N]’s as she doubled over, vomiting into the grass next to her. Food chunks and liquid sprayed the green grass a vomit brown. A tremor coursed through her trembling frame, betraying her tenuous grasp on composure. It was in this harrowing moment that horror unfurled its chilling wings, casting an indelible veil upon her face—a blanket of anguish. The very air seemed to quiver in the presence of such raw, unadulterated fear, as if nature itself recoiled in silent reverence for the intensity of her terror. 

She had torn off her gloves as she scrambled across the grass, grabbing her phone, in an attempt to distance herself as much as possible from the corpse. Her surroundings seemed to spin as the drum of her heart overtook her hearing as well as the sound of the dial tone. When did she call 911?

“This is 911, what’s your emergency?” A woman's voice came from the other side of the phone. Calm, and tender, her voice was comforting. Yet her voice was almost muffled as [Y/N]'s heartbeat filled her eardrums.

“I," [Y/N]'s breath was shaky, quiet as she spoke with a sense of urgency, "Would like to report a dead body."

tag, @rat-briccs-trauma, @strawberrie-fluff, @spookyravioli @darkovergrownforestnymph, @urmomisaqt420 @yipeeesstuff

.@qupiikaaa @fynnwolff

Hoodie/Brian NSFW hc's

Thighs. Choke him with them. Thigh jobs. 100% Will switch, but likes to be dom He whimpers on bottom Groans on top Very vocal Too good with his mouth Likes to receive or give head Fine with either Will worship you Rough or gentle Pull his hair Cute ass happy trail Limited hair Trims hair often Pull his fucking hair. Can go for four rounds at most Likes being caught He wouldn't prefer it but doesn't mind if it happens He sees it as showing you off Will not share Possessive You are getting dicked down if he's mad You wanna walk to the kitchen? Crutches. Hates wearing his mask in bed. Likes any position he can pull your hair or see your face. Squeeze his head with your thighs when he eats you out Look him in the eyes as he cums ask over your face He can and will be milked Loves having his hands tied to the headboard or somewhere he can't use them Call him names He doesn't care as long as it's with you Aftercare

Apathetic-Misplaced

Rounding the corner, you treaded further into the kitchen, urging not to wake your mother. It was hard enough to get her to sleep, let alone keep her like that. Your toe stubbed slightly against the bottom of the kitchen counter as you reached for the cabinet with the mugs.

Oddly, as you searched for your favorite one, it seemed to be gone. Having been sure you put it up with the load of dishes you'd done yesterday, you checked once again, not doubting yourself to have missed it in the dim light the early winter mornings would provide. 

Looking back down, annoyed, you saw it. Resting a foot away, sat next to the sugar and spoon, was the mug, a teabag already placed inside. This week had been stressful, you chopped the appearance simply to a simply forgotten task. 

You smiled to yourself, taking the cup in your hand and heading to the stovetop. Placing the kettle on the heating burner, you waited patiently on your phone, scrolling, disinterested in what your friends had done over the weekend. 

Your heart clenched at a certain sight; it was a picture of Nina, a girl you thought would live forever. Alas, she's gone now. Not necessarily dead but missing. So, no matter how you look at it, she's gone. 

All you truly craved was closure. 

Resting your phone face down, you hopped up as the kettle began to scream. Pulling it from the burner, you placed it on a different one, waiting a still moment before beginning to pour the boiling water into the mug. 

After you did, you slowly sipped on the scalding liquid, tossing your head back as you mentally psyched yourself up to get through the day. It wouldn't be too bad, working at a little gas station, if you weren't fifteen miles from the musty place. 

You walked slowly to your bedroom, socks scuffling against the kitchen's hardwood floor. You slipped off the flimsy night shirt you'd been wearing changing into a new bra and shirt. Not much of a shirt, really, more like a big sweater. It was (f/c) and knit tightly. Black leggings to match, you supposed.

It was winter. You were behind a counter most of your day. Who cares what you wore? 

Going back into the kitchen, deciding you'd eat before work, meaning you didn't have to come out from behind the counter and be ogled at by creeps without morals. Yeah, it was better to eat at home.

