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horny-marbles · 2 months ago

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Thunderstruck (Eyeless Jack x GN!Reader)

CW: angst with no comfort, yearning, explicit mentions of cannibalism, death. seriously, big tw for being cannibalized.

word count 3.6k

The storm rolled in like a sickness—low and humming, gravid with thunder, thick with the stench of ozone and rotting leaves. He felt it before it came, days before, like a pressure building behind his temples. The forest went still. Birds vanished. Even the wind held its breath. And when it hit, it hit all at once—sheets of rain so heavy it drowned the world, lightning splitting the sky like bone under blade, and the sound. God, the fucking sound.

To you, it was weather. A nuisance. Maybe something to watch from your porch, barefoot and alone, ash flicked from a cigarette with your mouth parted in thought.

To him, it was pain.

Eyeless Jack, they called him. A name like a warning. But in moments like this, when the storm screamed through the trees and every raindrop was a hammer on his skull, there was nothing monstrous in him—only a creature driven half-mad by sensation, caught between instinct and what was left of a man.

That night, he stumbled through the woods like an injured thing, soaked to the bone, shaking with a rage that wasn’t his. The noise—sharp and layered, the shriek of wind, the squelch of mud, the echo of thunder like teeth grinding—burrowed deep. He couldn’t outpace it. Couldn’t drown it. It clawed at his nerves until he was twitching, growling under his breath, digging claws into bark and wishing, for the thousandth time, that he could feel the peace of death instead of this.

He found your house the way animals find water. Not by sight, not even by smell—but by some pull. Something quiet and still nestled at the forest’s edge, distant enough that the trees thinned and the fields stretched out wide and yellow under a bruised sky. One window lit. The shape of you moving inside—soft, unaware.

He watched for a long time. Too long. Let the rain soak him, let the cold dig into what little patience he had left. You were nothing like the others—those he stalked, those he fed on. There was something wrong in your stillness. Something familiar.

So he knocked.

Once.

A soft rap. Not meant to scare. Just… be heard.

He saw you startle. Saw the way your eyes widened, hand jerking back from the curtain like it burned you. Fear. A healthy reaction. You didn’t open the door. Not at first. But you looked. You met him, through glass and shadow, and you didn’t run.

And when you finally cracked that door open, metal bat heavy in your arms and voice tight with suspicion, he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there, rain dripping from his hood, tar diluted by the water trailing down the neck of his hoodie, and said nothing.

He didn’t need to. You let him in. You let him in.

The first time, it was survival.

The second time, you cursed under your breath but unlatched the door anyway.

The third, you asked if the thunder really bothered him that much. He didn’t answer, but he stayed a little longer.

By the fifth, you were already making tea when he knocked. Even if he always refused it.

It didn’t storm much after that.

Oh, the skies still wept now and then, sure—gentle drizzles that barely whispered against the windows, the kind of rain that came and went like a sigh—but the thunder stayed away. It was as if the sky had tired itself out, or maybe just lost interest. Maybe it was all a sign that once the clouds pulled back, Jack should have as well.

But he kept coming.

He never knocked loud. Never said a word. Just stood there, dripping and wordless, and waited. Sometimes you heard him before you saw him—boots slapping in puddles, the softest hum of breath muffled behind his mask. And every time, you opened the door without a word. It wasn’t ritual anymore. It was instinct.

He never touched you. Never got too close. But he’d sit in the same spots—crouched by the fireplace or half-curled in your beat down chairs like some feral dog with too much pride to rest easy—and he’d observe. Not in a hungry way. Not even curious. Just… present.

And you started talking.

Little things at first. Weather. Work. Whatever lonely scraps you could toss into the silence to fill it. He never replied. But you knew he was listening. You could feel it in the room, that sort of electric weight. The way he angled his head. The way he didn’t leave.

And maybe it was pathetic. Maybe it was reckless. But you started waiting for him.

The moment the sky turned gray, your breath caught. The moment wind picked up, your pulse tripped. You’d curse yourself, call yourself every brand of fool, but you still left the porch light on. Still left the kettle full. Still found yourself cleaning up before dusk, brushing your hair back like it mattered.

He wasn’t beautiful. He wasn’t even human. But he saw you. Without the gift of seeing, he knew you better than most. Better than any.

And somewhere between the fifth visit and the tenth, he started sitting a little closer.

He still never spoke. But he stayed longer. Sometimes past dawn, tucked in the far corner like he didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to see the sky turn. And sometimes, when you slept, he watched you with something close to reverence. Not lust. Not appetite. Just an eerie, aching kind of silence that only the damned know. A silence shaped like want.

He hadn’t known comfort in years. Hadn’t known softness. You were neither safe nor foolish, but you were kind, and that was worse. That was a knife to the ribs.

Because you didn’t know what he was. Not really.

You hadn’t seen him feed. Hadn’t smelled blood baked into his claws, hadn’t heard the sounds he made in the dark when the hunger clawed up his throat. You saw him as a man—not the monster, not the rot under the mask. And that illusion was dangerous. Dangerous for you.

So one night, he didn’t come.

No knock. No shadow at the tree line. No rain, even.

You waited, pacing. Told yourself you weren’t, but you did. Told yourself you didn’t care, but you did. Every creak outside made your heart punch the back of your teeth. Every gust of wind made you hope.

But he never came back.

And the ache started slow. Like a bruise. Like something you could ignore if you stayed busy enough, kept the lights on, didn’t let yourself think. But it bloomed, as all wounds do. Grew teeth. You caught yourself setting two mugs out anyway. You flinched every time a shadow passed your window. You slept with the porch light on. For months.

And worst of all—you missed him.

Not just the shape of him, the physical presence. You missed the weight of him in your house. The comfort in that silence. The strange, awful calm that came from knowing someone else saw you and didn’t flinch.

And you hated yourself for it.

He was never yours. He was never anything. Just a feral thing seeking shelter. A ghost with a body. You were stupid to believe otherwise. Stupid to feel something.

But it didn’t stop you from aching. From longing in the quiet. From waking up in the middle of the night, sure that you’d heard a knock that never came.

You told yourself it was better this way.

Jack told himself the same.

He was in the woods again. Alone. Claws bloodied from something he didn’t want to think too hard of, crouched under blackened trees with wind howling like a dirge through dead leaves. He’d left because he had to. Because you didn’t deserve the kind of ruin he brought with him. He was not a man. He was hunger in a mask. A myth with meat. He was wrong.

And he’d stayed too long. Let the silence get too comfortable. Let you matter.

And now, it burned.

He'd curl in on himself as the sky turned again—gray, bloated, distant thunder pressing against the far horizon— and he wouldn't move.

Wouldn't knock. For years.

It had been years.

The ache dulled over time—not gone, just buried under new weight, packed down like wet soil. It was easier now. You didn’t check the window anymore. Didn’t linger by the door when the clouds rolled in. Your mind stopped rolling back like a broken record to the thought of the warmth a creature so cold could exude without even trying.

And maybe that was healing. Maybe that was love.

They were good to you, the one who came after. Soft where the last had been silent, warm where the other had been hollow. They laughed. They touched. They made space in their life for you, and you took it without guilt. Without shame. Because that chapter had ended, hadn’t it?

It rained that night, when your partner had kept you company for the hundredth time; but you didn’t flinch at the sound of it. You just watched them pull on their coat, kiss your temple, and slip out the door with a joke about driving safe in the wet. You shut the door behind them. Locked it.

The storm had muscle to it—fat thunderheads rolling in from the horizon like bruises, a downpour that hit the roof in rhythmic sheets. You lit a candle. Sat down. Let your mind drift.

Knock.

Your spine went rigid.

Not a bang. Not a pounding. Just a soft, deliberate knock. Three taps. Measured. Familiar.

Your heart stopped, then restarted in a panic.

You didn’t want to move. Every part of you screamed no. But your body knew better. Knew the rhythm. Knew the echo of it in your marrow. So you stood. One step. Another. Closer to the window with every breath tightening in your throat.

And there he was.

Shadowed by the rain, taller than you remember, broader, ruined. Not monstrous, no—still eerily still, still masked, but broken in a way you’d never seen before. He was hunched. Shaking. Bloodied at the edges like he’d been peeled open and barely stitched back together.

And it felt like the sky caved in. Like something ancient in you split. Not fresh pain—no, older, deeper. A scar ripped back open to reveal a wound that never really healed. Like time folded in on itself and all the years you spent forgetting never happened at all.

You opened the door.

Of course you did.

You were older now, smarter, not lonely in the way you were, but none of that fucking mattered. Because his name was still carved under your ribs in places love hadn’t touched.

He stepped inside like he didn’t want to. Like he hoped the rain would swallow him whole before you answered. He didn’t look at you at first. Just stood in the entryway with his head bowed, dripping, trembling, barely upright.

Then, “I didn’t want to come here.”

His voice was gravel, like it had been dragged over a road. Like it hadn’t been used in years. It cracked in the middle, low and foreign and heartbreakingly familiar.

“I hoped you wouldn’t open the door.”

You didn’t ask why. Not yet. You just stood there, watching him fall apart at the edges.

“I can’t... hunt right now. I—”

His breath hitched. Not dramatic. Not for show. Just a quiet little fracture.

“I’m starving.”

You swallowed. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he added. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just... I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your chest ached. Burned. Because this was so much worse than silence. Worse than the years of wondering, of aching, of trying to patch yourself up with someone else’s love. Because here he was—back, broken, bleeding, and you were still soft for him in places you thought were dead, in spots where the placeholder couldn't reach.

He was still hunger. Still horror. Still a thing that should’ve never had a place in your life. But he came back because he had no one else. And you let him in. You let him in. Because you never stopped being the fool who would.

He stood in your doorway, trembling, and you couldn’t tell if he was going to collapse or kill.

And outside, the rain came harder. The wind howled. The storm had found its teeth again.

And you... You stood still in its center, with a monster at your threshold and love cooling like ash in your hands, when you should’ve screamed.

When you should’ve fought. Should’ve begged. Should’ve called someone, anyone. But your phone stayed facedown on the counter. The front door stayed locked. And your mouth stayed shut.

You just turned, and started walking where your gut carried you.

Each step down the hallway felt like a toll. Your legs were rubber. Chest tight. Breaths shallow, high in your throat. It felt like you were floating outside yourself—watching someone else shuffle toward the end of the world, watched a body you used to call yours surrender without a word.

You didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. You could feel him behind you.

