#tim wright x reader fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kupkate04 · 3 months

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A Hapless Endearment || Creepypasta x F. Reader || Ch. 1 - To Grandmother's House We Go

—Quick author's note—

I'm sure you all know the drill by now, but for those of you who don't, here it is:

Y/n = Your name

L/n = Last name

N/n = Nickname

H/c = Hair color

E/c = Eye color

F/c = Favorite color

B/m = Birth month

S/t = Skin tone

B/s = Body shape

B/c = Blush color

L/c = Lip color

H/l = Hair length

Also, I try to leave Y/n up to interpretation as much as I can, although some things will still be assumed about her, whether that be the kind of food she likes or her style of clothing, etc. It's difficult for me to fully write for a character who's a "blank slate", just thought you should know! Enjoy reading~

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

She exudes an inaudible sigh, propping her jaw in her palm and gazing through the somewhat smudged surface of the glass. Trees and houses of varying sizes whiz by, blurring together and composing an evanescent of greens, browns, whites, and yellows. The sun sits high on its invisible throne above. Its warm, golden rays break through an army of fluffy clouds, capturing the atmosphere in a brilliant, cheery radiance.

Struggling to imagine the clouds morphing into fun, inspiring shapes due to her current lack of concentration, she frowns, letting her discouraged eyes fall. The engine hums, the AC whirs, and wheels scrape the asphalt below, bringing the passengers closer to their destination. They've halted a few times to allow everyone a chance to stretch their legs and collect themselves, which has been Y/n's saving grace. Still, after ten hours of riding, her muscles are stiff and she is more than eager to be free from the confinement of this chatter-brimmed bus. Nestled in her lap is a backpack, and below the seat, directly behind her legs, lies her duffel bag; both have been stuffed with an assortment of clothes and other items she deemed imperative to bring along.

Headphones have been diligently positioned over her ears, the tunes that flood from which manage to block out most of the incessant noise surrounding her–including the ungodly snores of the man to her left. She fiddles with the wire, twirling it absentmindedly around her finger as she stares at the window frame, her mind wandering aimlessly amidst a blanket of fog. Languidly glimpsing to the side reveals her seating buddy has his head resting on the back of the bench, eyes closed and mouth hanging wide open. It's a wonder he hasn't caught a fly in there yet.

Ah, well. At least he doesn't stink.

She lets the dirty glass support her temple, her eyes threatening to seal shut. She's barely seized a wink of sleep throughout the course of this little road trip and her body is beginning to feel the full effects of it. Pondering momentarily how much longer it will be until they reach the station, a fleeting peek at her phone screen informs her of the time: 6:44 in the evening. The bus left at 6:30, so there shouldn't be much time remaining. Gosh, she can't wait to stand again. She's not even sure she remembers what her feet feel like.

She succumbs to the temptation to yawn quietly, giving her drooping eyes a reprieve. She thinks about what she's going to do when the bus parks and she saunters through the folding doors to reunite with her grandparents. It's been so many years since she saw them last. She was...nine?

Memories of her childhood have grown faint, but she can recall how happy she always was around them; how much boundless joy they brought her simply by existing. They were never neglectful, impatient, or spiteful, no–only caring and affectionate and overflowing with love. She's missed having that kind of positive influence in her life. It's been hovering in the distance for so long, just out of reach. Taunting her.

But now it doesn't matter, because she's coming back. She's finally going to see them again.

It's unfortunate that it took seven years to convince her father to let her return. He's so swaddled in his needless resentment and self-pity that it's blinded him. She doesn't understand how he could care so little–be so detached from the two people who raised him with every ounce of adoration they possessed because of some silly disagreement a few years prior.

She isn't certain what transpired exactly; all she knows is the vague comments she was told by her mother. It was likely an argument based around the roads he was traversing to make an income, as it seems highly in-character for him to get offended by something so trivial. Knowing him, he blew their moral concerns out of proportion, pitched a hissy fit, and vowed never to speak to them again, dragging his daughter and wife into the crossfire.

It was that reason and that reason alone why Y/n had to wait until she was sixteen to pay dear Nana and Pops a visit. He only relented because she wouldn't stop bothering him about it for two weeks straight after she found out both her parents would be out of the country during the summer for their jobs. She didn't want to be stuck at home for three months without any friends to spend time with, and she didn't want to go back to camp either, so traveling to Alabama for a summer vacation seemed like the only logical solution. They dropped her off with some money on their way to the airport, she bought a ticket, boarded the elongated vehicle, and that was that.

Her father had been less than enthused on the matter, and she recalls his torpid, irked expression reflecting in the rear-view mirror of the car as they pulled up to the bus stop. Her mother, on the other hand, was rather indifferent; far too invested in whatever messages lit up the screen of her phone to concern herself with domestic conflict. Y/n could only imagine which one of her flings she was texting this time, as situations involving her work certainly never gained her attention so fiercely.