Gliding on your shoes, you tied the laces up neatly. As you headed back into the kitchen, another odd sight struck you. The sugar had been returned to its spot; the spoon was in the sink. Knitting your eyebrows together, you figured, once again, that it was just a subconscious act of yours. 

I do this every morning, so it's routine of me to put it away, you told yourself. But as the morning's occurrences replayed, your mind went, instead, to worst-case scenarios. Once again, rationality got the better of you, and your mind decided you had forgotten; done it without a second thought. 

But you didn't remember the part where you forced yourself to keep quiet for your mother's sake. 

It was early, too early, to be awake for work. I mean, you worked nights. But groceries were a necessity, and starving wasn't on your mind lately. Not yet. Grabbing your wallet and phone, you were on your way out the door. 

Clambering into the cold car, you turned on the heat, but without time to waste, you drove off. You played a few songs on your way, preferring the familiar music to the silence. As you pulled up to the Walmart, you climbed out again. 

Opening the notes app on your phone, you checked the list again, unsure of what you needed. "Milk, eggs, butter, toilet paper, shampoo." you read. Nodding to yourself, you walked inside, grabbing a rattling cart from the hoard. First, you made your way to the dairy, grabbing the milk, eggs, and butter, and placing them in the bottom of the rattly cart.

Next, you walked to the aisles with all the hygiene products. Grabbing your usual brand of shampoo and toilet paper, you made your way to the checkout. At the register, you grabbed a pack of gum. Minute but nice. 

The man in front of you quickly had his minimal number of items scanned, but he didn't tread too far, visibly distracted by something on his yellow hoodie. He was tall, with disheveled light brown hair, and pale. very pale; he looked sickly. As the cashier scanned your items, the dead look on her face not softened, she read your total. "Fifteen-eighty-two," she mumbled. Opening your wallet, you searched in fear for your card.

As your mind began to whirl and sway, a voice spoke up. You only had so much cash on you; not enough to pay the due, however. Your shaky hand brought her the ten dollars you had in cash, but she continued staring at you, waiting. "I'll cover it," the man offered. "Oh, no. You don't have to-" you assured, quickly being cut off as he handed the cashier the exact change. 

"Thank you so much, sir," you thanked. "It's human kindness," he joked. "Still, thank you." you sighed, thankful. "Keep yourself safe," he said, walking away, off into the crowd of people, many shorter than him. He headed in the opposite direction that you were going, much to your disappointment.

It would have been nice to know his name, you thought. Dawdling around the flooded store, you glanced around, bored. You thought about how pale he was. Tired of ogling at items you'll never buy, or afford, you left.

You smiled to yourself at the sweet interaction, not having experienced a true act of human decency in so long. Living away from everyone in the countryside could do that to someone - make you a recluse-, but you didn't really mind. 

Striding back to your car, you placed your bags of groceries, finding yourself questionably searching for the man, even without realizing it. Turning over the ignition in the car, you drove off, pulling onto the foggy road. As the road cleared, leaving you nearly alone, aside from the few cabins and cars, you noticed one thing in particular: a beat-up, blue pickup truck behind you.

Its paint chipped, revealing the rusty color beneath the facade of color. The headlights were still on, which was fair, considering the fact it was dark, still. That's winter, you thought. Heart in your throat, you sped up, only to notice how their speed was in sync with yours; they sped as you did, and slowed as you did.

As you pulled into your driveway, breaths of relief flooded out of your lungs, watching as the truck drove on, the driver you didn't see. Silently entering the home, you brought in the bags, smiling still at the man's kindness. 

After you unpacked the groceries, you went to check on your mother once again. She was fine. Now, sleep was in your mind. Falling, exhausted, into your bed, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, falling asleep. 

As your eyes flickered open, the smell of coffee greeted you. Smiling to yourself, you made your quiet way to the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Hi, Mom," you greeted. "Hey, hon," she replied, not meeting your eyes as she washed the dishes from this morning. "Hey, (y/n)?" she said again. You hummed lowly.

"Try not to use so many dishes when you make your tea, okay?" she muttered. "I only used one this morning." you denied. "Well, there are two cups in the sink, and it doesn't make sense." she replied. "Maybe you just forgot; I know you're stressed lately," she whispered. "I guess," you agreed.

"Well, it's almost time for you to get ready, and I made some coffee for you," she said. "I know," you sighed.

