verdana ⋇⊶⊰⊗

she/her (Profile Art Creds) ╰─▸ ❝ @fri.lly on Instagram. Editor: tobyskitten342. (My #1 supporter) 18

[bogusboxed]

For A Living (Fanfic Announcement)

I hope whenever you see this, you're doing well. I have not written any Creepypasta fanfiction in two years due to poor mental health and bad life events. But I did start writing a full proxy x reader novel, which I'm glad to say has finally made its way to being published on AO3 & Quotev!

The work is titled "For A Living" with the summary of:

"Another night and I'll be you."

Ten years after her death. Ten years of radio silence. One faithful night, a familiar unmarked caller breaks that quiet. He needed you by his side for the tenth year—a reunion to remember her. You naively agree, leading you to prepare to stay in a rustic cabin for two weeks. 

You and your childhood friends finally reunite. Now you have to make it or break it, and it’s just not the same. Things that were supposed to remain secret come to light, forcing you to rely on three strangers who swear they know what they’re doing. But it doesn’t matter when none of you are in control. Because one of you is lying.

If that sounds interesting to you, or if you want to support me. You can find it on Ao3 & Quotev under the username Bogusbox! Thank you for your time :)

[ad-wills]

[bogusboxed]

hi! Just wanted to ask if you have a masterlist, cuz I can't find it anywhere (and honestly I might just be blind and it's right in front of my eyes, sorry if that's the case lol) have a nice day :]

Hello! I’m sorry I don’t have a masterlist I suck at Tumblr I might make one in the future but thank you for asking. Have a great day too man! 🤝

[bogusboxed]

Boxtobier ⊗ Day 2

"The Big Picture.”

Pairing: Helen Otis X GN!Reader

Theme: “Forbidden Love." & "Family, Friends, Love Ones."

Rating: (PG-15+)

Words: 6k

Trigger Warning(s): Brief Vulgar Language, Minor Mentions Of Criminal Deviance, Depictions Of Gore, and Psychological Disturbance.

This is recommended for ages fifteen and up; reader discretion is advised. The rights to this character, "Bloody Painter," fully belong to DeluCat.

This is a fictional, harmless piece of writing; do not incorporate it into your daily life.

Tom E. Stevens is not a real person, he's fully fictional and only serves as a reference from Bloody Painter’s original story. Any correlation to real victims is NOT intentional.

The breeze was glacial against your warm-blooded skin; it bit your nose with a numbing sharpness. You should’ve worn more layers in this type of climate, but you were in a hurry, which led to skipping a few steps in your typical routine.

Your brass keys jingled around like golden bells attached to a decorative holiday ribbon. They created an off-putting metronome sound when they clattered viciously against the steel buckle. 

Your mind adapted to the noise, senselessly focusing on the sparkly ring. But, still, you pulled yourself from it, fighting it.

You tried your best to keep your head straight by prioritizing the need to reach the building because only the vultures knew how dangerous this line of work could be.

You couldn't help but question your choices from months ago because if you knew what you know now, you wouldn’t have signed up for that internship.

Working tirelessly alongside the forensic department had taken a toll on your health unlike anything else. Currently, your body felt like shit, as if every limb had been yanked from its socket, resembling the way taffy is stretched beyond recognition.

You stiffly shifted your back, feeling the aches rise and fall in an agonizing unorganized harmony. You let out a bottomless exhale, the puff of warmth diffusing in the tempered winds.

You hated clocking in earlier than what was ordered, but you also knew the piles of work they had planned out for you. So it’d just be better to get it over with at dawn and have plenty of "free time" during the day.

However, yesterday, you hadn’t been as clever and had to fight the collisions of cars. What was even worse than that was the fact you came in late, barely having the proper time to study the files.

But what was weirder was the number of cases.

Over the months, winter had finally broken out, and when it did, so did the bodies. They practically doubled in the short time frame, heightening, unlike any other season. 

But it wasn’t anything you could control; you could only try to prevent it.

It was bleak; your fingers felt lifeless, suffering from the hazardously low temperatures. Your lungs were repressed, taking subtle amounts of polar oxygen inward.

Breathing seemed to only bring a sub-zero chill, dulling your system in a torturous manner.

Your watery eyes caught a detailed glimpse of the illuminated station a few meters away from you. Uniform glass windows lined the front. Icy white spiderwebs seemed to dust the rims, only having the middle of each glass plane defrosted.

The light beige building was around two stories high and was more expansive than a typical station due to housing an accompanying forensic department.

You tilted your head at the closer police cars, which were lined right at the front. The vehicles were predominantly white, marked with bold and contrasting black and blue stripes running along their sides.

A tinge of envy surged through your veins, with the wish you didn’t have an entire marathon to walk each time you went to work. Passing the oversized rides, you followed the guiding light closer to the department.

Powdery snow crunched under your soles, compacting with each movement. Every step sounded high-pitched, squeaking like a dog toy. The wintery molecules had recently fallen, barely printed on by animals or other people.

Unfortunately, though, you were leaving tracks with the way you moved your figure. 

You didn’t feel secure being this out in the open, especially with the surrounding area’s reputation. A warm light glowed from the windows, refracting onto the concrete sidewalk you walked on. 

Safety was near.

You should’ve been more attentive to your surroundings instead of beelining it straight to base. But you’d rather speed up than patiently get hypothermia from the Alaskan air.

Moving your weight at a timely pace, you soon made quick work of the built-in parking lot. But it wasn’t just the Fahrenheit that made you move this way; it was the added pressure of the latest murders.

The fresh kills from the man on the loose—his existence was blowing up on the internet. Hundreds were prying at the case, no matter how much your local department tried to keep it under wraps.

Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for some thirsty news articles to try to dig too deep. But this instance was different because the officials knew he stayed in one spot, and they didn't need the public to scare him off to another city.

However, in your personal opinion, he’d gotten worse. Not in the way he became clumsier, but in the way he’d gotten smarter. Because now he was starting to grasp the concept of covering up his tracks.

For the past three months, you've seen multiple carcasses.

It wasn’t anything new to see animalistic amounts of chewed-out corpses daily. But these recently submitted physiques always had one horrifying thing in common with one another.

An extended incision two inches right below the jaw.

The likeness of each mark always left an abyssal pang in the roots of your abdomen. Forcing you to churn and gush profusely, like all your acids had come together to form a nauseating butter.

Though it wasn’t like you weren’t prepared for this, you’d trained for months in college, studying what you could. Because essentially, you had sold your soul to the corporations. So in your mind, it was for the best to just stay reticent about your discomfort.

But, still. The imagery of the wounds was haunting. You were sure that if you were asked to recall how the incision appeared, you’d have no trouble.

Because the cut was always the same.

Why did it have to be the same every fucking time, and why couldn’t you get used to it? It was just a slice above the collarbone and below the human mandible.

It wasn’t like their head had been blown to bits.

The repetition, however, was appalling. You couldn’t accept that someone out there liked the fluency and the never-ending pattern left. Did they know how it kept you up at night? Could they ever reflect on how personal each cut felt? 

Did they even have the capacity to comprehend the hole they left in the lives of those they harmed? Or maybe this is what they wanted. To make others feel like shit? 

You just wished the mercy of the world could spare you and take away this aching remorse. You exhaled, the weight of your thoughts having the same drag of an anchor. 

It was difficult to be at ease, though the closure you brought to families seemed to help.

Your dense shoes felt like they were grating against the battered concrete. Every simple scrape seemed ten times more deafening than it was. To say you were on edge would’ve been a heinous understatement.

You kept your digits stuffed in your layered pockets, no longer wanting to contend with the arctic currents. You felt your body at work, trying its best to keep you thawed and snugly toasted.

With preferable timing, you had finally completed your route.

You could feel a different torridity, leaving the parking lot unscathed. Swiftly, you began your brief climb up the compressed staircase. 

You swore you didn’t need the handrails, forcing your figure to prance up the case without the added support. In the back of your mind, you knew that if you clutched onto them, you’d only get frostbite or an open, rusty lesion on your palm.

Following the gleaming lights, you hunted down the entrance of the building. 

Pastry beige walls and reflective, frosted-tipped windows made most of your peripherals. Your eyes devoured the sight with the knowledge that you wanted nothing else but to be inside.

Silently, you merged, heading to the entrance of the department. 

Your plush, silky lanyard bounced with each quick action, and in no time, you found yourself standing in front of the lackluster glass door. Your heated breath fogged up the float glass while you humanly debated whether or not to doodle shapes on the surface.

But you unwillingly compelled yourself to move on to more pressing matters. After a few seconds of inner turmoil, you begrudgingly retracted your hands from your fleece cavities. With your balmy clutches, you invaded the sleek metal door handle.

With an unenthusiastic heave, you hauled open the burdensome door.

A flushed breeze tenderly nuzzled your visage, completely changing your groggy attitude that’d grown from the bitterness of the cold. Taking a few unnoticeable steps inward, you let go of the door.

The heft of the gate automatically sealed the space back up, enclosing the heat from the ruthless outside.

You had no more icy waves to come crashing down on you. So, you felt the lack of need to shield your skin; taking a brief gluttonous puff of well-tempered air, you could faintly taste the macchiato that was lingering.

The smell felt almost stereotypical in the way it reverberated off each wall. You hated to admit just how many of those movies were right about the police.

Getting back on target, you looked around the foyer, and as always, it wasn’t anything special. The room was semi-upper-class, having fancy connecting hallways, an undersized reception desk, and a cramped, cheap waiting room.

Along the barren, pale walls lay a handful of plastic chairs, a box for dropping off prescription drugs, and overly artificial plants. The department strived to make the place look as welcoming as possible, but it mostly came off as out of touch and condescending.

Turning your attention to the cut-off front desk, you saw a distant coworker. Her face was slim, enhanced with sculpture-like features. A rich mixed skin tone painted her and only brightened her overall beautiful complexion.

However, what stood out most was her blinding, superstitious golden badge titling her "Lt Sara."

She currently seemed to be diligently managing inquiries and various calls. Though you’d heard various rumors of what she did before, she joined the department. (Something along the lines of British special forces?)

A dense panel of plexiglass seemed to cage the mid-toned operator inside. She didn’t pay you much mind, keeping to herself; her rich, murky eyes seemed to be glued to her rather expensive work-issued laptop.

You decided not to put your nose where it didn’t belong, ignoring your deepening innocence to ask what she was typing. 

Taking a few fleeting steps toward your branch, pitter-patter-like footsteps began to tap throughout the once-muted room. Humbly walking, you were perceptive to the irritating buzzing of the incandescent lightbulb above.

Management should’ve changed it out weeks ago upon regulation, but who could arrest literal law enforcement?

Step by step, the stillness of the fruitless office was betrayed by the sound of parroting taps. The department seemed desolate and liminal in the sense that you were the only one creating any commotion.

It was almost uncanny how much the towering walls were devoid of life.

You kept your posture professional, keeping an unrushed pace down the enclosed hallway. Neutral-colored file cabinets were mindlessly lined, seeming to camouflage with the chipped beige wall. You took your regulated turns, passing by the same identifiable tables, worn-out navy chairs, and other miscellaneous decor.

You could feel a slight burning sensation in your nose, probably caused by the over-the-top cleaning supplies the facility always used.

You wordlessly questioned the janitors on why they put their entire heart into their job, but you only found yourself wishing you could have the same enthusiasm as them.

Your shoes clicked on the polished, stony-colored tiles as your eyes traced down the doors carved on either side. You glazed over multiple shiny labels, all too familiar to you at this point.

You couldn’t count on one hand the number of times you’d seen these signs. The time you spent here seemed to blur together at this point.

Who knew an internship could be this catastrophic?

The walls only seemed to bring you closer and closer to your destination, with every ridge of the painted-over brick wall now recognizable. Pursuing your common area, the doors began to seem to become more robust and excessive compared to the previous.

However, it wasn’t anything too shocking given that all the information locked inside those rooms was highly sought after. However, what was surprising was that interns (college kids) had access to some pretty sensitive records.

Speaking of your rookie classmates, they unfortunately recruited yet another intern, and worse, they were assigned to sit right next to you. Funnily enough, that was one of the reasons you got here so early.

As of right now, your desk looked like the result of a hurricane, and it didn’t help that you used the once-vacant desk next to you for storage. You internally cringed, caught up in the swirly emotion that’d be their initial impression of you.

You let out a swallow exhale upon recollection. Hopefully, they weren’t going to be the verbal bane of your existence, pestering you with lackluster questions all year.

Focusing once more, you reached for your silky, smooth lanyard. Fingers fumbled looking for your QR code identification card, given with the lowest human access possible.

You slouched downward, folding yourself. You took the sturdy card and pressed it against the laser sensor. Having pressed the densely laminated plastic against the puny square-shaped metal box, the door made a short beep.

Your hands briskly moved to the glistening door handle, now heaving it down with no resistance. A click came from the frame, letting you know the hardened lock had finally released its restless hold.

Soon, you wedged yourself inside the room, shutting the high-tech door behind you with a thunderous thump. Luminous fluorescent lighting helped to display the expansive classroom.

The space featured a variety of lengthy, soulless desks, placed as close as they could be to one another. While accompanying cheap plastic chairs were uniformly paired underneath each table. Files seemed to be anchored in stacks close to the windows, which were curtained by opaque sheets.

It was almost childish the amount of priceless work just lazily left out. Your eyes scanned the trivial room again, passing various foreign areas until you shadowed your own.

You paused.

Nothing was missing, and that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the man nonchalantly working between the brochures you left on your previous shift, and if things couldn’t get worse, you recognized him.

This wasn’t just any typical guy, however. This was the college’s award-winning artist, Helen Otis. (Someone whom you found yourself admiring a little too much.) 

You’d seen his works plenty of times, each one better than the last. You didn’t know how many art competition trophies he had tucked under his belt, and you didn't know how he had so much room for them.

Sweat was building under your metaphoric shirt collar, leaving you wanting to pull it like a cartoon character. Out of everybody, why'd it have to be him? However, even with the distaste bubbling in your mouth, you could still sense a puppy-like heart race thumping in your chest.

During the years you’d been in school with him, he’d always been a recluse. He had never been the type to do a vast presentation or be among big social groups. But he had been the art kid, inaudibly crafting away in a scenic spot where no one would bother him.

Though it was still surprising, you’d never thought he would be the one to take up this line of work. You always thought he’d do something more along the lines of comical animation or abstract commissions.

But here he was at your doorstep, doing the same thing he always did: wordlessly painting strokes on a page.

Even though he wasn’t paying you any mind, you felt yourself appreciating his personal portrait. You knew neither of you had spoken to the other throughout your college years, but still, some idiotic part of you found his mysterious aura appealing.

From his murky ink tuft of hair to his cerulean stone-shaded eyes, all his facial features seem to drag you further like a fish to a hook, line, and sinker.

If your heart hadn’t been auctioned away for his looks already, his personality had to be the nail in the coffin. He was hushed and polite, always mindful of those around him with a tranquil gaze plastered on his face.

All these things combined made it unfathomable to wonder why he was in such a gruesome line of work.  He never did seem capable of harm; at least that’s what you thought.

At the moment, you found yourself fixating on him more than you should’ve, promptly getting lured in by the bait of his serene features. But you hastily shut that down, making it imperative to keep it strictly professional.

All he was was your co-worker who incidentally resided right next to your seat, and it was no big deal; he was just a fresh hire, and that’s all these feelings were. (Keep telling yourself that.)

You shuffled yourself further in. Each step felt like a chain and cannonball attached to your ankle, dragging you down from getting any further. You took an unnoticeable puff before giving in to your sullen movements.

Your shoes barely squeaked on the flat, tiled flooring, efficiently making it to your spot. You did everything in your power to ignore him, which proved difficult when he was now in front of you. Though, thankfully, he didn’t seem to peer up from his current task. 