A melancholic indignancy bubbles up within the girl's chest at the countless encounters she's had with her mom as of late that involved puny excuses, middle-of-the-night departures, and poorly-disguised secrets. She's never outright confirmed it, but her behavior is undeniably suspicious. She smiles more at her phone than she does when she's ever with her husband, and her 'husband' in question doesn't even seem to notice—or, if he does, simply doesn't care. Y/n hates it. Her family is falling apart at the seams and she's powerless to stop it.

A bitter sensation grabs at her tongue and she desires to spit the foul taste out, though only swallows and chews the inside of her cheek, attempting to rid herself of the disconcerting concept. She searches the hollows of her mind for something, anything lighthearted; a memory that contains laughter, joy, fondness. However, she finds nothing. She’s unable to remember a delightful moment between herself and her parents that took place recently. A time when her father outwardly expressed happiness or her mother was shamelessly candid.

It's a distressing realization to approach, that her family hasn’t acted as a true family since she was twelve years old; only still a child when her clinquant life slowly came crashing down before her. She isn’t sure the exact minute that it happened, nor does she have a specific reason as to why it happened. All she knows is that her parents steadily grew more and more distant, drawing themselves out of her sight until the feeling of inevitable abandonment seeped in.

She tried to communicate with them, collapse their walls and get them to allow their only child back in, though each time without fail, they forced themselves farther back into the cold, bitter darkness and left her desperate, longing for their love and affection. It became apparent she was getting nowhere with them, so after many fruitless attempts, she threw her hands up in surrender.

The example they set was not a good one, yet she couldn't help but subconsciously follow their lead. She grew emotionally drained, jaded—bordering depressed, even. Suddenly, maintaining any relationships outside of her home became a chore; a nearly impossible task that needed more energy than what she was willing to sacrifice. The more her friends noticed her inner turmoil, the more they tried to help, and the more she pushed them away. After all, if her parents didn't care, why should she?

She would get over this miserable hump eventually, and she would do it alone. Cutting contact with her dearest companions was an easier feat than one would expect, as it was accidental and gradual and she always affirmed herself with the fact that it wasn't permanent. She could always get in touch later. But weeks passed, and then months, and she made no effort to do that. At some point, she convinced herself that they wouldn't take her back now anyway. It had been too long, and she had treated them coldly. She wouldn't want to be friends with her, either—there was too much drama and emotional baggage.

It feels as if the person she once was fades from reality a little more every passing day, becoming invisible among people and society as a whole, including herself. Somewhere in the back of her troubled mind lays her positive outlook on life, and it's been locked in a box with the key thrown away.

Now sixteen years of age, she still struggles with these ill-fated circumstances and her dilapidated mental state but has learned to drive a vast majority of it into the chasms of her brain, leaving her an empty, aggrieved husk.

She blinks, reemerging from her thoughts of deep disdain as she registers the large vehicle she sits in turn off the main stretch of road and park in front of a building—the Fairfield bus station. She's here.

Despite the otherwise displeasing series of events that lead up to this, she feels a glint of excitement, pausing her music and gingerly removing her headphones, being careful not to tangle the wire as she unplugs it from the MP3 Player and wraps them around the f/c object. She then takes hold of her backpack, still open from where she retrieved the source of entertainment, and shoves them inside, zipping it closed after finishing.

Eagerly, she bends over to reach below the seat and lift up her dufflebag in preparation before glancing out the window, e/c irises gleaming in the rays of sun. The bus brakes, the door is slid open, and several of the passengers rise. She isn't far behind, throwing her bags over her shoulder and squeezing past the man's broad legs, being careful not to thwack him upside the head with her luggage as she does so. He's barely disturbed, stirring for a few seconds before drifting off back to the realm of dreams. Merging into the middle aisle, she tries to control her rapidly-beating heart as she treads to the exit, being mindful of the people surrounding her in every feasible direction.

How will Nana and Pops react to seeing her again, after all this time? Will they still love her? She has changed in significant ways, and not necessarily for the better, either. Surely that won't deter them, right? Of course not. I'm one of their only grandchildren. They won't stop caring about me just cause I've grown up.

Though her pep-talk does little to soothe a new wave of anxieties that wash over her like an angry tsunami.

Oh gosh. What if it's super awkward?

She maneuvers down the stairs and makes distance between herself and the mode of transportation, scanning the crowd to locate the elderly pair her thoughts center around. A whirl of nervousness penetrates her stomach, her brows knitting together subtly.

What if they've changed? What if they're just like Dad?

But as she meets the warm brown eyes of Nana from afar and notices the giant, surprised smile stretching across her features, all doubt withers away, and she offers a meek wave. The lady bumps the arm of the hefty man sitting next to her to gather his attention before she springs to her feet and sprints to greet Y/n, her expression contorted into one of pure bliss. A small grin tugs at Y/n's face, and she stands idle, taking into account Nana's appearance as she hurries forward.