Not looming, no. Not hunting. He followed like a shadow that ached to detach itself. You heard the weight of his steps. The pause when you hesitated. The sick hush in the house, where even the storm seemed to stutter. He was shaking. Barely held together.

And still—still—it hurt more knowing he was here because he had no other choice, than it did to know he was going to kill you.

Your bedroom door creaked open like it knew what was coming.

You walked in. Climbed onto the mattress like it was a pyre. The sheets still warm from earlier, from love that tasted clean. And still, you laid back and opened yourself to death like a prayer.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You turned your face into the pillow, tucked it close like a secret, like a shield, and let your body go slack.

And he didn’t move.

He stood at the foot of your bed like he was staring at a crime scene. Like he was watching the shape of something holy unmake itself. You didn’t say take me. You didn’t have to.

He shook. Not with hunger. Not with desperation. With something deeper, something worse. Like grief. Like fury. Like he wanted to rip the meat off his own bones before he touched yours.

And still, he climbed onto the bed, pulled by his own instincts, his own curse.

Cautious. Slow. As if you’d vanish if he moved too fast.

He hovered over you—not touching. Breathing hard, a tremor in every exhale. He was shaking so violently now you could feel it in the mattress. Could feel the war he waged inside himself as he knelt at your altar. Famished. Dying. Mourning.

“I didn’t think—” he rasped, voice ruined, wet and breaking. “I didn’t think you’d just...”

He trailed off, because what was there to say?

He didn’t think you’d let him. Didn’t think you’d give your last breath to his lungs. Didn’t think you’d protect him even now—face buried, muffling the sounds he knew would come, sounds he knew would alert anyone in a 5 mile radius. The screams. The sobs. The end.

He reached out with hands that had carved countless bodies. Stained things. Steady, usually. Surgical. But they shook when they hovered over your spine. When he placed them, finally, onto your back—barely a touch. Barely there at all.

You flinched.

A breath caught in his throat. Not hunger. Not lust. Not instinct.

Grief. Rage. Self-hatred deep enough to drown in.

His mask was inches from your shoulder. The tar from its sockets dripped to your shirt like black blood, spreading like a plague into the cotton, tainting. He shook so hard it looked like seizures. Like his own body was rejecting the choice he was trying to make.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

But still, no explanation. No why, because he knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

You sobbed. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a sound like a child makes when no one’s there to hear. And he almost—almost—pulled away.

But he didn’t. He was starving. He's been starving. And the thing he hated most was that you were still warm beneath his hands, and that he was too fucking weak to stop.

You were already crying—quiet, gutted, shaking into the pillow like it could hide your shame, your grief, your fear—but the second his hands met your skin, something broke open deep and wide. Your shirt had ridden up on your back when you lay in your coffin like it wanted to give him room, like your body was betraying you too, baring the spine like an offering. A silent go on then.

And you shook. Not just because of the fear—not just because you knew what came next. Not just because you were preparing to die.

But because this—this—was the first time he had ever touched you.

The first time.

After all the nights. After all the storms. After all the quiet, after all the longing—he had never laid a hand on you.

Not until he came back to kill you.

The sob that dragged from your lungs sounded like something feral. Like a thing birthed in a place too old and deep to name. Like your soul cracked along the middle.

And still, he didn’t stop.

He took his mask off with trembling hands.

You didn’t see it—couldn't even if you wanted to, eyes blurred with tears soaking into the pillows—but you heard the shuffle of plastic being set down next to you, the breath he sucked in like a man about to drown.

And then, claws. A promise veiled by regret. They found your spine slow, reverent, wracked by tremors. Like he was still hoping the storm would reach through the windows and drag him out, or that maybe—maybe—you would change your mind. Tell him to stop. Tell him to go fuck himself.

You didn’t.

You stayed still.

And so he began.

The first puncture made you convulse—every nerve in your back lighting up with fire, with horror, with the kind of pain that doesn’t even feel real at first. The claws sank in, slow, hesitant, dragging heat and pressure and punishment down through your muscles, through fascia, through tissue that spasmed helplessly under his hands.

Then, he ripped. All of him, through you.

The scream that tore out of you was not a sound meant for the living. It was a godless thing. A wail fit for war. Fit for birth or death or something between. It didn’t sound human—it sounded like metal screaming. Like the sky splitting open. Like Hell remembering you by name.

Pain poured through your body like liquid metal. Fire licking your ribs, lightning clawing up your spine, agony blooming like red poppies behind your eyes. You bit the pillow, choked on it, muffled yourself because you still, still couldn’t bear to give him away. Still tried to protect him.

But your screams came anyway. Ripping your throat raw, because he had hit bone. And still he kept going.

Tearing muscle from sinew. Peeling you open like a fruit. You were ribbons. Strings. Wet sound and raw breath. The pain wasn’t sharp anymore—it was so much more than that. It was everything. It was teeth and nails and molten grief and centuries of guilt all poured into your back as he pulled you apart.

And all the while, he fucking sobbed.

Above you, over you, shaking so hard the flaps of flesh opening you up to death were recoiling. Retching around the meat he stuffed into his mouth like he couldn't survive this one last betrayal. Like he tasted you—like he tasted every storm, every silence, every stupid, aching kindness you ever showed him in every fiber he devoured.

He cried harder than you did.

Tearless howls of torment, breath a mess of spit and blood and sorrow. He gagged. He growled. He choked and chewed and begged some invisible thing to stop this. He hated it. Hated you for letting him. Hated himself for needing you. For coming back. For feeling.

You were dying. Your body was light. Gone. Pain turning to fog at the edges. Your limbs went numb. Your breath thinned. Your wails became groans. Croaks. Soft, pathetic little animal sounds.

The thunder mourned with you.

It roared like God had died too. Like the sky had slit its own throat in grief. Outside, the rain sobbed down the windows as if it could cover the wet squelch of meat and teeth, the slow suck of blood in sheets, the snap of ribs peeling away. The storm swallowed everything.

And still he fed.

Not fast. Not wild. But slow. Controlled. Sick. Like a priest taking communion he didn’t believe in anymore.

And in the end...

You died not knowing why he ever returned, time and time again.

Not knowing why he ever left.

Not knowing why, after all that time, he came back just to end you.

You died still not knowing if he ever felt anything at all.

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darlingdreadwrites · 8 months ago

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I love reading your works!! I'm really curious to what you would think of EJ with a darling, except that instead of her being a final girl he walks in on her accidentally killing someone? I apologize if this is weird!!

don't ever apologize for making a request, i live for them. i hope you enjoy!!

pairing: Eyeless Jack x GN!Reader

summary: Jack is hungry, and you seem like the perfect target while you're hiking all alone. When he sees that you're in trouble, the small part of humanity he has left keeps him at bay.

contains: jack finds you yummy, sweet and gentle jack, he helps you

warnings: jack literally wants to eat you, cannibalism, gore but not really

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

Hunger gnawed at Jack’s insides and the world was a blur of heat signatures and sound. He hadn’t eaten in days, and he was starting to lose control of his senses. But Jack had spotted you hours ago, picking up on your soft footsteps against the forest floor. Your heartbeat was steady, and you were unaware of his presence. Easy prey. He wasn’t exactly thrilled, but a man’s gotta eat, right?

He would treat you right – take you out immediately before he sunk his teeth into your plump flesh. His mouth watered at the thought before the taste of tar and blood forced him to control himself. Jack wasn’t one to kill impulsively, but he was very close to doing so. He couldn’t believe he would let himself get this hungry – it was too careless and messy. He preferred to take his time and cause as little problems as possible. Which was ironic for a cannibalistic demon.

Your warmth invited him like a lighthouse, and he was your ship; lost in his sea of hunger. He liked your scent; he had never smelled anything like it. Despite being a few good feet away, he could smell, hear, and taste you like he was inside of you. He’d be disgusted with himself if he wasn’t so hungry. He could barely think past the pulsing pain in his stomach.

Every breath he took was all you – your blood, your flesh. That’s all he saw you as: meat, pulsing with life. He wanted so badly for you to fill the tastebuds of his tongues with your sweet flavor. And he could tell that you would be sweet. He felt almost guilty for letting such a nice meal go to waste so quickly. Maybe he would have enough self-control to save pieces of you for later –

Shit. He lost track of you.

Jack seems to have gotten clouded by his hunger. He stilled, attempting to locate the faint beating of your heartbeat again behind all the trees and rocks. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to a pulse of sound and pinpointing your location. But he didn’t need to.

A scream tore through the woods – loud and sharp. His instincts snapped back, and he was grounded in an instant. He rushed toward the sound, his heavy boots snapping twigs in half and crunching leaves underfoot. Were you hurt? Did someone get to you before him? He growls, using that to bounce off his surroundings in case the screaming doesn’t take him directly to you. He slows when the echo comes back to him faster. Found you.

He stays hidden in the trees and focuses on the heat that emitted from you. Oh. There was someone else - you were standing near someone else. He could smell the man, lying motionless. The vibrant hues of red and orange clung to the life pulsing from the bodies. Well, at least you were pulsing with life. Your figure was warm while you stood over the duller, fading heat of the other. The blood that oozes out of him makes Jack’s head spin.

He could tell you were tense, your heat shifting in jagged bursts of breaths. You were right within his reach and vulnerable, but he stayed hidden. He hadn’t thought of you as a killer – you certainly didn’t look it. And, with the way that you shook, he guessed he was right.

He should leave you to deal with that on your own, he thought. It’s not his problem. However, his hunger pulled him to step closer to you. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but you quickly turned around to face him. You were breathing fast, and your heat pulsated strongly from your face and your hands. You were scared of him – of course, you would be. You had just committed murder, and a tall, masked man walked out of the shadows. He wasn’t exactly a pretty sight.

Even without eyes, he could tell that you were shocked, but ready to fight if he got too close. He could feel in his bones the electric blend of fear and instinct you felt. Jack could easily overpower you, but he caught the scent of something. Your blood: you were hurt. A foreign feeling bloomed in his chest. His curiosity was piqued, and he felt a rare sense of concern.

Jack isn’t a stranger to tending to people’s wounds, but he had never cared this much about a potential victim before.

You’re frozen as you stare at the man in front of you. Not only had you been attacked and consequentially killed someone, but now you were faced with another challenge. He stood eerily still, wearing a featureless mask. The holes where his eyes would be were black voids, and they seemed to be leaking some type of black substance.

