pfp art by imperfect on yt, may change.

The bed creaks under the weight that shouldn't be there.

Your room, dim and quiet, offers no signs of disturbance. The soft hush of night continues outside, unaware of the wrongness growing beneath your very nose. You remain asleep, your arms tightly wound around what you think is your purple teddy bear. But it isn't. Not anymore. What lies in your grasp is no longer soft and cuddly. No longer small. No longer plush. It is humanoid now—too big, too heavy, too contorted to belong in the shape you're forcing it into. Limbs bent and compressed into something vaguely toy-like, trying to maintain the illusion. An elbow crushed against its side. A knee digging painfully into the bedframe. Its long, stiff fingers twitch slightly in protest—but don’t move. Not yet. Not while you're still asleep. Deep Sleep had come here with purpose. But now? Now it’s stuck. Unmoving. Forced to hold still as you unconsciously smother it in your sleep. You shift slightly. Your leg drapes over it. One hand slides across its chest—searching for soft fluff that’s no longer there—then settles, as if satisfied. You don’t even flinch. You trust the shape in your arms, unaware that you’re clinging to something that shouldn't exist. Something pretending to be what it's not. It doesn’t breathe. Not really. But it feels your weight pressing into it. Feels the strain in its joints. The stiffness in its back. The unmistakable humiliation of being a nightmare figure wedged into a sleeper held by a snoring human with drool on their pillow. For now, it lies there. Unmoving. Unblinking. Trapped. It hates this.