She’s adorning a floral dress, patterned with tiny petaled flowers of all different shapes and a skirt that drapes down to her shins. Her shoes are simple beige sandals, and her grey, fine hair is tied back into a Chinese-inspired bun. Her eyes are kind and welcoming, though sunken with age and life experience, and the wrinkles that crease her forehead and cheeks only clue Y/n in on how old she must be getting, now.

"Y/n!" Nana calls out, voice brimmed with exhilaration as she dodges other pedestrians before reaching out and enveloping the h/c in a tight embrace, her frail arms wrapping around her frame and reeling her in as close as she can. Her actions almost knock both of them to the ground, but Y/n balances herself before she can stumble and reciprocates the gesture.

"Hi, Nana," she says, tone more genial than it's been in a long time. A pleasant scent wafts up into her nose; a peaceful aroma, a mixture of strawberries and cinnamon. She hugs back with her free arm soon after, squeezing her grandmother’s scrawny torso with as little force as required so she doesn’t somehow injure her.

Pops joins his wife with a notably calmer pace and snakes his arms around the two smaller individuals, his slightly yellowed teeth apparent through his beam. A stout man of classic tastes, he wears a 1950s fedora, a baby blue collared shirt, and suspenders. His hold is strong and secure and Y/n feels an almost overwhelming sense of comfort slam into her without warning. She chuckles—a soft, elated sound—and her chest is flooded with gleeful fuzziness. It's certainly an odd, foreign type of feeling, but she accepts it nonetheless. "Welcome home, kiddo."

"We've missed you so much," Nana chirps, pulling away after what has to be a solid two minutes and prompting Pops to do the same. Her wrinkled hands grasp her shoulders before sliding up to cup her face, gently tilting it upward to get a better look. A stunned expression crawls across her attributes before it’s replaced by a wider—if it’s even viable—smile. “Oh, you’ve grown so much!” She turns her head. “Phil, do you see her?”

“Aye. I sure do,” he says with a proud nod of his head. “She’s just as pretty as she was the last time she visited.” Blush dusts itself along the apples of her cheeks and she averts her line of sight, embarrassed. He chuckles. “Just as bashful, too.”

“Leave her alone.” She pivots again to face her, excitement dancing in her faded brown eyes. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear before giving her another hug. “We’ve missed you, sweetie. It’s been too long.” Y/n nods timidly, not accustomed to being so doted on. Behind her, the wheels of the bus grind against the asphalt as it leaves shortly after the doors close, and she twists her head around just in time to see it drive away, leaving her there for the summer. There's no other place she'd rather be, and their presence is only confirming those feelings. "We have so much catching up to do! I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl.” She looks back at the old woman and feels her squeeze her arm. “How old are you now? Fifteen?”

“She looks more grown-up than that,” Phil comments, and Y/n shrugs, biting her lip.

“Uh, I...turned sixteen in B/m.”

“My word!” Nana exclaims, cupping a hand to her mouth to emphasize. “You’re practically an adult, already!”

“Only a few years older than that darned cat of yours, Farrah,” he says, and Y/n’s eyes light up at the mention of the familiar feline.

“Marshmallow?” she questions, astonished enthusiasm coursing through her, once again. “He’s still alive?”

“Why, yes, he is,” Farrah laughs as if amused by her inquiry. “Getting on up there, though. I’m a little shocked to know you remember him.”

“Of course I remember him,” she says, the volume of her voice increasing with glee. “He’s my little buddy. I wonder if he still remembers me...”

“I’m sure he does,” Phil says. “He was always followin’ you around. Probably cause you spoiled him all the time with leftovers.” The corners of her mouth pull upward and she rubs the back of her neck.

“Well...he needs to be spoiled. Too sweet not to be spoiled.”

“Very true.” Farrah smiles.

“And yet I can’t even have a dog in the house,” he grumbles playfully. “You cat lovers don’t make any sense.”

“We don’t have to ‘make sense’,” Farrah says. “Cats are gorgeous, wholesome creatures, and they deserve to be treated as such.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves her off. “You treat that cat better than you do me.”

“Well, you’re not covered in angelic fur and lay on my lap to cuddle, now do you?” She raises a thin eyebrow, and he scoffs.

“I can lay in your lap if that’s what you want.”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, c’mon woman, make up your mind!”

“My mind is made up! Now, come on, dear.” She tugs Y/n to her and begins walking toward the grey-blue Toyota Corolla that sits motionless in the parking lot, and the teenager follows, readjusting the bags hanging on her shoulder.

“You want me to carry those for you?” Phil asks, and she glances over at him, her eyes widening, taken off-guard by the abrupt offer. But she collects her bearings rather quickly and shakes her head with a grateful smile.

“N-no thanks, Pops. I got it.”

“Whatcha got in those things? They look heavy.”

