multi-fandom imagines

a scare unscripted || a blake gray imagine

[ CHARACTERS: Y/N AND BLAKE ]

Y/N's point of view;

The late afternoon light streamed through the passenger window as Chloe pulled up to the curb. I'd spent the last four hours completely forgetting about my stress, laughing over milkshakes and shopping bags with the girls. As usual, I was texting Blake a running commentary of my day.

Leaving now! Be home in ten. Get ready for cuddles.

He sent back a simple, cryptic emoji: 😈.

"You guys coming in for a second?" I asked Chloe as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

"Nah, we gotta bounce," she replied, waving. "Have a good night, Y/N! See you Monday."

"Bye, love you!"

I grabbed my bag, said my goodbyes, and jogged up the steps. The house, Blake's and mine, was unnervingly quiet. Maybe Blake had stepped out for something? The front door was unlocked, which was odd, since we were always paranoid about security. I pushed it open slowly.

"Blake? I'm home!"

The foyer was darker than usual, and the first thing I noticed was a deep, metallic smell—like iron. My stomach dropped.

"Blake? This isn't funny." My voice was already shaky.

I stepped into the living room, and a wave of pure, cold panic washed over me. The entire room was ruined. Furniture was overturned, lamps were smashed, and the white area rug was smeared with what looked horrifyingly like blood. A large, jagged knife—obviously fake, but I couldn't process that—was stuck into the side of the sofa, and a chillingly messy note was pinned next to it.

My breath hitched, and I couldn't move. My purse slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a muffled thud. We've been robbed. Something awful happened.

A sudden, loud, jarring crash echoed from the kitchen, sounding like a plate of glass shattering. I let out a choked gasp, a tiny, terrified sound caught in my throat. My body locked up completely. I wasn't scared; I was actively panicked, my mind flashing through the absolute worst scenarios. I was alone, and someone was still here.

Then, three figures leaped out from behind the breakfast bar.

"AHHH!" they screamed.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and the world tilted. Instead of running, I curled inward, raising my arms to protect my head, and sank to my knees, letting out a thin, high-pitched whimper.

The figures were Blake, along with his friends Tayler and Cameron. They were wearing ridiculous ski masks pushed up onto their foreheads, and wide, triumphant grins stretched across their faces.

"Bro! Did you see her face?!" Tayler shouted, collapsing into laughter.

"That was epic !" Cameron wheezed, clutching his stomach.

Blake was mid-giggle, still holding a spray bottle of the fake blood, when he finally looked at me, really looked at me, crumpled on the floor.

I wasn't laughing. I wasn't even shouting. I was silent, my hands still covering my ears, my shoulders shaking violently, and tears—real, hot, terrified tears—streaming down my face. My eyes were wide and unfocused, glazed over with shock.

The laughter died in Blake's throat like a switch had been flipped, and his face drained of color.

"Y/N?" His voice was thin, the joy completely gone, replaced by a deep, ugly realization. "Y/N, baby... hey."