You subtly began taking the diverse portfolios you abandoned the night before and neatly placing them in a lanky stack on your side. Cautiously, you continued to take back your leftovers, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions about your actions.

Luckily for you, each rustling you made was always covered by either a light tap or an oppressive rub back and forth. Pages of newer and older cases grazed your plushy palms as you needily grabbed them covertly.

The scent of vanilla seemed to leak out of the paper each time you ruffled it onto the stack. Your eyes tracked your borrowed files as you mindlessly counted their shared total.

Once you finally piled all of your belongings onto the corner of your desk, you seized a few files from the top, taking out an oh-so-familiar beige folder. Even with how flimsy the printer paper was, it still managed to send a falling sensation deep into your intestines.

Because the case inside had to be one of the most extreme and unsettling you'd seen in a while.

Taking a hasty breath outward, you knew you had a job to do, and you knew that involved making a move. Your emotions were all wack, both agitated by the folder and anxious by Helen.

But restlessly, you still made a move against the odds.

The chair creaked naturally under the sudden weight, adding even more layers to the need to die. You hate this feeling. You hated that the one person you found interest in was sitting this close to you.

You didn’t know why every breath you took felt like an arrow spearing your heart—was it him? Was it the case? Or was it a mix of both?

Being immobilized by gushy chords, the graphite scratching next to you came to a momentary halt before swiftly returning to its ordinary irregular pattern. The pause left a prickly ache and an immeasurable abyss in your soppy organs.

Snapping out of the abnormal haze, you made it mandatory to remember that, at the end of the day, this was an internship. A job that both of you didn't want, and if you did, neither of you intended to be sociable (specifically him).

You got back on track; your hands glided more rigorously on your pivotal file; delicately, you unfolded the restricted document. The folder had a presentation page, making it seem more personalized and human than it was.

In a blueish-black color, a jagged handwritten name embellished the originally empty soulless template.

“Tom E. (Enzo) Stevens.”

You found yourself drowning in thought on the marked page. He was relatively close in age to you, lived in the same area, and for an unbeknownst reason to you, that title rang a bell. You could’ve sworn you’d heard it before, but yet again, that name wasn’t all that unique.

In regards to his death, it was virtually the same as the rest of the victims. He had the staple of the slit two inches below his jaw, but instead of his corpse being on display for the world to see, he’d been shoved off the sixth floor of an apartment complex (that wasn’t too far from your college).

Tom’s death was rushed in comparison and was not nearly as time-intensive as the others. The report drew it down to the realization of eyewitnesses, and if he had taken any longer, the law would've caught up to him.

Interestingly enough, a few regular drunks had seen the man’s figure on the building minutes before the murder, and due to this, it caused his biggest slip-up yet.

Unfortunately, they all made a few vastly different statements, going from brown to blue hair, then to pale to dark skin. 

But there happened to be one consistent variable: they said without a doubt he’d worn a paper-mache mask that'd been laced with a crimson grin.

Flipping the page, you are greeted with degraded photos of distinct items. Each object picture had mini-notes stapled underneath it, indicating what evidence was linked to it. 

You examined each sunburnt print systematically, trying to find any correlation between them, but to no avail. You leafed pages. You spent more time thoroughly inspecting each discolored paragraph. Your glistening eyes traced each victim and the corresponding articles that died along with them.

You could feel the air trapped in your throat as you swallowed faintly. The similarities, the rate, and the age ran shivers up your spine.

You were more than a perfect candidate.

You were shaken up by the realization. Your breath was off its typical route; you prevailed and kept a stone-cold demeanor. The chances of you being caught and killed by the murderer were low, (but never zero).

You just had to be strong; you had to be for this field of work. No matter how your hands twitched, you needed to find that strength for the people who couldn’t.

Browsing through the thin pages, you could sense something was off. You were missing something from the case. You skimmed through the entire folder once more before you put your finger on it.

You were missing the composite drawings.

Your mind readily changed from the haunting cases to the fellow peer next to you. Inches away, and you’d get your answer, but you weren’t sure how to ask, considering he shouldn’t have been messing with that folder in the first place.

Your curiosity brushed itself against you like a cat; you needed to know if he had it before, you started to panic. It wasn’t like you were asking for a pencil you’d never return; you were asking for the missing drawings on a report. 

This was serious, and you had to take it that way, no matter how accusing it felt. You turned from your desk to his. He smelled of graphite; its earthy and metallic aroma clouded up his station.

He seemed to be completely immersed in his work like he was in an altered reality of his own. The more seconds that flew by, the more you realized how lost in his artistry he was. You considered speaking up, not realizing he’d already noticed you in his peripherals.

As you began to open your mouth, he exhaled, stopping his precise charcoal brushing.

“Yes?”

He kept his voice conservative, not raising his tone above a whisper.

His digits remained intertwined with the slender soot utensils. He began to subtly tap at his wooden desk with the edge point like he was counting the seconds between each of your shared words.

Though he kept his face sharp and still, like an unmarked canvas.

“Do you know where the Bloody Painter composite drawings are? My folder seems to be missing them." You exhaled your words, trying to be as cushy as possible and not seem interrogative.

His melodic clicks ceased, and his clench on the pencil faltered. His pallid features stayed remote, trying to ignore the swift glint that glowed in his somber eyes.

“I took them from your file earlier this morning for reference. I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were confidential.” Tragically enough, you were unperceptive to the inflection in his voice.

He soon turned his wooden pencil horizontally, gently caressing the wood. He dotted his sea creature's eyes with yours. He seemed to search for yours like a pirate on a treasure-ridden island.

“You’re with forensic arts, right?” The second you began to speak, he retracted his vision back down to the smooth, polished floor.

He allowed the conversation to grow dry, mindlessly making his leg bounce his weight. “Mhm.”

You felt your chest being squeezed. You didn’t mean to mess up his art session, but you needed the composite drawings back before you could return the folder to the officials.

Your eyes traveled down from the side of his head, down to his triangular jaw, and then to the papers scattered on his side of the table. A certain sketch, however, stuck out to you; it varied in hues of charcoal and was dented with professional marks.

He looked around his late twenties, having semi-long strands of dark pecan hair framing his face. His eyes were dull, unlit with a murky, mud-like shade.

“Are those the composite drawings?”

An acute exhale came from his side as he now entirely rotated himself from his work to you. He didn’t keep his eyes locked on you, but he seemed more engaged, having a light rose tinted at the height of his cheeks.

He allowed the words to sink in: “Not exactly. They’re only my interpretation.”

You briefly hummed while he spoke, continuing to stare at his overly perfect works of art. It was immaculate. Of course, it didn’t compare much to the other pieces that he had full liberty over, but still, it was unbeatable.

“They look so good, though; you’re extremely talented,” you complimented, not knowing how your eyes sparkled when appreciating the craftsmanship.

Your words were more than honest and the exact thing you were thinking, but you hadn’t taken into account how he’d react to something like that. You silently huffed; he’d probably heard it a million times before, but you couldn’t help it.

Unannounced to you, he’d been gazing at you directly (for once) with no sign of retreat. Helen was taking in your eyes, and the way they glistened was full of reverence. He found himself soaking in it. He’d heard plenty of praise for his arts before, but the way you looked set the sail.

He’d need to sketch that later for better practice. He made some effort to take a detailed mental photo of it.

Stupidly enough, he stayed idly facing you, studying your features. Time passed easily, and you glanced back instinctively. He smoothly flicked his sight right back to his personal (inaccurate) composite drawing.

Unknown to him, his posture recoiled and formed an unhealthy "C," which was odd compared to his typical ruler-straight stance.

“Thank you," he gritted his teeth; like he was offended, the words even dared to come out of his mouth.

A smile found its way to your face. He was grateful that he enjoyed your appreciation, even with how passive-aggressive it seemed. You could see yourself becoming friends (or more) with Helen if he went any further with forensics.

You pulled away from your unusual lovey-dovey behavior, getting back on topic. “You do have the originals, right?”

He seemed taken aback, his once pensive expression leaving you. He tampered with his pencil; he pressed his fingers on the wood. His eyes now seemed fixated on a distant point.

He reformed his gentlemanly persona, trying not to lose concentration on the purpose of this conversation. “I do.”

You didn’t know what to make of his current wreck of emotions, but you decided he was just having a rough morning. Though you didn’t like how his interest fled again, you didn’t mention it, but you just wished he hadn’t deserted the conversation.

Helen moved his figure, reaching toward the feeble stack of paper centimeters away from him. His delicate fingers began flipping through assorted works and notes, trying to track down the originals.

The light of the class-like room reflected on his furrowed expression, highlighting his brow bone. The sound of rustling and separation seemed to recite throughout the room as you patiently waited for results.

He gradually made his way to an inked-out document, his facial features wavering. 

You could see a darkly printed facade of someone’s face. It must’ve been the original, going on the new assumption that the department didn’t trust college students to not fuck with the authentic piece. Maybe they were fearful that they’d spill something on it or try to steal it to sell on eBay.

He assertively separated any remaining sticking papers before hastily handing you the official print.

You respectfully put on an artificial professional smile, being polite to the artist. As for rule-breaking, his decision was for unintentionally stealing the reprint; you decided against reporting him to the higher-ups.

He was passionate, with an amiable soul and a gullible desire to redraw composite drawings. Sure, he was naive, putting his nose where it didn’t belong, but you couldn’t fault him.

He was just an overzealous painter, and that was all.

Your sight indeliberately flocked back to his side, mindlessly trying to ensure yourself that you hadn’t forgotten anything else. You glanced over a few pencils, pens, and squishy erasers before seeing a different, tougher sheet of paper featuring a distinctive man's physique.

It was a spot-on illustration of the lengthy description you had received of the Tom S. case. Just how much had he looked into your assigned folder? The peculiar portrait could’ve been compared to his actual face; it was uncanny how close he’d gotten your mental image of Tom on paper.

“That’s a drawing of Tom, right? From Tom Steven's murder?” You found yourself intrigued more and more by his virtuosity.

You speculated on the time Helen had lost to etching out victims from the infamous “Bloody Painter” case. You understood he was a part of the forensics art department, but how much graphic painting could one take? Plus, it seemed out of character for him to drain his morning by willingly outlining something that gruesome.

There was a wordless pause as your eyes watched one of his knees buck up and down at a similar, relentless pace. You could feel a pit of solicitude gush in your lower abdomen as if you had crossed a line. That case must’ve struck a nerve, and having to draw the victim probably made the distaste in his throat more drastic.

He had a short, delayed response to your words, losing his energy to keep this chatter going. “Yeah.” 

You tilted your head while studying the image’s graphics further. There seemed to be a vital mistake, leaving the drawing inaccurate and fruitless. While most of it had been on point, even having an abbreviated listing of how he was killed, Helen still managed to miss one important factor.

The constant marking, the slit that was supposed to be under his jaw

You wanted to keep it to yourself; you really did, but something in your soul ticked. You thought it over a few times, but it was futile as your compulsive behaviors made the words leak from your mouth.

“You forgot something. Bloody Painter left a laceration two inches under his jaw before pushing him off."

Like a magnet to a refrigerator, he snapped his sights back to his drawing. His neverending cavern of navy blue eyes thoroughly inspected his graphite marks. His salmon lips parted, charcoal eyebrows pressing against one another.

You knew it could’ve come off tedious and knit-picky, but you couldn’t help that nagging feeling that he’d appreciate your insight.

As you closed the space between you both to provide further aid on the unnecessary addon, he brought his attention to you. His dangerous mako eyes locked onto yours, making you feel stuck in an inescapable trance.

This was the first time he’d made eye contact with you.

He hummed one unnoticeable syllable that resembled a “hm” as he leaned an inch closer with the intent to absorb every word that came out of you. A clear indication of how deeply engaged he was.

Now that the spotlight and praise were on you, you couldn’t seem to do anything like a person getting stage fright in front of an impressive crowd.

You felt your body linger on autopilot. No person could handle this stimulation; at least that's what it felt like due to the chemicals pumping through your body. There was no need to react like this, but here you were at the mercy of his prestigious eyes.

Harboring and pleading your jittery breath away, you failed to take note of his defined hand nonchalantly creeping up on your mandible.

“Something like this?”

His pointer and middle were soon firmly planted against your flesh-covered artery. You could feel the pressure build on your sensitive throat, leaving a valley caused by his callous fingers. By this point, you were sure he could feel the way your pulse battered out of your chest.

The only solution to this was that he must’ve been a visual learner. That was the only viable explanation, but still, you found yourself warm to the touch. The air shared felt solid, palpable, and able to be cut. 

But being so intertwined with your own cords of emotions, your brain glossed over the fact that he was pressed precisely where the killer always cut.

“Yeah, something like that." Your words fumbled over one another, not being able to tell if he could sense the tension he inadvertently created.

A mischievous smile was firmly tucked into his features. But before you could even pry into his preceding actions, a heightened beep buzzed from his pocket. He instantly backed his hand away from your neck, letting it rest on his thigh.

His light appearance was brought down by a sudden weight as he withdrew a slick gray phone. You caught a glimpse of the vibrating screen as he haphazardly let it ring.

"Masky. (Ignore if possible.)”

He huffed as his skinny face expeditiously contorted into a solemn deadpan. His leg went right back to a musically animated bounce before leaving your proximity.

He dragged the cellular device to his ear; his sight darted down to you with a velvety expression and whispered, "Sorry– I’ll be back.”

You reverted to your senses, getting back into gear. You affirmed him instantaneously with a nod. His mood was upended by your assuring movement as he departed from your shared space, heading for somewhere more secluded.

Once his presence dissipated, you fully accepted the circumstances. Your breath was still uneven, and you even felt way too comfortable in your once-itchy chair. Your flushed state progressively cleared up; however, you were still bubbly from the previous altercation.

Without much thought, your perception picked up on the Tom Stevens illustration once more. You didn’t notice it previously, but there was a creative liberty added to his special composite.

A tattoo. You didn’t recall the description ever stating he had an emblem on his collarbone.

Especially one with an O and an X.

-

Written By: Verdana. (bogusbox)

Beta [Alpha] Reader: Sara. (tobyskitten342)

Mentions: @flufftober & @tobyskitten342

A/N: It's been proofread :D

-

[bogusboxed]

I promise to have day two out by tomorrow! No later than that. Editing took longer than expected 😭 (it’s 6k 🙏🙏)

[bogusboxed]

finishing up editing day two’s oneshot! Should be posted tmr! I can’t guarantee I’ll be do any more oneshots but we’ll see :D (p.s LOVE YOU GUYS 🙏🙏/p)

[bogusboxed]

Boxtobier ⊗ Day 1

"Go Big or Gourd Home.”

Pairing: Toby Rogers X GN!Reader

Theme: "Pumpkins." & "I've Got You.”

Rating: (PG-13)

Words: 3.9k

Trigger Warning(s): Vulgar Language & Descriptions of Scars.

        The rights to this character, "Ticci Toby," fully belong to Kastoway.

This is a fictional, harmless piece of writing; do not incorporate it into your daily life.

"I saw this on TikTok once!" Toby tried to speak before you cut him off. "Stop. Stop right there—we are not adding fucking mayo to this pumpkin pie."

You may have been trying to make a mess of the place with the poor excuse of trying to make a pie. But you weren’t about to add mayonnaise to this thing.

You sighed; maybe this wasn’t the best way to get payback on Tim.

⋇⊶⊰⊗⊱⊷⋇

An hour before this deranged chaos, you’d been called down by Brian and Tim.

This wasn’t anything brand new; you were usually issued some requests, among other things, like a few tips, reminders, and things to do while they were out on their mission.

But instead, this time, you were greeted with a heap of shit. That heap was a very unwanted critique of your work performance.

Of course, it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle constructive criticism. No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was his sassy little Southern attitude.