“Um...clothes and stuff,” she replies quietly as they reach the 2007 vehicle, Nana shuffling into the passenger's seat and Pops opening the back door for her. She tosses her luggage to the opposite side and climbs in, smiling up at him to signal that she's done. He nods in acknowledgement and shuts the door, soon claiming the area behind the steering wheel and cranking the engine. The interior of the car smells like lavender, thanks to the cardboard air freshener swaying below the rear-view mirror, and the beige-toned leather lining the seats is torn in various places, no doubt because of how many years it has under its belt.

"You got any'a that modern technology that kids use nowadays?"

The air conditioning blasts through the vents to cool the space as he puts the car in reverse to back out of the lot before shifting the gear, navigating between other automobiles, and driving onto the highway. Y/n clicks her buckle into place and twiddles her thumbs, jerking her shoulders up lightly, though she knows he won't be able to see it. "I—I mean, I have a cellphone, if that's what you're asking..."

"A cellphone, huh?" He eyes her in the mirror and she shrinks away meekly, unsure of how to react to the sincere attention. "We have one of those. Don't really know how to work it though."

"You sure do know your way around Solitaire for someone who doesn't know how a phone works." Nana's light jab makes him scoff playfully as he stares through the windshield observantly.

"You know what, Little Miss Sassypants? Yeah, I do. That app is the only reason I ever even pick it up."

"And when you do, you're playing it for three hours straight."

"It's enjoyable!" Huffing, he shoots her a glare of faux annoyance. "Don't act like you ain't got things that you spend hours at a time doing."

"My hobbies are productive, as opposed to yours, so that excludes me from this discussion."

"That sounds like code for 'I know I'm losing so I'm gonna back out now before I'm called out on it'."

"False." She flattens out her skirt and narrows her eyes at him. "I don't speak in code, dear."

He laughs gruffly at that sentence, plainly not buying her words. "Keep thinkin' that, sweetheart."

The frisky banter has Y/n failing to suppress a grin, having forgotten how well her grandparents get along, and why they've stayed married for almost sixty years. If only Mom and Dad had that kind of chemistry. Maybe then their home wouldn't be so void of love and life every waking moment.

"So how was the trip, Y/n?" Nana twists around to the best of her ability to catch a glimpse of her granddaughter, seeming to completely brush the mini argument aside and spare Y/n her undivided recognition, eyes touching base with her own.

"It was okay," she mumbles, voice just loud enough for them to understand her. "I'm ready to stop riding for a while, though."

"I'm sure. You traveled a long way. I'm glad you stayed safe."

Pops decides to contribute to the conversation. "How's your dad doin'?"

Her face scrunches up faintly as she racks her brain for a suitable answer that won't draw any concerned feedback. "Uh... He's busy. Him and Mom both."

"Figured that much. Probably why they're leaving the country in the first place, huh?"

Her gaze drops to her knees. "Yeah..."

"Do they do that often?" Nana asks, her tone curious. "Take trips for their job?"

"That's like, forty percent of what they do..." She registers the car turning left sharply, onto a dirt road that leads into a capacious patch of forestry. They pass a faded blue and white sign, and the letters in bold printed across its surface reveals: Oneiric Lane, half a mile.

Wow, almost there already.

"But, um...it's usually not so far away," she continues her previous statement as they drive over gravel and rocks in their path, making the ride a little bumpy. "Not usually for such a long time, either."

"They still workin' for the same company?" Pops says. If Y/n were to listen extra closely, she'd be able to detect the tiniest hint of enmity masked within his voice. She blows a bubble into her cheek.

"Yeah, but it got sold to another corporate body a couple years ago and they changed a lot of things. So both of them have been on duty a lot more since then."

"I bet that's been stressful."

"It's..." She could speak the truth, but the truth would dampen the mood, so she goes for a lighter alternative. "It's fine. They don't mind some extra work. Just means more money in the bank."

Pops mutters something under his breath, but Y/n can't decipher it. She can only assume it isn't anything particularly nice, based on the conversation that elicited it.

Before she can dwell on it for too extensive of a period, a familiar, Victorian-style cottage becomes visible, and a ghost of a smile sweeps across her features as she perks up. Around the house lies a white picket fence, fringed with beautiful flowers of all different colors, their stems having grown tall and coiled themselves around each individual post, giving it an engagingly untamed appearance.

At the gate, about ten feet from the front door perches an intricate white arch made of wicker and intertwined with more vibrant plants, and the house itself is a muted shade of cyan, with an ornate wooden roof that sparkles like tiny crystals in the glittery stream of sun. The window frames are white, their shutters open to allow optical access inside of the home, and stained glass roses rim the transparent pane.

The whole architecture makes it look as if the words from a book of fairy tales crept out of its pages and sprung into existence, staying hidden between the trees until someone comes across it. It takes her breath away, and she stares in awe, waiting anxiously for Pops to guide the Toyota off the road so she can jump out and get re-acquainted with it all.