You stagger backwards when he reaches for his black leather crossbody bag. He stops immediately, and, slowly, raises his hand as a silent gesture of peace. You keep your guard up and watch as his other hand eases the bag over his head and onto the forest floor. He kneels beside it, and you’re confused. You are about to run when he speaks up.

“You’re hurt,” he says, pointing to your arm.

You look down, and sure enough, your sleeve is torn, with an angry streak of red running down it. You glance back at him as he pulls out what seems to be a medical kit. Was he..?

“Just here to help,” he reassures. “Nothing else.”

You hesitantly step toward him and drop to your knees – watching him closely. You’re sure this is all a dream. You’ll wake up in your room, having never stepped foot in these woods. You were never attacked, you never killed someone, and you weren’t getting treated by some man wearing a mask. But it all felt too real.

With gloved hands, he gently held your torn sleeve and inspected the gash. The two of you were quiet as he reached for a bottle of antiseptic and gauze. You wince as he dabs at your wound – it was a sharp, biting sting, but he was gentle. He works with a tenderness that surprises you as he cleans you up. He doesn’t speak, and the silence presses heavily onto you.

“I’m-I’m so… so sorry,” you stumble over your words and your lips tremble. “He came out of-out of nowhere – “

He shushes you, momentarily taking his attention away from your gash. “You don’t need to explain.”

His voice was firm, and it calmed you. After the wound is clean, he bandages your arm with care and secures it with medical tape. He starts to reach into his bag again and pulls out a hoodie, one of his spares. You’re surprised when he holds it up to you. He notices your hesitation and nods, urging you to take it. You do, and stand up, catching sight of the body you forgot was there.

“What do I do?” You stammer, feeling your pulse spike and nausea build. “Shouldn’t I be… turning myself in or..?”

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You go home.”

The calming timbre of his voice was unnerving, yet grounding. His presence soothed you in a strange way. You want to protest – you knew what was right and what was wrong – murder was wrong. But he seemed to settle the panic in you with his semi-hushed tone. You let out a shaky breath and nod. For reasons you couldn’t name, you trusted him.

You cast one final glance at him over your shoulder as you leave. He just stares at you, and you wish you could know what he’s really feeling – what expression his face carried.

You’re unaware that Jack has silently thanked you for providing him with a free meal.

#eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack #jack nyras #eyeless jack fanfiction #eyeless jack creepypasta #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta eyeless jack #creepypasta x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #creepypasta fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert

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creepypastaisthebestpasta · 2 months ago

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[Y/N, doing pre-med homework] Y/N: I hate learning about the kidneys! EYELESS JACK: Well I love them. Y/N: Why? [loud silence]

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pokegalla · 1 year ago

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Trade/request by @tryslogic

Pt 2 on the previous and most recent headcanons but with the creepy bois✨:D

(Warning: slight nsfw but more innocently)

How would these guys react to their S/o using their chest for hand warmers?

Jeff:

* He laughs in your face and his long ass smile grows. “Dawwww does the baby want snuggles?” Of course this asshole teases you. You were just giving him quite a nice opportunity after all.

* But fine if you must insist, he’ll rub your head and motion you to go on ahead and dive right in. Even lifting his sweater juuuuust enough to show off that waist and v line- (This bastard LIVES to see that blush from you and not JUST from the cold~)

* His upper body is pretty lanky but he had an impressive waist and hips. And him being full of himself? He knows he’s pretty✨

* Just hey at least you get revenge on the bastard by putting your cold ass hands on him. He almost SHRIEKED before cursing under his breath. But squeezing his chest makes him bonk you for once. “Damn little pervert….💢”

* He definitely ends up chasing you with his cold ass hands the moment you even try to tease him, carrying you and laughing along before a little wrestling match✨

* He’s a little crazy goofball sometimes!

EJ:

* Not gonna lie, even under the mask you can tell he’s making a “What the fuck….?” Kind of face. I mean it IS a really random question to him….

* But he will sigh and give in if you keep persistently asking. He kinda just has to think about how he wants to do it and overthinks for a good minute. Until you just tell him you’ll just do it yourself, stop worrying-💦

* His build is surprisingly more on the toned side. Almost full on muscular despite how lanky he seemed- and praise will get him all flustered and in denial :3

* Though unfortunately and much to your surprise? This bitch is just as cold as you- he was completely unaffected! Though he did acknowledge that you were pretty cold and that you should really get gloves…..Though he does give you a side eye once you start squeezing- (How does he do it without eyes? You can fucking FEEL it-)

* Too many squeezes will earn you hand jail time. Want your hands out? Too bad. They are his now. You fucked up- better own up to it.

* But honestly he just doesn’t want you to let go just yet…

LJ:

* Well…..he doesn’t want to admit it but the question did catch him off guard. Such an odd request. Were you really serious? Aren’t you afraid he’ll bite your fingers off? It’s still a possibility…..

* Nah he’s just fucking with yah again. He bends down to your level and boops your nose. “Of COURSE you can little doll. My body is yours the same way yours is MINE~” he just had to throw that in there to laugh at your flushed face.

* His body was a little mix. Broad chest, thin waist, lithe hips. It was an oddly nice look on him. Though he teases if you stare too long-

* Now you would think he would react with those cold ass hands right? NOPE- and he looks back at you like ha ha you tried but failed✨ though the squeezes surprisingly made him blush?! Well well well how the tables are turned✨

* Ah but it didn’t last unfortunately as he simply stood up to avoid it. Buuuut he took him with you, hand on your behind as his own way of “warming” his hands up~✨ any bonk is futile as he’ll just laugh and give you kisses

* Even a psycho clown can be a softie!

#my writing #self insert #funny #cute #fluffy headcanons #jeff the killer x reader #laughing jack x reader #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta hcs #sfw #writing trade #request answered

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f3arth3for3st · 4 months ago

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Fuck You, I'm Chaotic: A Creepypasta Friend scenario series

"Ticci" Toby: First Interaction

Wordcount: 2,325 (2K)

"Ticci" Toby

The two of you met in the street when you had accidentally bumped into him when you were walking.

The souls of your shoes knocked agilely against the damp cement. It's coursed surface, tinted dark as the drizzle overhead dampened the hair atop your head that hung; low, avoiding eyes of passersby. The weighted plastic bag that constricted around four of your five fingers restricting the circulation that coursed the veins, thumb pressed firmly to the baggies folding crease, feathering over it in a sort of self-soothing manner.

You were used to the constant gas station runs at ungodly times and coffee scorched tongue. You rather enjoyed the change in scenery away from your house and the walls that felt as if they were suffocating you even when your parent's shouts stain the painted walls like a blood stain.

You were a good kid.

At least that's what others have told you.

You've never touched a cigarette within your seventeen years of life; you've never seen a reason to for the addiction you had developed was that of the smell of aging books and foxing pages that curled under your fingers as your enchanting eyes raked the words, soaking in every and any syllable printed along the organic vellum. Along with the brain buzzing symphonies that sang enchantingly through the miniature speakers that resided within a simple pair of earbuds.

Your home didn't feel homely but more of a cell you were forced to dwell within. You had learned to stay silent during their exchange in harsh words. You've adapted to pressing your spine as close to a wall as possible when they sauntered by; steps usually heavy; ladened with anger that always stained their sharp gazes, daring you to say or do something they deemed unfitting and out of line.

But you never did.

Despite the ball that festered within the core of your throat and the twinging that clutched the coil of emotions that grew within the confines of your chest, taut against your ribs like a boa constrictor. But you would swallow thickly and cast your gaze to the floor, slipping away till you could no longer feel their fiery gaze that seared the skin of your back.

A shuddering breath fluttered your aching lungs as you released the breath you hadn't realized you were holding as the gentle winds that clinked the browning leaves together like tangerines and the rolling thunder that sang just below a mellow hum akin to that of a muted violin. Faint grey clouds cast overhead.

If you glanced up, you would be able to see the layers that made up of the precipitation that gathered in the normally crystal blue vastness, it was intriguing to you, watching the lower clouds drift below the others, almost like a moving picture that was blurred every so often when a droplet of water washed over one of your pupils.

You were on your way back home after being sent on one of these said quick late gas station runs by your father which took longer than you anticipated since the card your mother had begrudgedly given to you had Insufficient funds which resulted in you having to pay out of pocket with your own allowance money, which put a rather harsh damper on your already somewhat souring mood considering it was just nearing dusk that cloaked the clouds above in a dreary hue, but when you stepped out, the sun had gone, casting the noon into a thick quilt of evening. Not that you could see it anyway.

The bell of the gas station's door rang behind you as it opened with a groan of obedience and Jeremy, the man who owned the small store bid a fairwell.

The upturn of your chin and lingering of your eyes caught that the air had turned angrier than before you last stepped out into the world. The sky that was lazily quilted in a thin grey was now thick and weeping silently. Small, almost microscopic tears rained from above. Not enough to be overbearing, but enough to be comforting like watching snow fall within the first weeks of winter.

You hadn't tended to stay out long, especially after the aging reports of the teens that were bludgeoned to death not far from the high school you attended, reporters from neighboring news announcing their unfortunate and rather horrific deaths.

A shudder rumbled your spine.

All of them, a quartet of adolescent teens although scattered in age and size; were stabbed umpteen times, but one had passed due to an overdose. The stories gave you chills when you listened to the passive warnings and advisories to make do with the little daylight fall brought followed by the extensive hours of night that had come sooner than you had wished.

Another upcast of your eyes caught onto the inky silhouettes of the tree canopies that waved like a slow dance to your favorite song.

The thought of music playing to assist the mingling browned leaves made your fingers itch, the tips tingling with the impulse to retrieve the white wired headphones that wrapped around the portable device that sat heavily in your hoody pocket, weighing it down like an anchor to a roaming boat atop settle waters.

You were always warned by those around that it wasn't a wise idea to stroll about with earbuds in your ears, deafening and blinding one of your few senses that may save your life but alas; impulse won as you slowed nearing a halt.

The coffee that rested warmly in the palm that lacked the plastic bag now rest, nestled protectively in the crick of your elbow, the bottom resting on your hip to assure it didn't slip from between the folds of your hoodie's loose material. The hand, unoccupied; ferreted around the pocket at your stomach, grazing against the firm material of the earbuds before gingerly pulling one out. Careful not to damage the delicate cords within the thick white casing that protected them.

Unraveled, one slipped into your ear before the other took its place in the other, the elongated button that was mainly used for volume and phone calls sat achingly under your index finger as it gives a clickyou having pressed the button.

