#creepypasta oneshot
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I'm Low On Gas And You Need A Jacket
Hiii !! This is my first time writing a creepypasta oneshot thing so that's fun. This is a ticci toby x reader thing that I thought about and wanted to write. It's also posted on my quotev (link at the end) where you can request other things for me to write !! Also this is my first time specifically writing for Toby so I know I probably missed some things, so if I ever write for him again I'm gonna be better about that. Ok onto this lol
It was the middle of December, and the snow was coming down steadily, matching the twinkle of the stars above. The frosty wind blew through your poor choice of clothes for the weather - a plain long sleeve shirt with jeans. You shivered as you mumbled to yourself,
“Could’ve bundled up a little…”
There’s not much you can do now with a car low on gas and no one around to help, and being miles away from home didn’t help much either.
The surrounding woods felt never-ending and did nothing to comfort you. The empty streets with old lamps flickered as you tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with your car. A feeling in your gut told you that something was wrong, so you tried to work quickly. You shakily sighed as you shivered, fiddling with the car's buttons and levers, inspecting the car’s old gas pump, slamming your fist on it a few times just to see if that would work. You muttered under your breath again, starting to become annoyed with the thing,
“Damned thing won’t work…”
A huff of frustration left your lips, watching as steam clouded in front of you, making you remember that you’d probably freeze to death if this stupid car wouldn’t start up again. Your aggravation was quickly replaced with a small gasp of surprise when an unfamiliar voice rang out behind you,
“You know, you probably shouldn’t b-be out here at this time of night.”
You jumped as you heard the voice, snapping your head to turn and face where it came from. You were met with someone you’ve never seen before in your life. Behind you stood a man with shaggy, uncut brown hair and orange ski goggles pushed up to rest on the top of his head. He wore multiple layers, including a plain black hoodie with a brown coat over it with jeans that almost looked too big for him. He was pretty tall, but the main thing you noticed was the giant bandage on his cheek, wondering what would be under it. Something else that caught your eye was the way he was acting. He'd occasionally twitch his neck or mutter something that sounded like it came out involuntarily.
He stood a couple of feet away from you, not moving. You kept your gaze on him, confused as to where this guy even came from knowing you were in the middle of nowhere. You cleared your throat before speaking, trying your best to keep your voice steady even though worry started to fill your body.
“I-uh… I know that.”
You immediately felt like a dumbass the moment the words left your mouth, turning away from him to look at your car again before looking back at him. You could feel yourself shake, like it was getting colder, or you were just becoming more nervous, you couldn’t tell anymore. The man spoke again, his voice sounded gravelly, like he was trying to make it sound deeper than it was, but you couldn’t tell or care at this point. All you knew was that he freaked you out and you wanted him to leave you alone.
“Doesn’t look like you do or you would’ve been somewhere safe by now.”
He scoffed at the end of the sentence, making a whistling noise before stepping closer to you until he stood right beside you. He seemed ok, but something in his tone and his body language set alarms off in your head, telling you to ditch the car and run. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about this guy. He spoke again, realizing you weren’t going to say anything,
“Look, it’s freezing and you’re car doesn’t look like it’s gonna do anything anytime soon”
His gaze moved from her face, to her car, to her clothing, letting out a sigh as he smirked and scrunched his nose, furrowing his brows as he shook his head
“And what’s with the-the outfit, anyways? This your idea of winter attire?”
He chuckled as he spoke, rolling his eyes as he pointed a long finger at your chest, judging your choice of clothing. He made you feel dumb, but being out this late in this weather wasn’t exactly your choice. You’d be long gone and at home in bed if you had the option. You could feel yourself tense up as he stood closer to you, keeping your gaze on his face to try and figure out what his intentions were. Beside you, he studied the car, pointing at the gas pump and commenting on how you were low on gas like you didn’t already know that. The whole thing made you wanna yell at him and tell him to leave you alone, instead, you took a breath and tried to keep your cool as you responded,
“I didn’t have a jacket, I’m not supposed to be here. I’m kinda supposed to be at home by now but this piece of shit car won’t work.”
You paused your rambling, realizing you were probably oversharing. This guy didn’t need to know why you were here, or what you were doing at the old gas station. He nodded as you spoke, even though his face displayed that he really didn’t seem to care about the situation. He kept his gaze at your car as he spoke again, his voice felt monotonous with a hint of cockiness,
“S-sounds rough. So you’re just gonna freeze your ass off here while you try and fix that thing? You must be crazy or just plain dumb.”
A smug smile grew on his lips as he twitched his neck again, making you take note that he also had a patchy looking beard growing, too. You began to grow frustrated, taking note of this guy's features just in case he did something. You began to feel more uneasy. What the hell is he still doing here? Go away. The man was surprised by your lack of response, he was obviously trying to get a reaction out of you and was disappointed when you didn’t give him one. He spoke up again, you desperately wished he’d just shut up, it was like he couldn’t stand the silence.
“Maybe that’s the universe telling you that you need to stop pushing your luck.” He gestured to the wilderness that surrounded them, pointing specifically at the forest near the gas station, "You're out here all alone and your easy prey for anything out there.”
Furrowing your brows and squinting, you stared at whatever he was pointing at. Your brain felt like it was melting from what he had said. What a creepy ass thing to say. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. The forest was creepy as hell and being alone at night in the middle of nowhere was never necessarily smart or safe for anyone. His words began to sink in, if anything, you were more afraid of him than anything in that forest right now. You huffed as you faced him, starting to lose your patience,
“Look, I don’t know where you came from or why you’re here, but I’d appreciate it if you helped me or just left me alone. I’ve had a shitty day and I’d just like to get my car working so I can go home.”
Once you finished speaking, you saw him frown a little in response. His eyes burned holes into your skull as he absorbed what you had said to him. Your stomach dropped, you fucked up. The world seemed to stand still, the eerie silence filling the freezing air between them. He said nothing at first, only staring down at you with a piercing gaze, sending a sharp shiver down your spine. The only thing that broke the silence was the bitter, howling wind. His voice felt louder as he spoke up again. His words sharp and targeted towards you,
“You’re real mouthy, aren’t you?” his lips curved into a thin line, eyes narrow as they continued to burn into you, “I’d w-watch out with that if I were you.”
Your brain told you to run, leave the car and run somewhere, anywhere but here. You realized that was stupid as you took into account what was around you. Your eyes darted quickly, trying to look at everything but him. Dread filled your senses as you remembered that you were truly in the middle of nowhere. You looked back at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to do. Words uncontrollably spilled from your lips, you were desperate at this point, unable to control the shakiness in your voice,
“Wh-what do you want from me?”
It felt like the man's goal was to just make you as uncomfortable as possible. He remained silent for a minute, watching you shift nervously in place, fiddling with your thin shirt sleeves as you desperately tried to stay calm, looking him in the eyes. This guy knew exactly how to get into your head, eyes narrowing as he stayed quiet, waiting for you to break. His neck jerked to the side before he spoke,
“Well, the way I see it, I could either help you get your car r-running, or I could leave you here for the wolves.”
You felt like your heart was going to burst from your chest right then and there. Was he threatening you? It wouldn’t be shocking at this point. You stayed silent for a moment, realizing you’d have to work with him if you ever wanted to make it back home. You cleared your throat, voice still shaky from a mix of being cold and absolutely terrified. You nodded as you held out your hand for him to shake,
“What’s uh- what’s your name?”
This was your genius way of trying to fix this strange situation and get on the guy's good side. His eyes narrowed as he looked at your shaking, ungloved hand. The smallest look of surprise filled his features before he grabbed onto her hand and gave it a shake. His grip was firm but thankfully not too tight. He smirked as he shook your hand, looking up to your eyes as he scrunched his nose, “Name’s Toby.” He paused before continuing, still holding firmly onto your hand, “Yours?”
You let go of his hand before responding very bluntly, “I’m y/n…” You purse your lips together before looking at your feet, you didn’t know where to even go from here. You stayed silent until you heard snow crunching under Toby’s boots as he walked to the front of your car, popping the hood up to inspect it. You stared at him as he stared blankly at the machine, he looked absolutely clueless. You knew you were already screwed, but this guy just seemed to be making it worse because he had absolutely no clue what he was doing.
He placed a hand on his head, seeming perplexed as he studied the car. It didn’t take an expert to tell you that this guy was just as lost as you were when it came to fixing shitty broken down cars. The tension was thick and the air had taken on an unsettling aura, one that you’d only felt a handful of times before. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you tried to find a way to calm yourself as he tried to work on your car. The demeanor shifted completely.
You decided to try and talk to him, thinking it may make you feel better. As he worked on the car, you noticed something shiny reflecting on his back. There sat a hatchet, strapped over his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now that you could see it, you only felt more uneasy. Swallowing thickly, you spoke as you pointed to it, watching him snap his head in your direction,
“What’s um- what’s with the hatchet? Are you a lumberjack or something?”
The question sounded stupid. You mentally smacked yourself on the forehead, a lumberjack? Really? He seemed amused by the question, chuckling as he looked at her and cocked his head to the side. The hatchet had barely been covered by his coat, taunting you to ask him about it even if you'd regret it in the end. You could practically hear the teasing and smirk in his voice without needing to even see it on his face, “A lumberjack?”
After a small pause, he shrugged, his gaze returning to the vehicle as he spoke, “No, I’m not a lumberjack.”
The response made you furrow your brows in confusion. You knew the question sounded dumb, but what else could he be? Upon further inspection, you noticed how rusty the hatchet actually was. It looked old and like it was in need of a replacement soon. The silence was killing you, so you spoke up again. Your voice sounded off in the sharp, cold air, “So then,,, what are you, exactly?”
This was as normal as this conversation could possibly get. They’d talk about what they do for work, he’d somehow fix the car, and then they could go their separate ways and never see each other again. Your question was getting closer and closer to the truth. The hatchet sat comfortably on Toby’s shoulder, like he was used to having it there, its rusty surface seeming to reflect the moonlight above. Toby gave you a sly grin as he looked over at you again, taking a few seconds to just stare before speaking,
“Do you really w-want to know the answer to that question?”
His tone felt like he was teasing you, implying that his answer was going to be something horrible, something you wouldn’t want to know. There didn’t even need to be a physical threat for you to feel uncomfortable again, your imagination filling in the blanks as to what he was trying to say.
You paused, trying not to just snap right then and there. You felt your eye twitch as you took a deep breath in and out. Did you really wanna know? All you wanted to do was talk about what each of you did for work, not try to solve some random guy’s weird cryptic rhymes and codes. The anxiety was bubbling up inside you, you wished this guy could just say something normal for once. You nodded slowly, not able to find the words you wanted to say.
Toby was clearly enjoying your reactions, continuing to grin and stare you down as you waited for his response. Eventually, he spoke again, the cocky smirk never leaving his face, “I guess I’m in the hunting business, I don’t really have a name for it.”
You nodded in response to his answer, watching his neck twitch again as you tried your best to speak up and make this feel normal again. You took into account his whistling and twitching thing, deciding not to ask him about it since it was so hard to learn what his job was. Your voice sounded dry, “I’m uh- I work at a coffee shop.”
He laughed at your response which made you scoff a little, why was that funny to him? You couldn’t understand why he was the way he was, you just hoped that your patience would reward you by getting your car fixed and getting the hell out of here. You turned away from him, looking at the gas station. It looked run down and abandoned. Sighing, you kept your gaze on the gas station, you were done talking to him.
The air grew still as you felt a creeping sensation crawl up your spine. The sound of rustling and your car's hood slamming down caught your attention, causing you to jump in shock. Your head snapped towards him, a confused look on your face. Before you could even speak and ask why Toby did that, you noticed what he was now doing.
His movements started slow, reaching for the hatchet’s handle on his back, grabbing it and placing it in both hands with a firm grip. You felt your eyes widen as a pathetic noise left your throat as you tried to ask and beg to know what he was doing, staring at him as you felt yourself freeze, trying to stumble away,
“I’m bored, sorry it uh- sorry it had to go this way I guess. It- it was nice knowin’ ya, y/n.”
Toby spoke dryly, shrugging as he grabbed at your shoulder, yanking you closer to him as he raised the hatchet over his head with his other hand before it came swinging down towards you. Finally, a shrill scream ripped from your throat.
Here's the link to that quotev I mentioned also
#writing tag#creepypasta#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x you#crp#crp x reader#ticci toby#ticci toby x reader#toby rogers#toby rogers x reader#oneshot#creepypasta oneshot#quotev#horror story
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Boxtobier ⊗ Day 1
"Go Big or Gourd Home.”
Pairing: Toby Rogers X GN!Reader
Theme: "Pumpkins." & "I've Got You.”
Rating: (PG-13)
Words: 3.9k
Trigger Warning(s): Vulgar Language & Descriptions of Scars.
The rights to this character, "Ticci Toby," fully belong to Kastoway.
This is a fictional, harmless piece of writing; do not incorporate it into your daily life.
"I saw this on TikTok once!" Toby tried to speak before you cut him off. "Stop. Stop right there—we are not adding fucking mayo to this pumpkin pie."
You may have been trying to make a mess of the place with the poor excuse of trying to make a pie. But you weren’t about to add mayonnaise to this thing.
You sighed; maybe this wasn’t the best way to get payback on Tim.
⋇⊶⊰⊗⊱⊷⋇
An hour before this deranged chaos, you’d been called down by Brian and Tim.
This wasn’t anything brand new; you were usually issued some requests, among other things, like a few tips, reminders, and things to do while they were out on their mission.
But instead, this time, you were greeted with a heap of shit. That heap was a very unwanted critique of your work performance.
Of course, it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle constructive criticism. No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was his sassy little Southern attitude.
⋇⊶⊰⊗⊱⊷⋇
Brian had been leaning against the wall closest to the front door in his typical canary hoodie. He wasn’t wearing his ski mask yet, instead clutching onto the fabric with a shit-eating grin. He watched you both silently, like a hawk above two bickering rabbits.
"I know you can do better than... well, that."
Tim sighed, making direct eye contact with you while baring a half-lidded expression.
He hadn’t seemed bothered by his last-second addition; in fact, he seemed relaxed, placing his hands into his jeans pockets.
He didn’t harp on it too much but made it clear he wasn’t impressed by your "lackluster conduct" on your last mission. It was his professional way of saying he thought your way of handling your missions was half-assed and messy.
But, to you, it wasn’t any of his business to judge and stalk how well you performed solo. You knew you were the newest addition to the proxies, but you were just as capable as any other proxy, if not better.
So, in a childish backstab, you invited Toby (of all people) to make a pumpkin pie with you.
To the average person, making a pumpkin pie was an extremely nice thing to do with friends. But the thing was, you weren’t in it for the pie.
You were in it for the anarchy of a mess Toby was going to mindlessly create, and he was more than happy to oblige, thinking this was just a cute, innocent activity you two were going to bond over.
Currently, you had just shoved the pie into the rust-covered oven; it was finally semi-done, and all you had to do now was let the turmoil simmer.
Taking a swift and profound inhale, you let your shoulders fall. Considering all things, your plan to get revenge on Tim was going perfectly.
Taking the time to scan the granite countertop, you found that flour had been recklessly scattered and even dumped nearly all over the place. To add to this disaster, the pumpkin puree you two had fought with ended up everywhere, including the ceiling.
Admiring the mess you bet Toby would make with a devilish smile, you turned to your fawn-headed counterpart. He blinked slowly, his usual sarcastic, hyper personality dimming to detachment.
He took a sluggish, staggered exhale like he finally took in the severity of the mess you two made.
"...Tim’s going to kill us," he stuttered, fumbling over his words while mindlessly furrowing his thick eyebrows.
Looking at his face, a mix of pumpkin and flour was streaked all over his soft, distressed features. From his freckles to his scars, the ingredients covered just about all of him. It was even on the shitty apron he stole that read, "To-do list: Let's Get Griddy Gang." (What deranged teen did he steal that from?)
The corners of your lips curled upward as he watched a mischievous glint appear in your eyes. "I hope so."
"What—are you a masochist? -I-... never mind. Don’t answer that." He huffed, shivering from the chest up.
Not because he was cold, but because he just functioned like that.
He swallowed thickly, watching the kitchen timer slowly dial down. He couldn’t accept the fact that you genuinely wanted to make Tim hate your guts, so he just watered it down to you being clinically insane.