I forgot how incredible this place was... She unbuckles, practically leaning against the glass in building anticipation as the car comes to a stop in their driveway, a few feet from the gate and underneath a willow tree. She extends her hand hastily to grasp the door handle and swings it open, the early summer breeze caressing her skin as she hops out, the bottom of her shoes making contact with vivid green grass. She steals a big whiff of the unpolluted air, natural scents swirling through her nostrils as she drags her belongings out of the car and slings them over her shoulder once again.

Nana copies her movements and Pops isn't too far behind her. She gives her an encouraging pat on the back, then motions for her to trail after her as she moves toward the arched gateway, unlatching it to grant her entrance. "Wait till you see the dinner I'm whipping up, Y/n," Nana says as they walk along a neat path of polished stones and white marble. "You still like pineapple casserole, right?"

"Yes," Y/n says with no hesitation, the very image of the dish making her mouth water. Although she hadn't had the privilege of eating it in years, one thing she can remember clearly is how delicious it was—then again, everything Nana cooks is delicious, so maybe that point is moot. On either side of the orderly pathway are two rows of tulips, comprising pink, white, red, and violent, perfectly maintained. It astounds her how her grandparents can keep the garden so alluring while also making sure the house is in tip-top shape. They surely tidied up before she arrived, but they're also the kind of people who like a neat living space, so she doubts they had to do much.

"I'm so happy to hear that!" She claps cheerfully as they reach the painted oak door, and both females make room for Pops as he conquers the porch stairs and wrenches the screen toward him, the creaking of its old and unoiled hinges evoking a sound similar to a screech. He rifles around in his pocket, pulls out the keys, and unlocks the entrance, holding it open as his wife and granddaughter stride through.

Y/n examines the property in wonder. Along the floor lies a hand-knitted rug, shaped like a rectangle with additional ruffles at its edges. On her left is a vacant doorway to the living room, with a vintage floral-patterned sofa resting against the wall, and next to it, facing the front door are two chairs; one matching the couch and the other a darker, less feminine material. A frosted glass coffee table sits in front of them, and beneath it is a hickory plank floor.

Past the living area is a small dining room, with a wooden table and four chairs slid neatly on every side, and behind that is an antique China cabinet with double doors and several drawers, all of which are transparent and hold various cups, platters, and knick-knacks that have been collected over the years. Straight ahead is a linear staircase; she remembers it leading up to the bedrooms and the second bathroom. To her right is a kitchen, with a white, ceramic-tiled floor, a long countertop that curls around the edges of the room; the refrigerator and the oven both fit snugly.

Hanging overhead is an oven light and cabinets with crystal knobs, and in the center is an island, with a vase of lemon yellow roses, a casserole dish, and a couple of pots.

The fragrance of honeysuckle crawls into her nose, as well as the smell of a currently-cooking turkey, mixing and creating a rainstorm of nostalgia. She almost cries from raw mirth. I really missed it here...

“Make yourself comfortable, dear,” Farrah chirps from behind her, giving her a few moments to get used to her new—but amicable—surroundings. “If you need me, I'll be finishing up dinner.” Y/n gives a soft hum in response, stepping farther inside and allowing herself to succumb to the wave of memories that bombard her.

Her eyes sweep over everything in reverence as she comes to a halt in front of the staircase, glimpsing back at her grandmother with a sheepish demeanor and parting her lips. “Um...am I staying in Aunt Darcy's old room? Or somewhere else?” A flash of realization shimmers in Farrah’s eyes before she steps forward and nods her head.

Farrah nods as Pops shuts the door, blocking the bright sunlight and capturing the area in a bit more darkness. “Yes, that's where you can sleep, store your things, anything. Of course, your dad's room is available too, but I didn't figure you'd want to stay somewhere with all those ugly band posters."

She breathes a quiet laugh. “Y-yeah, Aunt Darcy’s room will be fine." She spins on her heel and begins her small trek up the dozen or so stairs. The concept of being in her father’s childhood bedroom doesn’t sit right in her stomach. “Thank you, Nana.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help with your bags?” she questions from below, her soft voice echoing upward and easily extending to Y/n’s ears. “They look awfully heavy.”

“No, it’s okay, I got ‘em,” she reassures, attaining the top step and taking a moment to pilot the somewhat narrow space before her. On the floor is a thin white rug that stretches the length of the hallway; to her immediate right is a small, polished table that supports a dainty-looking bouquet of petunias in a glass vase. On her left is a door that's been left ajar, divulging a bit of the interior and reminding her that this is indeed where she’s going.

She uses her free hand to push it open, lighting up when she wanders inside. The walls are a pristine, rosy pink, with a floor crafted out of ash wood planks that complements the design and hues nicely. On the opposite side of the room is a bed, made as a sort of cubbyhole into the wall and at a direct angle next to a window. Built into the wall are two bookshelves, both on either side of the bed and filled with colorful books of assorted sizes.