It was like entering a whole new world away from what you were doomed to reside in. Each tone and groan of a cord made your mind swim with a sense of serenity, the sting of the coffee's solution made your tastebuds dance, the pirouette almost correspondent to the way the leaves swayed with the Zepher, you didn't need to remove the wired earbuds to hear the way the herbiage clicked together. It brought a smile to your dried lips.

It felt...

Tranquil. Despite the weighted plastic bag that wrapped your fingers with a deadly vice.

Reality had slipped from your fingers for a moment, your legs ambling. One in front of the other. Your brain, so caught in the fantasy of arcadian music. That you had failed to notice the unmoved form that stood before you, seeming just as dazed and oblivious to the oncoming body as you were in this time.

The heat of the caffeinated beverage that had unknowingly taken its place back into your palm sloshed in its restraints, the fragile thin plastic that entrapped the tongue numbing warmth split, dispelling the libation, splashing against the sensitive skin of your hand, as seconds passed the warmth spread, the sticky liquid soaking into the material of your hoodie, its tint turning a shade darker than normal as it sucked the caffeine like a dry sponge to water.

With an oof the tranquility your body had subjected itself to dissipated as a headphone fell, tugging on the other that tumbled after it, the cord taut as one clinked against the hard coursed cement, the bag that bound your deadened fingers seemed to grow light as it swung forwards, knocking into the others leg before the weight returned seeming heavier.

You stumbled back as the other jolted forwards regaining lost balance, baffled. Enlarged eyes swam with panic as you immediately discarded your own comfort, reaching out to gingerly touch the others arm that was being used to regulate their teetering balance.

"Shit, I'm so sorry dude are you alright?" You hissed, tone laced with concern and internal scolding as you stabled the poor soul you had collided with.

He stood around your height, maybe even taller, maybe shorter, but no words fell from their lips. "I apologize man, I wasn't watching where I was going, I didn't spill anything on you did I?" You respond hastily, tone akin to desperation as the hooded man turned to look at you, deep brown eyes that peered calloused from beneath the hood resting over his head the illumination of a nearby streetlamp cast a soft glow to his abnormally tinted skin. The dark tufts of burnt chestnut hair that swept around the hem of the hood made it look even more illish, but those eyes. Those dark, desensitized eyes; glared. The orbs benumbed, senseless, and obdurate. You paused, taking notice of the almost deathly pale skin akin to grey was marred with old faded, and newer raised pinkish-white scars but before you could explore his features farther, he yanked away. Almost as if he had touched something hot.

"Don' fuckin' touch me." He sneered; eye lids forced into a trained glare, his voice harsh and raspy, the bite behind the barking words and yank made your arm slump back to your side, knuckles brushing against the bag that sat at your feet, you having carefully discarding it to assure the man's comfort; which was widely unappreciated according to him.

A puff of hot air snaked past your flared nostrils, brows following close behind with a harsh furrow, the physical contortion of your features seemed to have made his own sour as he scoffed turning back to the road glazed with the light drizzle.

Your eyes rolled, a shallow whatever filtering your lips as you spun your hanging headphones around your palm, stuffing it haphazardly into the pocket of your coffee stenched hoody, the cup that once held the energy replenishing beverage now sloshed about with little to no contents; your interaction with the man looked to have officially come to an end when he stepped off of the edge of the sidewalk, walking for a moment before slowly progressing into a nimble jog as he crossed the road leaving you alone under the nearby lamp post that flickered ominously.

"Who pissed in your Cheerios..." You grumbled under your breath before crouching slightly to retrieve the bag of gas station groceries before your eyes caught a particular item discarded; despite the increasingly darkening surroundings as day turns to night it was littered in rain droplets. Slowly, a long breath wheezed past your throat as the bag left the ground, the plastic slick with water as you extended an arm to retrieve the item.

The round lenses were a faded orange, a few dark stained splotches littered the glass and outer part of the googles, it was heavier than you had anticipated, the thin cold metal resting against your sticky coffee splashed palms made them buzz with numbness as the weight grew. The elastic band meant to hold them to one's face now soaked up a good portion of rainfall that pooled in the palm of your hand that gleamed under the light of the streetlight.

Upon closer inspection of the face article under the flickering sodium light, you noticed the shallow scrapes and scratches, a few deep lacerations in the metal made the pad of your thumb grow anxious as the impulse to run the flesh over the damage crossed your mind before being shoved aside by another thought.

He must have dropped it during the collision.

Although the man was an ass, he probably needed these for his welding projects or something among the sorts.

Guilt knotted your throat as you straightened your posture, head turning, and eyes raking the surrounding streets to see if the man had come to retrieve his headgear but much to your dismay not another soul strolled the worn, water darkened cement.

The contriteness that washed your thoughts were the voices of your home folk warning you, reminding you spontaneously that it was unsafe to wander with earbuds dug into your ear ducts. Warning about how you were oblivious of your surroundings and with the recent and rather constant disappearances or slayings of neighbor of different streets; it was especially dangerous. But for some reason the notion of chasing the man down to deliver his fallen gear whispered within the dark depths in the back of your mind, the voice almost canceling the one of reason.

Just the simple thought of the instances snapped you away from the depths of your mind as you noticed the intimidatingly darkened streets that glowed with electricity.

A chest swelling rumble from the sky made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as paranoia took its hold, the recent thought of possibly chasing the man down and give him back his belonging was thrown out of the window for the time being as you shoved the gear into your hoody pocket, weighing it down more than your phone had.

The lightning that flashed overhead and the ominous shadows of the trees to your fear laced mind resembled that of spindly fingers and haunting tendrils curling and stretching to wrap you in their clutches.

The bark of thunder and nearly blinding snap of lightning was enough to make your fear numbed muscles regain consciousness and comply with your desire to return home.

With the rhythmic pound of your shoe souls against the cement that grew damper with the hardening rain that dampened skin and slicken the bag between your fingers you bounded swiftly towards the direction of home.

You would have to return his goggles another time...

_______

Unedited

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 2 years ago

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❝ just wanna be one of your toys, tonight❞

creepypasta x incubus!reader | drabble, how you meet, general dating headcanons | graphic descriptions of violence, descriptions of nsfw/smut | not proofread

warnings: yandere tendencies, unhealthy relationship habits but it's okay because everyone in this fic is unhinged, cannibalism with a sexual context, piquerism/knife kink, tentacles, teratophilia, pheromones used by r!, canon violence, LJ's section alludes to r! mutilating a p*de,Slenderman controls r!s food intake (?), guys this is kind of messed up pls

Eyeless Jack | Jeff The Killer | Laughing Jack | Slenderman | Toby Rogers

req: OMG. creepypasta fics. i love them. can you uhmmm. can you write headcanons for an incubus reader. with like eyeless jack, toby, masky and hoodie? ignore this if you dont do that sorta stuff im just jumping on a request train rn ghnjgjkejnjngf

authors note: unfortunately, I'm not super informed about the Marble Hornet boys so I did not include them ;'3 Also I did want to do the typical sexy incubi reader but then I didn't so enjoy demonic, somewhat feral, reader and his equally as fucked up lovers

Eyeless Jack —

There was silence when you first laid your eyes on him. As you're both demons who preyed on humans, it was akin to throwing two hungry wolves into a fighting ring.

Your prey, emphasis on yours, had been yours for damn near a week. You've been sneaking into their dreams, draining them of slivers of their essence by bringing them to climax in their wildest dreams. They would grin brightly the first few times but as the week progressed, they began realizing how exhausted they felt and those sexy wet dreams suddenly felt more morbid than exciting.

So your lips curl as you hunch over their head and bare your mouth full of fangs. Your hiss sounds like nails on a chalkboard and your jaw unhinging more than humanely possible as your forked tongue drips with viscous liquid. Jack steps back, his scalpel glinting in the moonlight as he returns the hiss with a gravelly snarl.

Oh, people think of "Sex on Legs" of a man when they imagine an incubus. That's the aim of your pheromones and magic after all. Everyone's ideal of a masculine body is what you morph into. Muscular, fat, hairy, clean-shaven, short or tall; whatever their genitals desire is what you distort their brain into seeing.

Your true form was a whole other story. You were a demon. It didn't matter if you were once human or if you were born in Hell itself. You were different now.

"They are mine," Your lips twitch and curl with every syllable. Fingers digging deeper into the skull of your prey. You don't know this demon's name and you're unsure of how strong he truly is but you dig your heels into the ground.

Jack pauses. His growling ceases as he loosens and tightens his grip on his scalpel.

He's had his run-ins with others "like" him. Eldritch beings, proxies of eldritch beings, and such others. However, incubi was new for him. He half-expected a stout creature with leathery wings and horns like those illustrations in the yellow pages of demonology books.

"...What do you need from them?" He wants to bargain. He doesn't have to but he does anyway. Partly from curiosity and partly from his own hunger...for you.

He wonders what you taste like. Jack wouldn't admit it then but he licked his needle-sharp fangs at the thought of your flesh in his mouth and your blood flowing down his throat like the most decadent wine.

"Soul," you answer as a sickening crunch resounds through the room just as your index finger burrows deeper, "Their brain, need".

"Good, I don't need that." Jack points the sharp end of his scalpel to his stomach. "Here, everything I need is here," he then aims his weapon at you with a loose grip; "Share, yes?"

Your lips hide your fangs and you tilt your head, swaying your head as you try to weigh the options. Other demons could be rather tricky. Sharing wasn't in most of their vocabulary. However, this one was...different.

"Share, yes".

That is how the two of you met. His masked visage and the tar-like substance that escapes from his humanoid eye sockets intrigue you. You had watched him cut open your prey with medical precision so he could carefully remove the organ he craved.

"Name is...?" Jack's pointed ears twitch from beneath his hoodie. He turns his head towards yours and if he were human he might have flinched from the way your nose brushes the bump of his mask. But he isn't, so he doesn't.

"Jack. My name is Jack," he brings one leathery hand to rest upon your cheek. It stains your skin and Jack's thumb rests precariously close to your lower lash line. The silence is a prompt for you to continue and you whisper your name, chewing on your lower lip after which makes Jack scoff in mild amusement.

Your relationship initially begins due to Jack's desire. He craves you in such a visceral way he doesn't know what to do with it anymore. It pains him that he doesn't sleep because he is certain that the number of times he's unravelled at the thought of you should already beckon you into his brain. But Jack isn't a human.

He's a demon. So, he decides to use victims to lure you. He wasn't sure how to go on about it at first but after tilting his head down at the moaning woman writhing in her bed, whispering your name, he takes her to his home.