Although he wasn’t too off target.
You had your entire scheme planned out on a whim; once the pumpkin pie was done, you’d place it on the countertop and immediately leave for your mission with Toby, all right before your "roommates" got back.
Staying in a still, dazing silence, you decided you’d go ahead and get the most arguably important element you needed for this dessert. The thing that’d tie it all together, like the cherry on top of the hurricane.
The whipped cream.
Leaving the lankier man’s side, you traversed through the disordered mess to reach the fridge.
Heaving the steel door open, you were hit with a frigid breeze of air that’d been accumulating inside all day. Ignoring the cold, you allowed your eyes to filter through all the items. From the pickle jar, milk, and beer to the black body bag.
Until you saw it. You immediately reached up to the skinny aluminum can, and your warm palms quickly reacted to the cold metal. However, something was off.
It was light.
His gaze retreated from yours, tension rising in his limbs. He sank inward, his posture shrimping forward as you eyed his motions. He scratched his palm, clearly trying to avoid your suspicions.
He mumbled sharply, narrowing his eyes while feeling his throat constrict, "I was hungry—what else was I supposed to eat? - Pickles?"
You sighed, dismissing his defensive behavior as you brought the half-empty can to the nasty countertop. You didn’t get why he couldn’t just admit it and move on. You didn’t understand why he had to get so bent out of shape for being called out on something as stupid as that.
Your eyes apprehended the surrounding clutter with satisfaction. Dropping his behavior, you softly nodded your head to the wreckage of the kitchen. As disorienting as it looked to the average person, the mess had looked serene to you.
Even with Toby’s unclear personality, you had to admit you enjoyed his presence. Having to live in this cabin in the middle of nowhere was mind-wrenching and would make even the sanest person question things.
Especially since you worked under that thing.
Although the people you considered to be your current coworkers weren’t all that bad, when you reached the top, you were finally separated from the others. After that, your life had become substantially more placid.
It wasn’t to say the work wasn’t harder than before, because it was. But at least here you had real free time. You had time to clear your mind away from all the horrors of your job without being bothered by a coal-haired, tweaked-out serial killer.
Plus, Kate, Tim, Brian, and Toby were easier to stand than the others you had to work with, and unlike the others, you didn’t mind spending time with them. But you just wished you could’ve all met under different circumstances. (Not that you’d ever admit that to any of them.)
Finally placing the whipped cream on top of the cakey debris, Toby decided he’d continue the small talk, "So, uh, what are we going to do about the mess?"
He watered the situation down, knowing you both could visually see the multitude of the destruction.
"Nothing," you replied instantaneously as he stiffened at your words.
His view flickered toward you as his mouth slightly hung open, forming a silent "O." By his expression, you could tell he was starting to actually believe you had a death wish.
He muttered under his breath, almost not believing what you were saying, "Why?"
You kept quiet, deciding whether or not telling him the truth about why he was here would be a good idea or not. You knew he had anger issues, but you didn’t know if your deceitful actions would set him off or not.
But yet again, lying would just escalate the problem.
"...To get back at Tim," you exhaled softly, knowing just how childish it sounded.
He tilted his head at you. To him, the words that came from your mouth were foreign. He didn’t know how to take being associated with your crimes, but he didn’t mind it all that much.
He just thought you were stupid.
"Yeah, 'cause that’s a good fucking idea." He chuckled at you, his healed mouth tear contorting upward.
In a hush, he still had a smile indented into his features. He wasn’t going to shoot down your plans entirely, considering he’d had his agenda of getting back at Tim.
Looking at you with his curved features, he questioned your methods, "Then what? I mean, he’s going to be back eventually, and he's going to be pissed."
"By that time, I should be off on my mission." You folded, admitting the rest of your plans to your now willing accomplice.
Toby held his tongue with a light smile. He began to lean back on the disaster of a countertop behind him, not thinking about the potential that it could stain the back of his hoodie.
You watched him lay the rest of his weight back before moving a hand to his temple. Strands of hair that once stuck to his forehead were fluffed as he allowed himself to drop his shoulders.
His nut-brown eyes were dilated and unfocused on anything you had to say.
All things considered, this was a pretty positive response from Toby. He didn’t seem all that tense, and you knew what he was typically like from the months you’d shared a cabin with him.
But, from his current expression, you didn’t have an ounce of worry that you’d get any backlash from him. In fact, he seemed all in on your naive rebellion against Tim.
He chewed on his raw bottom lip absently and said, "Y’know, I tried—to burn down the cabin my first week."
You felt your eyes blink several times before fully processing what he just said. Hearing that, you regretted not going further with your actions. (Poor Tim.)
You raised your eyebrows involuntarily, replying, "If you're still standing, then maybe I have a chance."
He breathlessly chuckled at your words, continuing to gnaw on his healed wounds. A droplet of crimson raced down his chin as he nibbled at it, not noticing the warm liquid trace his scar-filled features.
He stood there, still reclined on the granite, "Yeah- well, Tim dragged me along for any missions he had after that."
Hearing those words, you felt your throat tighten. Now you really couldn’t afford to be caught in the crossfire of this mess. But if what he said was true (and it probably was), You’d only be denying the inevitable of having to be followed by Tim for a good month or two.
But, yet again, maybe he’d have more mercy on you, considering you didn’t burn down the cabin.
*DING*
The dingy, off-white kitchen timer finally rang, breaking the slight silence you two had harbored. You felt yourself flinch at the abrupt buzz, while Toby didn’t seem all that phased by the sudden noise, and if he was, he was able to unconsciously restrict his movement.
You rambled some curse words before swiftly racing over to the 2000s stove. Your hands ran to the knob, cranking it off before grabbing two distinct, picnic-looking gloves from the stovetop you’d conveniently left beforehand. Hastily, you slid your red gingham-patterned mittens on as you yanked the oven door open.
A wave of heat blew against your face, causing a slight burning sensation on your cheeks. The warmth enveloped you, putting a thin layer of sweat on your forehead.
The heat messed with your vision as you aggressively blinked through it.
With the hot breeze, you could smell the pie. The aroma was soft on your nose, as hints of cinnamon and spice danced in the air. The addicting smell was enough to make you take a quick inhale before returning to your original focus.
Through the heated air, the oven’s interior light helped to illuminate the scene. The dim light revealed a perfectly caramelized pumpkin pie that sat in the middle of a metal tray.
Steam radiated from the pie, showing it was still somewhat cooking.
Reaching inside, you grabbed the blazing pan from the inferno. Lifting the tray, you could feel just how heavy the pie was.
The baked good was a hefty, dense pie that completely relied on your steadiness to not collide with the floor. You could feel your frame teetering, inches away from falling face-first into the oven.
You swallowed, trying your hardest not to tip over while still pulling the pastry out.
Finally retrieving the tray a little more than halfway, thoughts started to impulsively soil your mind. What if you went too fast and it tipped over? What if you had bent too far and there was just no safe way to retreat?
At this point, you could feel just how hot the cooking tray was.
You felt how the heat seeped through the fabric mittens and onto your palms.
You needed to speed up before you burned yourself. Pulling the pan up further, you suddenly felt your soles slowly slip due to the pumpkin puree under you.
Dread filled you as you began to slide on the smooth flooring.
You had accepted your fate, and while still trying to lift the burning tray to a safe spot, you started sliding fully. Thinking of a safe way to execute your plan, you paused your movement to not further the slide.
That was until you felt a presence hovering behind you.
You would’ve questioned the person if you didn’t have a steaming pan stuck in both hands. Standing there, almost falling with the tray, two skinny hands quickly covered your own from behind.
Arms surrounded yours, helping you hold onto the pan.
"I’ve got you." Toby stuttered as he stabilized you and the tray.
You were stunned, to say the least. You did need help; you just didn’t expect it to come in this manner. He was close—almost too close for just friends to be. You could hear his rapid heartbeat as his muted, warm breath invaded your neck.
The sensation that this brought was so much warmer than the freshly baked pie that had been cemented to your hands.
Your thoughts felt like they were leaking out of your head like your brain was slipping out of your ear.
Noiselessly, you froze up like an idiot. Thoughts paralyzed you when you smelled the pine on his worn-out hoodie.
Every breath you took sealed your fate. You wanted to speak, but here you were holding your peace. The feeling pulsing through you had to have been what sinking in quicksand felt like.
He had planned on mirroring your movements from behind until you just decided to stand still like a mannequin on display, "Are you going to place it? Or what?"
God, you had been spacing out.
You felt heat rise to your cheeks. Returning to consciousness, you forced yourself to continue your original plan. Ignoring the figure observing your stillness, you finally pulled the tray out completely.
The weight of the pie, which seemed almost unmanageable seconds ago, was now securely resting in your shared hands.
Carefully holding the fall-themed dessert, you maneuvered the both of you to the gasoline stovetop. The way you two cooperated felt like a team game as you both gently placed the pumpkin pie down.
Once the pan made a satisfying clink sound with the oven, his bony hands swiftly uncovered yours. He pulled his lean, well-formed arms, now fully away from your figure.
As you pulled your oven mittens from your warm palms, you felt his brisk absence.
Exhaling, you distracted yourself with the pie. The once-saffron orange had been reduced to a muted ginger. Near the edges of the circular treat was a deep auburn shade hinting that it’d been cooking using its heat.
Admiring your work, you couldn’t help but think how good it’d taste on a crisp Halloween night.
The toasty atmosphere was still swirling, enveloping the both of you. Inhaling the aroma of the freshly baked pie, you could feel the lingering tension. Your breath stifled, trying to embrace the smell rather than your accusing thoughts.
A mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, and a tinge of cloves spread through the cabin like wildfire. Honestly, the pie smelled like a lit candle from a high-end store.
Looking back at Toby, you met his sight, "Thanks."
The words were plain and simple. Relaxing you could feel the heat of the room gradually decline.
"A-huh," he muttered back at you, resigning his gaze to the floor.
You watched him scratch the inside of his mixed hands more destructively than he needed to. The conversation was growing dry as you didn’t say anything in response to his dead tone.
Your sight soon hunted down the almost hollow can. There wasn’t much left. Not nearly enough for each slice to have its own dollop. Would one swirl in the middle be enough, or was it not even worth it at that point?
Indecisiveness flared through you as you decided to use this moment as a spark for conversation, "Cream or no cream?"
"Well, there’s not much left, but if you want to do one dumb dollop, then go ahead." He replied, picking at his fingers like he wasn’t the reason you were lacking whipped cream.
Looking at him this close, you could tell he was chewing the inside of his cheek. He seemed to have ignored what happened last time. Eyes tracing to the other side, you looked at the hollow gape in his mouth. Teeth ran up his jaw like a canine, revealing his darkened gums.
You tapped your fingers on the skinny can like a drum as his eyes flickered to yours. "Y’know, it’s rude to— stare."
You slightly recoiled, turning your gaze elsewhere as he dropped his head slightly to the side. Unannounced to you, a misshapen smile formed on his face. He was fond of the way you responded to his words.
"Sorry." You exhaled, knowing he was playing with you.
In response to your words, he lightheartedly giggled. He had a certain way of letting you know if he was upset with you, and this wasn’t it. But, still, you didn’t want to set him off in any way.
He knew he shouldn’t mess with you like that, but he found it so addicting.
You heard a firm click of the tongue, and unwillingly, you turned back to him. He was tracing his convoluted scars with his index finger; no blood dripped from the healed wounds. At this point, it seemed he wanted your attention.
He wanted you to look at his wilted wounds with loathing repulsion. He needed to hear you critique his looks so he could bury the feeling deep inside of him.
Instead, your sight trailed from his face to his arms and then to his hands.
His sculpted hands were littered with disfigured markings from his past. The valleys of his fingers had been flawed with absent chucks of flesh like he’d gnawed them off a while ago.
But that aged damage wasn’t what you were disturbed by.
It was the inflamed scarlet decorating his chapped palms. The marking seemed tender to the touch, unlike the rehabilitated marks everywhere else. He held his shaky breath in his throat, seeming to realize what you were skeptical of.
"...You touched the pan, didn’t you?" Your words came out loosely; you watched him swallow densely now, not enjoying the words coming from you.
He kept silent with a stiff expression (he got caught red-handed), "Maybe."
Of course, Toby couldn’t feel it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t injured. With the number of reckless incidents he inflicted on himself, you’d think he’d learned by now.
Typically, his only argument was that it gave you all the superhuman ability to heal wounds overnight, and while that was true, it could still get infected in that time frame.
Inhaling, you wished that he hadn’t helped you after all. He didn’t have to, but he did. Of course, you might’ve fallen on your ass if he hadn't, but still, there was a chance you wouldn’t have.
Maybe he was scared that you'd drop the pie you two worked so hard on, or maybe he was driven by a feeling of irrationality that had him doing before thinking.
You came to his side before calmly reaching out for his scorched palms. He withdrew naturally before he realized your intentions. He soon gently rested both of his unstable hands on yours.
Taking both of his trauma-filled hands, you investigated the swollen skin. You absent-mindedly started to run your digits all along the inflamed marks.
Reaching his palms, you could tell he was much warmer than he should’ve been.
In concern, you mildly pulled him by the wrist. Mindfully, you both treaded through the battlefield of a mess to the sink. You turned the faucet, bringing it to a slow, manageable pace.
Quickly, swatting your hand through the water to ensure it was at a safe temperature, you pulled his wrist again, motioning him to cool down the wound. He glared at you before giving in to your concerns. The water splashed the side of the sink in response to his hands suddenly changing the course of the mini waterfall.
He stayed quiet, looking down at you. "You realize I can’t feel it, right?"
"Yeah, but you’re still wounded." You rebutted his obvious observation, holding back the urge to say something witty.
You solemnly watched the liquid deliberately stop the inflammation. It wasn’t like you didn’t know about his medical condition; it was more that you didn’t like him denying his physical well-being. Sure, it wasn’t a big deal to him, but it was to you.
"...Thank you." The words dripped from the grit of his teeth lowly, almost like he didn’t want you to hear them.
You grinned hearing him force his pride away, "You’re welcome."
You looked him in the eyes and kept your smile. It felt right to help him, and it felt even better to hear him praise your efforts.
"We should probably-" He tried to speak until both of you were abruptly cut off by a noise neither of you wanted to hear.
The doorbell.
Heads turned to the front door; it was obvious they were back. Anticipation bubbled viciously in your stomach. How long had you two been messing around?
This wasn’t good. Neither of you was supposed to be here right now. It wasn’t part of the plan. You felt your body stiffen as you swiftly looked at your partner in crime. He seemed to stare at you just the same.
"Fuck."
-
Written By: Verdana. (bogusbox)
Beta [Alpha] Reader: Sara. (tobyskitten342)
Mentions: @flufftober & @tobyskitten342
A/N: I won't be participating much this year due to my personal life. Things are pretty messy over here, but I hope the oneshots I do post are okay!
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#flufftober 2023#day 1#creepypasta#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby x y/n#ticci toby x you#ticci toby#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x you#creepypasta oneshot#x reader
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CORRUPTION
Chapter one
Ticci Toby x Reader Nsfw
SENSITIVE CONTENT WARNINGS: Manipulation, Gaslighting, Angst, Abuse, Non-con, Dub-con, Nsfw - Smut, Masturbation, Cockwarming, Kinda yandere, Unhealthy relationship, Kinks, Major Character Death, Anxiety and Panic attacks, Violance, Trauma.
Masterlist
You were laying on your shared bedroom, waiting for Toby to come back from another mission It’s been five hours you think to yourself, remembering what he said before leaving you in this cold boring room “Don’t worry, i will be ba-back soon bumblebee.”
You two had been dating for almost a year now. He had always been kind towards you, treating as if you could shatter under his touch. Of course there are times when he hurt you in both mentality and physically way but he never really mean to do it.
Not wanting to waste your time doing nothing but staring at the wall and dive inside of your gloomy thoughts you decided to read a book.
Toby came back after hours, he shut the door harshly and locked it, he is mad, you sit on the edge of the bed looking at him must have been a rough mission you thought to yourself. His gaze softened as he looked at you, seeing that you were wearing his hoodie. He approached you tenderly, kneeled down in front of you before hugging your belly burying his face on your lap.