⋇⊶⊰⊗⊱⊷⋇

Brian had been leaning against the wall closest to the front door in his typical canary hoodie. He wasn’t wearing his ski mask yet, instead clutching onto the fabric with a shit-eating grin. He watched you both silently, like a hawk above two bickering rabbits.

"I know you can do better than... well, that."

Tim sighed, making direct eye contact with you while baring a half-lidded expression. 

He hadn’t seemed bothered by his last-second addition; in fact, he seemed relaxed, placing his hands into his jeans pockets.

He didn’t harp on it too much but made it clear he wasn’t impressed by your "lackluster conduct" on your last mission. It was his professional way of saying he thought your way of handling your missions was half-assed and messy.

But, to you, it wasn’t any of his business to judge and stalk how well you performed solo. You knew you were the newest addition to the proxies, but you were just as capable as any other proxy, if not better.

So, in a childish backstab, you invited Toby (of all people) to make a pumpkin pie with you.

To the average person, making a pumpkin pie was an extremely nice thing to do with friends. But the thing was, you weren’t in it for the pie.

You were in it for the anarchy of a mess Toby was going to mindlessly create, and he was more than happy to oblige, thinking this was just a cute, innocent activity you two were going to bond over.

Currently, you had just shoved the pie into the rust-covered oven; it was finally semi-done, and all you had to do now was let the turmoil simmer.

Taking a swift and profound inhale, you let your shoulders fall. Considering all things, your plan to get revenge on Tim was going perfectly.

Taking the time to scan the granite countertop, you found that flour had been recklessly scattered and even dumped nearly all over the place. To add to this disaster, the pumpkin puree you two had fought with ended up everywhere, including the ceiling.

Admiring the mess you bet Toby would make with a devilish smile, you turned to your fawn-headed counterpart. He blinked slowly, his usual sarcastic, hyper personality dimming to detachment.

He took a sluggish, staggered exhale like he finally took in the severity of the mess you two made.

"...Tim’s going to kill us," he stuttered, fumbling over his words while mindlessly furrowing his thick eyebrows.

Looking at his face, a mix of pumpkin and flour was streaked all over his soft, distressed features. From his freckles to his scars, the ingredients covered just about all of him. It was even on the shitty apron he stole that read, "To-do list: Let's Get Griddy Gang." (What deranged teen did he steal that from?)

The corners of your lips curled upward as he watched a mischievous glint appear in your eyes. "I hope so."

"What—are you a masochist? -I-... never mind. Don’t answer that." He huffed, shivering from the chest up.

Not because he was cold, but because he just functioned like that.

He swallowed thickly, watching the kitchen timer slowly dial down. He couldn’t accept the fact that you genuinely wanted to make Tim hate your guts, so he just watered it down to you being clinically insane.

Although he wasn’t too off target.

You had your entire scheme planned out on a whim; once the pumpkin pie was done, you’d place it on the countertop and immediately leave for your mission with Toby, all right before your "roommates" got back.

Staying in a still, dazing silence, you decided you’d go ahead and get the most arguably important element you needed for this dessert. The thing that’d tie it all together, like the cherry on top of the hurricane.

The whipped cream.

Leaving the lankier man’s side, you traversed through the disordered mess to reach the fridge.

Heaving the steel door open, you were hit with a frigid breeze of air that’d been accumulating inside all day. Ignoring the cold, you allowed your eyes to filter through all the items. From the pickle jar, milk, and beer to the black body bag.

Until you saw it. You immediately reached up to the skinny aluminum can, and your warm palms quickly reacted to the cold metal. However, something was off.

It was light.

His gaze retreated from yours, tension rising in his limbs. He sank inward, his posture shrimping forward as you eyed his motions. He scratched his palm, clearly trying to avoid your suspicions.

He mumbled sharply, narrowing his eyes while feeling his throat constrict, "I was hungry—what else was I supposed to eat? - Pickles?"

You sighed, dismissing his defensive behavior as you brought the half-empty can to the nasty countertop. You didn’t get why he couldn’t just admit it and move on. You didn’t understand why he had to get so bent out of shape for being called out on something as stupid as that.

Your eyes apprehended the surrounding clutter with satisfaction. Dropping his behavior, you softly nodded your head to the wreckage of the kitchen. As disorienting as it looked to the average person, the mess had looked serene to you.

Even with Toby’s unclear personality, you had to admit you enjoyed his presence. Having to live in this cabin in the middle of nowhere was mind-wrenching and would make even the sanest person question things.

Especially since you worked under that thing.

Although the people you considered to be your current coworkers weren’t all that bad, when you reached the top, you were finally separated from the others. After that, your life had become substantially more placid.

It wasn’t to say the work wasn’t harder than before, because it was. But at least here you had real free time. You had time to clear your mind away from all the horrors of your job without being bothered by a coal-haired, tweaked-out serial killer.

Plus, Kate, Tim, Brian, and Toby were easier to stand than the others you had to work with, and unlike the others, you didn’t mind spending time with them. But you just wished you could’ve all met under different circumstances. (Not that you’d ever admit that to any of them.)

Finally placing the whipped cream on top of the cakey debris, Toby decided he’d continue the small talk, "So, uh, what are we going to do about the mess?"

He watered the situation down, knowing you both could visually see the multitude of the destruction.

"Nothing," you replied instantaneously as he stiffened at your words. 

His view flickered toward you as his mouth slightly hung open, forming a silent "O." By his expression, you could tell he was starting to actually believe you had a death wish.

He muttered under his breath, almost not believing what you were saying, "Why?"

You kept quiet, deciding whether or not telling him the truth about why he was here would be a good idea or not. You knew he had anger issues, but you didn’t know if your deceitful actions would set him off or not.

But yet again, lying would just escalate the problem.

"...To get back at Tim," you exhaled softly, knowing just how childish it sounded.

He tilted his head at you. To him, the words that came from your mouth were foreign. He didn’t know how to take being associated with your crimes, but he didn’t mind it all that much. 

He just thought you were stupid.

"Yeah, 'cause that’s a good fucking idea." He chuckled at you, his healed mouth tear contorting upward.

In a hush, he still had a smile indented into his features. He wasn’t going to shoot down your plans entirely, considering he’d had his agenda of getting back at Tim.

Looking at you with his curved features, he questioned your methods, "Then what? I mean, he’s going to be back eventually, and he's going to be pissed."

"By that time, I should be off on my mission." You folded, admitting the rest of your plans to your now willing accomplice.

Toby held his tongue with a light smile. He began to lean back on the disaster of a countertop behind him, not thinking about the potential that it could stain the back of his hoodie.

You watched him lay the rest of his weight back before moving a hand to his temple. Strands of hair that once stuck to his forehead were fluffed as he allowed himself to drop his shoulders.

His nut-brown eyes were dilated and unfocused on anything you had to say.

All things considered, this was a pretty positive response from Toby. He didn’t seem all that tense, and you knew what he was typically like from the months you’d shared a cabin with him.

But, from his current expression, you didn’t have an ounce of worry that you’d get any backlash from him. In fact, he seemed all in on your naive rebellion against Tim.

He chewed on his raw bottom lip absently and said, "Y’know, I tried—to burn down the cabin my first week."

You felt your eyes blink several times before fully processing what he just said. Hearing that, you regretted not going further with your actions. (Poor Tim.)

You raised your eyebrows involuntarily, replying, "If you're still standing, then maybe I have a chance."

He breathlessly chuckled at your words, continuing to gnaw on his healed wounds. A droplet of crimson raced down his chin as he nibbled at it, not noticing the warm liquid trace his scar-filled features.

He stood there, still reclined on the granite, "Yeah- well, Tim dragged me along for any missions he had after that."

Hearing those words, you felt your throat tighten. Now you really couldn’t afford to be caught in the crossfire of this mess. But if what he said was true (and it probably was), You’d only be denying the inevitable of having to be followed by Tim for a good month or two.

But, yet again, maybe he’d have more mercy on you, considering you didn’t burn down the cabin.

*DING*

The dingy, off-white kitchen timer finally rang, breaking the slight silence you two had harbored. You felt yourself flinch at the abrupt buzz, while Toby didn’t seem all that phased by the sudden noise, and if he was, he was able to unconsciously restrict his movement.

You rambled some curse words before swiftly racing over to the 2000s stove. Your hands ran to the knob, cranking it off before grabbing two distinct, picnic-looking gloves from the stovetop you’d conveniently left beforehand. Hastily, you slid your red gingham-patterned mittens on as you yanked the oven door open.

A wave of heat blew against your face, causing a slight burning sensation on your cheeks. The warmth enveloped you, putting a thin layer of sweat on your forehead.

The heat messed with your vision as you aggressively blinked through it.

With the hot breeze, you could smell the pie. The aroma was soft on your nose, as hints of cinnamon and spice danced in the air. The addicting smell was enough to make you take a quick inhale before returning to your original focus.

Through the heated air, the oven’s interior light helped to illuminate the scene. The dim light revealed a perfectly caramelized pumpkin pie that sat in the middle of a metal tray.

Steam radiated from the pie, showing it was still somewhat cooking.

Reaching inside, you grabbed the blazing pan from the inferno. Lifting the tray, you could feel just how heavy the pie was.

The baked good was a hefty, dense pie that completely relied on your steadiness to not collide with the floor. You could feel your frame teetering, inches away from falling face-first into the oven.

You swallowed, trying your hardest not to tip over while still pulling the pastry out.

Finally retrieving the tray a little more than halfway, thoughts started to impulsively soil your mind. What if you went too fast and it tipped over? What if you had bent too far and there was just no safe way to retreat?

At this point, you could feel just how hot the cooking tray was.

You felt how the heat seeped through the fabric mittens and onto your palms. 

You needed to speed up before you burned yourself. Pulling the pan up further, you suddenly felt your soles slowly slip due to the pumpkin puree under you.

Dread filled you as you began to slide on the smooth flooring. 

You had accepted your fate, and while still trying to lift the burning tray to a safe spot, you started sliding fully. Thinking of a safe way to execute your plan, you paused your movement to not further the slide. 

That was until you felt a presence hovering behind you.

You would’ve questioned the person if you didn’t have a steaming pan stuck in both hands. Standing there, almost falling with the tray, two skinny hands quickly covered your own from behind.

Arms surrounded yours, helping you hold onto the pan.

"I’ve got you." Toby stuttered as he stabilized you and the tray.

You were stunned, to say the least. You did need help; you just didn’t expect it to come in this manner. He was close—almost too close for just friends to be. You could hear his rapid heartbeat as his muted, warm breath invaded your neck.

The sensation that this brought was so much warmer than the freshly baked pie that had been cemented to your hands.

Your thoughts felt like they were leaking out of your head like your brain was slipping out of your ear.

Noiselessly, you froze up like an idiot. Thoughts paralyzed you when you smelled the pine on his worn-out hoodie.

Every breath you took sealed your fate. You wanted to speak, but here you were holding your peace. The feeling pulsing through you had to have been what sinking in quicksand felt like.

He had planned on mirroring your movements from behind until you just decided to stand still like a mannequin on display, "Are you going to place it? Or what?"

God, you had been spacing out.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. Returning to consciousness, you forced yourself to continue your original plan. Ignoring the figure observing your stillness, you finally pulled the tray out completely.

The weight of the pie, which seemed almost unmanageable seconds ago, was now securely resting in your shared hands.

Carefully holding the fall-themed dessert, you maneuvered the both of you to the gasoline stovetop. The way you two cooperated felt like a team game as you both gently placed the pumpkin pie down.

Once the pan made a satisfying clink sound with the oven, his bony hands swiftly uncovered yours. He pulled his lean, well-formed arms, now fully away from your figure.

As you pulled your oven mittens from your warm palms, you felt his brisk absence.

Exhaling, you distracted yourself with the pie. The once-saffron orange had been reduced to a muted ginger. Near the edges of the circular treat was a deep auburn shade hinting that it’d been cooking using its heat. 

Admiring your work, you couldn’t help but think how good it’d taste on a crisp Halloween night.

The toasty atmosphere was still swirling, enveloping the both of you. Inhaling the aroma of the freshly baked pie, you could feel the lingering tension. Your breath stifled, trying to embrace the smell rather than your accusing thoughts.

A mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, and a tinge of cloves spread through the cabin like wildfire. Honestly, the pie smelled like a lit candle from a high-end store.

Looking back at Toby, you met his sight, "Thanks."

The words were plain and simple. Relaxing you could feel the heat of the room gradually decline.

"A-huh," he muttered back at you, resigning his gaze to the floor.

You watched him scratch the inside of his mixed hands more destructively than he needed to. The conversation was growing dry as you didn’t say anything in response to his dead tone.

Your sight soon hunted down the almost hollow can. There wasn’t much left. Not nearly enough for each slice to have its own dollop. Would one swirl in the middle be enough, or was it not even worth it at that point?

Indecisiveness flared through you as you decided to use this moment as a spark for conversation, "Cream or no cream?"

"Well, there’s not much left, but if you want to do one dumb dollop, then go ahead." He replied, picking at his fingers like he wasn’t the reason you were lacking whipped cream.

Looking at him this close, you could tell he was chewing the inside of his cheek. He seemed to have ignored what happened last time. Eyes tracing to the other side, you looked at the hollow gape in his mouth. Teeth ran up his jaw like a canine, revealing his darkened gums.

You tapped your fingers on the skinny can like a drum as his eyes flickered to yours. "Y’know, it’s rude to— stare."

You slightly recoiled, turning your gaze elsewhere as he dropped his head slightly to the side. Unannounced to you, a misshapen smile formed on his face. He was fond of the way you responded to his words.

"Sorry." You exhaled, knowing he was playing with you.

In response to your words, he lightheartedly giggled. He had a certain way of letting you know if he was upset with you, and this wasn’t it. But, still, you didn’t want to set him off in any way.

He knew he shouldn’t mess with you like that, but he found it so addicting.

You heard a firm click of the tongue, and unwillingly, you turned back to him. He was tracing his convoluted scars with his index finger; no blood dripped from the healed wounds. At this point, it seemed he wanted your attention.

He wanted you to look at his wilted wounds with loathing repulsion. He needed to hear you critique his looks so he could bury the feeling deep inside of him.

Instead, your sight trailed from his face to his arms and then to his hands.

His sculpted hands were littered with disfigured markings from his past. The valleys of his fingers had been flawed with absent chucks of flesh like he’d gnawed them off a while ago.

But that aged damage wasn’t what you were disturbed by.

It was the inflamed scarlet decorating his chapped palms. The marking seemed tender to the touch, unlike the rehabilitated marks everywhere else. He held his shaky breath in his throat, seeming to realize what you were skeptical of.

"...You touched the pan, didn’t you?" Your words came out loosely; you watched him swallow densely now, not enjoying the words coming from you.

He kept silent with a stiff expression (he got caught red-handed), "Maybe."

Of course, Toby couldn’t feel it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t injured. With the number of reckless incidents he inflicted on himself, you’d think he’d learned by now.

Typically, his only argument was that it gave you all the superhuman ability to heal wounds overnight, and while that was true, it could still get infected in that time frame.

Inhaling, you wished that he hadn’t helped you after all. He didn’t have to, but he did. Of course, you might’ve fallen on your ass if he hadn't, but still, there was a chance you wouldn’t have.

Maybe he was scared that you'd drop the pie you two worked so hard on, or maybe he was driven by a feeling of irrationality that had him doing before thinking.

You came to his side before calmly reaching out for his scorched palms. He withdrew naturally before he realized your intentions. He soon gently rested both of his unstable hands on yours.

Taking both of his trauma-filled hands, you investigated the swollen skin. You absent-mindedly started to run your digits all along the inflamed marks.

Reaching his palms, you could tell he was much warmer than he should’ve been.

In concern, you mildly pulled him by the wrist. Mindfully, you both treaded through the battlefield of a mess to the sink. You turned the faucet, bringing it to a slow, manageable pace.