When you visit your prey's dreams it's plagued with images of the eyeless demon and once you manifest into thin air he wastes no time pinning you to the wall with his inhuman strength.

"Jack!" you snarl in alarm and he releases you, smiling. His blue mask was placed elsewhere, instead, he hid his eyes behind tattered bandages. His teeth were so sharp you felt yourself tense.

You become something akin to a pet. Jack learns how to keep you captive in his home, locked behind bars and ancient runes written in blood. Despite the lack of freedom, you couldn't say he doesn't spoil you.

He brings you his victims. Dazed from whatever supernatural effect he has and sore from his impromptu surgery. They always scramble in alarm, panicked and disorientated before they spot you.

Then, Jack relishes in your vicious lunges. Watches from the outside as you crush their skulls open to fill your stomach.

When he eventually makes you trust him enough (Stockholm Syndrome is one beautiful side effect) he brings you to hunts with him. You're the shadow that hangs upside down from the ceiling when his victims wake up and shake, paralyzed as Jack digs through their layers of skin, muscles and fat. Your grin is hauntingly ethereal and inhuman as you lean down to kiss their trembling lips.

Jack wonders if you smell his desire. You do. But it's normal. Your pheromones were meant to attract sexual partners after all but your gaze does linger on Jack the more the scent of charred earth burns whenever you're pressed to his back.

"Teasing me?" He would mutter. Silence would be his reply and all he'd feel is your supple skin brushing on his ashen grey skin, nosing insistently to his neck. "I know you can talk (Y/N)" his needle and thread continue threading through the patchwork of skin.

"Why won't you touch me?" that makes him freeze. Jack had thought about it. Every time he saw you kiss your victims, or rip them to shreds. You were fire dancing in the wind and Jack can't justify his need to own you but he doesn't care.

"Because if I touch you, I won't be able to stop"

"Who said I'd want you to stop?"

Jack tugs on the blood-soaked thread. It glints in the harsh lighting of his desk lamp, briefly looking like a sliver of light.

"I'll sink my teeth into you, tear you apart and consume you".

His head turns as you grab his chin. His bandages tugged away and you chuckled as you saw the ugly gored-out holes. He hasn't told you the whole story but you know what scars he did have were all human-made.

"You can take my flesh if you want, Jack".

The thread snaps.

Jack belatedly realises that since you were not human either, your resistance to pain was just as crazy as your regenerative abilities. He takes you in a way that feels genuinely primal. Two animals going at it, blood smeared along the floors and walls while claws and fangs puncture into flesh.

You two give sex a whole new meaning. Jack finishes inside of you as he laps up at the gash on your neck, groaning as his dexterous tongues (yes, tongues) feel your pulsing veins dancing on them. You encourage his ferocity with saccharine sweet calls of his name.

Sometimes, as silly as it sounds, you make him feel human again. He swears the shrivelled thing in his dusty ribcage beats thunderously whenever you dig your fingers into the back of his thighs.

You were a never-ending feast. A banquet he will never tire from. The cell he kept you in wasn't in use anymore but he swears if you ever even think of going away from his side he would keep you in there until the sun exploded.

There'll eventually be a balance in your relationship. Once you gain his trust, you might as well carve out his insides to nestle between his blackened bones and allow his tar-like blood to keep you warm. He'll do whatever it takes to ensure no one, human or non-human, will keep you apart.

He thinks it is absolutely healthy if you return the sentiment.

Jack doesn't stray from you. He is devoted. The type of person to ensure you're always full, from his essence or from others, he will provide whatever you need.

Close-promixity. He doesn't have to be touching you, just wants you near.

Will bite you. Hard. Not in a cute nibbling way. Legitimately bites you to sustain himself and thinks it's romantic that you're inside of him.

He is more human than you at times. He enjoys human comforts. The internet, a bed, a shower. He doesn't need it, you're both demons after all. But they're a luxury that he treasures.

If "others" wander into your territory, Jack's growls turn spine-chilling. A chittering, gravelly, snarl that heightens in volume as he curls his lips. He'll unmask, scalpel forgotten as veins bulge into the back of his hands and his footsteps suddenly get heavier. The one time someone had stumbled on you while you were feeding, you swore you saw wisps of black smoke smoulder from Jack's skin and the faint sound of fire crackling.

Miiight be the most protective one of the bunch.

You having sex with your prey does not bother Jack. Your sex with him is much more solidifying, oath-binding and skin-scarring. Besides, he knows you need actual souls to be sustained.

Jack's not sure how long he will be "alive" but if he's dying you're coming with him, (Y/N). He would burn the world down for you but death won't keep you apart.

Jeffery Woods, Jeff the Killer —

"What. The. Fuck?" Jeff's damaged facial muscles could barely twitch or tug on his cheeks due to his insane self-mutilation, however, he manages to furrow his brows hard enough that he feels his cheekbones spasm as they attempt to frown.

The married couple he had been stalking laid dead on their mahogany bed and there was some sort of freak over them.

Your eyes were almost as wide as his as you slip three of your fingers into your bloody mouth, sucking them clean with an obscene sigh of satisfaction.

"Too...late," Jeff's "nose" burns as he surges forward. His boots track mud and water across the bedroom and your grin is maniacal as he unsheathes his hunting knife from his hip.

"You fucking bitch!"

Truth be told, you spotted Jeff during one of your nightly visits to the husband's dreams. His white outfit contrasts so sharply in the dark it almost seems haughty. A little "look at me"-sy if you could put it into words.

Jeff brandishes his hunting knife and you twist out of the way to instead latch onto the ceiling. His bloodshot eyes earn a pleasant shiver that spreads warmth to the thing between your crotch.

He was goddamn grotesque. Skin leathery, eyes so painfully dry and irritated it rimmed red and that cut-up smile? His yellow teeth and red gums are splashes of colour since they're no longer hidden by his cheeks. His jet-black hair whips furiously against his face as one hand reaches up to grab your ankle.

Your yell is more of a screech and Jeff wrestles you on the body of the wife. Her bones and nipple piercings dig into your back as Jeff digs his knife into your shoulder.

"They were fucking mine! You goddamn cunt! Stupid little bitch!" he's more robust than a regular human. Then again, a regular human would've died from his "cosmetic" surgeries a while ago.

You can still his heartbeat in his chest though. Slow but there.

He pulls the knife out and you exclaim once he stabs you once again. The toothy edge of the blade was meant to inflict pain every time he pulled out and Jeff's cheeks lifted into a gleeful expression as he watched you writhe in pain.

But then.

"Mom?" Jeff locks up. You turn your head to the shadow under the door but Jeff puts the knife to your eye and your snarling lowers into a hissing.

Jeff does not hurt kids. The way he stares down at you with stormy grey blues shows that though he has no idea how to slaughter you he will try to if you even think of laying a hand on her. Much to his relief, you close your eyes and go lax.

You don't hurt kids either.

"Momma?" The doorknob shakes and Jeff knows the kid probably smells iron but the two of you are as rigid as the corpses on the bed.

"Did you need something, Kavi?" The voice that comes out your lips isn't yours, it's the father's and Jeff only loosens his grip from surprise. Kavi's feet shuffle nervously and whatever stuffy she's holding squeaks lightly in pressure. "I heard noises...screaming" She hears the smile in your voice as you tell her to go back to bed.

"But-"

"Go to sleep, Kavi" This time it's a command and Kavi's shadow straightens up before her footsteps fade away.

Jeff's breathing had slowed throughout the interaction. He's good at being quiet when he needs to be. Not so flashy when the situation calls for it. A soft spot for children. How noble.

He presses on your chest with the heel of his palm but then gets up and sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. You turn onto your stomach, pushing the husband onto the floor as you watch Jeff glare at you with contempt as he paces.

"I've been watching them", Your eye roll makes him grunt. "I know, I saw. But, he's mine" He huffs at the sight of the twitching body on the floor. "Could've left me the wife, asshole" Jeff follows the trail of blood down your chest and stomach before ripping his eyes away as you pluck her eyes out to pop into your mouth.

Jeff swears he's never been harder.

"I was hungry".

Your grin like the cat that got the cream when Jeff rushes towards you and grabs the column of your neck to push you down.

For a guy who hasn't gotten laid, ever, he sure knew what to do. You helped, obviously. When Jeff's fingers tremble and hover you would goad him to do better, huff that you're getting bored and he needs to fuck your hole/s with more passion. That'd get that freak going.

He sure was in love with his knives too. Obsessed with the way you shiver and shudder every time the blade cuts into your skin or when he digs the tip of it in and you arch into the edge.

Jeff thinks his first time suits him. His life is fucked up in all sorts of ways so of course, his first time was with a demon. He remembers you bouncing on his lap, eyes glowing as you squeeze his dick and moan his name before he saw white.

When he wakes up, he shoots up straight and throws the rag away from his face. The bodies are stiff now and Kavi's older sister is pulling into the driveway. He wears his clothes and isn't quiet about it as he hears Kavi crying about nightmares while she rushes out.

Jeff's DNA being all-over the crime scene is something he does not give a shit about. What are the police going to do? Arrest a dead man? Hah! They'd need to catch him first and he's been dodging them since he was 13 years old and he's 24 now. They're shit at their job.

That one night spirals into Jeff fucking into his fists for a week straight. Unable to properly think without your whispers breezing past his ears in the wind. He's already insane but you've turned the broken notch higher.

Thankfully for him, you're just as hopeless. He isn't quite sure how long you've been stalking him but when he finally senses eyes on him he's excited because he knows it's you.

Your relationship is physical at first. Love isn't quite in either of your vocabulary but this relationship turns something close to it. He whispers your name in the wind and then he feels your weight on his back as your arms materialize from thin air and squeeze him.

"What do you need, executioner?" Jeff snorts at the title, shrugging you away as he unbuckles his belt and pushes the hanging body as he passes it. Jeff sits on the desk and pats his thighs.

"The fuck kind of name is that?" You cage him between your arms and lean in to lick the scratches near his eye.

"You don't like it?"

"I ain't no one's fucking executioner"

You roll your eyes and he clicks his tongue at it. "The fuck's that for?" You're still not sure what the fuck Jeff is, for all intents and purposes he's just something in limbo. Dead but not quite. Alive but not quite. But his ego is still that of a man and you're in your own purgatory as you decide if you enjoy it or not.