“It had been seven hours” you cooed as your hands run through his messy hair taking out the leafs on that tangled mess wondering how they even get there. “We argued with Tim, Asshole, and almost fai-failed, failed, failed the mission” he hugged you tighter as whimpering. “I miss you” he said finally looking to your face “i miss you too darling” you smile warmly and he kissed those perfect lips of yours.
He stand up as you grabbed his hoodie tightly, wanting things to get naughty. Still he was kissing you innocently.
Dry blood covered hands grabbed your waist, laying you on the bed as he take his place top of you. Soft lips touching your neck, he politely pulled you closer.
Slowly taking all of your clothes off, leaving you naked. Kisses getting rougher each time making you moan his name. You placed your hand on his member above his pants, slovly teasing him and enjoying how hard he gets for you. He take his hoodie off and throw it on the ground. “Y/N…” he mumbled. Rest of his clothes are thrown away carelessly not long after, thats right he was so hard and it was obvious yht he is hardly controling himself. beautiful hazel eyes met with yours. “ if you allow me” Toby, sweetest boy you have ever met, asked for permission kindly, refusing to take it any further without your answer. “Toby, yes”. He looks way more than attractive with that grin.
Toby separate your legs as kissing and playing with your breasts, leaving his love marks everywhere. His other hand slowly rubbing your cilt and then pressing his fingers inside of you in and out slowly just to tease you, driving you mad with pleasure, “Damn bum-bumblebee, i made you this wet already?” He jokingly said not allowing you to finish. Making your cheeks go red. He rubbed his hard member few times before gently pressing it against your entrance, “Ngh..” you hold his arm as he split your cunt with his rock hard cock.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to your body. "Tight." He buried his head on your hair taking you in with deep breaths. "God... Y/N yo-you're so warm inside..."
Getting deeper and harder with each thrust, he started sucking and biting your necck again, making you fill the room with moans not even caring about others to hear you. He is all you wanted tyo have right now, his love is more precious than anything else.
"Darling..." Toby moaned as he changed his position. Grabbing your waist roughly with his bloody hands, he was losing himself again not being able to understand it's hurting you, you almost, almost, whimpered with pain. But then again you were so close to the edge that you couldn't even care about it. It take few pushs and you cummed all over your lovers man sword, and soon after he realised inside of you.
That was a quick joy before sleep, to color both of your dreams.
Toby pulled himself out and lay next to you smiling, giving you a comfortable hug. "Thank you my bee" he kissed your head "you're welcome honey" you smiled "ı like the new, new, new nickname" that was the last thing you remember before passing out.
You wake up by Toby who is hugging you from behind a little too tight, you turned to him hugging him back, trying to calm him by playing with his hair.
Sweet boy finally woke up from the torture. He relaxed as soon as he realise your naked body. "Good morning Toby". He give you a huge warm smile. "Good morning".
Pretty hazel eyes scan your body, he wanted to make sure that he didn't hurt you too much. His smile fade away as his eyes locked on your abused waist. "Bumblebee... ı'm so so sorry" it take so long to convince him that it's okay.
His attractive naked body was cleaned up, out of his other injuries there was something new, something from you, hickeys on his neck and scratches behind his back, you couldn't help but smiled. You lay your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat while he play with your messed up hair.
It was just like a dream untill someone tried to open the door harshly. “Open the fucking door Rogers!” He yelled aggressively kicking the door, it would be a lie if you say you aren’t scared. Toby sighed with annoyance, “I told you not t-to call me th-that asshole, g-guess your brain is too small to understand even li-little things.” Every word was filled with disgust. You giggled and he winked at you.
Tim started kicking the door outside “i said open the god damn door Toby!” You stare at Toby with anxiety this time. “Ba-bastard…” he leave the warm bed and wear his pants "Stay in bed". He kissed your head before unlocking the door. “What do you want Tim?” Not even allowing for him to open the door fully Tim entered inside, placing his hands on Toby’s neck.
Before you could understand anything your lover was pinned on the ground while being choked to death. “i will fucking kill you!” Tim shouted.
Toby tried to punch and kick him off yet he failed. His ticks were getting worse as he kept cursing, “g-g-get off, off, off son of a bi-bitch, bi-“ not even giving him time to finish Tim grabbed his hair and started banging Toby’s head on the ground wildly. "learn how to speak you ticci bitch." He was acting like an animal.
That was too much, you can’t just stay there and watch this. You get up and grab an empty wine bottle, thanks lord the room wasn’t cleaned up yet, your darlings hazel eyes watching you in panic. He understands.
The sound of shattered glass filled the room, little pieces falling into the ground. It caused Tim to lose his balance. His eyes scan your still naked body with rage “you will regret this little sh-“ he let go of Toby and attack you.
Hopefully there was enough time for Toby to pull himself together and get up. He hold your wrist and pulled you behind him. “Don’t you fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, touch her.” Both of the boys heads were covered with blood yet Toby's conscious was almost gone.
"Give me back my fucking pills Rogers. I told you not to touch my stuff." Tim said. Your boyfriend pulled out the pills Tim asked for, throwing them at the savage man infront of you. "And my drugs too, give them" Toby was losing too much blood. "Jeff got them." Toby replied coldly.
The other man was satisfied to see your lover injured and covered in blood. "wery well." You could feel his eyes on your body as you place Toby on your shared bed.
Turning back to Tim again, you were looking at him full of disgust he ruined your morning "Get out Tim you got what you wanted, now leave us alone." you said. "Not yet sugar but ı will leave this time." His gaze on your breasts, you uncomfortably covered yourself making him giggle at your action. "Behave your toy, Rogers..." and he finally left the room.
Toby kept his silence as you take care of his wounds which made you quiet nervous. He would normally rent about silly things to lighten the mood. There is nothing wrong, he must be having a sudden mood change you think to yourself. “I t-told you to stay in bed.” He broke the silence. “You didn’t think that I would just watch, did you?” You said with a little smile but it only caused him to get angrier.
He was looking at you as if a wolf looking at its prey, filling this little bunny with nothing but fear. “Toby i-“ he didn’t let you finish. “Tell me, darling, didn’t i told you to stay.” There is nowhere you can run bunny, you had already reached the dead end. "yes, but-" he covered your mouth "Shut up. fuck off, fuck off, don't you know wh-what could happen?" the other hand grabbed your wrist, holding it tightly. "mgh-"
Thats it, big bad wolf finally hunt the bunny. “Maybe It’s better to show you, agh, you would l-like that wouldn’t you.” He woofed. You know exactly what he is planning to do, Toby knows you overhate it but this never stopped him so far. Bubbles of He pull off his claws. Hazel eyes locked into your teary ones, “N-no, please everything but not that.” You begged.
He stand up and grab some clothes of his, handing them over you with a grin. “You wouldn’t like your clothes to get dirty right?” You hide under the bedsheet trying to ignore him “Cmon sunshine, d-dress up. We’re going out.” Toby cooed.
The silence keeps it easy, keeps you safe for the moment. It’s all over now, so why are you still trembling with fear? Toby placed his hands on your shoulders “Good girl.” He said with a satisfied voice. You couldn’t stop starting at the mess you caused, motionless bodies covered with blood. Toby’s hands slowly slipped to yours, taking his hatchets from you. “You made a huge mess, bumblebee. I w-wasn’t expecting this much.” Soft lips touched your neck.
“I did’t… i-i never wanted t-to…” you cried. Toby turned around, places his hands on your cheeks. “Don’t cry.” He wiped your tears away “i only s-show you how you could end up.” You hugged him and hide your face, there was no sound but your tear drops meeting the ground. A panic attack followed your irregular heartbeats. He didn't mean to broke you this much, no, Toby only wanted to show you what could have happend. "Hey...it's o-okay." strong arms wrapped around your body, keeping you safe.
Same feelings swallows you every time. Trying to get out of this mess is pointless, the more you struggle the more you sink in deeper. Your struggles are nothing.
“You tear up every time…” he said as he left kisses on your neck. “Aren’t you h-happy, we are the same.” Toby grabbed your hairs carefully, exposing the neck he kissed. “You’re a murderer just like me, don’t cry.” Toby spoke the truth you didn’t wanted to hear. “Please, home…” you cried. “Alright, bum-bumblebee.”
He walked you to an old felled tree, you two sit side by side. "Don't cry anymore bumblebee, everything is alright now." He said with a sade tone. Your hands were trapped between his, warm and a little bit shaky too. Toby cracked his necks unwillingly, "Fuck! that hurt." his words made you laugh a little bit. Oh, he will never change will he? Both of your laughs echoed among the woods.
Toby left you on your shared room when the sun get placed by the moon, he said he will be back at late and you shouldn’t wait for him, locked the door and take the key with him. So here you are again, trapped in this booring room all by yourself.
You could watch tv or read a book to entertain yourself but you didn’t wanted to, other alternatives to be entertained are masturbating and sleeping but you didn’t wanted to do them either. You left alone to repeat same things whenever Toby locks you, yeah maybe you enjoy it most of the time but when this became a part of your regular day it started to get boring.
#creepypasta#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta fandom#ticci toby x y/n#ticci toby x you#creepypasta ticci toby#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby smut#creepypasta smut#creepypasta x reader smut#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x you#creepypasta oneshot#creepypasta masky#creepypasta hoodie#masky
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Helen Otis x Reader: You would sleep with me (if you could do it comfortably)
Hiiii everyone it's me I'm back :P I'm finding that I don't really agree with my past characterizations of these characters but I'm gonna leave my old posts up anyway... anyways here's a Helen oneshot I wrote last night. It's sort of a continuation of the first one I wrote (read that here) but can be read as a standalone. It's crossposted on AO3 (here) and I love getting kudos so please gas it up there if you so choose :P
Reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns) and (Y/N) is used.. It isn't smutty or anything (sorry) but it's kind of romantic. Around 1300ish words (a little less). I hope you enjoy!
edit: pspspsps heyy look theres a 3rd part HERE!!! if u enjoy this go read that ok bye...
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The screen door swung shut with a sharp smack. The sound used to make Helen jump, but he’d grown used to it with all the time he’d spent out on the porch. It was early spring now, and sprigs of green were beginning to poke their way out of the ground in the midst of all the brown. A chilly breeze carried all the fresh smells of spring, along with… cigarette smoke?
“Hey, handsome.”
That made Helen jump. His head snapped to his right, and he was graced with the sight of a familiar face leaning against the railing, lit cigarette in hand. The corners of his lips twitched. He was fighting back a smile.
“You’re back.” He said matter-of-factly, trying to seem uncaring, and not as if he had been awaiting their return with bated breath (god, he couldn’t believe it, he was acting like a damsel.) “Where were you?”
“If I told you,” they paused to take a drag (and, Helen suspected, to add dramatic effect), turning to look at the trees as they exhaled, “I’d have to kill you.”
Although there was a playful grin on their face, Helen knew that they were only half joking. The Operator’s proxies were incredibly hush-hush about their missions, and (Y/N) was no exception. Usually, he didn’t mind too much, but Helen had found that he was much more curious than he wanted to be, at least when it came to (Y/N).
“So.” (Y/N) spun around so that their back was now facing the woods. They motioned to the sketchbook in Helen’s hands. “Draw any pretty pictures lately?” They grinned.
Right. Helen had come out here to draw. He unconsciously tightened his grip on the book, averting his eyes. Since that fateful winter afternoon, he had been inspired to draw things other than the trees… (Y/N) in particular had become his unknowing muse.
No way in hell was he showing them that. They’d probably think he was a creepy freak and never speak to him again. As much as Helen hated to admit it to himself, he didn’t think he’d be able to handle that happening.
So instead, he fumbled for words, trying to save himself. “Uh, you know… more of the same, nothing new.” Helen refused to meet (Y/N)’s eyes. He chewed on the inside of his mouth nervously, picking at the edge of his sketchbook. He felt as if he was a child that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
(Y/N) pursed their lips and then sighed, seeming to decide not to press his buttons about it. Over the course of their blossoming friendship, they’d learned that Helen could be quite protective over his artwork. It was best to leave it be.
So, (Y/N) changed the subject, knowing that Helen wouldn’t do it on his own. “Why don’t we sit, hmm? I’m tired of standing. I feel like I’ve been standing for like, like forever, man.”
“Okay.” Helen said, his shoulders sagging in relief. (Y/N) stubbed their cigarette out on the railing before they moved to plop down on the porch steps, their hiking boots clunking against the stairs as they got situated. Helen took his usual place next to them.
The pair settled into a comfortable silence, just staring out at the wilderness. Helen’s sketchbook lay on the stair, untouched. He couldn’t bring himself to open it in front of them just yet.
Instead, he looked over at (Y/N), trying to remain discreet. Early on in their friendship, Helen had decided that he liked their face (purely from an artistic standpoint, he was sure) and so he had taken it upon himself to memorize it (again, purely for artistic reasons). Not much had changed about them since he’d last seen them. There was a bandaid on their cheek, sure, but other than that they were still the same (Y/N).
Except, they looked so tired. Deep, dark circles rimmed their eyes, and their eyes themselves were completely bloodshot. Helen was all too familiar with this kind of tired, something he experienced after many sleepless nights sitting at his easel. He was shocked that (Y/N) was managing to stay awake in their state.
“Haven’t I told you that it’s rude to stare?” (Y/N) asked suddenly, startling Helen. They turned to him, cocking an eyebrow. Despite how exhausted they seemed, they were still alert as ever. A proxy trait, no doubt. “Do I have something on my face, orrrrr…”
“No, no…” He shook his head, looking forward again. He really wasn’t appreciating what the teasing lilt in their voice was doing to his brain and heart, but his concern for them seemed to outweigh that. God, he hated that he was concerned. What was wrong with him?
“Then what? You like what you see or somethin’?” (Y/N) leaned in expectantly, smirking. What an asshole.
Despite how close (Y/N) had gotten, Helen managed to look them in the eye (though he was practically holding his breath). “You look… tired, (Y/N). Really tired.”
(Y/N)’s smile softened, the mischief in their eyes fading. They moved back slightly, looking back out at the forest.
“Are you… alright?” Helen asked hesitantly, brows furrowed in concern.
(Y/N) sighed, taking a moment to answer. “...Yeah, I’m fine.” They brought a hand up to their face, rubbing one of their eyes absently. “‘S just… you’re right. I’m way tired.”
“...I know.” Helen mumbled, gaze never leaving their face. His hands twitched in his lap, wanting to do something to comfort his weary friend. Instead, he asked, “Rough mission?”
“So rough, ugh.” (Y/N) laughed quietly, as if they were reminiscing about a happy memory. “I got into a crazy fight with this guy – man, he almost killed me. You should’ve seen him though, I messed him up.”
Helen frowned. He knew that they shouldn’t be telling him these things, and he was not a fan of the idea of (Y/N) putting themselves in danger. It was a part of their job, sure, but in his heart he wished it didn’t have to be.
“(Y/N)...” They perked up when he spoke their name and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “I think you should go and get some rest.”
(Y/N) huffed, their expression going sour. “Yeah, but… I wanna-” they cut themselves off with a yawn before continuing, “I wanna spend time with you, y’know? It’s been a while. I missed you.”
Helen felt like he was going to die at those words, his heart pounding against his ribcage. “Oh, well, um…” I missed you too, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to.
“I have an idea.” (Y/N) said suddenly, scootching toward Helen until their legs were touching and their shoulders were touching and oh god-
And then (Y/N) leaned their head on Helen’s shoulder and all he could smell was lavender shampoo and cigarette smoke and he was going to faint (but he didn’t). Their hair tickled his neck and they were so warm and Helen wished he could wrap his arms around them and pull them closer. Instead, he sat stiff as a board, breath caught in his throat.
(Y/N) either was too tired to notice or didn’t care. “Wake me up if something interesting happens, okay?” Was all they said before knocking out, snoring lightly (oh my god they snore).
They were definitely going to kill him.
#bloody painter#bloody painter x reader#helen otis#helen otis x reader#the bloody painter#the bloody painter x reader#creepypasta#creepypasta oneshot#creepypasta x reader#helen otis oneshot#bloody painter oneshot
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hiiiiiii i’m back to taking requests for hc and one shots!!!! pls send stuff in i would LOVE to get to writing again!!!
