He snuck around the cafe in search of dry ground. It wasn't an urgent search, but surely getting out of the water would be better than staying in it. His hooves flung the water beneath him, soaking his jeans.
He was doing his best to listen for anything approaching, but the rain made it hard to hear anything but his own thoughts.
Eventually, his foot caught on something, and he stumbled, kicking up water. He could walk, sure, but he wasn't good at balancing on these odd new legs. Still, whatever he caught his foot on didn't seem quite right.
He scanned around his surroundings, and spotted the strap of a backpack. As his gaze panned up his lips curled into a frown. The girl from Denny's. You were passed out on a concrete bench with your head resting on your backpack.
Why were you here? What could possibly be a good reason for you to be sleeping on cold concrete in this weather?
He rested a clawed hand on your head, then pulled away. You were horrendously feverish. With a tired groan, he wrapped his arms around your torso, desperately trying to avoid scratching you with his new blade-like nails.
He pulled you into his chest and swung your backpack onto his back. He knew the way to the exit. Hopefully the cultists hadn't found out where he was yet.
But where would he take you? Wasn't your car outside? He could just leave you there, right? But you were sick. He couldn't take you to a hospital when he looked like this.
A simple solution hit him. He would take you back to his house. He was a med student. He knew how to treat a damn fever.
He carried you out of the building bridal style, hoping his hooves wouldn't clop too loudly against the ground as he ran. A definite disadvantage of his newly transformed body was that he couldn't run quietly anymore.
He stuck to the grass for now when he ran. Running on concrete was surprisingly painful. Maybe he'd need to get horse shoes or something.
Once he was out and towards the main road back to town, he decided that maybe he would just have to suffer through the pain of running on concrete. Then he recalled your car.
Without another thought, he made his way towards the vehicle. He fished around for a moment in your backpack, before finding the keys to your car and making quick use of them.
He set you in the backseat and got in. It was a damn good thing he knew how to drive a stick shift.
***
You were very, very confused. That was never a good thing to pair with delirium.
You felt like shit.
You were currently laying on a couch in an unfamiliar house with a damp cloth resting over your head. Your throat was dry, your nose was stuffy, and your head was a throbbing mess.
You coughed, and phlegm came up from your throat. You scrambled to find a trash can to spit out the mucus. Thankfully, whoever had brought you here had left one near the couch.
After you spat out the substance, you crumpled back into the couch. You flopped down and buried your face in the corner of the cushion, letting the damp cloth fall to the floor. You felt impossibly cold.
Without really being aware of it, you slipped into sleep with your head nuzzled into the couch.
***
His hooves clicked against the hardwood floor of the dorm room. The door creaked and slammed shut behind him. It was a damn good thing his roommate wasn't here. He didn't know how he'd explain the hooves and blue skin. Or the girl on his couch.
When he saw you curled up burying your face into the side of the couch, he let out a sigh of relief. He'd been worried you might run off if you woke up. But it didn't seem you had woken up at all.
He carefully put a hand on your shoulder and shook you awake. You groaned and muttered something, but remained mostly unresponsive. With a heavier shake, you finally awoke.
You lifted your head and glanced around, trying to get a feel for what was going on. When your eyes finally landed on him, you smiled. You didn't recognize his looks or anything. You didn't even know how you knew who it was. He looked so different.
But you did.
"Hey Jack..."
[Words: 750]
YOU ARE READING
A BLOODY GOOD TIME // Creepypasta x Fem. Reader
Hayran Kurgu"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway." -Edgar Allen Poe There's only so many ways to satiate a hunger for adventure. And eventually, none truly will save for actual adventure itself. So come with me, dear...