When Jeff realises he does care for you, it's a strange time for him. He won't ask if you've eaten or if you're hurt because suddenly he knows just from a glance. It's frightening to him. He doesn't call for you for a long time and he grits his teeth as you don't come for him either.

Stuck in-between again. He's relieved but he's angry. He's furious but sad. Are you alright? Do you hate him? Do you not care for him? How dare you!? But, also, great! He doesn't have time to be anything more! But how dare you? Do you not realise how much he cares about you!?

When Jeff finds out it's because some idiots in a cult managed to trap you?

He feels numb as he prepares to absolutely destroy them. With a one-track mind, he kicks open the doors of their stupid, dilapidated doors and lays waste on whoever isn't you. He burns their church down. His senses only rush back towards him when he has you in his arms.

That night, he's tender and sweet. It disturbs you a bit but you preen under his hands as he watches you heal your wounds in your own demonic ways.

"You came for me"

"...I'm your executioner, aren't I?"

Don't expect labels from Jeff but he does expect commitment to an extent. He won't be angry if you fuck around but he will fuck you harder if you mention that flesh bag being good.

He's bad at talking but once you manage to pry his mouth open he can be insightful about certain things. He's an observant man just so fucking egotistical.

You are his and he's yours but don't mention it too many times, he can get spooked. Did you expect stability from Jeff? Good, because you aren't getting it.

He wants you to participate in his kills. It's a great bonding activity! He is glad he has you as his buddy/lover. At least one person in this hell-forsaken world cares for him.

This does mean he can get a bit clingy at times, maybe even bordering on obsessed, but he doesn't give a shit. Even if you are a demon from hell, Jeff will find a way to find you.

Carved his name into you. No questions about it.

It will take years before he even says anything close to an "I love you" but he says in his own ways. He's tightlipped about you when his enemies catch up to him and if he feels that you're even a bit threatened he will fight tooth and nail until you're safe.

Jeff knows he's the last person that deserves a wish to be granted but he squeezes you tighter in his arms when he thinks of growing older. He's scared of dying, always has been, but the thought of leaving you alone/being without you? It terrifies him.

When his hair starts getting more salt and peppery he gets quite grumpy every time you mention it. He does soften when he notices you "ageing" as well - he knows you aren't and it's just your shapeshifting but he swears he'll do anything to stay by your side for as long as he can.

Laughing Jack —

Oh, he was familiar with your kind. Laughing Jack mainly targets families but he's been terrorizing the world since the 1800's, he knows the vices of men. He shoos them away (which is a nice way of saying he disembowels them if they get territorial over their prey).

What he didn't expect was to see you panting raggedly with your chin dripping with blood and pieces of what once was a man under your claws.

Laughing Jack's eyes shoot towards the child he had been "befriending". He knew he was suffering and Laughing Jack truly did not care — he wanted to have fun mutilating the entirety of his family and was only here because he wanted to visit his "friend".

The hair on the back of your neck pricks and your jaw unhinges as your eyes land on the lanky being.

You know of him too. This entity that was once brought to earth to help a lonely child turned into a demonic entity that relished in the pain of humans.

You're also aware he has an affinity to target children to bring back to his circus of horrors under the guise of "saving them" and even though you're a creature of hell, you stand in front of the cowering boy with your teeth on display.

"This is new", Laughing Jack giggles out. His claws curled in front of his mouth as he stalked forward. Oh, he knows why little Carl wanted to run away from home. His mother did a shit job at protecting him from his drunk stepfather and Jack was going to do just that.

He was going to let Carl run away. Never said Carl would be alive when he did. But Carl never asked.

"Usually you whores are busy with the adults, not the kids". The very implications of what he said have you snapping your teeth. He raises his hands in faux surrender with a mocking grin.

"Gone soft? Who were you here for?"

Your lips twitch and Jack pauses just as he's about to step out of the shadows. Carl's weeping and sniffling echoed in the room. Jack's plastered smile turns sour as seconds tick by.

You know better than to anger him. So you will yourself to speak: "His mother". Jack bounces back like nothing had happened and gleefully strides over into the light.

"J-Jack? Jack!" "Carl!" Your hand shoots out to grab at the boy but he rushes into Jack's claws and sobs freely into his chest as Jack shushes and cradles him. Jack gingerly plucks the stretched-out shirt back over Carl's shoulder and rubs his back.

"Then you can go!" Jack cheers as he cradles Carl. "Go, go! Go and get that bitch of a woman!" You march up to him and grow taller tower over him. Jack's neck cranes to meet your eyes and he swears his neck creaks. He's never had to look up at anyone before.

"The boy isn't yours!" Jack's claws envelope Carl's head as the boy covers his ears. "Protective? Your kind usually has a one-track mind, never known demons to have sympathy", Jack's eyes squish into crescent moons.

"Have you gone soft, demon?"

Carl isn't sure what happens next. He just knows that when he wakes up the next day, he isn't scared and his mom isn't there. Instead, there's you. He isn't scared of you, he trusts you and he knows that you're his older brother.

He goes to school with you by his side and when he comes back, you've made food for him. Carl doesn't know where all the money comes from or why there are foggy memories of horror when he stares into space but your voice always snaps him back to reality.

Carl doesn't know where you go off to at night but he knows he isn't scared because Laughing Jack always pops up in the house.

Carl doesn't know how lucky he is, not really, but as he grows old he does feel gratitude. He doesn't know nor care why you're not his brother on papers or that his mom isn't in the picture. He knows he loves you though.

And he likes Laughing Jack too. Even if he's scary sometimes.

"Honey! You're home!" You glare at Jack as you step into the kitchen, wiping blood from your chin as you shed your jacket and your human skin. Jack looks comically out of place. He waits for you to shed before he gathers you in his arms.

This arrangement was odd. Out of place. But you learned not to hate it. Maybe Laughing Jack was right, maybe you were getting soft but you were glad that Carl was safe. Even if you had to pretend to be his older brother and then deal with Laughing Jack at night.

He sways with you in the kitchen, humming an old tune and you groan as your shape settles. He grins as he runs his claws down your back then holds you firmly.

Jack wasn't interested in sex and you were okay with that. He just wants to hold you like this, an affection growing within him as he inhales your scent.

"Carl's at a sleepover, must be having fun", Jack twirls you and you allow it with a ghost of a smile. "If he was at my circus, the streamers would be intestines and the snacks! Oh, the snacks, (Y/N) Darling!" Your lips cover his and his brow raises as he returns the kiss.

"Carl's fine with regular streamers, Jack. He's human, let him remain as one", Jack's smile almost seems sincere as he looks up at you. "Speaking of humans, (Y/N) Dearest", Jack thwacks a roll of newspaper on your chest.

"Humans are getting scared of you, rabid incubus, and Carl's mysterious older brother isn't holding up! You need to scram", You sigh deeply as you pull away. Jack chases to cling to your back.

"He'll miss his friends"

"I'll bring them to my circus! He'll always see them whenever he wants!"

"You're not saying no", Jack purrs and cackles after you close your eyes and nod. He didn't really need permission but you appreciate him asking either way. Besides, he had a point! Carl could play with them whenever he wishes to so he won't be too sad.

Your relationship with Laughing Jack might be the most curious one out of everyone else. Carl made you more human than you'd like to admit and you made Laughing Jack more colourful (on the inside) than he'd ever tell.

He doesn't love Carl. Cares for, sure. He doesn't love you. But he wants your affections, that much he knows.

He brings you gifts, some of your real food, toys and all sorts. Even some for Carl because he knows you like it when he does it. Jack becomes a sort of family guardian. Anyone who tries to harm Carl doesn't just have you to worry about, Laughing Jack's looming over your shoulder too.

You share kisses, hugs and hand holdings if he's being annoying about it but both of you know Laughing Jack prefers not to go below the belt. He prefers that you seek physical pleasure elsewhere. He claps with glee every time you toss him the body, turning the corpse into a new throne or cake or whatever he wishes.

When Carl grows old and moves out, he knows that the porch light will always be on for him. He knows his "older brother" isn't human but he doesn't care. He also knows Laughing Jack isn't just his imagination but he doesn't care. Carl knows you're family and that's all that matters.

You tend to the house at times but after Carl moves out, Jack all but whisks you away into his circus. The spirits of dead children crowd around you, sharing an affection towards you due to Laughing Jack's own emotions. You tolerate them enough but spend most of your time with your Jack.

Laughing Jack doesn't know if he'd die for you, he doesn't even know if he's able to die really, but he would slaughter millions if it meant that you'd be content.

"Do you love me, (Y/N) Darling?" Laughing Jack tickles your side, giggling as you swat his hands away. You turn to face him and he relaxes in your hold, minutely but you still feel the way his muscles unbind.

"Do you love me, Jack Dearest?" His eyes soften and you swear you see the way baby blue bleeds into the monotone grey.

"I do, I love you more than I'd like to admit".

Slenderman —

Your head tilted at the shape in the trees. The person beneath you twitched and rattled out a groan as they clung to the little bits of life they still had. A quick snatch and grab of more of their brains puts an end to it rather quickly.

Swivelling your head you gaze at the drawings on their walls. Among the illustrations of the forest views that they drew and the maps, you note the odd scribbles.

This prey had odd dreams at times. Some nights, you find yourself fighting against a force just to invade their thoughts but you think of it as nothing but their own will. Some humans had quite a resistance to your kind.

You squint at the marker drawings, getting up from the bed to walk closer. Plucking the note that peeked from under the map only to gasp as the map fell onto your feet. It revealed more deranged scribblings and your stomach twisted into knots as you realised what entity your prey had been hunted by.

Your breath shudders and you take a step back only to stiffen as a cold wind whispers up your spine.

"Forgive me!" You kneel, bowing your head as you stare at the wooden floors in fear. This being - it was the very thing that crawled out of Hell. It was older than most if not everything that roamed this earth and you had taken its prey.

The crackling of trees makes tears brim your eyes. It sounds thunderous and it only grows louder. You force your eyes shut as the branches drag along the glass windows and you plead under your breath as you feel Him getting closer and closer.

When he speaks, your brain feels as though it's being pulled apart. Was this punishment from your past victims? You're struggling to understand what he says but his voice soothes into something tangible.

"Wha...What?" You lift your head and turn to face the empty, open, window.

"Come".

Slenderman was intimidating even for an incubus like yourself. As he towers over you, you feel your prey climb up out of your throat. But then, then, his spindly fingers stroke the side of your face.

"Please me, incubus", his tendrils sway in the wind and they lower and slither through the dead leaves to curl around your ankles and thighs.