- ghost
#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta x reader#ghost talks#clockwork#eyeless jack#eyeless jack x reader#ben drowned#jeff the killer#jane everlasting#jane the killer#nina the killer#laughing jack#toby rogers#creepypasta oneshot
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Present Silence
C̲l̲o̲c̲k̲w̲o̲r̲k̲ ̲x̲ ̲N̲o̲n̲-̲B̲i̲n̲a̲r̲y̲!̲ ̲r̲e̲a̲d̲e̲r̲
❥ Warnings: mentions of neglect, mental instability, hints to eating disorder, mentions of cancer, death of a parent
𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴! 𝙸𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.
⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
(Y/n) wasn’t much for silence, yet it was the exact thing that haunted them in the dead of night. You could say it rooted from a traumatic event from their childhood; an abandonment that made them become almost non-pellucid to the outside world. Not that they cared. They saw society in a fixed lens, seeing every little speckle of morality as if it was a blemish on their sketch book.
However, the white tiled halls outside their room didn’t even make any motion. No reverberation of heels clicking against the marble or the creaking of an old wheelchair rolling down the narrow walls. It’s as if the present became quietude itself. Static fills the emptiness inside (Y/n)’s head, spreading down throughout their body like a virus. It bleeds into their veins, leaving a heavy formication. Their fingers itch and claw at the ashen sheets below them, pulling at the restraints hung taut at the edge of the bed.
They wanted to scream, beg to the black figure standing in the corner to stop. It watches them with gaping eyes, its black irises widening with delegation. The creature wasn’t real, they knew this. The suppressed subjectivity of their mind was interesting. The morbidity that it plays with made (Y/n) want to laugh. To say that it all started with a drawing was much too simple.
The doctors liked to prescribe it as a disease; a disease that will slowly consume (Y/n) as they spiral into madness within these matted panels. (Y/n) thought of this ‘sickness’ as gospel. With their new pair of glasses, they could distinguish what was true and what was false. Who was for them and who was not. That power does come with a cost.
(Y/n) was quite bright as a child, finding new ways to express themselves as an upcoming member of a Utopia they thought existed. With a pencil and paper, they could abstract anything that popped into their young mind. They love to draw. It was an activity that allowed them to show others how they saw the world. Bright and opportunistic, with the sun shining over everyone in brand lighting.
‘That world doesn’t exist. Get over your stupid dreams of becoming something that’s unrealistic.’
Their mother had told them that a long time ago, when the colors they once saw turned bland. When their father left, life as they knew it flipped upside down. ‘You can be anything, and I’ll be there for you,’ he said. What a joke. He should have known that the cancer would get to him before (Y/n) would ever aspire in a work ethic. Their mother wasn’t much of an enthusiast, especially after her husband died. The one luminosity that ever dared to make her smile was the one that left her with a kid she didn’t even love.
Life wasn’t too bad. (Y/n) still had the gift of sight and vision that provided them with the love of drawing. As they woke up from the distant memory of a peachy story, they then realized their potential. No one understood their craft though, using the aphorism that grotesque and dark art did not aid in this world’s progression. (Y/n) did not adjure this type of thinking. Didn’t they see it wasn’t that of a pretentious display?
The school recommended that they be transferred in an institute during their third year of high school. (Y/n)’s mother was more than compliant for their requests. ‘They need medical help. A kid their age should not be thinking so deeply about these things.’ The nurses were nice enough. They had charming smiles and always made nice comments on (Y/n)’s latest projects. They were fake, sadly. Though, (Y/n) appreciated their efforts to perceive the meaning.
The crisp breath of the inky silhouette fans over (Y/n)’s face. A shudder goes down their spine, pricking their nerves like hot wax. It lies on their leaden body, grabbing at the muscles of their neck with a tight squeeze. (Y/n) was hyperventilating again, the edges of their field of vision spotting. It was a trick. Why was their mind going against them so?
They twist and turn against the restraints tied around their limbs, the leather rubbing into their skin harshly. The feeling of it burning at the pellicle of their wrists and ankles erupts another feeling inside the pit of their stomach. They needed to get out. They wanted out. The sudden anticipation to move ached in their joints and they struggle more against the phantasmal weight on them.
(Y/n)’s hands slip through the material, and they heave themselves upward. The darkness emitting their sight disperses into the shadows of the room, leaving them to gasp for air. Rubbing at the red pigmentation of their abused wrists, they kick off the belts holding their feet. The distant sound of a clock erupts the quiet void of the room.
The window adjacent to the door opens gradually, and the form of a girl crawls in. The constant ticking coming from the girl’s retina eases the density crawling at (Y/n) with vigor. The static falls into a pleasant buzz on their skin.
The girl pushes her brown locks out of her face, her one hazel orb almost glowing in the moonlight. Her sewn smile stifles one to reach (Y/n)’s blue-tinted lips. She reaches into the bag hanging over her shoulder, unzipping it with ease. She pulls out a black book and tosses it onto the thin bedding. Despite her not speaking, (Y/n) nods their head in appreciation.
“Thank you, Clocky…” (Y/n) huskily remarks. Their fingers graze over the rough fabric of the cover and they open it to see it was another sketch book. It was probably one she snatched from one of her 'jobs’. She would never say what she did, but that didn’t cause any frustration on (Y/n)’s part. “You always know how to make me feel better…”
“I saw you screaming again,” Clockwork replies, “Did you have another episode?” She sits down on the mattress, crossing her arms.
(Y/n) simply taps at their head, the pads pointing towards their left eye. They suddenly get up from their position, their malnourished body contorting with audible pops. Clockwork watches them with precise movements as they grab for a box under the furniture. (Y/n) opens it, grabbing some paper and two graphite pencils.
“Will you draw with me?” They ask sweetly.
Clockwork looks towards the door, before breathing out. “Alright, but only for a little bit. I’m not supposed to be here.” She places herself on the cold floor as (Y/n) positions the material.
“I’ll show you the new monster I saw tonight. I’ll call it Present Silence…” They muse as they begin to drag the charcoal tip over the clean sheet of paper with eager. Clockwork observes as they wind the black substance in circles. Normal people would call (Y/n)’s art as childish or rubbish, but she was fascinated with it. They drew the way she saw the world.
“Are you not in the mood to draw?” (Y/n) asks, stopping for a moment to look up.
Clockwork hums in response before grabbing the book from (Y/n)’s lap.
“I’m not finished-” They reply, but don’t fight with her as he looks over it.
“Present Silence, you say?”
They nod with a smile. “It suffocated me.”
She gathers her thoughts, before placing a hand on (Y/n)’s head. She brushes her fingers through their hair; these were the hands of a killer. Her hazel eye locks with (Y/n)’s as they wait for a response. She gives them back their art piece and picks herself off the ground.
“Where are you going?” (Y/n) says sadly, “Stay for a little longer?”
Clockwork climbs over the windowsill, her hand holding onto the glass. She glances back, a ghostly tender look veiling over her harsh looking demeanor. “The next time I visit, I’m bringing something special.”
“What you bring me is always special,” They answer.
“See you…” Clockwork says in response, closing the window back to where it was before she entered. Present Silence once again greets the lonely figure within the room.
⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
#creepypasta#creepypasta oneshot#clockwork#creepypasta imagines#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x you#clockwork x reader#gn!reader#gender neutral pronouns#genderneutral reader#non binary reader#fanfic#fanfiction#oneshot#imagines#new writer boost#serious topics#read at your own discretion
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broken noses
Roadkill oneshot story
Content/triggers ; creepypasta (oc), descriptions of gore, murder, and vomit
Summary; roadkills mission is like all his others, he blacks out and when he realizes what hes done he doesn't take it well, now with his knew found realization that he's beginning to subconsciously submit to the slenderman.
I remove my fist from his face only to make it reconnect a few seconds later, the gruesome sound of his bones breaking and his face crushing falls on my deaf ears as I am not completely there. I don't even realize I'm mumbling under my breath. I'm never there when I kill, it's always Him, not me and I'm just a bystander in my own brain at that point.
I don't know how long I was on him. How long I was smashing my fist against his face but I'm being pulled away. And it knocks me out as I look up to see a white mask. I don't see the disappointment in his face, or Brian slowly shaking his head as he leaves the room. I do see the corpse below me though when I look back down, His face is bloody and his nose is bent in a way that makes me turn my head and gag. Some of his face is caved in and I keep my eyes closed in horror of the sight in front of me, I am breathing heavy enough to visibly see my chest move up and down as the adrenaline fully hits me.
Masky is trying to ground me in a way, mumbles of words I can’t make out being yelled at me while I’m being basically dragged out of the room and as soon I touch the ground I throw up whatever little food I had in me, the sound of the others cursing in annoyance or gagging themselves follows soon after as I keep my hand over my mouth not caring too much about the blood on them. All I can do is try not to throw up again for the second time as I see the replay of the kill in my head.
I don't remember much after that all I know is I made it out of the house and I'm sitting on the back porch now, shaking with my blown out pupils inside my wide eyes. The once warm blood now dried and stuck, the puke on my clothing and hands.
I’m frozen starring deep into the woods with the shock still very prevalent in my mind. Im scratching at my arms as I hold myself, making me as small as possible as I see Him in the woods. And even without a face I can tell He's proud with me killing that man inside. As I see the blurry fuzzy nod of His head, He's happy I did it and that makes me feel sick to my stomach as I realize that I find comfort in the feeling of His praise.
I lower my head and finally let out a sob, my shoulders rising and falling as I cry. He leaves, and leaves me with a headache that sets in with my adrenaline leaving my body. leaving my here as the quite sets in only being broken from hearing a quite “let’s go” from Tim a few minutes later.
#he’s so sad#hes just like me for real#creepypasta#creepypasta fandom#creepypasta oc#creepypasta oc written#creepypasta original character#creepypasta oneshot#creepypasta proxy oc#proxy#proxy oc#creepypasta proxy#slender proxy#slenderverse#slenderverse oc#slenderman#i am this close to losing it#he needs a break
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heyo basically this blog is a mix of reblogging, roleplay,memes, creepypasta,my oc Mattie,match ups,headcanons, scenarios, oneshots
REQUESTS OPEN
#flood my inbox#requests open#mattie the creepypasta#creepypasta#oc x character#requests are open#request#creepypasta oc#creepypasta memes#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta oneshot#creepypasta matchups
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Hi! I was the one who recommended the Toby story and I LOVED it! (You're definitely one of my favorites if not my favorite creepypasta writer atm) I was wondering if I could make another request? Y/N trying to top Toby (more in a bratty way than an actual wanting to top way) but little did she know how shitty the day has already been for him because of one of the missions slender had sent on him and he really wasn't in the mood for her shit. And things just get rough from there 🥰
Also if you start an anon list can I be 💤anon?
☆ // IM GONNA FUCK YOU UNTIL YOU'RE SORRY, SWEETHEART! ✿⪼
aww tysm for the sweet words! it really warms my heart knowing you enjoy my writing, and ofc yes i'll add u to my anon list, i never originally planned on making one so ty for the idea!!
im not sure who the artist of the image is, if somebody finds out please tell me so i can credit them! i tried reverse google search but it didnt work D: i found the image on pinterest
im also so sorry for the super late post, shit has been a lil wonky lately and i recently js got my shit together LMAO, ill be back to posting.
CW: rough sex, choking, also degradation, overstimulation, brat taming
you were sat on the couch in the living room of the mansion. the rest of the creepypastas were either out on missions, or doing whatever the hell they were doing. slender was visiting his brothers, so you were all alone, free to do whatever you wanted to.
you sat there, awaiting for a certain someone to return. your hands were inbetween your thighs, rubbing at your clothed pussy. something about the fact that you could possibly get caught by somebody, toby or not, turned you on. but toby was expected to return from his mission first.
right on cue, you heard keys jingling around in the knob of the front door. you quickly repositioned yourself, pretending you were watching tv. the door opens and you turn around, seeing none other than toby. you greeted him, on purposely bending over the couch a little too far so he could see a peak of your boobs, only to be met with a stone cold stare. you were planning to get him to fuck you some way and when you saw him walk past you and into the kitchen, you realized it may be harder than you thought it would.
you trailed behind him, following him into his room. he looked over his shoulder, grunting in annoyance.
you took his shoulders and held him to the wall, leaving gentle and lustful kisses on his neck. you could tell he was bothered by something, yet you decided to continue anyway. you kissed and kissed until you pushed him past his limits. he escaped from your grip, walking away. you could see how tense he was, holding back from lashing out at you.
"i'm not in the mood for your bullshit, (y/n)." he almost yelled, pushing you onto the bed. you flinched, unsure what he was gonna do next. "you want this dick so fucking bad? you're gonna get it. and i'm gonna fuck you so hard until you're really sorry." he growled, flipping you over onto your stomach. he pulled your pants down and you yelped. you could hear the sound of him unzipping his pants.
you whined as you felt him go inside of you with no prep, but it slipped in easy with how wet you were. he thrusted in and out of you, his chest heaved as he fucked the absolute shit out of you. you moaned with each time he went balls deep inside of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. this wasn't like the other times you had sex, it was full of anger and frustation, yet lust at the same time.
you clenched around him as you felt his hand wrap around your throat, he took your chin with his other hand and shoved 2 fingers into your mouth. he slammed into you repeatedly while you choked on his fingers. tears streaked down your cheeks. you could feel your orgasm come nearer and nearer, and you whined around his fingers.
you cried out as your pussy spasmed around his thick cock, you came so hard your vision began to become blurry, white spots everywhere. toby still hadn't came yet, fucking you at an even faster pace now. still sensitive from your orgasm, you sob. maybe this was your punishment for bothering him. he leaned over you, still fucking and choking you as hard as he was before. he bit into your neck, almost enough to draw blood, and left kisses around the mark he had left on you.
toby removed his fingers from your mouth and roughly gripped your thighs as he continued to fuck breathy moans out of your mouth. "toby i just came- slow down." you pleaded, eyes watering from the overstimulation.
"shut the fuck up, you wanted this, slut." you almost felt another orgasm come with his words. you whimpered, clenching around him. he grit his teeth, your warm pussy tightening around him was almost enough to send him over the edge. he leaned over you and gripped your cheeks, kissing you roughly as he pounded into you.
his tongue played with yours, he tasted the tears streaking down your face as he bit your lower lip. "fuck, your pussy is so good.." he groaned as he continued to kiss you. you felt him throb inside of you, and you knew he was close.
"shit-" he said between clenched teeth as you felt him release his load inside of you. your eyes rolled back as you both orgasmed simultaneously, his dick twitching as his thrusting came to a stop. he bit at your neck to stop himself from moaning. you buried your face into the sheets.
he lightly squeezed your ass, then put his dick back in his boxers. he picked you up bridal style then placed your head gently on the pillows, pulling the sheets over your naked figure. your eyes fluttered closed as he put his pants back on and left the room.
#ticci toby#toby rogers#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby smut#smut#creepypasta#creepypasta x reader#oneshot#female reader#tobias rogers
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My savior.
Heyoo! I come with some angsty thingies, hurr hurr. This is my first time doing something like this, so please excise if this is too amateur or whatever, lol.
Disclaimer, English is not my first language, and I think I still write a lot of mistakes, so do forgive that.
Cw: angst, undereating, being held captive, Toby is a manipulator, hhh...
Yeah, I think that's it. :)
You had forgotten what the problem was at this point. The only thing you knew was that you were not at fault here.
You, however, felt bad, for your boyfriend was somehow guilt tripping you, manipulating you into thinking that it was your fault to be in this situation when you decided to laugh a little too much at Tim's jokes.
Toby was, by no means, a Saint. Even the other creeps knew not to mess with him, especially considering the fact that he was unpredictable. You never knew what his reaction would be, making him a ticking bomb ready to explode at any second.
He locked you in his room, which was as messy as ever. For whatever reason, Toby had nailed some boards to his window, making the room dark and reeking of humidity. It also did not help that the light bulb went out a long time ago, and Toby didn't want to fix it yet.
He decided that the best thing to do was to seclude you from everyone so that no one would take you away... So that you wouldn't dare cheat on him again with Tim.
He'd bring you some food every once in a while, but judging by what he served you, you only ate breakfast and dinner. The rest of the day you'd spend locked in the room, cold and dark, waiting for this punishment to be over.
