House Trained (Werewolf!Zoro x Reader)

Four

3:44 AM

Scratch. Scratch.

You were hiding under the blankets, eyes wide with fear as the scratching sound continued over and over. Like some creature was intent on scaring the living shit out of you.

It was like the one time you complained to the landlord about a possible dead body living in your vents and was chewing on some poor person who was foolish enough to go walking alone at night like in those horror movies. You were sure it was feeding on a teenager. I mean, it's always a teenager that gets offed. You had a shelf full of slasher films to back you up.

But when you complained, you were met with a pest control worker sent by your landlord who found the source of the noise to be a raccoon building a nest and occasionally chewing on bits of old screws.

The raccoon and the hole it crawled into was taken care of, but you could never get the image of a corpse crawling around in your vents (with it's glazed, dead eyes and deformed body), feeding off teenagers and whoever it could get it's hands on; all the while, the creature got it's jolly off of tormenting you to an early grave.

'This time.' You thought, intensely. 'I'm sure it's a murderer with a hook for a hand.'

Scratch. Scratch.

You pulled the blankets over your head tighter, imagining them as some forcefield to keep whatever horror was at your door.

"I'm such a chicken-shit," You muttered under your breath. 

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. .... Grrrrowl.

That made you sit upright, eyes even wider as you stared down your tiny hall and right at the front door. Your breathing was heavy as you tried to calm yourself, eyes never leaving the ugly white door with the tiny peep hole that never really worked.

"Chicken-shit. Chicken-shit." Repeating this, you slowly leaned over the side of your bed and felt around underneath, too frightened to think about your theory of a creature living underneath your bedsprings at night. You finally closed your fingers around the wooden bat you kept for emergencies and pulled it out, clutching it tightly and going into lightsaber position.

Scratch. Scratch.

You slipped out of bed, blankets falling off your shoulders as you took tentative steps towards the end of the hall. The floor of the living room creaked slightly under your weight, making you freeze and listen intently.

Nothing.

All you could hear was your heavy breathing. You clasped your hands around the wooden bat tighter as you tried to focus harder. 

But it seemed the scratching had stopped, like the hook-handed asswipe had heard the creak and was now preparing to murder you as soon as you got near the front door.