His "suit" pulses and throbs, particularly between his legs and you see the slit glistening with wetness, white cockheads poking out.

Oh.

Well. Who were you to say no?

Slenderman doesn't speak in a language familiar to humans, it brings some semblance of comfort to you; his words and expressions are more archaic but it's undoubtedly the language of hellish creatures like yourselves.

His cocks are just as inhuman and long as everything else about him and those tendrils that sprout from his back? Oh, they make the best restraints. The barely there scales on them shudder every time he's close to an orgasm and since they're so close to you, the rattling of it makes you whimper in pleasure.

Slenderman allows you to go but he keeps his eyes on you.

The way you kill and tear into humans, the pleasure you take in it - you're nothing but an incubus but Slenderman wants you.

And like his other "toys" he is merciless in making you just his.

You're not allowed to hunt anyone other than the ones he tells you to. Not allowed to even think of craving anyone. You're his incubus and his alone.

Who are you to say no?

It wasn't all that bad. Sometimes, he would push the limits of your hunger if he wanted to "test" the prey but you were obedient to his whims.

Sometimes, he'd crawl into your mind to truly see if you were all his and though painful and vomit-inducing the rewards after were enough to make it worth it.

After all, compared to the rest of his toys, you were the most pampered.

"Master", a purring noise is all around you but with your sight taken from you (a feat that only a few beings could do). The only thing you can do to locate Slenderman is through touch. But the thing is, he's touching you every-fucking-where.

You were suspended in the air, legs spread with tendrils and arms bound to your back as your cloudy eyes stared aimlessly at the night sky.

"Patience, incubus"

Love is hard to pinpoint in this relationship. It's more of an endearment. His feelings for you were the same feeling as someone would feel towards a dog. If you disobeyed and bit him, he'd put you down no question - that much you knew.

He doesn't mind when you kill other incubus or succubi though. Not that he seeks them with the same intent he had with you, he is a bit addicted to you, he seeks them with the intent to make you jealous.

He knows you had feelings for him. Depends on him. His word was law.

He likes seeing his dog get jealous. He doesn't assist in your fights with the other demon, you have to be the strongest to be his and so he merely watches and rewards you once you win.

The one time you lost though? Oh, he was so disappointed, (Y/N). The incubus stood over you, clutching the stump of an arm as he hisses at you. You know he is about to rip your throat and you kick your legs as he kneels over you.

He grabs your chin and forces your head to be tilted up, exposing your neck. You were going to die, you were going to die!

"You're pathetic, pet", the incubus over you chokes, blood spurting out from the hole in his chest before he all but crumbles into dust. One of your eyes is swollen shut, bruised and bleeding all over and Slenderman cradles you in his arms as he helps you stand.

"I'm sorry, Master" Your tears are wiped away. His tendrils lift you into the air and close to his chest as you weep.

"You'd be dead without me, pet. Completely useless".

Toby Erin Rogers —

"...Get out of the fucking way" Toby had the coldest eyes you've ever seen. He had been tasked to kill the man whose skull was being split open by your hands.

He must think Toby was here to save him because he swipes a hand towards him, groaning desperately as his eyes shake. Toby's nose scrunches up in distaste. The man looked like a goddamn pug. His eyes bulged out and gaping his mouth like a dead fish.

"He's my kill". You furrow your brows as you stubbornly dig your thumbs deeper into the crack of his skull.

"Oops".

Toby throws a hatchet and it slices through your shoulder, pinning you to the wall from the strength he used. You claw at the handle, kicking your feet to try and push yourself from the wall but Toby simply ignores you to slash the man's throat with with his other hatchet.

"You asshole! He's mine!" Your thrashing makes him grunt as he slams his hand on your other shoulder. He grabs the hilt of his weapon and squints his eyes at you.

"S-Shut the fuck up, cunt. You can still eat the bitch, shithead", Toby isn't nice about tugging his weapon out. His brows furrowed at the sight of your torn flesh.

Toby has seen it all. After meeting a monochrome clown and a burned woman with a mask hunting for a guy named Jeff, among other creatures, Toby is unphased at the sight of a demon.

This means the already cold, unfeeling, man was not at all impressed. His eyes wander to your chest and your legs but scoffs as he cleans the edge of his hatchet on his sleeves.

"You asshole!" Toby waves his hand nonchalantly as he retreats. His plan is foiled as you latch onto his back, teeth sinking through his clothes and into the protective pads. Reaching back, his gloved hands grasp onto you to throw you across the room. The desk lamp shatters onto the floor as you lay out on the surface.

Toby rolls both his shoulders, sniffing in annoyance as he picks at the deep marks on the plastic of his protective wear. "Shit, your teeth suh-suh-sunk...through" his eyes glower as you peel yourself from the office table.

"Now, you're just ask, asking for it".

After that rough night, you stayed away from ever-crossing paths with Slenderman and his stupid proxies. Even with your supernatural regenerative healing, he slashed so deep at one point you're certain he had his hatchets go through you.

Your body ached for days. Not in a sexy way.

Toby, however, found it hard to get you out of his head. He knows an incubus' pheromones linger when they experience intense emotions and subsequently, so do its effects. But after 2 months of aching for you, he has had enough.

He takes a while to track you down. He's only human at the end of the day but when he finds your prey he reenacts the first time you met.

"You," venom was dripping from your words as you hissed at him but Toby simply raised from the armchair in the corner. The office of the poor psychotherapist you hunted reminded him of his childhood so he gladly focuses on your figure to focus.

He pays close attention to the way you get into the defensive, climbing the desk to put distance as you show him your fangs.

"I've got a pro, proposition for you" Toby walks towards the closet and to your surprise, your prey is tied up like a goddamn turkey. He falls flat on his face, breaking his nose, and squirms as muffled pleas come from him.

"You don't have to waste days making your prey succumb to you. I'll wrap them up...luh-like a fuuucking present and...you can munch on 'em"

"...In exchange?" You can't tell if he's smiling. But you hear it in his voice as he says:

"Fuck me".

For Toby, you provide relief and comfort. The beginning of the relationship was tough waters to navigate through, mainly for you. Despite providing you with food when he craves some physical intimacy, Toby is one scary motherfucker to be bare of clothes with.

It's a feat considering who was the demon in the relationship here.

Toby keeps his mouthguard on. For a whole 2 years, he never once took it off. By the time he does though? His eyes are closed and he's muttering for something to leave him alone. His anxiety crept up on him as he stared at the popcorn ceiling of the motel he had chosen for that night.

"Toby" his hand trembles and not because you're deep inside of him. His scarred chest falls and raises in rapid motions and you're aware that he needs to breathe. So, despite his heart-clenching whimpers you tear his hands away from his face to pull his mouthguard off.

"No!" Toby tries to cover the scar on his cheek. You shush him and pull out, carefully arranging your limbs so he can wrap his arms around you.

That night ended sourly. He shoves you away and dresses in a rush.

When he reaches out for you again, you don't pry. You've grown soft for the man but know he isn't exactly the touchy-feely type. Toby wonders if you're thinking of his face as he plows into you and his thoughts are so loud he has the audacity to grow flaccid.

As an incubus? That was a first for you.

"...Ugly mug, huh?" You eye him as you suckle on his cockhead. Now? He was going to talk about that night, now? Okay. Sure.

"No, I like your face" Toby grunts, clearly not believing you. "Just sayin' that 'cuz my dicks in your face". Well, at least he is aware of the timing too.

He exclaims as you push him down on the bed and straddle him.

"I like your stupid face, Toby. I like your stupid fucking voice, your body, your sarcasm and your shitty personality. Is that so hard to believe?"

This relationship turns warmer after this night. He throws extra snacks your way and he appreciates it when you help him with stitching himself up from his "assignments".

When his paranoia and anxiety get the best of him, he finds it...nice...that he doesn't have to ice out his emotions anymore. He feels so human.

Toby is aware you're fully capable of handling your own affairs and so, he doesn't interfere. He's terrified of the Slenderman and even growing slightly curious about you too. It's a tough balance for Toby - it's not like Slenderman cares about work-life-balance.

So, don't expect to spend cosy days spent together somewhere sweet. Your version of date nights will be following him along on his missions or him watching you hunt and then spending hours together in the victim's home.

It brings Toby comfort. You're not human but the way you move through the house with him, it reminds him of simpler times; a past he no longer remembers but knows he cherishes. He thinks about the two of them being a domestic couple a lot.

"Remembering?" Toby says nothing as he kisses the nape of your neck. The two of you had washed up in the shower and the victims were neatly displayed in the living room with symbols all over the room. You two had all night to just...be.

"Never got muh-my memories back then, not...gonna get 'em now" He pulls away to grab the bottle of wine from you. When he settles on the office couch, you drop onto his lap with a plate of sandwiches.

He groans as you teasingly try to feed him but soon relents. He feels a bit ashamed as he struggles to eat "normally" with the open gash on his cheek but as he peeks at your expression he sees nothing but love.

So, Toby squeezes you closer and you say nothing as he allows you to care for him.

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aidothewriter · 9 months ago

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SPOOKY SEASON 🎃

Ik its not October yet, but IDC!! Now that it's that time of the year, I kinda wanna start doing stories for specific times of the year. Like Halloween and Christmas, blah blah blah. So here are some fandoms im in that look good for this month!!! Also, I'm watching a berleezy video that is definitely giving me an idea for an au plot!

[ Quick note: I know someone just asked for a request! I plan on taking a look at that soon ]

🍭 Creepypasta

🍫 sally face

🍬 boyfriend to death

🎃 The walking dead

🍭 tell tale waking dead series

🍫 five nights at Freddy's

I will add more if I can think of any other fandoms I'm in! But so far, I am mainly stuck on creepypasta!! Don't be shy to request. Also, I am still working on the carl x reader series!! Can't wait to post part 1!! ♡♡

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gabriel-xander · 5 months ago

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Stalker's Tango

Please enjoy these screenshots from my Creepypasta fan-fiction: "Stalker's Tango"! Links will be included at the bottom!

If I have successfully convinced you to read this Serious Fanfic Treated like Crack, then please consider reading the whole (incomplete) thing on the following platforms!

‼️DISCLAIMER‼️ Most, if not all, my reader inserts are female and have a half-locked ethnicity/nationality! The reader is half Mexican-American, and half whatever YOU want!

If this is something that displeases you, you are more than welcome to not read it at all!