Sluggishly walking back to your room, you slipped on a white shirt, staying in the same undergarments as this morning, feeling it dumb to change. With a black zip-up hoodie over leggings, simple shoes, and your (h/c) (h/l) brushed. 

No makeup needed. 

You grabbed the thermos that'd been set on the counter and poured your coffee into it, adding the milk and sugar. This time, you put the sugar and spoon away. Fiddling with the lid, you finally fit it tight to the bottle, sighing deeply as you left. But not before telling your mother you loved her.

Phone, keys, thermos, wallet. That's all you needed. As you arrived, you pulled up, checking your wallet for a hair tie. Oddly, and to your horror, your card was in its usual spot. Heart in your throat, you took a hair tie out, assuming your coworker would ask for one before she went on her delivery trips. 

You were right. 

"Hey, do you have a hair tie?" she asked, pulling her ginger hair into a hold with her hand. Wordlessly, you handed it to her, walking behind the counter after tying your apron on. You leaned against the counter, waiting, as a man walked in. His hair was a deep, rich brown, falling above his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, they glanced at you, brown and tired. Bags were under them, falling into a sullen frown as you looked his face over. 

He smiled quickly, turning away as he walked the aisles of the gas station, silent, almost. He made no sound when he walked, and you wondered how such a tall, built man could be so utterly stealthy. He opened a freezer in the back, pulling out a drink. You couldn't quite see what it was until he stepped into another aisle; the aisle with chips. 

A bag rustled and he walked back to you. Placing the items on the counter, you realized that it was alcohol and some plain potato chips. "ID?" you requested. He handed you a small, plastic card. Taking it in your hand, you examined it. "What's your birthday?" you asked.

Looking closer at the ID, you realized that his name was Timothy, but his last name you didn't see, not before he answered, making you gaze back at him. He answered, holding his hand out expectantly. You handed him his ID and scanned his items. "Have a nice day, sir," you said, smiling as he walked off wordlessly. 

The bell rang as he left. 

Another hour or so passed by, and only a handful of interactions, left you alone with your thoughts, the buzzing of the lights, and the low, humming music from the store. You walked to the back of the store, grabbing a drink, water. 

Putting the money in the register, you began to drink slowly, nearly gagging and spitting up the water as a figure towered over you. "Hi, I'm sorry. You scared the life out of me!" you joked, coughing. "Oh, I'm s-sorry," they apologized. Noticeably, they had a stutter. 

"It's fine; you're just really quiet," you laughed again, trying to keep the mood light, despite his depressing, sorry tone. You coughed again, finally looking up at him. He had soft brown hair, covering his eyes slightly. Eyes a soft, shimmery green, though still with a sharpness. Alert.

A mask covered most of his face, obscuring your view. He was thin, you could tell, despite the large beige, brown, white, and blue hoodie he wore. "Is there anything I can do for you?" perking up, he looked at you. Without words, he walked to the back of the store. Grabbing a chocolate milk, he placed it on the counter, hands clad in what you assumed to be leather. "That all?" you checked.

He nodded wordlessly, mask shifting, as if he were chewing on his cheek. Ringing him up, "A dollar and eighty-nine cents, please," you requested.

He fished out some money and planted it on the counter, and you gave him the milk. "Thank you, have a nice day!" You chirped.

He walked out with a "you, too" and nothing else; not even a thumbs up.

--

Hours passed with nothing more than interactions and nearly slamming your head into the counter as you accidentally drifted off.

Now, it was time to go home. You waited for your coworker, and left when she got there. "Bye," she shouted. Waving, you left.

-- Once you arrived home, the rooms silent, you walked to the kitchen. There was a steaming mug of coffee, a sticky note placed on its side. "Just how you like it!" With a smiling face at the end. You smirked at the gesture, taking a small sip. And, indeed, it was just how you liked it.

Honestly, you hadn't even figured that your mother paid attention while you were around her. Heading back to your room, you found that your laundry was already folded on the bed.

"That's sweet, " you thought. Hanging your clothes and putting them into the drawers, you noticed another note. "This week will be full of surprises!" It read, the same handwriting as the note on the mug.