Beneath the mattress is a long drawer which she recalls to be a trundle bed. Attached to the ceiling above is a set of turquoise sheers, slid to either side of the sleeping niche, and loosely tied to the wall with some twine. In one corner, next to the other window, hangs a basket swing, with two pink pillows placed inside to cushion it. To her right is a closet, the door shut and a shoe organizer clinging to its top edge. Inside the pouches are several pairs of footwear, each separated and easily discernible.

A white, fluffy rug lays spread across the floor, underneath a clothes hamper, a small, cushioned bench, and a cotton bean bag chair. A chipped desk sits pressed against the wall, with several drawers inside and a stool of the same color pushed neatly beneath it. A reading lamp stands atop the surface, along with a couple of minuscule baskets to hold diverse writing tools; a notebook and binder stacked onto each other, a glass paperweight, and a mirror.

She releases an inaudible sigh, the corners of her lips quirking up into a content smile as she walks further inside, depositing her bags on the bed and doing a double-take of her temporary bedroom. A giddy sensation arises within her chest; one she hasn’t experienced in far too long. She turns her head and gazes through the open window, viewing the yard of green grass and colorful flowers below and admiring how the sun’s stunning yellow beams peer down through the towering trees.

She unzips her duffle bag and removes a pile of clothes from the main compartment, busying herself over the course of the next thirty minutes. The walk-in closet isn't huge but still larger than she remembered, meaning there's plenty of space to store all of her clothing pieces. She takes note of the fact that a vast majority of her aunt's stuff is no longer here, and she presumes Nana removed them to create space or Darcy herself came by and collected everything. Y/n hangs a good half of her items and keeps the rest folded, stuffing them into the shelf of drawers across from the door. She refrains from unpacking her art supplies and other accessories just yet, as it would feel weird and wrong to get so comfortable here after so little time.

After throwing her—now empty—bag into the corner, her stomach rumbles and she concludes that the last thing she ate was a honey bun, and that was hours ago. Yearning to ease her mild sense of famine, she pivots, leaves the room, and descends the stairs, once again being swathed by the pleasant smell of food, only this time, it's much more intense.

Farrah sends Y/n an affectionate smile as she turns off the oven and waves her in. “Hi, sweetie. Are you settling in okay?” The teenager nods, letting the smell lure her, and steps inside.

“Yes, ma'am. I had forgotten how nice this house was.” The woman chuckles in response, grabbing one of the three plates on the counter and passing it to her. She takes it in her hands and shoots her a look of gratitude.

"It isn't as clean as I would like it to be, but oh well. I'm too old to dust away every little cobweb." She sighs in disbelief, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I should hire a maid."

"That might be a good idea. You don't wanna overdo yourself." Nana occupies herself with making a plate of food for her husband, listening to Y/n talk and humming along. "But, uh...while I'm here, I'd be happy to help you with anything you have to get done."

"How sweet of you to offer, N/n." She grins as she scoops a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto the dish. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, please—eat something. It's all ready."

"Thanks for this, Nana." She finds her way around the woman and gets a serving of everything—potatoes, turkey, rolls, pineapple casserole. The thought of indulging herself makes her want to melt. "It smells delicious."

"Oh, you're so welcome, dear." She pours a glass of milk for Pops and offers a toothy smile. "I hardly ever get to cook for anyone besides your grandfather and myself. This is an honor."

Y/n feels compelled to hug her again, but ultimately resists the urge, not wishing to take a chance on spilling the food being held in both sets of hands. Tears threaten to rim her eyes, her grip tightening on the plate. Such displays of selflessness is a stranger to her, but she cherishes every second of it. "I love you, Nana."

She fails to see the way Farrah's heart swells at her words, her face contorting into one of deep adoration. "Oh, I love you too, Y/n—me and Phil both. So much. And we're so happy you wanted to come visit us."

After a short exchange of smiles, Nana departs and Y/n finishes gathering her meal, fetching a bottle of water from the fridge and heading into the dining room, noticing Pops already sitting at the table, silently awaiting his own share of food. She lowers herself into the chair opposite him, the steam from the hot meal floating up into her face and making her eager to taste it.

“Hello, young lady,” he greets, and she meets his copper-brown eyes. “This house treatin' you okay?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies with a slight dip of her head.

“Is it cozy enough for ya? I know you’re used to all those fancy items and rich city life, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t meet your expectations.” Her eyes widen almost a comical amount and she stares at him as if he’d attempted to behead her. Taking a scoop of mashed potatoes with her spoon, she swiftly shakes her head before taking a bite.

“No, Pops, it does. The country’s amazing.” She brushes a strand of h/c hair behind her ear and swallows the flavorful vegetable. “City life isn’t that good. Honestly, I’d rather be here than in some hundred-thousand-dollar penthouse.” A large, satisfied smile takes residence on his wrinkled features and his eyes crinkle up before he laughs blissfully.