Quickly, swatting your hand through the water to ensure it was at a safe temperature, you pulled his wrist again, motioning him to cool down the wound. He glared at you before giving in to your concerns. The water splashed the side of the sink in response to his hands suddenly changing the course of the mini waterfall.

He stayed quiet, looking down at you. "You realize I can’t feel it, right?"

"Yeah, but you’re still wounded." You rebutted his obvious observation, holding back the urge to say something witty.

You solemnly watched the liquid deliberately stop the inflammation. It wasn’t like you didn’t know about his medical condition; it was more that you didn’t like him denying his physical well-being. Sure, it wasn’t a big deal to him, but it was to you.

"...Thank you." The words dripped from the grit of his teeth lowly, almost like he didn’t want you to hear them.

You grinned hearing him force his pride away, "You’re welcome."

You looked him in the eyes and kept your smile. It felt right to help him, and it felt even better to hear him praise your efforts.

"We should probably-" He tried to speak until both of you were abruptly cut off by a noise neither of you wanted to hear.

The doorbell.

Heads turned to the front door; it was obvious they were back. Anticipation bubbled viciously in your stomach. How long had you two been messing around?

This wasn’t good. Neither of you was supposed to be here right now. It wasn’t part of the plan. You felt your body stiffen as you swiftly looked at your partner in crime. He seemed to stare at you just the same.

"Fuck."

-

Written By: Verdana. (bogusbox)

Beta [Alpha] Reader: Sara. (tobyskitten342)

Mentions: @flufftober & @tobyskitten342

A/N: I won't be participating much this year due to my personal life. Things are pretty messy over here, but I hope the oneshots I do post are okay!

-

[i-will-write]

[bogusboxed]

Since the day I posted my Boxtobier announcement I've been working at it and im still editing day two. 💀

[bogusboxed]

BOXTOBIER <3

More Boxtober is on the horizon with the SECOND one-shot book “Boxtobier”. 

Between this year and the last my writing has improved tremendously. So, I hope I can display that through this year. (Note: I may not do everyday.)

- Also update on my Proxy X Reader book... I’m still writing it. It’s going extremely slow due to personal reasoning but, after these five months I’m on chapter ten/50k words. So there’s some progress  💀

[bogusboxed]

Sorry if I dont post any oneshots for awhile!!! Currently writing a proxy x reader BOOK finally!

[bogusboxed]

“Taking The Backseat.”

”Taking The Backseat” -Tim Wright X GN!Reader -All Rights Reserved to Troy Wagner.

I do not own “Tim Wright” and do not take credit for him.

-

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Grief, Lost.

-

You fidgeted with your hands, waiting for something to change. You waited for something beyond what was set in stone and had half a mind to leave before it could happen. You couldn’t do it, but you also didn’t have the energy for that either. You didn’t want to deal with the reality of your life. You didn’t want to see any of them leave. Not when you’d known them this long. You worked so hard to keep everyone together, but here it was falling apart in front of you. You felt weak, with nothing but your mind to comfort you. But even saying that felt ironic, given that it was the very thing betraying you. It was overflowing with the future and the realization that you'd never see each other again. You felt much smaller and more insignificant than a waterboarded cigarette. You couldn’t have that light, and you would never give it away. The backseat seemed to cage you in, as you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Even when the trees peered into your vision. All you did was watch. You sat back and watched everything unfold. And maybe that was your problem doing just that. You exhaled a shaky breath as you heard a light exhale from the driver's seat. You looked up in the rear-view mirror to only see your reflection. You could see how tense you looked. How exhausted you looked. Though it was nothing in comparison to the man driving the car. Tim. He had his hair much longer than before with the combination of his thicker facial hair. He hadn’t taken care of himself, which was apparent in everything he did. The way he talked, the way he stood, and even the way he looked at you. You looked away from the mirror to the dashboard, focusing on the dark burn marks left on the thick, dark plastic.

"Your exit should be coming up soon." Tim glanced at you ever so slightly in the mirror as you uncomfortably shifted.

You wanted to curl up into a ball. Was there anything else to be said? Was there anything else you could do? You knew deep within that this was the last time. The time last you’d be in the back of his car. The last time you’d be in the backseat of things.

"A-huh," you muttered, not bothering to raise your voice above a whisper.

You couldn’t bring yourself to. You didn’t want this to be the last time. You didn’t want to lose your friends, though that had already happened. You all vowed to lose contact with one another, and this was it. You’d already lost Jessica in a memory. Could you bear to lose Tim the same way? Could you lock him away in memory? Did you have it in you to let him be happy? Did you have it in you to not be with him to the end? In the uncomfortable silence, you kept your poker face, not letting a tear roll down your face. You were so tired. Tired of everything. Tired of the way you’d do everything you could just for it to fall apart moments later. What were you doing wrong? Did you not do enough? Were you not enough? For a brief moment, your breath was suffocated by those questions. You weren’t ready to say goodbye. You wanted to be self-fish. You wanted to go down with the burning ship.

"Fucking hell," Tim huffed under his breath for a moment focused on something.

"What?" your instinctive curiosity got the better of you, snapping you out of your previous thoughts.

"Running low on gas," he replied as he turned on his turn signal.

He sighed, not in the mood for such stupid problems. You slouched, letting your posture fall as you rested your head against the side of the car. You could feel your seatbelt restricting your movement as cars passed. You didn’t know how, but you felt much calmer. Perhaps it was the fact that he was speaking to you, and it felt like a different, more nostalgic time than this one. It was sad in a way. It showed how delirious you were about the current situation you were in. Why couldn’t you just believe it? It was clear that this was going to happen, but you refused it at every turn. You knew the answers to each one of these questions. You wondered if, in a different life, you and Tim would’ve stayed friends. You wondered if maybe things just hadn’t turned out this way. Maybe Jay would still be here, but, yet again, what-ifs don’t solve anything. The trees that you passed only grew thicker as you went further. Tim eventually reached a small gas station in the middle of nowhere with overwhelmingly low prices. Though in the middle of nowhere, it felt so familiar. You weren’t sure how, but this place seemed to strike a nerve. As if it knew more than you did. He got out of the car just as you did. There was no written rule that said you needed to stay inside. Even when it made little sense for you to get out. You sighed in the fresh air as you got that familiar feeling of being watched. And by the look on his face, Tim could tell that something wasn’t right. Yet, neither of you made a move to go investigate. You both stood there, letting the car fill up. You didn’t bother to run, but you also didn’t care enough to go toward it. You both were just sick of it. That buzzing sound in the back of your mind, in particular.

It was still midday, which felt like an odd time for something like this. Something as depressing as this should’ve happened in the rain or maybe at night. But, no it was in the broad daylight. You exhaled as you tried to stay away from Tim. You tried, but you still felt magnetized by and drawn toward him. He felt safe. He made everything mentally okay, even when he wasn't.  He didn’t seem to care enough to comment on your closeness as he finished up his car. He made sure to take his time with it. It almost seemed as if he too was trying to deny the inevitable. The inevitable of getting back into that car. The car that would lead to each other's end. He stood there for a moment before looking toward you.

"I’m gonna go smoke," he informed you, knowing it wasn’t the best of times but still itching to feed the addiction.

You glanced at him for a moment as he left your side. You decided to follow him, which he took immediate notice of. You could consider this an invasion of his personal space, but you'd never see him again. So, what was the risk? Luckily, he didn’t say anything to you and just let it happen. You followed his anxious frame a little to the side of the gas station. Trees blocked your primary view as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette. You leaned your back against the harsh concrete wall of the station, watching the trees wade in the wind. As you heard the flick of a lighter, you could feel the cold brush against you. You could hear Tim muttering random obscurities under his breath as the number of flicks increased. You turned your head toward him as you watched him aggressively try to get his fix. Though his lighter had been worn out. You felt a smile appear on your face as he looked at you through his frustration. You could tell he processed it for a moment as a pink dusting tinted his face. He looked at you for a moment before you reached into your pocket. You felt your way to the cold metal that was your lighter. You didn’t tend to use it all that much, and you bought it because of Tim. Within one stern flick of your lighter, the flame appeared as he lit his cigarette with no problem. You wondered if this were going to be the last time you’d get to see him like this. Would this be your final memory? You didn't know if you were ready to let him go. You didn't want him to exist only in your memory. You wanted him to be with you. He seemed to take note of your tense posture.

"It’s not all bad." he exhaled smoke as you got it secondhand.

"I don’t want to lose you." you sighed, hesitating for a moment with your words.

If these were the last moments you were going to have with one another, you weren’t going to take them for granted. You were going to tell him straight away, so you wouldn’t be thinking about it every day. Just so you wouldn’t lose sleep. Just to have closure even when you didn’t want it. He stayed quiet for a moment or two before he huffed.

"I’m sorry you feel that way, but this has to happen." he tried to be the voice of reason in a situation that had your heart breaking.

"It doesn’t. You're just trying to run away from something again," you told him, knowing how he could react.

Knowing you didn't want to understand his point of view. Knowing you didn't want him to leave your side. He visibly tensed up for a moment, not expecting that. Though he seemed to understand where your stress was coming from. He knew you didn’t want to lose anyone else, and neither did he. And that was exactly why he was leaving.

"Maybe I am, but we both know what’s going to happen if we stay. We can’t fight it, and I don’t want my last memory of you to be your lifeless body." he coughed on the cigarette smoke momentarily as you huffed it.

You couldn’t care less about the nicotine entering your lungs. You could’ve said something about it, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to. There was no way you were going to tell him off about smoking now. You were in too deep. Though his answer showed just how much he cared about Jay, even when he kept making mistakes.

"It's better that we part ways knowing we're still alive than dying in front of each other. We both don’t need that kind of trauma or at least more of it." He held his cigarette lightly, almost as if to have a moment of silence for someone.

You stood there for a moment, letting the silence sink in. You hated how selfish you felt, but it was the right thing, wasn’t it? But what if he was right? Even if it went against everything. What if he was right? You sharply exhaled. You had your reasons, but you couldn’t just keep him there. You wouldn’t be able to. You wouldn’t be able to convince him, and you knew it deep down. No matter how much you tried to deny it. No matter how hard you tried to deceive yourself, this was it. And you were spending your last moments suffering. You hated the fact that you became so close to him. You hated it. It wasn’t fair, but nothing in life is. Because even knowing you’d lose the people you loved you still choose to. You choose to care even though they will ultimately hurt you more when they leave. You moved slightly closer to Tim, knowing you were going through that right now with him.

"Do you think Jay would have recorded this?" you murmured under your breath as you gazed at the trees.

He seemed caught off guard by your out-of-the-blue questions as he tilted his head slightly. He wore an unreadable expression, but not a depressing one. But one that suggested he found it funny.

"I'm not sure, but probably," he huffed, appearing to relax slightly.

You weren't sure why you were asking about something that didn't matter, but it felt right. It felt sobering to have a peaceful conversation about stupid stuff with Tim rather than sobbing about something in the future. For some reason, you didn't want to think about the future. Maybe something had snapped inside of you, or maybe you'd just given up and didn't want to hurt anymore.

"Do you think in a different reality he would’ve tried finishing that movie instead of this?" you sighed in deep thought about meaningless things.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. Hate to say it, but the actual movie was absolute garbage." Tim looked toward the trees as well, maybe sensing something.

"So, why’d you come back? Why did you try to help finish it?" you looked at him for a moment as he averted your gaze.

"For my friends. For Brian and anyone else, I lost contact with. And I hate to say it, but I missed you." he seemed nervous to admit it but decided to go with the truth.

Knowing this, it was apparent, and you should’ve seen it coming. But you just thought of it otherwise. It was kind of ironic that Tim went after you, and now he’s trying to leave you.

"Same reasons over here." you hoped he understood what you meant, and you were sure he did.

You both stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s company until a light buzz started to ring in the back of your mind. And you knew what it meant. You knew that it was over. You knew what was going to happen, but you wanted to control for once. You wanted to have a choice for once instead of everything being taken away. Even when your choices were so limited.

"I'm going to stay here," you admitted to Tim.

You weren’t going back in that car with that awkward silence. You wanted it to be a happy memory just like this one, so you opted to just call someone else. He seemed hurt by your words and also felt the urge to argue against them. But he knew what he had chosen, and he couldn’t go back.

"You take care out there," he said, looking at you making eye contact and as you looked back you were hit with a different kind of pain.

He looked like he had so much more to say to you, but chose not to. You both left it on that note, as the static only increased. He had hurried movements as he seemed to worry about you. You dismissed his looks. You remembered watching him get into that car and the way he looked at you for the final time. You remembered the empty feeling in your stomach. From when he left your side to when he left your sight. You let him go. You had to let him go because he was your favorite person and you could only manage to wish the best for him. You wished you could’ve said you went back into his car. You wished you could’ve said you didn’t find his missing poster a week from that day. Though that wouldn’t be true if you did say that. Because you didn’t do that. 

You didn't get back into his car.

-

[bogusboxed]

“Bedridden.”

“Bedridden”

-Brian Thomas X GN!Reader

-(This will be more a CRP ver.)

I do not own “Brian Thomas” and do not take credit for him. 

-

You laid there against every sense you had left. You muttered multiple things to yourself, knowing you should’ve contacted someone else for your needs. You thought of meaningless things, knowing he’d arrive soon. You were bedridden with nothing better to do than watch the raindrops rush down your windowsill. You huffed, feeling the more sensible side of things make their way into your mind. You knew better. You knew better than to reach out to someone busy with everything. Brian or Hoodie, whatever he preferred to be called at the moment, Nonetheless, he came to your rescue in the end, against the odds. Which was pretty out of character for him, though you weren’t saying you were unthankful. You just wished it could’ve been someone else, but in the end, no one else was available. They had all been out doing their own thing. Some were after targets for the operator, and others were resting. But, still, none of them came to you. And that left you with Brian. It’s not like there was anything wrong with him. You liked him. You liked him in a different way than your heart allowed. But that was beside the point. People looked up to him as a leader, and it was most likely due to how stable he was. Well, as stable as someone could be as a proxy. He never lashed out or used his authority wrong; he was mostly just there for guidance. And that’s what people used him for—nothing more, nothing less. I mean, of course, he had friends such as Tim and Kate, but that didn’t mean he was extroverted. It was the complete opposite. You sighed while watching time go by without feeling much, knowing it’d stay that way. Time would go by each day, and you’d still be here with minimal contact with anyone. Expect Jack, but he only came to check on your health. He never stayed around all that long. The entire house functioned as a team, not a family. You bit your tongue as you heard a familiar door creak to your right. You averted your gaze not sure how to feel knowing someone was here for you. that someone took time out of their day to spend with you. It urged something in you. You muttered as you heard the door shut behind him. You almost thought it was Jack until he spoke.

"[Name]?" His voice broke the silence as you turned toward him wanting to thank him for joining you but not wanting to hurt your dwelling pride.

"How are you feeling?" He spoke with a soft tone, but through it, you sensed a feeling of assertiveness.

You were sure he didn’t come off that way, but he just happened to do that. You huffed lightly turning to him still in some groggy mood but it seemed to fade looking at his soft welcoming stance.

"I’ve been better." you fidgeted with your hands not wanting to push on any further seeing as your heart fluttered looking at him.

You felt your face heat up the more you thought of him. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to feel that way. You suddenly wished Jack put you on some sedative even when you didn’t need it just to avoid this. He sat on the chair next to you that Jack had put there for his use. You thought of the not-so-very-fond times Jack would ask you questions on questions in that very chair. As you sat up, leaning against the backboard, you pulled up the covers to stay warm. You wanted to make sure you weren't just laying down the entire time; you wanted to show some form of respect to him even if you were sick. though your thoughts were interrupted by what he had. He held something in his hand. You tilted your head at what he brought so subtly, but you were sure he noticed.

"It's some paperwork I need to clear up." Thought I’d do it with you," he answered your look as you internally sighed.