Wattpad

Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45166621/chapters/113622106

Quotev

If you read my other works, you'll see it's actually on a different account! The reason for that is because I wanted to make an emo profile so I can fit the Creepypasta theme lol

New Chapter will be dropped on Monday on all platforms!

‼️MORE DISCLAIMERS‼️

EEEE okay I think that's it! If you made it this far-

Poo poo pee pee haa haa hee hee

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bloodblanks · 2 years ago

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hi! so i recently made a creepypasta boyfriend quiz.

it’s different from literally every other existing creepypasta bf quiz because:

a) it has a very intricately balanced point system

b) it has 1,000 word long (and i’d say well written) results

c) it’s carefully thought out, the questions are unique and NOT the stereotypical ‘whAtS uR fAvOuRite WeaPoN?’

d) most of them are made by children, which i am not

but yes, there’s a catch. i’m charging €2 (which is basically the same as $2 but i’m not american) for it. and i know, why would you pay for a quiz when there’s thousands of free ones out there, right?

because you will not find the same quality in any of the free ones. and i’m saying this confidently, without any ego or narcissism.

if i sold you on my quiz, great! take a look at this post for some more details on it.

if i didn’t, then at least do me a favour and explain to me why, so that i can maybe work something out.

(i ran out of word count on the third option but it’s supposed to say reconsider)

thank you for voting, i appreciate your time! ♡

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rottentato · 6 days ago

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It’s a curse having a creative idea but being too lazy/having no motivation to write..

Like cmon guys.. school spirits au with a ghost Steve Harrington and ghost reader?? Even better an alive reader??

Edward Cullen x shapeshifter/werewolf reader.. embry Call x Cullen/vampire reader..

Might put a poll next post..

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ivoryisking · 2 months ago

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(very belated) day iv kinktober

predator prey, yandere ej :> over on my ao3, hit her up, even though she's dusty and i've been unfaithful to you guys </3 (ao3 in my link tree orrrrrr) CRP and MH Kinktober 2024 - Chapter 5 - Ivory (TheIvoryKing) - Creepypasta - Fandom [Archive of Our Own]

#reader insert #writing #ao3 fanfic #creepypasta #yandere eyeless jack #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #creepypasta x reader #crp fandom #crp #creepypasta x you

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beelaboola · 1 year ago

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selfshipping my medicine my cure 🫶🫶

#going a bit crazy #read a few ej fics and #WHY ARE THEY ALL SAD!!!#makes sense tho #feeding hollows broke me 🥲#eyeless jack #creepypasta #ej #self insert x canon #eyeless jack x reader

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darlingdreadwrites · 8 months ago

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Everyday Is Like Halloween

THIS IS A SECOND PART OF AN AU. IF THIS IS THE FIRST POST YOU SEE, I SUGGEST YOU CLICK ON THIS (“MAIN STORY”) TO READ THE FIRST PART OF THIS AU!!

pairing: Eyeless Jack x GN!Reader

summary: After arriving at Mr. Mann’s Manor of Frights, you decide to go to the food booths first.

contains: EJ being kind, EJ cooking, free food!!

warnings: reader freaking out a little bit, reader eating barbecue (kept it ambiguous because there are veggie options)

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

“I want to find something to eat,” you tell your friends. They nod and tell you they will be heading to the haunted experiences.

After splitting up, you follow the mouthwatering scent of food through the crowds of people. You didn’t want to spoil their fun by admitting that you were too scared to go through any scares. And yet the knot in your chest tightened as the distance between you and them grew. The sounds of laughter and screams come from all directions of the manor grounds. The festival is packed, but you were focused on the scent of roasting meat, sizzling vegetables, and sugary treats. Your stomach rumbles as you near the booths.

You weave between people in crazy costumes and groups of friends taking pictures. It’s almost too much to take in all at once. The energy is chaotic, and everywhere you look, something begs for your attention. You’re almost too focused on just getting away that you don’t register that a man dressed as a deranged clown was trying to scare you. You couldn’t think past your groaning stomach and the heavy air pressing down on you. You have to remind yourself to breathe when the faces of the people around you become a blur.

You finally spot the cluster of food booths near the edge of the festival grounds, but it’s getting harder and harder to shake off the unease. Your panic spikes as you’re practically pushed forward by a loud group of people. You slip in between two booths, pressing your back against one of them and taking a deep breath. It’s pretty secluded here, perfect to steady yourself.

It’s then that you notice the smoky scent of barbecue coming from your left. Your stomach grumbles again. The sign reads “Meat Shack,” and the deliberately grungy look intrigues you – especially the humorous signs that make cheeky references to cannibalism. A small window on the side of the booth opens, and you jump a little when a voice calls out.

“Hey, are you ok?” He asks in a gentle tone.

You look up to see a partially masked face peeking out at you. The man wears a dark apron over a black hoodie and a midnight blue mask, a spatula in one of his hands. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he’s looking at you.

“Um, yeah… just–just needed a break,” you respond, your voice wavering.

He’s quiet for a moment, then nods in understanding. He can see the way your shoulders are tense, the way that you hug yourself. What concerns him most is how you seem to be breathing like a frightened rabbit.

“It gets pretty hectic here, yeah,” he says, placing a hand on the window’s edge above his head to get a better look at you. “You hungry?”

“I’ll fix up a plate for you,” he says after you nod. “For free.”

“No, no. I don’t–I don’t want to take advantage…”

But he had already started turning away to show you some of the options. He waves you over and, with tentative steps, you step closer to the window.

“Here, I’ve got some vegetarian options too.” He chuckles before delivering his next line. “I know it’s the 'Meat Shack', but…”

You manage to let out a laugh that sounds a little more nervous than you meant it to be. “I can pay, really. I don’t want to, like…”

“I’m sure you can,” he turns partially toward you to give you a small, reassuring smile. “That’s not what I offered, though. So, do you want meat or the veggie option? We also got a special sauce. You like spicy stuff?

You tell him your choice and thank him as he prepares your plate. You stiffed further as another shrill scream comes from somewhere nearby. You realize that the scare-actors aren’t just sticking to the main area, and the thought of getting spooked while eating makes you even more anxious. EJ, as he had introduced himself, seems to notice. He frowns.

“Tell you what,” he leans on the window after handing you your food. “There’s a garden out back that’s… a little more peaceful. Want me to take you?”

You’re surprised by the offer, but it was a welcome relief that you were grateful for. You nod and watch as he undoes the knot in his apron, slipping it over his head. You see that he has to squint a little to find a hook that you can see clearly. You think he might have some type of sight issues after watching him closely.

“Be right back,” he says under his breath, picking up a plate and walking to the back of the booth.

You’re not alone for long, because he rounds the corner toward you. He smiles down at you, and you take in just how tall he is. Not in an intimidating way either – he’s more like a gentle giant. The sound of aluminum crunching meets your ears, and you notice that you were unknowingly squeezing your plate. He tilts his head to the side, motioning you to follow him.

As you walk, the noises coming from the festival start to fade and are replaced by the chirps of nearby crickets. You go deeper into the grounds of the estate while the path twists and turns. You walk through a wrought-iron gate into a beautiful, secluded garden. It’s as lush and tranquil as you’d expect a rich family’s garden to be – filled with blooming flowers and twinkling fairy lights. It was the most beautiful garden you have ever seen, including a perfect bench to sit at. A stony path leads up to it, and it is placed in the middle of a half-circle of flower bushes.

You both sit down, placing your plates in your laps. You can feel his warmth as he settles next to you, but you can tell he’s far enough to not make you uncomfortable. He was thoughtful like that – a true gentleman.

“Is this okay?” he asks you earnestly. “I can sit on the floor, if you want.”

That made you want him to sit closer. You shake your head, turning your attention to uncover your food. “You’re good, don’t worry.”

The food is perfect – savory and smoky with just the right amount of spice. As you eat, both of you share stories. He tells you about his favorite moments at the festival over the years. Each story makes you laugh, and the anxiety you felt earlier is becoming a distant memory. He talks about his family, too, and how grateful he is to be a part of it. You can’t help but be drawn in by the way he speaks – a softness in his eyes.

After a few minutes, a question that has been lingering in your mind spills out. “If your name is Jack, why are you called EJ?”

“Well,” he pauses mid-bite and chuckles. “I’m not my dad’s first Jack. And, uh… my brother – Jeff – thought it’d be funny to nickname me Eyeless because of some sight problems I had. And EJ just kind of… stuck.”

You make a noise of acknowledgement and the two of you go back to eating silently. It was a serene silence, and not awkward in the slightest. He flips his mask to rest over his dark hair, letting you see more of his sun kissed skin. He looks back at you, having caught that your attention was on him. But you couldn’t look away, even if you were embarrassed. You could tell he was hot just by the way he acted and treated you, but him being physically attractive as well made your little crush on him even worse.

He smiles, tilting his head to silently ask if there was something wrong – if there was a reason you were staring at him. He was so kind to you, and you had never been looked at so softly before. You enjoy his presence, and it seems like he enjoys yours. You smile back, whispering a thank you.

“Anytime,” he murmurs, sounding also shy. He chuckles and looks back up at the midnight blue sky as he feels his face warm up.

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theeyoungalabastor · 2 years ago

Text

Fuck you, I'm Chaotic: A Creepypasta Friend scenario book

"Ticci" Toby: First Interaction

Wordcount: 2,325 (2K)

Fuck You, I'm Chaotic: Masterlist

"Ticci" Toby

The two of you met in the street when you had accidentally bumped into him when you were walking.

You were a good kid.

At least that's what others have told you.

But you never did.

The bell of the gas station's door rang behind you as it opened with a groan of obedience and Jeremy, the man who owned the small store bid a fairwell.

A shudder rumbled your spine.

Another upcast of your eyes caught onto the inky silhouettes of the tree canopies that waved like a slow dance to your favorite song.

It felt...

Tranquil. Despite the weighted plastic bag that wrapped your fingers with a deadly vice.

"Shit, I'm so sorry dude are you alright?" You hissed, tone laced with concern and internal scolding as you stabled the poor soul you had collided with.

He must have dropped it during the collision.

Although the man was an ass, he probably needed these for his welding projects or something among the sorts.

Just the simple thought of the instances snapped you away from the depths of your mind as you noticed the intimidatingly darkened streets that glowed with electricity.

The bark of thunder and nearly blinding snap of lightning was enough to make your fear numbed muscles regain consciousness and comply with your desire to return home.

You would have to return his goggles another time...

_______

Unedited

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