It would be really hard to convince Toby that you were "ready" to go out again, since he thought that if you, by any chance, even dared to look a little too long to anyone else, you would be betraying him. Cheating on him with whomever that person were.
Days passed like this, still locked in his room.
At least you had his company, him toying with your hair as you sobbed in place, both of you sitting on his bed as he told you that this was for your own good, that you only had to learn to have eyes for him and him only. He would say that this would pass as long as you learned your lesson, but... at what cost?
By the time he let you out, it had been a month. You came to realize that Toby would tell the others that you were sick, how a horrible cold got to you, then you coincidentally started feeling dizzy and vomiting after you were "healed."
Of course, you looked emaciated. You weren't the person you used to be before.
This time, you made sure to stick close to Toby. To speak only to Toby.
There was no one else you needed, other than Toby.
He who gave you his love even when he locked you up, He who cherished you even when you were such a horrible person, He who loved you through think and thin even when you dared speak to others.
He gave you solace, company, love...
And isn't that what good boyfriends do?
#ticci toby#ticci toby x reader#toby rogers#toby rogers x reader#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta#toby rogers x you#ticci toby x you#angst#oneshot#fanfic#crp headcannons#crp headcannon#creepypasta headcanon
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More whiteboard art dump doodles! ✨️(Multiple fandoms edition)✨️
NOTE: The reason why it says "cat" in all of them is because 1: this was in the Sonic.exe amino, and it's a public whiteboard. And 2: I go by a whole different name and sona in the Sonic.exe amino, so, that's why.
#Cookie run#cookie run kingdom#shadow milk cookie#strawberry cookie#gingerbrave cookie#Sonic.exe creepypasta#Time.exe#Pink the hedgehog#Jsab#just shapes and beats#jsab blixer#project arrhythmia#Project Arrythmia Kitcat#Nowo#Jestar Heart#oneshot niko#Sonic.exe oc#my Sonic.exe OCs#bf fnf#jsab cube#art#whiteboard#♧♠︎my art♠︎♧#Broken file[B.S]
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Slenderman x Reader || Oneshot
Plot: You and Slender have had a big fight, and broke up. You’re both done. Things are just too hard for you both, to stay together. You’ve broken it up and made it up more times then either of you care to count and you just cant do it anymore. You want each other, you need each other, you love each other more then anything else- But you’re giving up. You think its right thing to do.
Now, watch Offender, who is definitely the least knowledgeable man on earth about love, talk to his brother and fix this.
Warnings: Angst (Though I tried to put some comedy in there!) with an insinuated happy ending. Also, obviously, Offender.
Tagging: @ladala-shihiro , @miss-understood , and @yesthetrashbin . I hope y'all like this! ^^
This is a work off my old blog, @mainstreambaddies , remastered ^^ I was reminded about it talking to @marinerainbow ^^
“So, then-” You clear your throat, holding onto the handle to your suitcase, standing out on the porch. Slender's still inside the house, but the door is open. “This is done, now?” This has been done so many times before that its hard to believe that this is really over this time. You almost can’t take it seriously, like you should. Like it is. Like you know that you'll wish you had when you remember it tomorrow morning. You peer up at Slender with a smirk, though, because you just cant. “Not gonna meet me at the edge of the forest again?” Like he’s done the last, what, 70 times?? Apart from those times that you stopped and realised you love him, and ran back for him, of course.
Offender sits on the couch, just inside the mansion, seemingly reading the dirty parts out of some of Slenders books out of immense boredom, when he hears what’s conspiring feet from him. Promptly, he decides this is much more interesting and stops reading. He doesn't put the book down, so as to look like he's reading and not eavesdropping, but he most certainly is.
You get the feeling there would be a stiff, taught, no teeth kind of smile on him if he had those kinds of features. He’s standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed-not like he’s annoyed, or expecting something; More like he’s in thought, holding himself where he is. Together, and most importantly- still. “... Mm, no, not this time.” His voice is dull. “We discussed this already Y/N. This is final.”
“I know.”
“But we have said that before though, haven't we?”
As always, he can read your mind without even actually reading your mind.
You take a deep breath, and let it go. One of the many things you’ll have to let go.
Because you have to.
Because this is the last time. No more. You couldn't do it again,... and you wouldn't want to. Its too hard.
Offenders interest, and doubts, are thoroughly perked. What have they been discussing?? What do these two think they know?? What’s happening?? He rolls over onto his stomach on the couch to look at them, before pushing himself up onto his forearms. “Wait, what're you two doing?”
Slender flat out ignores him, while you give him a funny little look before looking back at Slender again. It hurts to say these next few words. God, its beginning to sink in- this is over. “So... I’m going now.” You love him... but its over. You couldn't do it; There were just too many obstacles in your way and you couldn't hack it.
Why couldn't you just figure it out?
“Okay.”
As you nod at him one last time, in the most awkward final goodbye that anyone has ever witnessed in real life or on TV, Offender cringes.
“-Hey, nobody answered my question. What are you doing?” Panic is starting to set in for real, as you leave, and Slender makes no move to follow you, or waive, or say anything else. He just watches.
What is this?? Anyone with even one working braincell can tell that these two are more meant for each other then any other so-called fucking 'romance' in history. What is this!?
Panicking even more, Offender wants to go and catch you before you get away, but instead of the graceful chase he was intending to give, he manages to get caught trying to escape the couch and tumbles off of it and hard onto the wooden floor. Its not been waxed in a long time. He’s going to have splinters in his face, for sure.
At least this gets Slenders attention, who stops watching you leave for the last time, and turns to look dubiously at his brother. It proves as nearly a distraction from his heart burning in his chest, so he’s eager to get to the insults. “... Are you starting to age? One of the first signs is loss of coordination, so you may well be. If you start to lose your hearing, do let me know. I’m next, after all.”
“No, I’m not starting to age, you spiteful little dick.” Offender, again gracelessly, gets up from the floor and fixes his coat, before stomping over to Slender with a firm, angry finger pointed. “I was disoriented, by the bullshitery happening a few feet away!”
Slender's voice is still dull, but in a difference way now. Tired. He just wants to go to his room and sleep for 11 weeks. His heart feels like its oozing out of his rib cage. Like its become liquid, and it’ll never be better again. This is too much, he didn't sign on for this, this is one of the many many reasons that humans are foul, loathsome creatures he shouldn't bother himself with, fuck- Why didn't he listen to his own goddamn advice?
He tries to perk up, though, for the sake of one of his favourite kind of digs. “Oh, is Jeff home?”
“Can you stop playing around for a couple zeptoseconds and talk straight with me, pixie boy?”
Ah, ‘Pixie boy’. Slender’s been waiting for that little nickname to come back around... not. Offender named him that as Slender's attitude really began to blossom as he grew up, because he resembled one of those little, spiteful, tricky fairies that humans go on and on about stealing their firstborn's, and such. Like Slender would ever want anything with a snivelling little infant. At least not a living, one- And he wouldn't bother leaving a replacement.
“No, shan’t. And can’t. Good day.” Slender makes a yawning sound, genuinely tired even not counting the disgusting heartbreak rushing like sepsis poisoning through his veins- from arguing with you all through the night before you came up with your very sensible conclusion, to end things. Offender watches, in complete disbelief and exasperation as Slender turns his back on him and heads through to the kitchen.
“Bitch, if you think I’m gonna give up that easy... “ Offender mutters to himself, as he rolls up his sleeves for emphasis and goes after his little brother.
-Who hears what was just muttered, and enquires about his supposed consequences, if he did indeed think that Offender would give up that easy. Cheekily. “Hm?”
“Then- you’ll-... be sorry-” Slender laughs quietly, and Offender gets the idea that that answer is not the right one. He also wants to punch him, but what else is new. “You will be... you will... you’ll be sorely mistaken, young man!!”
Oh, fuck. Offender thinks. I’m starting to sound like Splender. Except somehow less intimidating. Goddamn.
They travel through the mansion until Slender gets to his room. He slams the door closed right before Offender was to walk in after him, gets a frustrated swear in response, and is met with a big brother to the face a second later, when Offender teleports right in front of him.
Slender sighs in utter discontent.
Without a word, though, he veers around Offender and heads for the left wall of his room, which he’s converted into a makeshift kitchen. So that he can have tea and breakfast, without having to venture into public eating area and see people. He fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove, using a tentacle to turn the dial. He doesn't turn back to Offender, just stands at the stove and watches the old fashioned, open topped kettle.
God, he’s diminished. Its taking all he has to keep up the front he has, now. He takes a slow, deep breath in. Why did he do that? Why did he end it with you? Slender suddenly feels the urge, physically, to move forward and get you back, even if he has to beg on his knees, but-
Slenders shoulders slowly, gently drop again as he lets out the breath. -but, he cant. He wont let himself.
This is the best, for both of you.
Mostly for them. Slender cant help but add on. Because, its true. He wants nothing, quite like he wants for you to be happy. If it meant his own destruction, which it apparently does, then that's what he'll do. He'll make it happen. He'll suffer.
“Tea?” Slender pipes up, starting the conversation this time himself, surprisingly. Offender looks at his back with a mix of ‘I don't know what to do here’ and that rare bit of ‘help him’ that always seems to come tearing out of the deepest parts of him when his brothers are in trouble. He had been reading Slender's thoughts and now he understood what his little brother was thinking- but it was still dumb as hell. And he refuses to take it.
His voice is cold, but his words give him all away, when he speaks next. “I want you to know that if that’s what you really think, that you’re both- that they’re, gonna be better for this, then you're delusional. But I know that you don't listen to anyone else, so yes. I would like tea. Thanks.”
It relaxes Slender a little knowing that Offender knows where he stands. That he doesn't have to nail into his brother how fixed his mind always is on things, like he has to with nearly everyone else who thinks they can change his mind. They cant. No one has that ability and its quite exhausting proving that over and over. He supposes that's one thing his idiot brothers are good for.
He nods in response, the slightest bit of relief dripping off his forehead.
The next few minutes are silent, except for the eventual question of ‘Earl Grey or English Breakfast?’, and the response of ‘Irish’. The silence continues, until Slender pushes a cup into Offenders hands and then finally, finally rests down in an elegant chair and table that looks out on his beloved forest. There’s another chair, which Offender finds home in, as Slender looks depleted with his shoulders hunched forward, his fingers tight around his cup, and his gaze on the window. Or, what’s outside, of course.
Seeing this, what Offender can only construe as a look of longing- he tries again. “So... you... don't wanna make up with Y/N, because...?”
Slender sighs, giving in to the conversation. Any other day, he’d fight it till the cows came home, but today... he just doesn't have it in him. Too... tired. He shifts his focus onto the dark, milk-less void of in his cup and slowly, shakily lets go with one hand to trace the edge gently. “I want off this rollercoaster, Offender. Y/N and I... we don't do anything but fight. I love them, somehow- but I’ll live forever, while they wont. They deserves to spend their limited amount of time in peace, and they wont get that with me. That's just... how it is. That's what we have seen.”
“You know it only feels like you fight all the time, when you’re fighting... that's normal, bro. There’s plenty of time when you and that kid are freaken… merged like black holes.” Oh, wow, that is not a bad analogy. Okay- “That must be why you’re hurtin’ so much now.”
“Black holes stay around for a long time.” Slender tells him immediately, and Offender hates him in that moment for knowing about space.
“Okay, bad analogy.”
“Yes.”
Frustrated again, Offender puts his tea firmly on the table to arouse attention. “Alright, new angle. It will come as no shock to you that we’re about as evil as that devil bastard himself, yes? We’re absolute turds next to the fucking gold crapping angel that is Splender, and the charity funder that is Trend.” Slender shifts, at that. Yes, that’s true. But does he needs to put it so unflatteringly? “ -Yet, that sweet, probably hallucinatory human out there in the forest fell in love with you. And you, with all your crusty, hates-every-damn-thing-ness, fell in love with them too. Love! You! Do you know how crazy that is? One in 7 billion. And that's with normal fucking people. Why the fuck are you letting it disappear???”
“Its for the best-”
“That kid, that mortal person, out there, is the best thing either of us could ever have hoped to deserve and you stumbled upon it! Now, you think you can just let them walk away?? And, also, what makes you think you're capable of that, anyway?”
Slender brings the tea, shakily to his ripped lips. This is starting to annoy him again, so he takes a deep breath. “...- ”
“You’ve never been able to do it before!!” Offender mildly rages, exasperated, as he stands up, letting his chair squeal back behind him. Slender looks up, to see his face over his tea. “Okay, okay. One last thing. Tell me, Slender. Can you stand to wake up tomorrow, and feel absolutely fucking empty? Because that's what's coming. You’re going to sleep peacefully all night, without a turn or even a snore escaping you, and you're gonna wake up and for a second you’re not gonna remember. But this ain't somethin' you can sleep off. You're gonna hurt, its probably gonna feel like you're dying, and its gonna be all your fault. You gave away the very last thing, that you should have.”
At the mental image that penetrates his mind and, god forbid, his heart, Slender physically winces. Nearly looses hold of his cup.
Offender just watches him for seconds, calming down from his outburst... before shoving his hands deep into his pockets, and pushing back his shoulders. Hopefully, that did it. Hopefully, that's enough -Besides, all this caring is starting to give him back pains. He desperately needs to go do something bad. Maybe he’ll hit up the streets.
Before he teleports away, Offender doesn't quite catch sight of the way Slenders tea gets set down on the table. His body convulses ever so slightly, at the realisation of how fucking wrong he is.
Then in the next second, Slender's gone, too.
#Slenderman x Reader#Offenderman x Reader#Slenderman#Offenderman#Slenderman x Reader Oneshot#Offenderman x Reader Oneshot#Oneshot#Slender Brothers#Slender Bros#Creepypasta#Creepypasta x Reader#Slender Bros x Reader#Slender Brothers x Reader
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Boxtobier ⊗ Day 2
"The Big Picture.”
Pairing: Helen Otis X GN!Reader
Theme: “Forbidden Love." & "Family, Friends, Love Ones."
Rating: (PG-15+)
Words: 6k
Trigger Warning(s): Brief Vulgar Language, Minor Mentions Of Criminal Deviance, Depictions Of Gore, and Psychological Disturbance.
This is recommended for ages fifteen and up; reader discretion is advised. The rights to this character, "Bloody Painter," fully belong to DeluCat.
This is a fictional, harmless piece of writing; do not incorporate it into your daily life.
Tom E. Stevens is not a real person, he's fully fictional and only serves as a reference from Bloody Painter’s original story. Any correlation to real victims is NOT intentional.
The breeze was glacial against your warm-blooded skin; it bit your nose with a numbing sharpness. You should’ve worn more layers in this type of climate, but you were in a hurry, which led to skipping a few steps in your typical routine.
Your brass keys jingled around like golden bells attached to a decorative holiday ribbon. They created an off-putting metronome sound when they clattered viciously against the steel buckle.
Your mind adapted to the noise, senselessly focusing on the sparkly ring. But, still, you pulled yourself from it, fighting it.
You tried your best to keep your head straight by prioritizing the need to reach the building because only the vultures knew how dangerous this line of work could be.
You couldn't help but question your choices from months ago because if you knew what you know now, you wouldn’t have signed up for that internship.
Working tirelessly alongside the forensic department had taken a toll on your health unlike anything else. Currently, your body felt like shit, as if every limb had been yanked from its socket, resembling the way taffy is stretched beyond recognition.
You stiffly shifted your back, feeling the aches rise and fall in an agonizing unorganized harmony. You let out a bottomless exhale, the puff of warmth diffusing in the tempered winds.
You hated clocking in earlier than what was ordered, but you also knew the piles of work they had planned out for you. So it’d just be better to get it over with at dawn and have plenty of "free time" during the day.
However, yesterday, you hadn’t been as clever and had to fight the collisions of cars. What was even worse than that was the fact you came in late, barely having the proper time to study the files.
But what was weirder was the number of cases.
Over the months, winter had finally broken out, and when it did, so did the bodies. They practically doubled in the short time frame, heightening, unlike any other season.
But it wasn’t anything you could control; you could only try to prevent it.
It was bleak; your fingers felt lifeless, suffering from the hazardously low temperatures. Your lungs were repressed, taking subtle amounts of polar oxygen inward.