You did not want to fill out paperwork while being sick, but you also were fed up with being so alone. So, you bit the bullet and decided to just nod. He rested the papers on your knee-to-thigh area but kept them more laid out on the bed.

"Sorry about this," he stated under his breath, and if you didn’t know any better, you'd have thought you heard a bit of nervousness in his tone. You chuckled, thinking about a nervous Brian and how he would look. You'd bet he'd look cute.

“It's fine” you reassured him, slowly becoming interested in his work.

Seeing as you had no other choices for entertainment, you could only think about how focused he was. You wanted to know what he was doing with the pen he held. You wanted to know the thoughts that ran their course through his mind. You stood there for a few moments, watching him scribble ideas and half-thoughts onto the paper. You reached out for his hand. The gloved hand held the pen. You laid your hand on top of his, now holding the pen along with him. He sat there for a moment before continuing. His writing flowed onto the page as you mentally followed. Sometimes you’d be able to piece together what he was writing by following it out in your mind. You'd put together letters and consider how they all fit together. As you looked at his covered face, you didn't pay much attention to the ink. You wish you knew what looked decorated his face, no matter what it was. You wanted to know. You wanted to know if a soft dusting of blush coated his lovable face or if it was a focused, stern gaze. He stopped again as he tilted his head toward you. stopping his efforts and making undeniable eye contact right back at you. His stitched frown and his stitched red eyes wouldn’t let you in, but maybe he would. Maybe he would allow you to see his face, which you were finding yourself wanting to see. As a last-ditch effort, you used your free hand—the one that wasn’t currently laid on top of his—and slowly reached for the bottom of his ski mask. You went slowly and cautiously, fearing you would provoke him. You wanted him to know what you were doing. You weren’t trying to surprise him, and he seemed to know your actions. He knew what you were trying to do. You tucked your hand under the mask, slowly pulling it up. He made no effort to stop you, even though he very well could. He could overpower you within moments if he wanted to. He could have stopped you, but he didn’t. You never expected this coy behavior from Brian, but yet again, you did. as your hand brushed against his shaved facial hair, pulling the mask off completely and having it rest in the palm of your hand. You saw how his hair fluffed up as a result, and how his hazel eyes never really left yours. He had a constellation of freckles dotting his face, and you wanted to count each one of them. Trace your hands over them. He blinked a couple of times, knowing he was in a vulnerable spot for you, but he didn’t seem to mind. He trusted you. That was already enough to strike something.

"You really are special, you know that?" Brian whispered to you without missing a beat. It left a soft sensation that permeated your body.

You could feel your breath stifle for a moment. You both gazed a little longer as he took the hand you laid over his. The rain only came down harder. There was no longer a sound of a pen marking paper, but that was the last thing you thought of. That was until he softly let go of your hand, grabbing hold of his pen again. He began to write again as you sat there, taken aback by everything. But you eventually caved again, resting your hand on top of his, this time freely gazing at him. It was a special moment between you and him that you didn’t expect. But, even with all of this, he never did say "I love you." at that moment, as you had wished. Though some part of you told you he felt the same way about you too, you could now clearly hear the rain that continued to pour down the window with the additional pen marks. You took in the moment. You hoped to get out of bed soon. You hoped you could spend more time with Brian and maybe even everyone else. Maybe once it was over, you could ask him. You sighed while watching him flip the page. But, seriously, who chooses paperwork as a bonding experience?

-

[bogusboxed]

Boxtober - Day 31: "The Halloween Massacre."

Day 31: -The Proxies X GN!Reader “A Sweet Treat” x “I’m not alone, and neither are you.”

I do not own any of the proxies and do not take credit for them.

-

Trigger Warning(s): Graphic Descriptions of pain, Blood, Violence, and Fear elements.

-

When the glass shattered into your hand, you weren’t sure what you expected. You were barely hanging on when all of this happened. You had just hoped everything would clear up. You just wished you could’ve gone back in time and warned the past, even though that was far from now. You shifted as you could still hear the recoil from a mile away as a warm crimson ran down your arm. You recalled the moments that led up to this heart-pounding moment as you could hear faint yelling in the distance.

You lazily woke up from your nap, not caring about your current surroundings and just trusting that it wasn’t anything bad. You could feel yourself leaning against something warm as you felt a gentle bounce push you up. You shifted from where you had been partly laid. You muttered something, feeling your eyelids heavy on your figure. You were still filled with a tired haze, but you also had the desire to know what was happening around you. You blinked your eyes open, looking around lazily. Though your fatigue was strong, you still managed to get a grasp on your surroundings. You were in your shared van with your friends on an open, rocky road on some back road that Brian swore he knew. At that point, you were confident that the bouncing was coming from and being caused by the roadways. And for some reason, you were comfortable with seeing it as almost a regular thing. You huffed, going back to your original spot to get some more shut-eye against the metal. At least that was the plan until the van hit a larger rock, making you go into flight or fight mode. You could hear a sharp cuss come from the person behind you, the same person you had been coincidentally leaning on.

"What the fuck?" Toby cursed at the two men who were operating it in front.

You could feel your soul spike from internal regret as you pulled yourself away from his shoulder, not knowing how you’d been resting on him. You felt a sliver of cringe and pity for him, but he didn't seem all that upset, as if you hadn’t crossed a line and it was just you over-thinking. He seemed pretty contemptuous about it all, just upset at the reckless driver ahead. As you processed everything, you fully realized that you had been in a van. Though that was obvious, you had just fully taken it in. You hadn’t a clue why you were here or when you fell asleep, but even so, you’d gotten distracted by the events that were currently taking place. You exhaled, calming down from the initial high of being rudely awoken. Though, in the shadows of the van, you could see Kate’s figure sitting a good distance from the both of you, as Masky and Hoodie had been in the front. You should have been facing the masked men that Toby was currently cursing at, but instead, you were getting used to your current surroundings.

"I can’t do anything about that," Brian muttered while driving the van, occasionally glimpsing in the mirror to see the three of you.

He sighed firmly as Toby huffed in response.

"Looks like you're finally up, [Name]" Kate hummed among the chaos with a sweeter voice than the other two.

She seemed happy to see you finally up.

"What’s going on?" you yawned faintly as you could hear Toby shift to the left of you.

"Mission," she answered you as you sighed, not wanting to go on a mission.

But you were also not about to fight her words. So you just accepted what was going to happen shortly. Though it was weird how often you’d lose track of time and how much you’d end up in situations like this not remembering a single thing. But you did know one thing, and that one thing was the fact that it was Halloween night. The one night everyone was out and you’d all fit in perfectly. So, you all probably wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking, though you were sure Brian was still going to make you nonetheless. He'd say it was a good practice or use some other mentor wording.

"It's Halloween night, isn't it?" "Wouldn't that make tonight riskier?" you inhaled, just putting in your two cents' worth of effort.

"Well, I forget about that but hey nonetheless happy Halloween." Tim joined in for no apparent reason, huffing.

He seemed oddly tired with the way he spoke, but, yet again, he always spoke that way. You gazed at the man in the flannel for a moment or two. You made a noise in agreement as you could feel meaningless stares directed at you. Though still, no one answered your question, the van continued on its voyage, being driven by Brian's calculated swerving. You exhaled wanting to know what to expect but not wanting to push anything.

"The mission shouldn’t be that bad; it's just a target downtown." Tim seemed to notice your anxious glare as he tried to comfort your shaken state.

You exhaled, accepting his words with ease, seeing as how Hoodie would've given a ten-hour lecture if it had been a harsher task. And in doing so, Tim mentally told you he didn't want to be there either and comforted you about your anxieties. Afterward, the van quickly sank into silence. No one spoke, having nothing to fill the void of noise, though it wasn’t all bad. You had each other's presence, and that was more than enough. Just to have no words uttered but, only each other's shared memories to comfort one another. And you could tell that even with Toby upset, he wasn't going to be permanently angry. Because at the end of the day, you all only had each other. Because there was no sane person who could ever go down to your level or even understand what you all went through. No one could ever bond in the way you all five did, and it would probably stay that way for a while.

Though your train of thought was interrupted by Brian suddenly stopping, and as Toby's silent rage rose, you looked out of one of the nearby van windows to be met with an expansive neighborhood. But it wasn’t just any normal neighborhood. This one was covered by various Halloween decorations and all sorts of spooky treats. It looked like a neighborhood that someone would write up in a book due to how many celebrated the spooky day. The place had been covered in different blaring lights as kids ran up and down the streets, clearly on a sugar high. You could mentally hear the screaming the children let out for no apparent reason. You internally cringed watching the younger kids go ham as mothers sat back not caring about what their kids did. even if it meant stealing the entire bucket of candy. And you didn't even want to imagine the angsty teens at this time of night. And after looking at this spectacle, you suddenly remembered the burden of the holidays. You remembered why the creeps didn't celebrate them all that much. You could hear Toby let out a string of cuss words, knowing this mission just got vastly harder. You could feel the desire to just stay in the van and go back to bed burning within you.

"Alright, Kate and Toby will head toward the east side of the neighborhood while Tim will stay back to keep guard," and before Brian could finish his explanation and give his direct orders, Toby interrupted him.

"Of course, Tim doesn’t have to do shit," he complained as Tim chuckled lightly, knowing his part of the mission would be a breeze.

"Anyway, me and [name] will head north, and don't forget to use your walkie-talkie if anything gets dicey." Brian adjusted his ski mask to cover his entire face, as Kate had already made a move to leave.

It seemed that even when those two had been sitting for hours on end, they still seemed ready to go on their assigned mission. Meanwhile, on the other hand, you were exhausted for no apparent reason other than your body wanted payback for something you couldn't even remember. You could hear Toby grudgingly forcing himself to get up and follow Kate, with whom he was paired. He grabbed a few knives, knowing that it wasn't a good idea to bring a real axe into the public, even if it was Halloween night. Though, thinking about it, Brian probably put the two together so Kate could make sure Toby didn’t do anything too stupid. You had to give it to Brian; that was a pretty smart decision on his end. Because you knew that if you let Toby out on his own after being a rogue proxy for so long, he'd probably kill more than half the neighborhood. Though you were sure that Kate was comically murdering Brian in her mind for setting her up like that,

You thought to yourself as you got out as well. You bid the rest of your friends' good luck, as Toby still mentally stabbed Tim with his stares. You looked around your surroundings once again, taking plenty of mental notes. like how the van was parked on the side of the road in a darker part of the neighborhood to not draw any suspicion. Another part of it was that none of you had dressed up since you all looked right at home during Halloween. None of you would stick out, so you didn’t bother to change. The only one who might get stared at would be Tim, but he could probably disguise himself as some southern cowboy. Your shoes hit the concrete as you followed Hoodie closely, watching his stiff figure make progress quickly.

"Scouting only," his tall figure muttered.

You knew it was him speaking, but, even with his voice, you couldn't feel safe with how intimidating he looked and sounded. You could only hear the muffle that was his voice. You nodded in obedience as he stood tall, letting himself blend in.

As the two of you got into the more populated part, kids seemed to avoid the both of you. They gave Hoodie a horrified look in a discreet way, but you didn’t think much of it until a kid screamed and ran from him. You both stood still. You let out a light chuckle, not expecting to witness that, and clearly, he didn't either.

“How are you scaring kids by simply existing?" You looked at his frozen frame as he tilted his head toward you as if to say he was glad to know he wasn't the only one who witnessed that.

"I haven’t a clue," he answered disappointedly, knowing how scared he must have looked at those children.

But to you, it was pretty funny knowing his goal had been not to draw attention, and he did it by existing. He broke his own goal by just naturally looking scary. It was cute at the moment, but it eventually got drowned out by the thought of your mission. And how truly sinister your shared mission truly was; thinking about it ruined the atmosphere you two had for a moment. You mentally ignored it as you went further into the northern part, but Brian still managed to make kids run. even with your shared thought process. You assumed people thought the same way you did when you guessed his scary traits, which were his height and his mask.

The breeze was gentle as kids raced past the both of you, occasionally dropping a fun-sized candy bar along the way. And you could tell Brian couldn't tell if they were running either out of fear or because they were having great fun. He was never the best at reading social cues. You looked up at the dark sky, with only the moonlight to light the area around the two of you. You smiled to yourself, seeing how the both of you were so relaxed at the moment, even with the accidental scares. The stars twinkled as the night grew deeper, and the need to finish the mission was only growing.

"You think the others got anything?" you asked, breaking the silence, and he sighed upon hearing you not use any code lingo.

. He was disappointed in your lack of hiding the fact you were after something. He glanced at you for a moment before detaching his walkie-talkie from his belt and placing it to his ear. He seemed to agree with wanting to know any updates. You could hear static blares as well as faint voices from his end.

"Did you find them, over?" he answered to someone on your shared end, as you could hear a feminine voice. It was probably Kate talking to both of them.

You stood there listening and watching him use the walkie-talkie seamlessly with little to no struggle. And when he did so, the only thing you could think of was the last time, which was Toby’s absolute struggle to use one. You remembered that you both sat there, with you laughing and him turning like twelve things that shouldn’t have been turned. You lightly chuckled to yourself when you saw Hoodie getting anxious due to how long he’d had this thing in his ear. He was probably just nervous enough to be slightly out of place as he spoke again.

"Got it over and out." He huffed to himself as, through his ski mask, he gazed at you.

You motioned for him to go ahead and give you the news from the others.

"They overheard some party in the west region, and it's sounding like our target is there," he answered to your motion, watching your smile fade a tad.

You exhaled upon hearing that it was going to be in a public place, though you did get a sense of reassurance that it wasn’t some poor kid trying to enjoy the holiday. You had no desire to become a child murderer on top of all the other things you've committed.

"What happened to the code lingo?" You lightened up the mood, sensing he was glancing at your anxious state.

He paused for a moment as the things he just said seemed to flashback, and you knew he was going to beat himself up after that one mentally. You chuckled at his stance as he loosened up upon seeing the smile laced across your face. He just couldn't bring himself to criticize the way you attracted attention in public. After a good minute of taking second looks and making sure to retrace everything, you soon both concluded to head back to the van, seeing as the other two were planning to do the same. You passed the same over-decorated houses, now somewhat recognizing the area. You hummed to entertain yourself as you watched kids knock on different doors. even with the decorated houses. There were still some that weren’t lit with any decorations, which wasn't surprising. People had the right not to celebrate the holiday for any reason; it was all in good fun nonetheless. You and Brian soon passed a fairly under-decorated house with a Halloween-themed bucket sitting on the driveway. The more you looked, you could see a flimsy note with the words "Take one!" written on it. You could feel a spike of interest rise as you went off the path momentarily and grabbed two childish pieces of candy. He stopped for a moment, staring you down and almost wanting to stop you. But he couldn't, not wanting to draw any attention by doing so. He stood there waiting for your meaningless tomfoolery to commence so he could get back on track. Though you could feel his stare burn into the back of your neck, you just couldn't find it in yourself to care about his disapproval.

"Why’d you grab two?" he huffed as the both of you went back on task.

"So I could give you one," you muttered, passing him the other.

He took it with hesitation, almost disappointed in you, but he seemed pleasantly surprised, all things considered. He stuffed it in his pocket, just as you did the same. The house lights helped you find your way, as you could now see the van in the distance with the streetlights reflecting its lack of color. And the more you looked at it, the more you realized that it looked like the type of van that would have "free candy" carved into the side. You'd have to joke about that with Toby later, you thought as you joined Brian's side. You exhaled as you could hear noise coming from inside. You glanced at Hoodie, seeing him freeze momentarily out of despondency. You both approached the ruckus as he grabbed one of the doors, swinging it open abruptly. You could tell he tried to catch them off guard, and he did. The noise ceased as he just stood there staring. And before any of them could explain themselves, Brian started to speak.

"I and Kate will scout from behind while Tim and [name] will go in directly." And Toby can just stay here." Brian had a descending tone near the end as Toby squinted at the man.