You put the clothes away correctly, lying disc on the clear bed. Before you feel asleep, you decided a shower was needed. As you entered the bathroom, you peeled off your clothes, strong into the scalding water.

It felt good against your cold skin, though. As you reached for your soap, you realized it was small and used up. Soon, you'd have to buy more. After washing your hair and body, you clambered out, wrapping a towel around yourself.

Falling back into your bed, you didn't bother to change. It's not like you had anywhere to be; not for a while, anyway. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you fell asleep.

--

A knock at your door awoke you, making your eyes spring open and your body jolt up. "Mom?" You questioned. No answer. "Mom?" You repeated, louder than before.

Opening the door, still in your towel, your heart dropped, but your grip on the cloth didn't. Thankfully. There stood a tall man, at least six foot, dressed in a mustard colored hoodie, denim pants, and steel-toe boots.

But the worst part, you were sure, was what state down. Where his face should be, instead, a black mask with two circles. Eyes. And one upside down U. A frown.

Your words caught in your throat as you tried to choke something, anything, out. His breath was muffled against the mask, and would have been falling on top of your head if not for the cloth.

After a moment of silence, you spoke up, still so scared. "What do you want?" You choked out. Without speaking, he shoved past you, walking to the corner of your room.

He simply snatched your little collection of sticky notes, holding them up to you. Pointing at the second one you'd received, the one about the surprising week, and tapped it lightly, mask shifting slightly.

You assumed he was smiling.

Apathetic-Wounded

You shook your head, disbelief flooding through you. "No." You denied. He nodded. "Yes." He retorted. He shoved past you again, leaning down once he reached you. "It's nice to see you up close, (y/n)." He muttered, exiting.

With a surge of confidence, or sheer stupidity, - likely the latter -, you grabbed his wrist. He turned around. "What do you want?" You snapped.

He laughed, but it was horrifyingly gravely and deep, and you didn't know what to make of it. With a strong grip on his wrist, him staring you down, and your face like a deer in headlights, he laughed.

Moving his hand to his pocket, he pulled something out. It was shimmery and sleek grey; there was a click sound, and the safety was off his gun. He did it skilfully, one handed. He tapped the cold barrel against the underneath of your chin.

You let go before he could say anything, though, you doubted he would've. "You're welcome. " he said. You held your breath, stepping back into your room as he left, somewhere out of sight.

There was no sound. Not the opening of closing of a door, not the jingle of keys. But after a moment, there was one: the sound of the kettle going off. You slowly entered the kitchen, skin crawling and heart thumping so violently against your ribs.

There was a mug, a foot away from the cabinet with the rest of the mugs. The sugar rested next to it. The spoon was on the sugars lid. And there was a teabag already in the cup.

The kettle continued to screech until you placed it on the other burner. Sitting against the counter top, you recalled the notes and the strangely sweet things.

Once again, there was a note. This time, it read,"Sorry for the scare!" In big, black ink. You sighed, thinking of what he could want. If he wanted money, then he was in the wrong place.

But he'd have to know that. He knew how you liked your coffee. What else could he truly want? Your mind flickered, and you needed to check on your mother. Dashing to her room, you quietly opened the door, only to find her awake, playing on her phone.

"Did you hear anything?" You asked, attempting to hide the absolute fear and panic that was sure to be lacing your voice. She shook her head, gaze returning to the screen of her phone.

You bolted out of her room, gently shutting the door, of course, and searched the rest of the house. After countless times of checking the rooms, you returned to yours, but not after making sure everything was locked.

After plopping on the bed, you shut your eyes, praying to wake up and have it all be a dream. But it wasn't, and you couldn't wake up from real life. Your phone buzzed lightly on the foot of your bed, and you picked it up, glancing at the screen.

It was a new message, but from a string of random numbers. This person wasn't in your contacts. You unlocked your phone, checking to see what it says. "Call the cops; I dare you!" It read.

Your heart sunk in your chest, a thundering headache splintering through your head. tears pricked at your eyes, streaming down your cheeks and falling onto the floor. "Fuck," you muttered. As you buried your face in the pillow, a scream shot out of your burning throat, being muffled by the soft fabric. "I can't do this," you thought.

Your mind scrambled, thoughts rushing back again and again to what they could want. But finally, it came back to the one possibility. You. They could want you.