Breathing seemed to only bring a sub-zero chill, dulling your system in a torturous manner.
Your watery eyes caught a detailed glimpse of the illuminated station a few meters away from you. Uniform glass windows lined the front. Icy white spiderwebs seemed to dust the rims, only having the middle of each glass plane defrosted.
The light beige building was around two stories high and was more expansive than a typical station due to housing an accompanying forensic department.
You tilted your head at the closer police cars, which were lined right at the front. The vehicles were predominantly white, marked with bold and contrasting black and blue stripes running along their sides.
A tinge of envy surged through your veins, with the wish you didn’t have an entire marathon to walk each time you went to work. Passing the oversized rides, you followed the guiding light closer to the department.
Powdery snow crunched under your soles, compacting with each movement. Every step sounded high-pitched, squeaking like a dog toy. The wintery molecules had recently fallen, barely printed on by animals or other people.
Unfortunately, though, you were leaving tracks with the way you moved your figure.
You didn’t feel secure being this out in the open, especially with the surrounding area’s reputation. A warm light glowed from the windows, refracting onto the concrete sidewalk you walked on.
Safety was near.
You should’ve been more attentive to your surroundings instead of beelining it straight to base. But you’d rather speed up than patiently get hypothermia from the Alaskan air.
Moving your weight at a timely pace, you soon made quick work of the built-in parking lot. But it wasn’t just the Fahrenheit that made you move this way; it was the added pressure of the latest murders.
The fresh kills from the man on the loose—his existence was blowing up on the internet. Hundreds were prying at the case, no matter how much your local department tried to keep it under wraps.
Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for some thirsty news articles to try to dig too deep. But this instance was different because the officials knew he stayed in one spot, and they didn't need the public to scare him off to another city.
However, in your personal opinion, he’d gotten worse. Not in the way he became clumsier, but in the way he’d gotten smarter. Because now he was starting to grasp the concept of covering up his tracks.
For the past three months, you've seen multiple carcasses.
It wasn’t anything new to see animalistic amounts of chewed-out corpses daily. But these recently submitted physiques always had one horrifying thing in common with one another.
An extended incision two inches right below the jaw.
The likeness of each mark always left an abyssal pang in the roots of your abdomen. Forcing you to churn and gush profusely, like all your acids had come together to form a nauseating butter.
Though it wasn’t like you weren’t prepared for this, you’d trained for months in college, studying what you could. Because essentially, you had sold your soul to the corporations. So in your mind, it was for the best to just stay reticent about your discomfort.
But, still. The imagery of the wounds was haunting. You were sure that if you were asked to recall how the incision appeared, you’d have no trouble.
Because the cut was always the same.
Why did it have to be the same every fucking time, and why couldn’t you get used to it? It was just a slice above the collarbone and below the human mandible.
It wasn’t like their head had been blown to bits.
The repetition, however, was appalling. You couldn’t accept that someone out there liked the fluency and the never-ending pattern left. Did they know how it kept you up at night? Could they ever reflect on how personal each cut felt?
Did they even have the capacity to comprehend the hole they left in the lives of those they harmed? Or maybe this is what they wanted. To make others feel like shit?
You just wished the mercy of the world could spare you and take away this aching remorse. You exhaled, the weight of your thoughts having the same drag of an anchor.
It was difficult to be at ease, though the closure you brought to families seemed to help.
Your dense shoes felt like they were grating against the battered concrete. Every simple scrape seemed ten times more deafening than it was. To say you were on edge would’ve been a heinous understatement.
You kept your digits stuffed in your layered pockets, no longer wanting to contend with the arctic currents. You felt your body at work, trying its best to keep you thawed and snugly toasted.
With preferable timing, you had finally completed your route.
You could feel a different torridity, leaving the parking lot unscathed. Swiftly, you began your brief climb up the compressed staircase.
You swore you didn’t need the handrails, forcing your figure to prance up the case without the added support. In the back of your mind, you knew that if you clutched onto them, you’d only get frostbite or an open, rusty lesion on your palm.
Following the gleaming lights, you hunted down the entrance of the building.
Pastry beige walls and reflective, frosted-tipped windows made most of your peripherals. Your eyes devoured the sight with the knowledge that you wanted nothing else but to be inside.
Silently, you merged, heading to the entrance of the department.
Your plush, silky lanyard bounced with each quick action, and in no time, you found yourself standing in front of the lackluster glass door. Your heated breath fogged up the float glass while you humanly debated whether or not to doodle shapes on the surface.
But you unwillingly compelled yourself to move on to more pressing matters. After a few seconds of inner turmoil, you begrudgingly retracted your hands from your fleece cavities. With your balmy clutches, you invaded the sleek metal door handle.
With an unenthusiastic heave, you hauled open the burdensome door.
A flushed breeze tenderly nuzzled your visage, completely changing your groggy attitude that’d grown from the bitterness of the cold. Taking a few unnoticeable steps inward, you let go of the door.
The heft of the gate automatically sealed the space back up, enclosing the heat from the ruthless outside.
You had no more icy waves to come crashing down on you. So, you felt the lack of need to shield your skin; taking a brief gluttonous puff of well-tempered air, you could faintly taste the macchiato that was lingering.
The smell felt almost stereotypical in the way it reverberated off each wall. You hated to admit just how many of those movies were right about the police.
Getting back on target, you looked around the foyer, and as always, it wasn’t anything special. The room was semi-upper-class, having fancy connecting hallways, an undersized reception desk, and a cramped, cheap waiting room.
Along the barren, pale walls lay a handful of plastic chairs, a box for dropping off prescription drugs, and overly artificial plants. The department strived to make the place look as welcoming as possible, but it mostly came off as out of touch and condescending.
Turning your attention to the cut-off front desk, you saw a distant coworker. Her face was slim, enhanced with sculpture-like features. A rich mixed skin tone painted her and only brightened her overall beautiful complexion.
However, what stood out most was her blinding, superstitious golden badge titling her "Lt Sara."
She currently seemed to be diligently managing inquiries and various calls. Though you’d heard various rumors of what she did before, she joined the department. (Something along the lines of British special forces?)
A dense panel of plexiglass seemed to cage the mid-toned operator inside. She didn’t pay you much mind, keeping to herself; her rich, murky eyes seemed to be glued to her rather expensive work-issued laptop.
You decided not to put your nose where it didn’t belong, ignoring your deepening innocence to ask what she was typing.
Taking a few fleeting steps toward your branch, pitter-patter-like footsteps began to tap throughout the once-muted room. Humbly walking, you were perceptive to the irritating buzzing of the incandescent lightbulb above.
Management should’ve changed it out weeks ago upon regulation, but who could arrest literal law enforcement?
Step by step, the stillness of the fruitless office was betrayed by the sound of parroting taps. The department seemed desolate and liminal in the sense that you were the only one creating any commotion.
It was almost uncanny how much the towering walls were devoid of life.
You kept your posture professional, keeping an unrushed pace down the enclosed hallway. Neutral-colored file cabinets were mindlessly lined, seeming to camouflage with the chipped beige wall. You took your regulated turns, passing by the same identifiable tables, worn-out navy chairs, and other miscellaneous decor.
You could feel a slight burning sensation in your nose, probably caused by the over-the-top cleaning supplies the facility always used.
You wordlessly questioned the janitors on why they put their entire heart into their job, but you only found yourself wishing you could have the same enthusiasm as them.
Your shoes clicked on the polished, stony-colored tiles as your eyes traced down the doors carved on either side. You glazed over multiple shiny labels, all too familiar to you at this point.
You couldn’t count on one hand the number of times you’d seen these signs. The time you spent here seemed to blur together at this point.
Who knew an internship could be this catastrophic?
The walls only seemed to bring you closer and closer to your destination, with every ridge of the painted-over brick wall now recognizable. Pursuing your common area, the doors began to seem to become more robust and excessive compared to the previous.
However, it wasn’t anything too shocking given that all the information locked inside those rooms was highly sought after. However, what was surprising was that interns (college kids) had access to some pretty sensitive records.
Speaking of your rookie classmates, they unfortunately recruited yet another intern, and worse, they were assigned to sit right next to you. Funnily enough, that was one of the reasons you got here so early.
As of right now, your desk looked like the result of a hurricane, and it didn’t help that you used the once-vacant desk next to you for storage. You internally cringed, caught up in the swirly emotion that’d be their initial impression of you.
You let out a swallow exhale upon recollection. Hopefully, they weren’t going to be the verbal bane of your existence, pestering you with lackluster questions all year.
Focusing once more, you reached for your silky, smooth lanyard. Fingers fumbled looking for your QR code identification card, given with the lowest human access possible.
You slouched downward, folding yourself. You took the sturdy card and pressed it against the laser sensor. Having pressed the densely laminated plastic against the puny square-shaped metal box, the door made a short beep.
Your hands briskly moved to the glistening door handle, now heaving it down with no resistance. A click came from the frame, letting you know the hardened lock had finally released its restless hold.
Soon, you wedged yourself inside the room, shutting the high-tech door behind you with a thunderous thump. Luminous fluorescent lighting helped to display the expansive classroom.
The space featured a variety of lengthy, soulless desks, placed as close as they could be to one another. While accompanying cheap plastic chairs were uniformly paired underneath each table. Files seemed to be anchored in stacks close to the windows, which were curtained by opaque sheets.
It was almost childish the amount of priceless work just lazily left out. Your eyes scanned the trivial room again, passing various foreign areas until you shadowed your own.
You paused.
Nothing was missing, and that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the man nonchalantly working between the brochures you left on your previous shift, and if things couldn’t get worse, you recognized him.
This wasn’t just any typical guy, however. This was the college’s award-winning artist, Helen Otis. (Someone whom you found yourself admiring a little too much.)
You’d seen his works plenty of times, each one better than the last. You didn’t know how many art competition trophies he had tucked under his belt, and you didn't know how he had so much room for them.
Sweat was building under your metaphoric shirt collar, leaving you wanting to pull it like a cartoon character. Out of everybody, why'd it have to be him? However, even with the distaste bubbling in your mouth, you could still sense a puppy-like heart race thumping in your chest.
During the years you’d been in school with him, he’d always been a recluse. He had never been the type to do a vast presentation or be among big social groups. But he had been the art kid, inaudibly crafting away in a scenic spot where no one would bother him.
Though it was still surprising, you’d never thought he would be the one to take up this line of work. You always thought he’d do something more along the lines of comical animation or abstract commissions.
But here he was at your doorstep, doing the same thing he always did: wordlessly painting strokes on a page.
Even though he wasn’t paying you any mind, you felt yourself appreciating his personal portrait. You knew neither of you had spoken to the other throughout your college years, but still, some idiotic part of you found his mysterious aura appealing.
From his murky ink tuft of hair to his cerulean stone-shaded eyes, all his facial features seem to drag you further like a fish to a hook, line, and sinker.
If your heart hadn’t been auctioned away for his looks already, his personality had to be the nail in the coffin. He was hushed and polite, always mindful of those around him with a tranquil gaze plastered on his face.
All these things combined made it unfathomable to wonder why he was in such a gruesome line of work. He never did seem capable of harm; at least that’s what you thought.
At the moment, you found yourself fixating on him more than you should’ve, promptly getting lured in by the bait of his serene features. But you hastily shut that down, making it imperative to keep it strictly professional.
All he was was your co-worker who incidentally resided right next to your seat, and it was no big deal; he was just a fresh hire, and that’s all these feelings were. (Keep telling yourself that.)
You shuffled yourself further in. Each step felt like a chain and cannonball attached to your ankle, dragging you down from getting any further. You took an unnoticeable puff before giving in to your sullen movements.
Your shoes barely squeaked on the flat, tiled flooring, efficiently making it to your spot. You did everything in your power to ignore him, which proved difficult when he was now in front of you. Though, thankfully, he didn’t seem to peer up from his current task.
You subtly began taking the diverse portfolios you abandoned the night before and neatly placing them in a lanky stack on your side. Cautiously, you continued to take back your leftovers, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions about your actions.
Luckily for you, each rustling you made was always covered by either a light tap or an oppressive rub back and forth. Pages of newer and older cases grazed your plushy palms as you needily grabbed them covertly.
The scent of vanilla seemed to leak out of the paper each time you ruffled it onto the stack. Your eyes tracked your borrowed files as you mindlessly counted their shared total.
Once you finally piled all of your belongings onto the corner of your desk, you seized a few files from the top, taking out an oh-so-familiar beige folder. Even with how flimsy the printer paper was, it still managed to send a falling sensation deep into your intestines.
Because the case inside had to be one of the most extreme and unsettling you'd seen in a while.
Taking a hasty breath outward, you knew you had a job to do, and you knew that involved making a move. Your emotions were all wack, both agitated by the folder and anxious by Helen.
But restlessly, you still made a move against the odds.
The chair creaked naturally under the sudden weight, adding even more layers to the need to die. You hate this feeling. You hated that the one person you found interest in was sitting this close to you.
You didn’t know why every breath you took felt like an arrow spearing your heart—was it him? Was it the case? Or was it a mix of both?
Being immobilized by gushy chords, the graphite scratching next to you came to a momentary halt before swiftly returning to its ordinary irregular pattern. The pause left a prickly ache and an immeasurable abyss in your soppy organs.
Snapping out of the abnormal haze, you made it mandatory to remember that, at the end of the day, this was an internship. A job that both of you didn't want, and if you did, neither of you intended to be sociable (specifically him).
You got back on track; your hands glided more rigorously on your pivotal file; delicately, you unfolded the restricted document. The folder had a presentation page, making it seem more personalized and human than it was.
In a blueish-black color, a jagged handwritten name embellished the originally empty soulless template.
“Tom E. (Enzo) Stevens.”
You found yourself drowning in thought on the marked page. He was relatively close in age to you, lived in the same area, and for an unbeknownst reason to you, that title rang a bell. You could’ve sworn you’d heard it before, but yet again, that name wasn’t all that unique.
In regards to his death, it was virtually the same as the rest of the victims. He had the staple of the slit two inches below his jaw, but instead of his corpse being on display for the world to see, he’d been shoved off the sixth floor of an apartment complex (that wasn’t too far from your college).
Tom’s death was rushed in comparison and was not nearly as time-intensive as the others. The report drew it down to the realization of eyewitnesses, and if he had taken any longer, the law would've caught up to him.
Interestingly enough, a few regular drunks had seen the man’s figure on the building minutes before the murder, and due to this, it caused his biggest slip-up yet.
Unfortunately, they all made a few vastly different statements, going from brown to blue hair, then to pale to dark skin.
But there happened to be one consistent variable: they said without a doubt he’d worn a paper-mache mask that'd been laced with a crimson grin.
Flipping the page, you are greeted with degraded photos of distinct items. Each object picture had mini-notes stapled underneath it, indicating what evidence was linked to it.
You examined each sunburnt print systematically, trying to find any correlation between them, but to no avail. You leafed pages. You spent more time thoroughly inspecting each discolored paragraph. Your glistening eyes traced each victim and the corresponding articles that died along with them.
You could feel the air trapped in your throat as you swallowed faintly. The similarities, the rate, and the age ran shivers up your spine.
You were more than a perfect candidate.
You were shaken up by the realization. Your breath was off its typical route; you prevailed and kept a stone-cold demeanor. The chances of you being caught and killed by the murderer were low, (but never zero).
You just had to be strong; you had to be for this field of work. No matter how your hands twitched, you needed to find that strength for the people who couldn’t.
Browsing through the thin pages, you could sense something was off. You were missing something from the case. You skimmed through the entire folder once more before you put your finger on it.
You were missing the composite drawings.
Your mind readily changed from the haunting cases to the fellow peer next to you. Inches away, and you’d get your answer, but you weren’t sure how to ask, considering he shouldn’t have been messing with that folder in the first place.
Your curiosity brushed itself against you like a cat; you needed to know if he had it before, you started to panic. It wasn’t like you were asking for a pencil you’d never return; you were asking for the missing drawings on a report.
This was serious, and you had to take it that way, no matter how accusing it felt. You turned from your desk to his. He smelled of graphite; its earthy and metallic aroma clouded up his station.