"This feels targeted," he muttered as he sat on the van’s flooring.

not liking how Hoody put it but also not minding that he got to stay back from the mission. You sighed in envy as Tim got out of the door and made his way out. He seemed to be enjoying not doing anything but smoking. He muttered as he grudgingly put on his mask. He wasn’t a big fan of his iconic mask and had his reasoning behind it. He shifted out as he stood next to you. You both stood still, taking in any input that Brian had to put in, seeing as the both of you got the riskier end of having to be in a more vulnerable spot. as they both took off into the more isolated part of the neighborhood and back into the forest. You and Tim started to head directly north, leaving Toby alone. It wasn’t the best idea to leave him like that, but it was even worse to question Hoodie's judgment. So you sighed, not caring enough about it to pry at it mentally anymore.

You continued to walk with him, knowing he had smoked before this. Even though at first you could never stand the smell, you eventually got used to it after spending so much time around him. And maybe that’s what he wanted to happen.

"Nice costume," you muttered, testing the waters to see if he was in a better mood than normal.

"Gee, thanks!" he exclaimed with barely any excitement in his voice.

Though he had a more raspy, tired tone, you could tell he wasn’t upset. You’d managed to catch him in a better mood, which would play in your favor. Especially during a more open mission like this, And you all knew he struggled with public spaces. You followed the unfamiliar concrete, trusting Tim to call you out if you made any mistakes. It was fairly dark, as you only had minimal lighting and sound to guide you. And the closer you two got to the house, the louder the music got. And the more people there were, ranging from kids just passing by to people who were enjoying the party a little too much and weren't children.

You both were about to report back to Kate about making it to the supposed house when a kid ran up to the both of you.

"Aren’t you two too old to be trick-or-treating?" The short kid stared at Tim with a sour look.

He seemed to target Tim, seeing him as the older and more elderly of you two. The kid wore an astronaut costume that was too big for him as he stood confidently. Tim just stood there awkwardly, really not wanting to deal with this.

"I'm here for the party, actually," he said, breaking the staring contest as the kid with his bucket in hand glanced toward the house.

"You’re not cool enough to go to my older sister’s party." He snapped out at the both of you for a split second.

You wondered where this kid’s parents were, but it makes sense why they just left him here. You needed to get back on track and task, but you couldn’t with the child in the way. So, you did the only logical thing. You were going to scare him.

"Don’t you know you should be out?" "There's an evil... beaver out at this hour," you mentally slapped yourself for the terrible story you just made up.

Even with it, you could feel the apparent smile creep up on your face. And you swore you could hear Tim let out a chuckle right along with you. The kid backed up for a second, looking around him. Paranoia was visibly setting in as he felt like something was watching him. though you were sure nothing was.

"Yeah, and he carries an axe to swing at his unexpected victims," Tim added, which reminded you of a certain person. as if to point and laugh at a certain close friend of yours.

"I'm not scared," the self-proclaimed astronaut huffed, as you could tell he was just by the way his hands were shaken.

And the way he looked around, he was visibly uncomfortable. He was fearing the made-up beaver.

"You should be," Tim muttered with an ominous edge to his voice.His voice was just dripping with a campfire scary story as you watched him tense up from fear.

The kid stood for a moment, flinching. He suddenly turned around and ran for it, dropping plenty of candy on the way back to wherever he came from. You looked at Tim, who now had a small smile pasted on his face. That was probably cruel, but there were worse things you could've done to the astronaut. For example, if he were your target, that would be much worse.

"Menace." You smiled right along with Tim as you heard your walkie-talkie go off.

You quickly reached for it as you placed the cold plastic against your ear. Your carefree stance quickly turned professional, ready for action.

"Hello over?" You broke the silence, as you could hear shuffling on the other side.

"I’m bored," Toby said on the other side as he dragged his words out.

Your stance lessened as you quickly relaxed into the phone, not hearing Hoodie's condescending tone.

"Just wait; it shouldn’t take long," you answered, as you could hear Tim scoff.

"..sure." He gave up on the walkie-talkie lingo as you hear him shift in the van.

He muttered things that the walkie-talkie didn't pick up. And before you could say anything else, he cut the line abruptly. You mentally cursed him out for being upset with you for not solving his boredom.

"Guessing Toby?" Tim looked at your less-than-stressed face.

"Yeah," you answered under your breath, tucking the walkie back under your shirt.

Tim chuckled at your disappointed response as the both of you got back on task. You gazed toward the well-lit house as you could see the shadows of people dancing.

"Teenage party?" You could hear him huff, clearly not wanting to be adults at a younger party.

You lightly chuckled at his response as you kept your eyes on the entrance and once again took out your walkie-talkie. You wanted to hear the next course of action, and you knew he wouldn't mind explaining every detail to you if you simply asked. You switched to Brian's line as you placed it against your ear.

"Hello over?" you broke the silence, staring at the house in front of you and Tim.

You could hear static for a brief moment as he placed the device against his ear.

"What’s wrong over?" Hoodie’s husky voice was well translated over the talkie as you took a second.

"At the house, what's the next course of action over?" You lowered your tone, not wanting anyone to hear you.

"Uh--" Brian was going to announce something before he sharply stated "Fuck" in a whisper-like tone.

You could hear the recoil of him shifting from whatever position he was in. "What?" You didn’t manage to keep your professional talk up, hearing the panic in the other male’s voice.

"Get out of there," he stated sharply, with a certain rasp to his voice.

Your face tensed for a moment as Tim immediately realized something was wrong. Whatever had just happened on his side was major. He would never joke about something like that. Something was wrong. Something was wrong, and you could feel it only getting worse and festering in your mind. You needed to hear Brian affirm that everything was okay as Tim seemed to get closer almost in a way to comfort your form.

"A rogue proxy is in the area, Jeff." Hoodie seemed to snap out at you, practically begging you to get the fuck out.

He answered your mental question as he was struggling on the other end. You could feel your stomach contort as you froze. Your grip on the plastic increased as your heart felt like it was being squeezed. You could feel your flight or fight instinct bubble up within you.

"He's headed directly toward your area; get out now." Your hands shook against the plastic, frantically trying to process it.

"Get to the van within five minutes. If you don’t make it, we’ll be forced to leave you over and out." Brian ended the line with those words, warning you of the danger in the area.

And the danger was something you hadn't expected. It was one of the rogue proxies who worked for no one but themselves and the operator. He would kill you on sight, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. Your heart was racing for once. You were up against an apex. You suddenly didn't feel like you were in control. You felt like prey, ready to be torn apart. You stood no chance against a rogue, especially not Jeff.

"Tim, we need to go." Your eyes widened looking at him as his eyebrows furrowed at you.

You could feel some form of cough come out of your throat. You could feel the fear the kid astronaut had gone through. You were wondering if this was it or not. Tim swallowed thickly as the both of you turned back to the van. He didn't question a word you spoke. He trusted you with his life. You both picked up the pace, not caring about bystanders. You didn't care about the eyes on either of you because their sight was going to be bludgeoned right out of them within minutes.

“What the fuck is happening?" Tim looked at you as his steps were heavy, following right along with you.

"Rouge proxy, it’s going to be a massacre in a few minutes." You got it out of your system as he cussed under his breath, following the similar way you had just been walking.

Though it made sense, the larger scene probably drew the proxy’s attention seeing that many people. Those people were just a way to add to his kill count. And the fact that it was Halloween didn't help. It was just too perfect to ruin. You should've expected this. You both took sharp turns, being under a timer that Tim wasn’t aware of. The pressure of both of your lives in your hands was just stacking up.

"Who?" Tim rushed out as you rushed up the concrete sidewalk.

"Jeff." You pushed yourself to keep up, not wanting to be next.

You could tell Tim froze upon hearing that news. You knew he hated those types of proxies. They had no care for anything and had completely lost it. But Jeff was worse than that because he dragged everyone he could along with him. And he was the reason you were here today. You could feel your straining muscles, but it didn't matter to you. A small pain or two was much better than having your brains splattered on the sidewalk. You could see the van in the distance. And for a moment, you felt like you had made it in time. You felt like you were going to make it. That was until you could hear a high-pitched scream come from behind. It was way behind you, but it was still enough to make you scared. And it ensured that you weren't safe until the van was on the move because now Jeff had made his presence known. The massacre had just begun, with no plans to stop anytime soon. And by this point, you’d all abandoned the mission, and this was life or death. If you didn’t get in the damned van, you’d be fucked. Brian couldn’t risk the lives of the others if you two couldn’t run fast enough. It was just protocol. You could feel something in your break when the van’s doors were open. Either they were waiting for you or someone else got to them first. But, luckily, as your scattered breath got into the van, Toby was still there.

"What’s going on?" Toby abruptly woke up from his nap, looking at your shared panting breath.

"Where’s Brian and Kate?" you looked at Toby as his eyebrow furrowed.

"On their mission?" He looked at you firmly before stiffening.

He could tell something was wrong. It was clear that Brian didn't have the time to warn Toby.

"There's a rogue proxy." Tim cut to the chase as Toby squinted upon hearing the name.

It wasn’t so long ago that he was one before he changed.

"Jeff," you answered the question he probably had mentally as his jaw tightened upon hearing that name.

Toby started to faintly visualize watching you two emerge from the van.

"I’ll drive." Tim looked at the both of you getting into the front of the vehicle.

You could feel your heart stop for a moment as your heart spoke for you.

"What about Kate and Brian?" you managed to say as Tim froze holding the wheel.

You'd just put that thought into his mind. He'd just realize what he'd lose if he took off right now.

“I—" He was going to say something, but he stopped.

It was almost as if he saw something that you hadn't. You could feel yourself becoming anxious as you needed to hear him communicate with you two.

"What?" Toby muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He took the question right from under you as you listened.

"They took the fucking key," Tim mentally cursed out Brian.

And even if that were a terrible thing for you guys, you could feel a sense of relief wash over you. You wouldn't be forced to make that decision.

"We’ll just wait for them; they shouldn’t take long." Toby stared at Tim montonely.

. He kept his emotions under wraps in a professional way, but you could tell by his tensing how scared he was.

"I don’t want to leave them; it's just protocol," he huffed as he tried to relax, but you could see his sight go into the mirrors to be aware of his surroundings.

You knew he was anything but calm; he was far from it. The longer the three of you waited, the more screams came from the neighborhood.

The more it felt like you guys were sitting ducks waiting to be shot, "We’re fucked." Tim took a cigarette out, ready to smoke his heart out, as he threw his mask to the side of his face, revealing his fluffy hair.

"I’m not leaving my fucking friends!" Toby snapped at the man in the flannel, not caring about Tim’s last statement.

He was getting fed up with Tim's pessimism.

"It’s Brian’s order." He lit his cigarette violently, not bothering to ventilate it. almost, as if he thought that'd be his final one.

"We can’t even leave if we wanted to, so stop fighting for fucks sake." You lost your voice at the two fighting about the situation.

“We’re staying here until Brian and Kate get here." You relaxed your stance, feeling the fixated gaze of Toby on you as Tim just smoked.

You saw where both of them were coming from. You knew they were just scared, but that was no excuse for fighting while a bloodthirsty animal was off its leash.

"There's the no man behind bullshit." Tim hummed as he let the nicotine rot his mind.

You could see him physically relaxed, leaning back with a smile laced across his face.

"Tim’s high, and I’m panicking." "You're going to be alone fighting that bitch, and I won’t be able to do anything about it," you could see Toby pull his legs up to his chest heaving.

He was stressed out so badly just thinking about the situation. And your heart went out to him; you didn't want to see him like that.

"I’m not alone, and neither are you." You looked at his frantic state as you shifted your figure next to him.

You reassured him that it wasn't over, and it seemed your presence was enough for Toby to get his breathing back on track as he aggressively leaned into you. You had to be his rock. His anchor, you would say, would be the thing that kept him from floating. You had to ground him from his thoughts. You could see Tim’s smoke blow into the back of the van as he was stressed over his mind. He never led missions; he had always been third in charge under Brian and then Kate. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to leave his best friend, and he couldn't, and he knew that even with what he had said. You could smell the flumes as they ruthlessly traveled to the back of the van, having nowhere else to go. You didn’t know what you could say to Tim to just make him calm down. But he was smoking, so he was probably getting it together by getting looser.

"What the fuck do I do?" Tim lightly chuckled to himself as he inhaled harshly.

He hit the steering wheel a few times just to get some of the stress off of him, and before you could comfort him, you heard something. You could hear someone running rapidly toward the van; your stomach dropped, not knowing who it was. You peered out the window to see Brian and Kate’s forms running toward the van. Your heart swelled with relief upon seeing the others. You could tell Tim was already aware of their presence as he quickly got into gear, putting out his cigarette on the dashboard. Kate had her machete in hand, and Brian had a gun firmly in hand. They were close to the van as you swung open the doors for them. Toby pulled a decent distance away from you, feeling better about seeing them. Kate headed for the back door as Brian aimed for the front. You could tell he knew Tim was in front as he rushed in. You could see the both of them relax somewhat as they settled in the van; they were weighing the whole thing down with their sudden arrival. They were huffing as Kate practically slid in as Brian tossed the keys to Tim. He turned the ignition as the engine roared for fuel. He got it into gear, pressing down on the gas, ready to bust ass. The vehicle took off as the doors were still wide open. It seemed like you were all in a hurry. You shifted to go shut the doors as you could see two figures in the distance. As you recoiled, trying to figure out who it was even though you already knew the answer, it was Jeff and Liu in the distance. And Liu had his gun pointed right at you. You pulled it back with all of your force, shutting one of the doors as the van bounced you all against the rocky road. The gunshot broke the glass of the shutter as you sat on the floor, feeling the shattered glass rain on you. Kate quickly came to your side, grabbing the other as she was about to shut it, and you could tell he was going to shoot again. And he was aiming right for her hand. You pushed yourself up, fully shutting the door, as the glass left on your palm was stuck deep in your hand. You could feel the pain flare up, almost like you'd just burned your hand. Your pain felt like a statistic that was skyrocketing and then drastically dropping. Your hands were over Kate’s as the bullet went against the metal doors. "Get down!" Brian huffed, as Kate had already done so. Both doors were now tightly shut, with one window broken. You could feel the glass against every part of your body. You shifted awkwardly, sliding down the metal door, as none of you had expected to see his brother among them. The rogue proxies never worked with anyone, which made them the way they were, but maybe they had joined forces for a common goal. Or maybe it was something else. You panted as you sat against the frame of the van door. You held your wrist, feeling a sudden burning sensation in your hand. The sharp, burning sensation was all you could currently focus on; nothing else seemed to matter other than the feeling. The feeling of a throbbing pain rising and falling with the bonus of a disorienting haze clouding your mind. You could see the glass now tainted with your crimson liquid. The blood ran down your hand and arm as you held your hand there. Seeing the clear, crystal-like shard stick out from your palm Kate soon reached out, holding your injured arm, as you could hear aggressive shifting to your left.

"Everyone alright?" Tim managed to get out, adjusting his hold on the wheel, seeing as all of you were now a good distance away from the soon-to-be massacre of a neighborhood.

"Yeah, though [Name] got their hand injured." Kate's voice was gentle as she grabbed the medicine kit that Toby had thrown at her.

"Okay, good. "Now, wanna explain to me why you two took so long?" Tim raised his voice in a panic; he seemed to be overwhelmed by the current events.

as Toby was staring at you with a concerned look. "We got chased in the forest behind the house," Brian answered for both of them.

"Mid conversation, we saw them, and once we made our move, we had to take a long way so they wouldn’t ambush." But, they saw us in the end, and we had to run for it." Kate sighed, pulling out an antiseptic and a bandage.