“You hear this, Farrah?” He regards the said woman as she enters the dining room, taking her rightful seat to the side of her spouse and passing his plate to him. “This girl hasn’t been tainted yet. We should keep her here, make sure she stays that way.”

A kind grin etches across her lips, though she dismisses him. “I don’t think her parents would approve of that, Phil.”

“No, they wouldn’t care,” Y/n murmurs in response, noticing the pitying looks being thrown her way, and she eats a forkful of casserole to fill the somewhat tense silence that’s fallen over the table. She keeps her eyes trained on the platter in front of her, suddenly finding it much more interesting.

“I’m sure that’s not true, sweetie.” Farrah’s voice is tender and reaffirming. Y/n only shrugs.

“They'd probably forget I was here at all, after a while. Too caught up in their own lives to really remember something like that.” Her tone drops within each word, embarrassment creeping up into her mind and flushing her cheeks a pale tone of b/c. Phil shakes his head disapprovingly while Farrah just watches her with sympathy.

“That’s shameful,” he starts, his voice flooded with disdain. “You're their daughter. How could they just forget about you?"

“I...I don't know. They just can, and have gotten pretty great at it, too.”

“When did all this start, sweetheart?” the old woman questions, sipping her drink.

“A few years ago, I guess...” It’s silent for several moments and Y/n wishes she wouldn’t have even interjected at all. Perhaps she just feels that she can tell them anything. Way to ruin the mood, genius.

“Hun, they’re not...abusing you, or anything, right?” The teenager can sense the reluctance in her words as if she’s afraid to hear the answer, and Y/n is quick to shoot her inquiry down.

“N-no, Nana, don’t worry. Nothing like that.” She releases an audible huff of air, relieved.

“Don't they spend time with you or anything?” Phil asks, leaning forward and facing her with agitation. She scours her brain for a coherent reply.

“Uh...no, not—not really.” She glances up briefly to meet his eyes, trying to shroud the hurt found in her own. “They hardly even talk to me. They don’t even talk to each other anymore. Dad’s always too busy and Mom is...” She swallows, probably a little too hard, and subconsciously taps her foot against the floor; a nervous habit she's taken to whenever her anxiety levels rise.

Her mind flashes with images of her mother sneaking out in the dead of the night. When asked about it, she'd snap at her, insist it was for 'business', and leave it at that. She remembers that one time she borrowed her phone to email her teacher, since hers had stopped working the previous day, and instead got notified of a message, received from a man with an unknown name. Initially, she believed it was a coworker or friend, but the contents of said 'message' involved raunchy flirting and, upon opening his contact, these advances were heavily reciprocated, and he wasn't the only one. It made her sick to her stomach. Sure, she was aware that Mom and Dad weren't exactly at a healthy place in their marriage, but she never thought one of them would actively cheat on the other. Those actions were guaranteed to ruin a family, yet her mother didn't seem to care in the least.

Her foot makes a soft thump noise each time it collides with the floor, though her mind blocks it out as she tries to draw herself back into reality. “Uhh... Keeping secrets.” Phil and Farah share a glance.

“What kind of secrets, darlin’?” her grandfather asks, and her grip tightens on the fork in her hand. Does she really want to say this?

“I—I think, well, uhm... She’s cheating on Dad.” She doesn’t look up to see the startled expressions on their faces, afraid that they’ll judge her and her parents. “I mean, the way she's been acting, texting people all the time, sneaking out of the house, e-especially at night, and I’ve caught her before but she just got mad and said it was ‘business-related’.” She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Plus, Mom and Dad haven’t gone on a date in forever. And I don’t know, it’s just...worrying.”

“Sweetie,” Farah starts, and Y/n internally winces at the strict tone that her voice adopted, “that kind of behavior is unacceptable.” She shakes her head in agreement, taking another bite of her food though finding that her appetite is steadily decreasing. “We need to talk to them about this.”

“No,” she interjects, finally meeting Farrah’s eyes with frightened e/c ones. “They can’t know I told you all of this. They—they’ll hate me.”

“If this is true, something needs to be done,” Phil says, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in distaste. “You don’t need to be in a house with two people that are so unstable. We could call them and you could stay with us.” Although the thought of living in a house with her loving grandparents sounds fantastic, she refuses by shaking her head again and speaking in a tremulous voice.

“N-no, it’s alright. I can deal with it.” Although her parents don’t seem to care about her anymore, she would most definitely shatter whatever remnants of a relationship they still have between the three of them if they were to find out what she told Farrah and Phil, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want her parents to despise her; that would be a horrid feeling. And she wants to avoid experiencing it.