He seemed to be completely immersed in his work like he was in an altered reality of his own. The more seconds that flew by, the more you realized how lost in his artistry he was. You considered speaking up, not realizing he’d already noticed you in his peripherals.
As you began to open your mouth, he exhaled, stopping his precise charcoal brushing.
“Yes?”
He kept his voice conservative, not raising his tone above a whisper.
His digits remained intertwined with the slender soot utensils. He began to subtly tap at his wooden desk with the edge point like he was counting the seconds between each of your shared words.
Though he kept his face sharp and still, like an unmarked canvas.
“Do you know where the Bloody Painter composite drawings are? My folder seems to be missing them." You exhaled your words, trying to be as cushy as possible and not seem interrogative.
His melodic clicks ceased, and his clench on the pencil faltered. His pallid features stayed remote, trying to ignore the swift glint that glowed in his somber eyes.
“I took them from your file earlier this morning for reference. I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were confidential.” Tragically enough, you were unperceptive to the inflection in his voice.
He soon turned his wooden pencil horizontally, gently caressing the wood. He dotted his sea creature's eyes with yours. He seemed to search for yours like a pirate on a treasure-ridden island.
“You’re with forensic arts, right?” The second you began to speak, he retracted his vision back down to the smooth, polished floor.
He allowed the conversation to grow dry, mindlessly making his leg bounce his weight. “Mhm.”
You felt your chest being squeezed. You didn’t mean to mess up his art session, but you needed the composite drawings back before you could return the folder to the officials.
Your eyes traveled down from the side of his head, down to his triangular jaw, and then to the papers scattered on his side of the table. A certain sketch, however, stuck out to you; it varied in hues of charcoal and was dented with professional marks.
He looked around his late twenties, having semi-long strands of dark pecan hair framing his face. His eyes were dull, unlit with a murky, mud-like shade.
“Are those the composite drawings?”
An acute exhale came from his side as he now entirely rotated himself from his work to you. He didn’t keep his eyes locked on you, but he seemed more engaged, having a light rose tinted at the height of his cheeks.
He allowed the words to sink in: “Not exactly. They’re only my interpretation.”
You briefly hummed while he spoke, continuing to stare at his overly perfect works of art. It was immaculate. Of course, it didn’t compare much to the other pieces that he had full liberty over, but still, it was unbeatable.
“They look so good, though; you’re extremely talented,” you complimented, not knowing how your eyes sparkled when appreciating the craftsmanship.
Your words were more than honest and the exact thing you were thinking, but you hadn’t taken into account how he’d react to something like that. You silently huffed; he’d probably heard it a million times before, but you couldn’t help it.
Unannounced to you, he’d been gazing at you directly (for once) with no sign of retreat. Helen was taking in your eyes, and the way they glistened was full of reverence. He found himself soaking in it. He’d heard plenty of praise for his arts before, but the way you looked set the sail.
He’d need to sketch that later for better practice. He made some effort to take a detailed mental photo of it.
Stupidly enough, he stayed idly facing you, studying your features. Time passed easily, and you glanced back instinctively. He smoothly flicked his sight right back to his personal (inaccurate) composite drawing.
Unknown to him, his posture recoiled and formed an unhealthy "C," which was odd compared to his typical ruler-straight stance.
“Thank you," he gritted his teeth; like he was offended, the words even dared to come out of his mouth.
A smile found its way to your face. He was grateful that he enjoyed your appreciation, even with how passive-aggressive it seemed. You could see yourself becoming friends (or more) with Helen if he went any further with forensics.
You pulled away from your unusual lovey-dovey behavior, getting back on topic. “You do have the originals, right?”
He seemed taken aback, his once pensive expression leaving you. He tampered with his pencil; he pressed his fingers on the wood. His eyes now seemed fixated on a distant point.
He reformed his gentlemanly persona, trying not to lose concentration on the purpose of this conversation. “I do.”
You didn’t know what to make of his current wreck of emotions, but you decided he was just having a rough morning. Though you didn’t like how his interest fled again, you didn’t mention it, but you just wished he hadn’t deserted the conversation.
Helen moved his figure, reaching toward the feeble stack of paper centimeters away from him. His delicate fingers began flipping through assorted works and notes, trying to track down the originals.
The light of the class-like room reflected on his furrowed expression, highlighting his brow bone. The sound of rustling and separation seemed to recite throughout the room as you patiently waited for results.
He gradually made his way to an inked-out document, his facial features wavering.
You could see a darkly printed facade of someone’s face. It must’ve been the original, going on the new assumption that the department didn’t trust college students to not fuck with the authentic piece. Maybe they were fearful that they’d spill something on it or try to steal it to sell on eBay.
He assertively separated any remaining sticking papers before hastily handing you the official print.
You respectfully put on an artificial professional smile, being polite to the artist. As for rule-breaking, his decision was for unintentionally stealing the reprint; you decided against reporting him to the higher-ups.
He was passionate, with an amiable soul and a gullible desire to redraw composite drawings. Sure, he was naive, putting his nose where it didn’t belong, but you couldn’t fault him.
He was just an overzealous painter, and that was all.
Your sight indeliberately flocked back to his side, mindlessly trying to ensure yourself that you hadn’t forgotten anything else. You glanced over a few pencils, pens, and squishy erasers before seeing a different, tougher sheet of paper featuring a distinctive man's physique.
It was a spot-on illustration of the lengthy description you had received of the Tom S. case. Just how much had he looked into your assigned folder? The peculiar portrait could’ve been compared to his actual face; it was uncanny how close he’d gotten your mental image of Tom on paper.
“That’s a drawing of Tom, right? From Tom Steven's murder?” You found yourself intrigued more and more by his virtuosity.
You speculated on the time Helen had lost to etching out victims from the infamous “Bloody Painter” case. You understood he was a part of the forensics art department, but how much graphic painting could one take? Plus, it seemed out of character for him to drain his morning by willingly outlining something that gruesome.
There was a wordless pause as your eyes watched one of his knees buck up and down at a similar, relentless pace. You could feel a pit of solicitude gush in your lower abdomen as if you had crossed a line. That case must’ve struck a nerve, and having to draw the victim probably made the distaste in his throat more drastic.
He had a short, delayed response to your words, losing his energy to keep this chatter going. “Yeah.”
You tilted your head while studying the image’s graphics further. There seemed to be a vital mistake, leaving the drawing inaccurate and fruitless. While most of it had been on point, even having an abbreviated listing of how he was killed, Helen still managed to miss one important factor.
The constant marking, the slit that was supposed to be under his jaw
You wanted to keep it to yourself; you really did, but something in your soul ticked. You thought it over a few times, but it was futile as your compulsive behaviors made the words leak from your mouth.
“You forgot something. Bloody Painter left a laceration two inches under his jaw before pushing him off."
Like a magnet to a refrigerator, he snapped his sights back to his drawing. His neverending cavern of navy blue eyes thoroughly inspected his graphite marks. His salmon lips parted, charcoal eyebrows pressing against one another.
You knew it could’ve come off tedious and knit-picky, but you couldn’t help that nagging feeling that he’d appreciate your insight.
As you closed the space between you both to provide further aid on the unnecessary addon, he brought his attention to you. His dangerous mako eyes locked onto yours, making you feel stuck in an inescapable trance.
This was the first time he’d made eye contact with you.
He hummed one unnoticeable syllable that resembled a “hm” as he leaned an inch closer with the intent to absorb every word that came out of you. A clear indication of how deeply engaged he was.
Now that the spotlight and praise were on you, you couldn’t seem to do anything like a person getting stage fright in front of an impressive crowd.
You felt your body linger on autopilot. No person could handle this stimulation; at least that's what it felt like due to the chemicals pumping through your body. There was no need to react like this, but here you were at the mercy of his prestigious eyes.
Harboring and pleading your jittery breath away, you failed to take note of his defined hand nonchalantly creeping up on your mandible.
“Something like this?”
His pointer and middle were soon firmly planted against your flesh-covered artery. You could feel the pressure build on your sensitive throat, leaving a valley caused by his callous fingers. By this point, you were sure he could feel the way your pulse battered out of your chest.
The only solution to this was that he must’ve been a visual learner. That was the only viable explanation, but still, you found yourself warm to the touch. The air shared felt solid, palpable, and able to be cut.
But being so intertwined with your own cords of emotions, your brain glossed over the fact that he was pressed precisely where the killer always cut.
“Yeah, something like that." Your words fumbled over one another, not being able to tell if he could sense the tension he inadvertently created.
A mischievous smile was firmly tucked into his features. But before you could even pry into his preceding actions, a heightened beep buzzed from his pocket. He instantly backed his hand away from your neck, letting it rest on his thigh.
His light appearance was brought down by a sudden weight as he withdrew a slick gray phone. You caught a glimpse of the vibrating screen as he haphazardly let it ring.
"Masky. (Ignore if possible.)”
He huffed as his skinny face expeditiously contorted into a solemn deadpan. His leg went right back to a musically animated bounce before leaving your proximity.
He dragged the cellular device to his ear; his sight darted down to you with a velvety expression and whispered, "Sorry– I’ll be back.”
You reverted to your senses, getting back into gear. You affirmed him instantaneously with a nod. His mood was upended by your assuring movement as he departed from your shared space, heading for somewhere more secluded.
Once his presence dissipated, you fully accepted the circumstances. Your breath was still uneven, and you even felt way too comfortable in your once-itchy chair. Your flushed state progressively cleared up; however, you were still bubbly from the previous altercation.
Without much thought, your perception picked up on the Tom Stevens illustration once more. You didn’t notice it previously, but there was a creative liberty added to his special composite.
A tattoo. You didn’t recall the description ever stating he had an emblem on his collarbone.
Especially one with an O and an X.
-
Written By: Verdana. (bogusbox)
Beta [Alpha] Reader: Sara. (tobyskitten342)
Mentions: @flufftober & @tobyskitten342
A/N: It's been proofread :D
-
#flufftober2022#day2#creepypasta#bloody painter x reader#bloody painter x y/n#bloody painter x you#bloody painter#helen otis x y/n#helen otis x reader#helen otis x you#helen otis#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x y/n#creepypasta x you#fanfiction#creepypasta oneshot#x reader
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Nina crying because of something horrible Jeff said to her and Kate comforting her. Then marching straight up to Jeff the next time she comes across him and decking him straight in the face.
#idk i wanna write a oneshot ab this#but then i realize..#id need to WRITE the oneshot 😔😔💔#ninakate#ninakate headcanons#ninakate creepypasta#nina the killer x kate the chaser#nina x kate#nina the killer headcanons#nina the killer#nina creepypasta#nina hopkins#nina hopkins headcanons#kate the chaser#kate the chaser headcanons#kate the chaser creepypasta#kate creepypasta#kate milens#kate milens creepypasta#kate milens headcanons#nina hopkins creepypasta#nina the killer creepypasta#jeff the killer#jeff the killer creepypasta#jeffrey woods#jeffrey woods creepypasta#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanons
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Helen Otis x Reader: All Good Things To Those Who Wait
Guess who's back with another Helen fic ... Hi. Sorry I couldn't help myself and had to write another one sooo thar she blows. This is part 3 of a series that I may or may not continue ... you can find the previous parts here (1 and 2) and you can find the postings I have on AO3 here!! That's all enjoy ok
-
It was late, one o’clock, maybe one thirty in the morning. The vast majority of those that had been occupying the living room had long since retired to their rooms, choosing the comfort of their own beds over restless sleep and neck pain in the morning. The real movie night was long over, but two remained, nestled in opposite corners of the loveseat.
The movie of choice was The Silence of the Lambs, per (Y/N)’s request. It’d been fourth on the roster (watch order warfare was not something that (Y/N) was going to willingly involve themselves with) and they were determined to see it through.
Helen was half asleep on his side of the couch. He’d meant to stay awake for the whole movie, he really had, but spending time in a roomful of idiots had sapped all of his energy. So he dozed off, his elbow propped on the armrest to keep his head from dropping.
(Y/N), however, was awake and alert as Buffalo Bill shouted down at his captive, though they were not paying much attention to the screen at all. How could they, with Helen next to them? They’d already seen the movie anyhow, and despite it being one of their favorites it’d really just become more of an excuse to spend some time with him.
But now he was basically asleep, which would not do at all.
“Helen.” (Y/N) called quietly, a halfhearted attempt at rousing him. He didn’t stir. They tried again.
“Helen.” Still nothing.
They gave up on trying for a bit, opting to just stare at him before trying to wake him up again. Helen was one of the most gorgeous people (Y/N) had ever laid eyes on; this was something they had been sure of since the day they’d met him. But he looked a little different when he was asleep. When he was awake, his eyebrows were usually furrowed in anger or annoyance (or sometimes concern) and his mouth was usually turned downwards in a pout. Now, he looked relaxed and at peace, a blanket tossed over his shoulders to keep him warm. (Y/N) wondered what he might be dreaming about.
Suddenly, they had an idea. A devious grin spread across (Y/N)’s face as they scooted as close to Helen as possible without disturbing him. They leaned over him carefully, trying not to get distracted by just how close their face was to his face. Placing their lips near his ear, (Y/N) blew.
Helen jolted up in surprise, the side of his head smacking (Y/N) square in the nose. They fell onto their back dramatically, laughing as they held their nose with one hand.
“Sorry! Sorry… Are you okay?” They asked from where they lay, still in a fit of giggles.
Helen glared daggers at them, blue eyes narrowed and lips drawn in a taught frown. If only he knew the things that look did to (Y/N)...
“What the hell did you do that for?” He spat, rubbing the side of his head as he kept eye contact with them.
(Y/N)’s grin turned from cheeky to sheepish. They felt small under his gaze, but not really in a bad way. Something in their chest fluttered. “You fell asleep…”
“And you couldn’t have woken me up in a normal way?”
“I tried…!” They said defensively, still avoiding eye contact and mumbling the next part so that they wouldn’t be heard, “You just look really hot when you’re all mad at me…”
Helen’s angry expression morphed into a confused one. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing! Nothing.” (Y/N) sat upright, scrambling to change the subject. “Your head. Does it still hurt? Let me see.” They shifted closer to him again, gently grabbing his wrist so they could move it from where he still held his head.
“It’s-” Helen was about to protest (he had no idea what they’d be able to do about a bruise on his head) until he felt (Y/N)’s fingers in his hair, lightly touching the spot where he’d hit their nose. His breath hitched.
“Does that hurt?” They asked quietly, looking him in the eye.
Helen struggled to find words for a moment. When he finally did, his voice cracked. “N-no.”
“M’kay…” (Y/N) hummed, their eyes flitting back to where their hand sat in his hair. They ran their fingers through his hair for real, and he had to restrain himself from leaning into their touch.
“You have really nice hair, y’know. It’s soft.” They complimented, retracting their hand and looking at him again. Their faces were close, and Helen swallowed thickly at the proximity. “Real pretty, too.”
“You think my hair’s… pretty?” Helen asked, his face burning. He silently thanked whatever god there was that the only light in the room came from the long forgotten TV. The last thing he wanted was for (Y/N) to see the kind of effect they were having on him.
“I think you’re pretty, dumbass.” (Y/N) responded matter-of-factly.
Helen let out a choked noise, taken aback by the sudden confession. “What.”
(Y/N) furrowed their eyebrows, seemingly unphased by their own admission. “Dude. Do you not see yourself?”
“You…? You think I’m pretty?” Helen was dumbfounded. It felt like all of his wildest dreams were coming true and that he was going to die at the same time. He’d never been called pretty before; maybe only as an insult from an old school bully or even Jeff, but the way (Y/N) said it made his heart flutter and his head feel light.
“Um, yes?” (Y/N) answered like it was obvious. “I mean, come on, you’ve got this gorgeous hair, the loveliest eyes I’ve ever looked into, and uh, your lips, well, uh…” (Y/N) trailed off, eyes trained on Helen’s lips. They reached up to graze his jaw with their fingers lightly, looking into his eyes again. There was no going back now. “Uh, this is stupid, probably, but, can I?”
Helen sucked in a shaky breath, something that was not lost on (Y/N). “Look, we don’t have to, if-”
“I want you to.” He cut them off hastily, a hint of desperation in his voice. (Y/N) would have kissed him stupid right then if they hadn’t felt the need to tease him about it. They smiled mischievously. “Want me to what?”