She gently reached for your hand, grabbing your wrist as she poured it on. Your hand burned with intense, sudden pain, and you could feel your muscles flare up as she kept a good hold on you. You tried not to move, but it just felt impossible not to. She waited for a moment before applying a bandage to your bruising wound. She tried to be as delicate as possible which was hard due to the fresh gash in your palm. She put a second of pressure on it, which you thought was for medical purposes but was instead for comfort.

"Thank you." She admitted her mistakes, feeling bad for your wound.

You just saved her from losing her entire hand. You made a noise that sounded like "Uh huh." You were just too sleepy to answer anything else. From the sudden adrenaline rush to the sudden wound, it was getting to be too much. It was probably just the blood loss. as you couldn’t move your hand as you gently placed it down. Everything felt sharp to the touch, and your hand didn’t feel usable anymore. as Kate pulled down her sleeve, swiping away any fallen glass on your figure. She was trying her best to make it up to you which you greatly appreciated from her and you could tell she knew.

Your hand was now numb as you took the pain relief that Tim had recommended. You could now see Toby’s figure slowly sit next to you to provide you comfort, just like you had done for him. He wasn’t good at vocal comfort, but he was doing enough just by caring. You felt your breathing become more regular, and you were not feeling the wound as badly. You could feel a sense of excitement arrive just from the fact that you made it out. You've all survived Jeff and his brother. You had lived to tell the tale, but you were sure he wasn't done with you. He'd be back, but it was nice for the moment. Tim relaxed, seeming to not be as tense as he once was moments ago. Though Brian, on the other hand, had his ski mask up to his forehead trying to catch a second.

"I hate rogues," Brian muttered, thinking about the mission that had just collapsed upon you all.

Tim laughed in agreement as everything seemed to lighten up from the original stress and climax of it all. You lightly chuckled, deciding to add a comedic moment to the new voyage, as you dug in your pocket and pulled out a piece of candy, handing it to Toby. It is now much more melted and less new, but candy is candy. You passed it, knowing it was the same one you and Brian had taken. Toby seemed to tilt his head eagerly while taking it. You knew he enjoyed chocolate as you relaxed against Kate. She didn't mind your dependence on her, as she even adjusted her position to make it more enjoyable for the both of you.

 What would your life be without the adrenaline you get from your friends? What would life be without them? You couldn’t imagine it, and you wouldn't, as Tim drove while he shared his cigarettes with Brian, who insisted he didn’t want one but took one nonetheless. And Toby munched on the candy as Kate watched your wound intensively. You had a group that cared about each other. You had a group that survived the Halloween massacre, and there was nothing much that could ruin it. other than dying, but that was just part of the risk. It was just a part of the fun of working for the operator, and you couldn't imagine being stuck with anyone else but your team.

-

A/N - We finally finished Boxtober !! I hoped all of you enjoyed it! <3

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[bogusboxed]

Boxtober - Day 30: “Letters Written In Blood.”

Day 30: -Nina The Killer (Old Ver.) X GN!Reader “I know what this looks like.” x Dear Diary

-I do not own “Nina The Killer” and do not take credit for her.

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Trigger Warning(s): Use of feminine nicknames, PTSD, Violence, Darker topics.

-

The door creaked as your hand came into contact with it. It’d been weeks since you’d been in your home. You didn’t even know if you’d call it home at this point. However, they swore they sanitized every square inch of your place, and it sure as hell smelt like it. The house might have been cleansed, but the memories that once were there stayed there. The memories of what went down still plague your mind: the taunting, the endless hiding, and the blood. The blood was the worst. You could still mentally picture where every splatter was, yet there was no trace of it ever happening if you told yourself three weeks ago that a serial killer would hunt you down. You’d probably laugh and brush it off. Three weeks ago, you’d been warned multiple times on the news to pack up and leave, but you didn’t.

And that’s left you with a tightly worn bandage coating your left arm. You could feel its strain, reminding you exactly why it was there. That's because of your naive outlook on everything. You almost lost your life to the infamous Jeff the Killer. He had a stupid name, yet that same stupid name made you shiver. That name made you want to crawl up into a ball and vanish. You felt vulnerable and alone. Days ago, you had people surrounding you wishing you well, and now you were by yourself in the same position as the day he attacked you. It is crazy how the media will absorb someone’s trauma for a week and glamorize it to the fullest extent. Then, in a good week or two, they’ll drop it faster than a hot pan.

Your arm was itchy under all of the bandages, but you couldn’t itch it due to the stitches. The stitches were trying their best to cover up the four-inch deep stab wound. However, if the press and the media were good at anything. It was pity, and that pity dead-ass paid all your medical bills. The doctors told you to rest easy to allow the wound to recover. But, how could you rest in the same house where it occurred? You inhaled as you tried to relax, taking it all in even with the feeling he’d try to finish the job.

You stood in your living room silently remembering the joy of being lazy on the couch. But, whenever you tried to think of something good, it’d be ruined by his face. The chlorine was almost enough to burn your nose, but you just weren’t focused enough on that. The house was oddly cold and dark. There were no lights on, and only a sliver of sun came in through the windows from the outside. You were just too scared to interact with any of your surroundings, thinking if you made a noise he’d appear. You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to once again try to adapt to your house. It’d only be a matter of days before people started knocking on your door for interviews and whatnot. You sat awkwardly on your couch like a kid at a family reunion with no one they knew. You let your shoulders drop as you grabbed the black remote on the coffee table. You turned on your TV, letting your fingers get used to the buttons. The first thing shown was your face on the news with the headline “Infamous Jeff the Killer strikes again on an innocent alone at home!” They made you sound pathetic. It couldn’t have been good for your mental health to watch that.

As you were changing the channel, your door’s letter slit was abruptly opened. Your heart dropped and started to race. As you found yourself frozen like a deer in headlights, you just couldn’t bring yourself to think it was him. As you unwillingly looked at the door, it stood the same. It wasn’t ajar or anything. Like nothing had happened. As you were slightly relaxed, your eyes tracked down the door to see a small letter lying at the bottom of the door. Your heart spiked, but not like before. You knew you’d get a few people from the press asking what happened, but not this early. You just got home. You weren’t ready to talk about it yet and have the entire internet mocking you. You swallowed nervously as you got up with caution. You walked to the letter slowly as if it’d explode. You crouched, grabbing the flimsy paper as you brought it to your kitchen table. You looked at the letter as you muttered something.

You dropped it on the table as you backed away. The letter was covered in streaks of crimson. You were at a loss for words. Was this some fucked up prank a teenager pulled? Your mouth was open as you swallowed thickly. Tears soon formed. You were too traumatized from that night to even do anything. You weren’t going to let that night hold you back. At least that's what you told yourself as you opened the red letter. The letter was sealed with a red wax symbol of an O with an X in the middle. As you peeled it off, the paper had red liquid bleeding from it. The ink must have been fresh. You open it slowly. The letter was barely eligible, but you got the message. The letter consisted of asking how great it must have felt and how jealous the person was. You feel disgusted and pity for whoever wrote it.

They fantasized about a guy who was so fucking greasy you could cook seven platters of bacon on his hair alone.

The writing ranged from joy to pure spite. It had threats laced throughout it. It wasn’t your fault that he broke into your house. You had and have no intention of ever seeing him again, let alone in that way. Thinking about him in that way made you want to puke. At the end of the letter were the words "Love XD, Nina The Killer XOXOXO." You looked at your cabinet as you grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. You wrote a letter back stating never to contact you again or you’d get the authorities on them.

You also suggested getting mental help because they liked a real serial killer, which is disgusting. You didn’t want to know if that was real blood or not. As you sealed the letter, you went to your door and slipped the note through. You had no clue if it’d reach them or not, but it put you at ease. It still makes you sick to the core to know that someone idolized that shit-bag. They idolized that man so much that they named themselves after him.

You wondered if it was a mentally-ill teenager who was on the verge of snapping or something else. Good thing you wouldn’t have to wait long to find that out.

It’d now been weeks since this had been going on. Every so often, most of the time at night, you’d get a letter slipped through your door. And you’d read it and proceed to write one back. You didn’t know why you didn’t report them to the police, and neither did they know. Maybe you found some comfort in knowing someone was watching you. Okay, maybe it sounds out of line, but, whoever it was, they promised to take Jeff off your hands if he pulled up. It gave you a sense of assurance that they would do anything for him. You weren’t the most comfortable knowing that fact. You knew they’d probably skin you alive for him, but you were praying for that 5-minute gap of time when they’d be distracted by him.

It was a normal day, like any other day. You woke up, read your letters, and responded. Well, that’s how you thought it was going to go. You walked into your living room to see yet another letter. As you walked to your door and crouched. You heard audio from your television. "SHIT,’ ‘I know what this looks like!" a feminine voice chirped as they turned the audio down. You stood still. Your heart was racing unevenly as your hands began to tremble. Your palms grew sweaty as your vision blurred. Someone was in your house. You reached for the doorknob, but you were quickly stopped by a much stronger force.

"Please, no please." you stopped as someone had a strong grip on your side as he did. You gave up, unable to fight back. You didn’t have the mental capacity for it. You could feel your insides start to hyperventilate as you made no move to run. As you felt tears effortlessly run down your face. You could feel yourself making quick pleas to whoever was standing between you.

"Bestie, cheer up, it’s going to be okay," the lady said behind you. "I'm not here to hurt you, BFF," she cheerfully said as you froze, attempting to turn. She slowly faced you with a large-cut smile like him. You faced the ground, shaking your head violently. "Chillax," she hummed as she forced you to look at her. She wore all-scene clothing, from the Kandi on her wrists to the colored raccoon hair. You didn't understand how she could act so normal under the circumstances that she had just broken into your house and had been stalking you for weeks on end. You felt her grab your hand. She transferred one of her bracelets to you. She brought you in for a hug. "It’s okay, bestie, don't let your crown fall," she smiled. You couldn’t speak. "I—Are you the one giving me letters?" you asked her quietly. "Yes babe, that’s me." she laughed excitedly when you recognized her. "Kinda happy I fucked up 'cause now I can tote just take what Jeff’s touched!" she chirped. "Huh?" your eyes slowly darted to her blue ones. "Imma be the next crime scene cleaner and cherish what he’s left, bestie!" she told you her plan. "Ever wonder where your used bandages go?’ ‘had to take 'em!’ ‘They smell just like him," she spoke as if it was normal to say those things.

"Nina?" you looked at her for her answer. "Yep, that’s me, Nina!’ ‘You should totes get MySpace and add me hon!" she rang. You flinched in pain as you looked at your arm. The bandage was turning a crimson red quickly. "Lemme clean it for you." she smiled as if she couldn’t bear to do anything else. She dragged you to your kitchen. She grabbed the correct medical supply. She’s been stalking you. She knew where everything was and how everything was supposed to go. It sent a quick and urgent chill down your spine. She grabbed both of your sides and placed you onto the countertop with ease. "Your BFF is here to clean that wound." She posed with a scalp to cut the bandage. You weren’t sure why you weren’t running or screaming. Maybe you were just in shock.

Nina carefully grabbed your arm and started to cut the bandage. Your tears fell onto the top of her hand. She squinted her eyes at you as she tried to ignore them. "This still has the DNA of him’ ‘Y'know, it takes seven months for the touch to fully go!" Nina hummed as you felt a heavy weight on the inside. "Why haven’t you gone after him’ ‘why are you still here with me?" you choked out of your light sobs. "Because queen his DNA is still here plus I have no fucking clue where he is ‘I’m trying to find my Jeffie poo and when I do I’ll leave" Nina chuckled as she purposefully touched the inside of your wound. You flinched. She raised her digits to her mouth with a smile. She licked the blood. You sat there aggressively staring. It wasn’t like you could do anything else in your state. You didn’t know, but you felt scared and even saddened to hear she would leave you. You were scared he was going to strike again, and you wanted her to keep you safe. "I-I don’t want you to go," you whispered. But she heard you fully. Her motion came to a full stop as she looked at you. In complete and utter shock. "Huh?" her voice was soft and confused. "I’m scared." you don’t know why you were telling her, but you felt inclined to. She looked to the ground.

"No one’s said that before," she said quietly, almost to the point where you didn’t even hear her. Almost in disbelief, someone could feel the need to have her around. "Coolio", Nina played it off as she tightened your bandage. "Looks good!" she smiled harder as you scooted yourself off the counter. "T-Thank you." you were still shaken up, but you managed to spit it out. "Your welcome bestie" she posed as if she was going to take a photo. She hummed something incoherent as she soon left the room by skipping out. You could still hear her, but you knew she wasn’t going to stay for long.

You stood still for a while, not sure how to take it all in properly or even what to say about what had just happened to you, so you just stood there. Your breath was uneven from the sudden rush of adrenaline you’d just been forced to have. You weren’t sure why you had no intention of calling for help, and it made you feel worse that she trusted you enough not to do anything. She knew your home better than you did. She knew what your thinking process was, leaving you defenseless from her wrath. Her wrath was that she invaded your personal space whenever she felt like it. But, for some reason, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You liked her company because she was the only one to stick around even when your case wasn’t a top priority anymore.

You liked being special in her eyes, even if it was fucked up. But, you weren’t even sure why. So, that's why you found it in yourself to research her name. As you loaded up your laptop, wary of her watching you, you didn’t feel like she was. And as the computer fully processed, you opened up your search engine. You typed up her made-up name as you watched the results spike. She was on the news in central parts of your state and you had no clue. You could feel something on the inside being induced into a sense of pain. She’d hurt people for that monster. Though she hadn’t killed anyone besides her family, she was still a major problem. You felt sick when you felt a sense of relief come through. You felt safe. You shouldn’t have felt safe; you should've felt something far from it. From the article, you see it’d been a few years since everything had gone down and she had recently turned twenty-three.

And even after all these years, she still had MySpace and wore what she wanted. She had no intention of even giving up. She enjoyed following him to the ends of the earth. Even if it meant being shown on the news to thousands of people who may have known her. She didn’t care if she made herself vulnerable in anyone's eyes; she just wanted to be with him. Even if it killed her, that was something you didn’t understand. You didn’t get why she loved him so much. You tried to understand, but it never worked out. You saw her as more than a friend. Even if you didn't have nearly the connection she had to Jeff, you still cared for her. And it made you feel terrible that she could view someone in that light. You felt the urge to try and change her. You knew that it would never work, but a part of you wanted to try it. Try and fix her. Even if that was impossible. She had the heart to change, but you just couldn’t figure out if you were enough to change her. As you shut down, comforted with the amount of research you’d done on her. You thought to yourself, thinking of any way to help her condition out as you made your way to bed.

As you changed and shifted beneath your covers, you were just trying to figure out your life. You could hear your breath stifle. You wanted to keep her around, but she was just too mentally out of it. You could never be enough for her. You could never provide the adrenaline she so desperately wanted, but you wanted to. You didn’t want to hurt anyone but also liked her being around. She brought you comfort when no one else did with her notes. Even if, at times, it felt like you were reading her own personal diary with the way she started her letters. You eventually fall right asleep, feeling the warmth of the blankets surrounding you.

It was deep in the night, whilst you had been asleep, that you awoke to the sound of footsteps in your home. You didn’t mind at first due to being delirious from just waking up. You were about to go back to sleep as you tiredly rubbed your eyes when you suddenly heard something fall. It sounded like metal hitting the floor, like dropping a pan or two on the kitchen floor. And it makes your heart spike as you snap yourself up from the comfort of your sheets. The room suddenly wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it was moments ago, and you could feel your heart racing. Your hair stuck to your forehead as your hands shook violently, not knowing what to do.

You weren’t going to leave the comfort of your room to investigate. You couldn’t. You mentally and physically couldn’t because of the way you froze. But, the more you sat on your mattress, the more you questioned if the event had even happened or not. If you had even heard the metal in the first place, or if you were just having a traumatic response, and against all odds, you found yourself getting out of bed, even when you swore up and down you wouldn’t. Still, you were getting out of the comfort of your bed to discover the truth. To see if there was someone or if it was all in your mind. Though you had to admit, a part of you felt it was Nina in your kitchen.

