Heartless Proxy (Hoodie x Reader)

Her

I’m writing this on the day my precious fish, Sushi, died.  Yeah I’m sad so I’ll probably add more comedic material to this chapter to try and make myself feel better.  Plus, guys, I’m not really that much of a writer who writes serious stuff all the time.  I actually tend to write a lot of humor stories in my free time.  (That’s why I write these chapter at 3 in the morning so that I can get into a darker mood.)

I didn’t know how to make the beginning of this exciting.  Sorry.  By the way, I have nothing against Ticci Toby.  He’s one of my favorites.

I’ll make a deal here, I’m going to try and post every Sunday and Thursday.  If I miss my deadline, I’ll write a one-shot requested by the first person who catches it, deal?

Warning: Use of cheesecake cause the author was too lazy to think of other scenarios to bring Hoodie to the bakery.  And I kind of got carried away.

~~~~~~~

Chapter 3: Her

Hoodie’s P.O.V

It was late in the afternoon when Masky and I finally finished with our latest mission.  We were still in the victim’s home since we still had to dispose of the bodies so that none of the neighbors could report anything suspicious too soon.

I looked Masky over, noticing that his mask was askew with his hair messy and coated with blood.  He looked like he was panting slightly as the dead body of a well-built man thumped to the floor in a gurgling mess of blood.  He crouched down and retrieved his orange-handled knife from the man’s chest.

I looked back at my own yellow-handled knife which was dripping with blood from the woman who was slumped lifeless on the couch in front of me.  I sighed and stretched my arms.

“I gotta admit, this was one of our bloodier kills.”

I guess targeting a body builder wasn’t the brightest idea we’ve ever had.  At least he knew how to fight.  Killing victims immediately, albeit really time efficient, gets boring after a while.

I plopped down on the couch next to the dead lady and poked the unconscious bodies tied up snuggly on the carpet with my foot.  An eight and a five-year-old.  They should satisfy His appetite for a while.  Masky walked over to the couch and sat down on the arm rest with a tired groan.  Looks like he exerted more energy than he needed to.  I took one sniff of his tan jacket and cringed under my mask.

“Shit Masky!  You reek.”

I could practically feel the grimace he was pulling under his own mask as the words left my mouth in a mechanical sounding way.  He pulled my hoodie down in front of my face.

“As if you smell any better!”

I hit him on the arm playfully and heard him chuckling behind his mask.  Psh, me smelling bad.  Silly thoughts.  Though, I did discreetly smell my own jacket when he looked away.  Okay fine, I did kind of smell like sweat, but that was perfectly normal!  I was a grown man dammit.  Not like I was supposed to smell like baskets of roses anyway.  I can smell however the hell I wanted.  At least the smell of sweat was better than smelling like a walking blood sausage.