Tom nook fucking murders y/n

You fucking die

My tears roll off the brassy surface of the bells I saved up. I'm still ten short, and the deadline is approaching up quick.

I wipe my eyes, and sniffle.

Get it together, y/n. You still have an hour. I can make ten bells in an hour. Fuck, I could make ten-hundred bells in an hour if I really wanted.

"I could sell my," I look around and my eyes catch on my flower pot, like skin perfectly catches on a sharp edge, "I'll sell my flower pot!" I exclaim to myself, laughing in relief.

The clay flower pot is chalky in my hands. I can feel it dry the skin of my palms. The red flower inside droops depressed to the side.

Ten bells for this at the very least.

The smile on my face breaks as suddenly I hear my door crack open.

"Y/n!" Mr. Nook exclaims, a horrifying smile on his furry face.

No.

No please, God. Not again.

My eyes get wet once more.

"I t-thought," I stutter, anxiously taking a step back, "I still had an hour?!"

Mr. Nook laughs, like this is all a joke. Like the shit he's going to do to me is a joke. Sometimes I don't even think he wants the money. He just needs an excuse to beat the shit out of me.

"Oh, y/n. Don't cry. You look so much prettier when you smile."

A nasty sob leaves my lips, as he takes a couple steps toward me.

"Tom," I mumble, defeated, "we're friends, Tom."

"That depends, y/n. Do you have my bells?"

I swallow, my saliva feeling like acid going down my throat.

"I-I will.. I just need to get a couple things in order," I hold the flowerpot tight in my trembling hands, I smile, already feeling my bones shattering, "I was going to sell this," I say, and laugh at the absurdity.

Mr. Nook laughs too. His laugh scrapes against my eardrums like nails on a chalk board.

I bite my bottom lip so hard I taste a bit of blood.

"You know what happens, right?" Mr. Nook says.

I nod, and agree with an, "mhm."

Mr. Nook gives me a fake frown.

"I'm sorry.. but, we've been through this before."

I nod, a smile carved into my face.

He takes another step, his stubby little paws tap on the wood. I hate the way he moves.

Something in me snaps. My hands grab onto the flower pot for dear life.

"Don't fucking move," I shout.

He laughs.

"Don't come closer! Don't—"

Another step from his fucking disgusting stubs. The fucker doesn't even wear shoes. He's leaving dirt tracks on my floor.

I huddle in the corner, taking a small step away. My back hits the wall. My chest rises and falls quickly.

"Oh, y/n. It's inescapable," he says, walking closer, walking calmly.

"Stop! Stop fucking moving," I shout, hysterically, raising the flowerpot over my head.

He walks closer.

The flower pot leaves my hands, and smashes against the wall next to him.

I watch the orange shards land on the floor, and I watch the tiny brows on his face furrow in anger.

He reaches in his pocket.

I stare down the barrel of the pistol.

"I've had enough of this," he states, pointing the gun at me confidently, "I give you so much time, and you only give me excuses."

I try to speak but I can't, like a unseen force is covering my mouth.

He cocks the gun.

A small tear falls down my face as I hear the bang.