You fumbled with your doorknob as you could feel yourself instinctively hesitate. But, still, you managed to get through your anxieties and push through literally. And as you made it through, you couldn’t hear much of anything anymore. You allowed your guard to fall as you walked to the kitchen, assuming that’s where the noise had stemmed from. You looked around to see muddy footprints on the flooring. You froze, seeing various intrusive images of that night run through your head. Those footprints looked much too large to be yours or Nina’s. They looked too dirty and different to be either of yours. Someone was inside your house, and you hadn’t the slightest idea who it was. You could feel your heart getting into flight or fight mode as you made a dash for the landline phone. And as you reached for it, you were pushed to the floor.

"Not so fast," a familiar male voice said to you as you pressed up against a cabinet on the floor. You cursed to yourself, looking up at the figure as you started to hyperventilate, seeing the unforgettable face of Jeff The Killer. He was back to finish the job. To finish what he started. He had his knife in one hand as he had the phone in the other. He raised his knife as he cut the cord. He tossed the now useless phone next to you as you shifted away. You could feel sweat forming just from the reckless action you took with no thought. He, on the other hand, seemed entertained by your state. He looked at you then, at his knife as he held it to the side, letting the light hit it. And as the artificial rays blared onto the metal, you could see a crimson color staining the grey. You swallowed hard, knowing he was only there to mock your terrifled look.

You tried to get away further as he tilted his head, getting closer to your trembling form. "Go to sleep," he tried to announce as glass shattered to your left. A smaller figure made themselves present as they jumped around recklessly. "OMG Jeffy poo!" Nina’s high-pitched voice rang throughout the building as he froze in place. His features formed into an annoyed glare as he pulled himself away from you, seeing as he had larger problems to deal with. "I thought I told you to stay the fuck away!" he cursed at her loudly as she frowned comically. She seemed almost animated with the way she responded to his criticism. "But I love you!" Nina raised her voice to match Jeff’s as he huffed and approached her violently. He was uncontrollable with the way he made his way to her as she just hopped around in excitement.

You decided to take this as your five-minute gap to get out of the situation. And as you unwillingly got up abruptly from your stop, you could feel an ounce of pity buried in your stomach as you turned back. You could see her figure being optimistic as he was only violent in the way he walked. He adjusted his grip on his knife and you felt your soul get mentally crushed. You moved without thinking as you pursued Jeff, grabbing his wrist just in time. He had his knife aiming right for her neck as you held his wrist, stopping him. You could’ve just let it happen, but you didn’t. You defended her from being killed. Nina bounced back way too late, and you could see a glimpse of betrayal in her eyes.

"No fucking way," Jeff muttered, looking at your grip as he eased away from you. He laughed at you defending her, finding it extremely comedic that you’d try to save her. Nina stood behind it all with a gaze like no other. She looked between the both of you as her eyebrows furrowed. She got in between the both of you as Jeff tried again. She fought back, defending you in the process. You pushed yourself backward keeping yourself away from the aggressive violence taking place right in front of you. You’d manage to change Nina’s perspective. If only for a moment. She changed it for a subtle moment and changed everything just to protect you. As the two fought viciously, you could only sit back and watch. You had the urge to run, but you couldn’t leave Nina there even if you weren’t much help.

You could see blood spatter on the floor as it had once before, but only now it wasn’t you. It was his. It was his blood he was losing to her. He was going to die at her hands if only she had the willpower. Though, as much as you wished she’d just killed him, it wasn’t possible in her mental process as Jeff lay sprawled out on the floor. He was out cold, just lying motionlessly with blood running effortlessly from his nose. Nina pulled away, huffing with visible teary eyes. His cheeks ran with tears as she turned to you with a soft gaze. You instantly stood still as she ran to you, hugging you. Her tear-stained face was only submerged in more tears as she cried into your shoulder. She muttered multiple "thank you’s" and other things to praise you as you just took it in. You couldn’t do much for her state, as she just thanked you. She was thankful to you for saving her life, just like she’d done for you. And it seemed like letters would never be enough to keep them together. Changing the twisted thoughts into something sweeter. Something that wouldn’t hurt and, without knowing it, you saved each other from a dreadful end at the hands of Jeff.

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A/N - Happy Halloween!! Enjoy this longer post! Also I apologize for any mistakes made I'm extremely sleepy rn! <3

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[bogusboxed]

Boxtober - Day 29: Falling For You.

Day 29: -X Virus X GN!Reader “Leaves” x “You love this, don’t you?”

-I do not own “X Virus” and do not take credit for him.

-

It was early in the morning, as the both of you had been patrolling around the residence. The sun was reasonably out as the leaves underneath your soles crunched. You couldn’t feel any breeze coming through as the sun's rays faintly peered through the high trees. You hadn’t a clue why the wind wasn’t coming through, but you tried not to reason with it. Plus, it was probably better to be warm than frozen. Even though you two had planned for such a high temperature, you sighed as Cody peered toward you with interest upon hearing that. ‘

"What?" His voice was muffled due to the scarf he had borrowed from Liu.

"Nothing, just tired," you replied as he hummed in agreement.

You both solemnly agreed that you had plenty of better things to do than search the entire forest for an entity. You two had been on the hunt for something that didn’t exist and it was all because you were ordered to. You both just mindlessly followed the orders placed in front of you with the promise of not dying.

"I don’t want to be here either." His eyes looked at you for a moment, and you felt a tinge of hurt.

You know, he had no intention of coming off that way. He just wanted this lengthy mission to be over and done with, like you. Though the less the both of you talked, the more boredom set in. And the more bored you got, the more tired you got. And that led to you daydreaming about being asleep in your bed. You huffed momentarily as you looked to your side. The side without Cody. It was a clear shot into nature as you fully took it in. The orange autumn leaves covered the floor, not letting an ounce of dirt show.

"A lot of leaves," you muttered as he took a glance following your obvious statement.

You both hadn’t fully acknowledged the leaves, just knowing it was normal this time of year. As he turned away from the sight, he chuckled lightly. The further you and Cody got from the center, the less you were stressed, but the more the restlessness set in. The wind seemed to pick up and you could feel chills run up your back. The cold atmosphere didn't help the longing in your heart to be sleeping as you huffed a complaint. You thought to yourself as the leaves started to go along with the apparent breeze. You could feel your interest rise as you found yourself meaninglessly staring at them passing by. The golden-like freckled leaves started to be carried in the wind effortlessly as the two of you finally made it to the halfway point. You smiled in excitement, finally almost done with the whole thing. You silently agreed to one another that you both could turn back as you started going with the wind. The leaves passed by you both quicker and quicker as the wind only increased. You looked at the plethora of various leaves as you caught one. The breeze was pressing against you as you had resistance to it. You pressed your fingers against the leaf's texture, thinking as it flopped in the wind.

You left the leaf, continuing with Cody, who seemed to stop for you. You enjoyed the pretty colors that the weather brought as you didn’t notice your partner picking up various leaves. You looked at him as he picked up one of the yellow freckled leaves, adding it to his stack.

"What are you collecting those for?" You caught him off guard as he stiffened up, not wanting to tell you. From what you could see, he had way too many, but still, even with the quantity, he had all unique leaves.

"I’m going to test on them and with them," he answered, coming to your side.

He walked with you side by side as he analyzed his leaves, occasionally tossing one he thought wasn’t needed. You weren’t sure why or how he was going to use them in the name of science, but it didn’t hurt anything, so you didn’t protest. However, you wondered if he was just trying to have a better reason than just liking how they looked.

"Those are pretty leaves," you said, looking at him as he returned your gaze.

He muttered something before, skimming through a few of them and pulling out a much redder one. The leaf featured had no imperfections, as its more vibrant color stuck out from the rest of them. And to your surprise, he handed you the leaf. You held the leaf much more carefully than he had, which he smiled at.

"It's just a leaf, no need to be so careful with it." he hummed, as you didn't pay attention to his words with any weight still caring for it.

You anchored the leaf from the harsh winds as all of your attention was stuck on its pretty look. You didn’t know why you felt the need to shield it from the world, but you did. You’d grown just a slight attachment to the leaf. You glanced at Cody for a moment as he seemed flustered just by the way you took care of the meaningless leaf. His face reddened as he noticed you staring at him. You held the leaf as the both of you were still walking back with more of an interest. And as you did, you could tell more leaves had fallen from the trees above. The floor seemed thicker as he followed you closely. And as you held your leaf, you looked at your partner. He seemed oddly nervous as the wind was only making it worse. He rubbed his hands harshly occasionally as he looked down at the ground, having the leaves crunch under him. You smiled as you used your free hand to hold one of his. He didn’t decline your handholding as his palm was sweaty. He huffed as he got closer to you.

You both stayed respectfully close to each other as his other hand held a few of his leaves. He’d seemed to leave a few of them behind, suddenly not caring about the colorful assortment. You smiled at his behavior as his gaze softened upon seeing your face.

"You love this, don’t you?" he sighed, seeing you eat up his flustered posture.

You could feel a bit of embarrassment rising as you saw him finally figure it out. The leaves were still crushed underneath the shared weight as you both made it back. You still had that vibrant red leaf that almost blended into his flustered cheeks. That day was a fatefully sweet day and ended with a nice cuddling session a bit afterward.

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[bogusboxed]

Boxtober - Day 28: “Comfortable With A Stranger.”

Day 28: -Homicidal Liu x GN!Reader “Picnic” x “We all have our reasons.”

-I do not own “Homicidal Liu” and do not take credit for him.

-

It’d been a while since anything had been peaceful for you. Life was becoming increasingly stressful, and everything seemed to pile on top of you tenfold. So, when you got an invitation to do something like this, you took it. And that’s what led you to be sitting in the middle of the forest with Liu. Liu Woods, the man you barely knew. And it seemed the world only laughed at you when you took the opportunity. The trees seemed to tower over you as leaves fell. The land around both of you had been covered in orange, autumn-like leaves. As more continued to fall, you sat there, letting the breeze run past you. You exhaled. The forest was cold, but not to an unbearable point. However, it was enough to wear a jacket to cover yourself from the cold front.

You didn’t know what possessed Liu to even invite you, considering you were new to everything and all. You weren’t sure why he had been so kind to you, but you weren’t complaining. Recently, the stress of being a newfound proxy has been getting to you. The way your old life has been thrown out the window and burned alive. And the way you struggled to remember anything about it. You can barely remember who you loved in the past. You didn’t even know your own friends' names. And by the time you figured out you were losing everything, you didn’t even have the time to accept it. You'd be bombarded by threats that if you didn’t make the cut, you’d be slaughtered. You were thrown to the wolves, forcing you to spend all of your time exercising for no apparent reason. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t been fighting back at all. Maybe it was because of fear, or maybe it was because of the apparent buzzing in the back of your mind.

But, here you were taking a break with someone who didn’t know more than your first name. And here you were foolishly soaking the kindness up with no reason to do so. You shifted on the thin fabric underneath the both of you as he had a square-like basket to the side of him. You peered at the woodwork with interest. You wanted to know what was inside the picnic basket, and you were sure by the way he looked toward you that he’d allow it. He muttered to himself momentarily as his emerald gaze turned to the basket. You soon felt relaxed knowing you’d be able to see what was inside of it soon. As you gently muttered to yourself, you fidgetted with your hands on the checkered red and white fabric. It was enough to keep the both of you off of the floor, but not enough to be considered comfortable.

The wind blew lightly as he sat back down, handing you a cup. The cup was empty as its colorful porcelain fit tightly in your hand. He shifted next to you as he brought out a small kettle with a locked lid. He exhaled as he poured your cup first. The porcelain cup in your hand was quickly filled with a steaming hot liquid that had a sweet aroma. The liquid had a tea-like look as he poured his own. The weight of the drink was noticeable as you watched the sediment dissolve. You both got comfortable as you didn’t bother to ask what he just served you. You took a sip and, sure enough, it was tea. It was your favorite flavor along with that. You didn’t question why he knew what your favorite taste of tea was, as you just enjoyed his silent company. The aesthetic of the entire place was enough to bring your mind into a sense of ecstasy, and his presence just increased the feeling.

"You're getting comfortable here." He broke the silence as the tea you held warmed your hands.

You weren’t sure how to respond to his statement. You didn’t know what to say to answer him correctly, but then again, there probably wasn’t a right way to answer that.

"Normally people would’ve at least tried to escape," he exhaled as the steam from his tea blew in the light wind.

The autumn weather held you as, for some reason, the way everything is currently going felt normal to you. It was a feeling of normalcy that could bring a tear to your eye if left unattended for long enough.

"I don’t know why I haven't," you answered truthfully, as your crisscrossed legs brought you some comfort from the harsh winds. He hummed in agreement as the cup was snug in his hands.

"That’s what normally happens." He had a mysterious edge to his voice whilst saying that which dragged you into a thought that featured a plethora of questions. But, it was probably best not to fret about the words spoken and just move on to retain the comfort.

"Why’d you do this for me?" You asked him an invasive question like he’d been doing to you. He chuckled lightly, seeming to be expecting that question. He held his drink as he looked at you. His forest green eyes glanced at you as his chestnut hair was lazily fluffed on his head.

"We all have our reasons," he shifted as you listened to him. Even though his eyes captivated you and begged you to ignore any slip-ups, you found your way out of it.

You glanced at him, wanting a different answer, and you could tell he noticed that. He huffed before, giving you an alternative answer.

"Simple because I felt like it," he said, adjusting his green-striped scarf, which complemented his own eyes.

You squinted toward him, encouraging him to continue his previous response. "Because you’d been doing well... too well." Liu gave into your stare as you relaxed your stance.

You made a noise that could’ve been heard as a "Huh?" as he smiled at your confused look. "Becoming a friend of the operator is a mentally degrading task that ruins people." "But, you’ve just taken it with no questions. "You just accepted your fate with no struggle," he said, extending his earlier response.

You looked at him again with an even more confused look. He seemed to enjoy your soft gaze. He liked the curiosity that you gave him with ease.

"To put it in simpler terms, I’m just worried about you." He went on, knowing you were listening to his every word. You could feel yourself recoil for a moment in interest in his sudden action. For some reason, the subtle cold breeze didn’t seem effective against the warmth coiling in you.

"Thanks." You looked at him as he smiled at your soft gaze.

You both seemed rather comfortable with one another. You both know the toll this job took and the labor that was put in. You recognized the efforts, though it seemed he noticed them more. You sat there in the cooling current without any stressful thoughts arising. You didn’t want to think about the gore of your job, and you didn’t want to think about the bloodshed either. All you wanted was to be here and you were, but your thoughts just kept dragging you back out into the void. Your mind was betraying you and trying to get you out of it. To get you away from the way he made you feel.

He seemed to notice you stiffened as he tapped on his cup, dragging your attention toward him. He smiled at the sight, allowing his stitches to show. He seemed to enjoy the way you got distracted and drawn into your deep thoughts. But he enjoyed breaking you out of it more. You didn’t mind how harsh it was to think with him around. You liked getting lost just to have him reel you back in.

"I think you're going to be fine," he once again said, leaving you with an open answer and more questions than answers. It did, however, give you a sense of security.

"Of course, you'd say something like that," you joked as he inhaled the breeze, mocking his stupid, less-than-final answers.

Though this was the first one-on-one you'd both had, it felt so much different from it. It felt like the both of you had been friends for years. You felt like you were at home with him, or maybe that was just your heart talking. He chuckled in agreement as the both of you stayed on that checkered blanket. You both mentally decided to do this more often, seeing how well it went. It felt like a safe place. It was a place away from the hell you were stuck in. He was your hideout from the rest of the world he was the cut-off. The breeze blew as you both sat there enjoying each other. Maybe you could still be happy here.

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