“(Y/N)-”
“I won’t do it unless you say what you want.”
And Helen really must’ve been desperate, because he conceded almost immediately. “Kiss me. Please.”
“Fuck. I guess I will, then.” (Y/N) mumbled, leaning in carefully. Their lips brushed his for a moment before they kissed him for real, one hand cupping his face and the other moving to rest at his waist.
Helen’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt their lips on his, hands hovering nervously at their hips. (Y/N)’s lips were slightly chapped (probably because they chewed at them all the time). Helen didn’t mind. The kiss was a chaste one, but to him it was magical, and before he knew it (Y/N) was pulling away, beaming at him.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” They breathed, their thumb rubbing circles into his jaw.
“How long?” Helen asked dumbly, brain preoccupied with they’re touching me and oh my god we just kissed and holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck.
(Y/N) looked bashful. “Um, since I first saw you, I guess. You looked at me like you wanted to kill me and I think that was what did me in.” They laughed, the hand that was resting on Helen’s cheek moving to scratch the back of their neck.
“Oh.” Helen breathed. So they had liked him all this time and he hadn’t noticed? At all? Maybe he was just really bad at differentiating platonic affection from romantic interest… man, he needed to make more friends. Helen brushed off those thoughts before they could get overwhelming.
“So, what, you like it when I’m mad at you? You’re weird.” He said instead, a small smile betraying his teasing.
“Oh, shaddap.” (Y/N) rolled their eyes, the TV screen catching their attention as they averted their gaze. “Shit. This is where it starts to get good.”
Helen followed their eyes back to the screen. Hannibal Lecter was strapped into something that looked like a cross between a stretcher and a hand truck. He was talking to an important looking woman that Helen didn’t know the name of. This is what he got for falling asleep during the movie.
He was too preoccupied with trying to figure out what was happening when (Y/N) tugged him into their side, a surprised “oof!” leaving him at the contact. Their arm snaked around his waist and even though they had just kissed Helen could still feel his heart going into overdrive. He looked up at them, eyes wide.
“What?” (Y/N) questioned, cocking an eyebrow at him. “If you’re gonna fall asleep again, you’ll be a little bit more comfortable, at least.”
Helen couldn’t (or didn’t want to) argue with that, so he let his head loll onto their shoulder as he dozed, the smell of lavender lulling him back to sleep.
#helen otis#bloody painter#the bloody painter#helen otis x reader#bloody painter x reader#the bloody painter x reader#creepypasta#creepypasta x reader#helen otis oneshot#bloody painter oneshot#creepypasta oneshot
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Ӝ̵̨̄λατρείαӜ̵̨̄
(cult - by M)
𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒄𝒊 𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕.
genre:x reader / oneshot / angst (?)
WARNINGS:
blood
stalking
May seem a little rushed near the end
Readers gender is not mentioned + they/them pronouns used when referring to the reader.
The backstory of the cult and how reader got roped into it is vague, however I wouldn't mind explaining if anyone is curious.
Toby's personality is based on my own personal headcanons
Any brands, restaurants, or deity mentioned in this came purely off the top of my head, any relation to real life things is coincidental.
This is a work of fiction, it's not supposed to be accurate to an ACTUAL cult, I just got done watching midsommar and I wanted to write sum kinda like it 😭
Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄ƷƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄
Tobys POV:
It was a cold autumn night, you lived in a house surrounded by woods.
The leaves on the ground created a slew of yellow, brown, and orange hues.
The wind howled, creating an uneasy atmosphere, a setting that would be perfect for a slasher movie.
Your unconscious body rested on a quilted blanket, you were laying on your side, where he couldn't see your face.
He was disappointed that he couldn't see 𝑎𝑙𝑙 of you, but at least he got to bask in your presence.
you had a hard day at work, rude customers and a demanding boss can take a toll on people.
His blood boiled hearing how those customers talked to you earlier, how they disrespected you.
Did they not know they were talking to a heavenly being?
You're beautiful, a living, breathing, piece of artwork.
Everything about you drove him insane, you were so captivating, almost sirenic, he had to have you.
He just had to.
He would give himself as a sacrifice to you, if he could.
*buzz buzz*
the phone in his jacket pocket vibrated
he pulled it out and turned it on, the screen dimly lit up.
It read "one new message"
He opened his contacts to see a message from no one other than jeff the killer.
gef: "slendr says u need 2 come back and report everything u found."
gef: *is typing...*
gef: "now."
Turning his phone on silent, he slid it back into his pocket.
He signed, creating a foggy stain on your window.
He climbed out of the tree he was in, the leaves crunched under his shoes.
He walked down the sidewalk, and back to where he parked his motorcycle.
he turned the ignition, and made his way back to the forest.
------------------------
He was going 30 miles over the speed limit, causing his messy brown hair to fly back.
He had nothing but his goggles, and his mouth guard on to protect him.
he's always enjoyed taking risks, the adrenaline rush he got from putting himself in danger, and the craving for more, was always enough to keep him going..
That was until he found you.
now nothing is as filling and nothing gives him that rush he needs, his hunger for more is even more insatiable than it was before.
He's been watching you for a good five months now, and each time he sees you, the urge to take you for himself and 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 himself, grows stronger.
------------------------
He made it back to the manor, he turned the ignition once more, turning it off and pulling his keys out.
He walked up to the big wooden door, grabbed the rusted door handle and pulled it open.
He was met with warmth, the fire from the fireplace burning brightly.
The people surrounding it consisted of jeff, who was sitting in a beat up recliner he'd claimed as his own, sally, who was sat in front of the fire, was making her teddy bear a dress, and clockwork, who was sitting on the couch, writing something down in a simple notebook.
Not bothering to say hello, toby continued making his way to slendermans office.
He walked up the stairs, they creaked under the added pressure.
He soon approached a giant door, it was designed with what seemed to be the tale of slenderman.
He knocked three times, each louder than the other.
The door slowly opened on its own to reveal a big wooden desk, right in front of a balcony looking out into the forest.
Standing on the balcony, he saw slenderman.
His tall, and slender form, almost blending into the trees in the background.
??: "Enter tobias."
A stren voice in his head spoke, giving him a little headache.
Toby stepped into the room, he walked over the hardwood floor and onto a rug that looks like it's from the victorian era.
??: "I hope you have some useful information for me, unlike last time."
That same voice, booming in his head.
Toby: "..."
He glanced away from slendermans back, and instead looked at a large bookshelf to his left.
??: "I see."
??: "I assume you haven't killed them yet either?"
Toby's heart dropped, he thought he was just supposed to collect information on you, not kill you.
Slenderman turned around, and walked over to toby.
He stood in front of him, towering over him, making toby look puny in comparison.
??: "Come now tobias, don't tell me you've fallen for them?"
He took his slender hand, and put it on Toby's shoulder, squeezing it tightly
toby merely shook his head no, as he furrowed his brows.
??: "Don't try to lie to me boy.."
A long black tentacle sprouted from his back, he wrapped it around Toby's neck, lifting him off of the ground.
He made a sad attempt at clawing at the tentacle, trying to break free, but it didn't work.
??: "I can see the fear in your eyes when i mention killing them, the way your palms become sweaty, how your heart beat speeds up, your blood pumps faster.. I can hear it all."
??: "You're not very discreet tobias."
He finally released him, his body went limp, and fell to the ground.
Toby quickly sat up and felt his neck, he looked down at his hand, it was covered in a slimy residue.
??: "Get out."
The voice loudly echoed in Toby's head, causing his nose to bleed.
Slenderman looked down at toby, if he had a face, he would be scowling.
Toby ran out of slendermans office, and into the halls.
He took a swift left, and found his room.
He roughly opened the door, then slammed it shut.
He went into a fit of rage, trashing his room, ripping his posters off of the wall, punching holes in the wall, and even breaking his only light fixture.
By the time he was done, he was out of breath, his fists were bleeding, and he was sitting on the floor, against the door.
The only source of light coming from the moon shining through the window just across from him.
He slowly got up and walked over to his dresser, he opened the third drawer, revealing a slew of unorganized clothing.
He pulled the clothes out until he reached the bottom.
There he found an assortment of pictures.
pictures of you.
Some were family pictures with you in them he found on social media that he printed out, then cut your family members faces out of.
Some were polaroids he took of you himself, you were clearly unaware of his presence in these photos.
He pulled out his favorite, one where you're asleep in your bed, the angle the picture is taken from shows that he was standing over you when he took it.
He went back to his original position against the door, he held the picture in front of the window, the moonlight shining around it.
It made him realize, that you are his light.
The only source of warmth that he'll ever feel.
The only thing that could fill that hole in his chest, the ache he feels, the sorrow.
He needs you, more than anything.
But deep down, he knew his desires would be his dimise.
-----the next day-----
readers POV:
you couldn't sleep last night, the constant feeling of eyes being on you kept you awake.
that strange man has been watching you for nearly 5 months now, it's almost driving you insane.
You see him everywhere, work, outside your house, when you go to the store.
Everywhere.
The worst part is pretending that you don't know.
Acting like he's just another customer, trying to convince yourself that he just happens to be walking down the same street as you, every. single. night.
??? tells you "not to worry, he'll become useful soon"
But it gets harder every time you see him in the corner of your eye.
------------------------
You do your usual routine, take a shower, put on your uniform, eat breakfast, and walk to work.
You would drive, but he slashed your tires.
When you get there, your coworker jenny is already there, she's mopping the floor.
Jenny: "oh hey y/n!"
She says with a smile
how she's this excited at 6 am is a mystery.
Y/n: "hey jen"
You yawn as you take off your coat, and put it on the coat rack.
Jenny: "rough night?"
You nodded
Jenny: "did you stay up watching TV again?"
She giggled
Y/n: "yeah.."
You gave a weak smile, along with a breathy laugh.
You went and got a bottle of cleaner and a rag.
You walked over to the booths, and got to work.
After cleaning the dining area, you go to the door and plug up the LED sign that said "OPEN"
You look up for just a second, that's when you see him.
He's standing right across the street in an alley way, just staring at you.
He had some kind of mouth guard, so you wouldn't be able to recognize him.
You two lock eye contact for a few minutes, you feel someones hand resting on your shoulder.
You jump, and quickly turn around to see who it was.
Jenny: "you alright?"
She has a concerned look on her face.
Y/n: "yeah, I've just been spacing out lately.. probably from a lack of sleep"
You try to laugh it off, but she has that same look on her face.
You look back to where he was, only to see that he's gone.
"Maybe I'm starting to hallucinate?"
You thought to yourself.
You lightly sigh, and walk back behind the counter.
------------------------
2:45/14:45 pm
Your shift was almost over, you were handing someone their order when you heard the bell doorbell ding.
You looked up to see 𝒉𝒊𝒎
He came over to the counter, maintaining eye contact.
You tried to swallow that lump in your throat, but something about him was just so off-putting.
He didn't have his mouth guard on, but you knew it was him.
just his overall presence was making you feel uneasy.
Y/n: "welcome to Dollys cafe, what can I get you?"
You spoke as you normally would, calm and collected, but deep down you felt fear.
Fear that would soon turn into rage.
Toby: "I t-think I'll have the omel-lette"
He stuttered when he spoke, his voice was kind of husky, and deep.
Y/n: "will that be all?"
You looked at him, eye contact not wavering.
Toby: "mhm"
He handed you the money, and sat in a booth near the window.
You quickly handed the order to jenny, who was in the kitchen because the usual chef was sick.
It didn't take long for her to finish the omelette, you brought it over to his booth, and gently sat it down.
Y/n: "need anything else?"
He simply shook his head.
That's when you noticed his hands, they were bruised, and there was dried blood on them.
You stared at them for a little too long
After a while, he pulled his hands off of the table and tucked them in jean pockets.
You were snapped back into reality when he did that.
Y/n: "..."
Y/n: "sorry."
You quickly walked back behind the counter to tend to the other customers, filled with shame and embarrassment.
------------------------
Toby's POV:
he was filled to the brim with excitement, just being this close to you is enough to fuel his daydreams for at least a week.
He scarfed his omelette down, and left a big tip.
He gave you one more glance before he headed towards the door, only to see you staring right back at him.
He felt his stomach twist & twirl under your gaze.
When he stepped outside, he let out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He crossed the street, not bothering to check for cars, as he walked he pulled out his mouth guard.
He had another small mission he had to complete before he could return to you.
------------------------
he was sitting in your closet, waiting for you to get home.
The room was dark, he could barely see through the shudders of the closet door.
his gloved hands were shaking with excitement.
Tonight is the night he's going to take you.
He already has everything he needs.
Rope, chloroform, an escape route, and 𝒚𝒐𝒖.
he waited patiently for you to arrive, his hands started shaking even more when he heard the front door open.
his plan was to wait for you to go to sleep, then he'd use the chloroform, tie you up, and take you home.
His dreams were about to come true, you were everything he's ever wanted, and he was about to have you.
He heard you walk up the steps, and go in your room.
you walked over to your window and closed your curtains before walking out into the hall, and then into the bathroom.
After a while you came back into your room, wearing a strange white robe.
He watched as you went over to your jewelry box and pulled out a golden necklace, it appeared to be some kind of symbol.
You put it on, a sigh escaping your lips.
He felt a wave of worry and confusion wash over him as you made your way back downstairs
That feeling got ten times stronger when he heard the back door slam.
Where could you possibly be going?
He took no time to bust out of the closet, and chase after you.
He bolted down the stairs, and out the door, you didn't even bother to lock the door behind you.
He looked around in the back yard for you, only for there to be no trace of you.
That's when something caught his eye, a glimmer of light poking out from behind a few trees.
He ran towards where it was coming from, the light growing bigger as he approached it.
Fire?
He crouched in the bushes, quietly watching
He saw three people with masks surrounding the fire, they had on strange black robes threaded with gold.
They were chanting something, but it was unintelligible.
In front of them was a table, it had 6 large knives on it, as well as 6 gold plated bowls.
Behind them were five other people formed in a line, one seemed to be missing.
he recognized one of them as a family friend of yours
He got a sudden adrenaline rush once he saw you standing at the end of the line.
He was too focused on you to notice the person sneaking up on him from behind.
Suddenly he felt a strange sensation on the back of his head, soon everything went dark.
------------------------
He was woken up by the sound of crying, he looked over to his left, ignoring the heavy feeling in his head, to see a woman.
She was tied to a tree, and tears were streaming down her face.
He then realized he was also tied to a tree.
He looked back at her, and saw a man just next to her.
He was pleading for his life, while straining against the ropes.
Toby turned his head to the right, to see two more people, both doing the same as the other two on his left.
He was the only one who wasn't crying, instead a sinister smile formed on his face.
He looked around until he saw you, your eyes locked, and he was surprised to see you too had a smile, but a different smile.
A malicious smile.
One of the masked people spoke
??: "Xykdos is upon us, he accepts these offerings, and gives us his many blessings."
The masked people pulled the knives off of the table, as well as the gold plated bowls, and handed them to each person in line.
His heartbeat was getting faster every second.
This was everything he could ever want.
He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he'd never felt excitement like this before, even during his most gruesome kills, this was something completely different.
The masked people started chanting once more, getting louder and louder, the fire growing taller as they continued.
He started laughing manically as you approached him, knife & bowl in hand.
His laughter only got louder when you were right in front of him.
the rage filled look in your eyes only furthered his need for you.
If it wasn't for the ropes binding him, he would probably be pulling his hair out with joy.
You lifted the bowl up to his neck, just below his adams apple.
He started to say something
Toby: "I love yo-"
He was cut off by you roughly sliding the knife across his throat.
The blood from his wound filled the cup to the brim.
To him, it was like time had stopped.
It was just you, and him.
No one else mattered, just you.
He could feel his eye lids getting heavy, his heart slowing down, he looked at you once more, the fire behind you burning brightly, casting an angelic red and orange glow around you.
you looked divine....ʚ♡ɞ
TY FOR ALL THE HEARTS, REBLOGS, AND FOLLOWS, I LOVE U ALL SM! - M
#creepypasta#headcanon#creepypasta headcanon#fanfic#ticci toby#creepypasta ticci toby#oneshot#tobias erin rogers#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby x y/n#angst#creepypasta fanfic#jeff the killer
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