The rest of the dinner goes by at a leisurely pace for the girl, with her grandparents attempting to talk about more lighthearted subjects to cheer her up, and it moderately works. They ask her about school, her friends, whether she’s in a relationship yet, to which she responds with valid answers: “It’s good”, “I don’t have friends”, and “No”. It makes itself more apparent to them with every reply she isn’t living a normal, decent life. But they figure it’d be best not to pry too much. After all, she’s here for a break, not to be harassed with questions and pity.

She stands with her plate and bottle of water in her hand after swallowing the final bite, pushes the chair back under the table with her foot, and walks past Farrah and toward the kitchen, feeling full and tired. Her gaze shifts to the window, perceiving the orange and pink mixture in the sky through the leaves of the trees, signifying that the sun is setting below the horizon and darkness will soon replace its blaze of light.

“Marshmallow is probably waiting outside if you wanna let him in for the night,” the woman hollers from the dining room as Y/n discards her dishes in the sink and rinses them off under warm water. Thinking about seeing the furry feline after such a long time causes her heart to skip in excitement, and she nods, knowing Farrah won’t bear witness to it.

“Okay, Nana.” She finishes washing the porcelain and silverware and props them in the plastic drainer resting on the counter-top before walking a little quicker than normal, unlocking the front door and nudging it open, being welcomed by a cooler evening gust of wind.

She glances around the small porch and can’t help but smile when she lays her eyes on the white and grey cat sitting on an old chair, swiping his paw over his face to clean himself. He peers up at her curiously, and she approaches at a gradual pace to avoid scaring him.

“Marshmallow? You remember me?” She sticks her hand out and lets him sniff her fingers before fondly rubbing his head. “It’s Y/n. I haven’t been back for a while.”

He stands and lets out a small meow, rubbing against her palm and enjoying the affection he’s receiving. She moves forward and wraps her arms around him, deeming it safe enough, and lifts him to bring him inside. He bumps his head against her neck and she can hear distinctive purring; a sound she hasn’t heard in years.

“Aww,” she coos, unable to stop herself from coddling the furry creature. “I missed you, too, little buddy.” She turns, walks back into the house, and shuts the door behind her, nearly colliding with Farrah as she goes into the kitchen, holding two plates and a glass with a few droplets of liquid remaining.

She takes notice of Y/n and grins at the sight. “Ah, see? We told you he’d remember you.” The girl scratches Marshmallow under his chin, eliciting another meow of content from his mouth. His tail swishes and bumps her on the arm, making her chuckle.

“Yeah. He’s just as soft as I remember, too. And cuddly.” As she says this, she hugs him closer to her chest, and Farrah smiles warmly as she places the plates in the sink. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

“No, thank you, hun.” She parts her lips to object, but Farrah shakes her head. “You just spend some time with the fur baby. Finish settling in.” Y/n feels Marshmallow struggle against her hold, so she crouches and loosens her grip, allowing him to jump down and sprint to some area on the first floor, presumably his food bowl.

“Are you sure? You know I don't mind.”

“I can’t believe you’re the spawn of my son,” she says, chuckling and wiping down the surface of a saucer. “It’ll be fine, sweetie. I’ve got it covered for now. You go and relax.” Y/n figures that as stubborn as she is, her grandmother is much more so and it won’t do her any good to argue about it. Emitting a sigh, she grabs her water bottle from where she laid it on the island in the center of the kitchen and hesitantly ambles toward the staircase.

“Okay...but, tell me if you need help?”

“Stop worrying. You’re the guest here.” Without another word, she heads up to her temporary bedroom, unaware that she’s being followed by a certain feline, and sets her bottle on the desk before grabbing her backpack to move it off her bed. As she twists around to walk to the desk, she stumbles over Marshmallow, who's rubbing against her leg, and just barely catches her balance before falling on the poor cat.

It takes a short moment to calm herself and get over the unexpected adrenaline rush that swamps her system, but once she does, she scoffs. “Trying to trip me already?” She reaches down and scratches his head, and he momentarily stands on his hind feet as a response. “Silly cat.”

Marshmallow finds a bed on the cozy-looking beanbag as she finds a place for her bag and goes to sleep rather swiftly, his body curled in around itself as his shoulders gently rise and fall with each breath he takes. She strokes his cheek tenderly with her index finger, admiring the ivory and light grey fur that graces his small frame. She can barely remember the last time she pet an animal of any kind because it was so long ago, and many grim things have happened since then.

Sitting on the bed, her eyes drift out the window, where the sun has almost completely vanished and a full, bright moon now replaces it, dozens of stars beginning to litter the sky, all surrounding the miraculous white orb. I never get a view like this from the city.

She can’t help her entrancement of the scenery and feels a trace of disappointment that she hasn’t seen more of it. All because of her selfish parents. She leans her head against the windowpane and surveys it, blended emotions making her feel conflicted. But she assures herself that it will be fine. She will be fine. Everything will work out in the end.

Yeah. There's nothing to worry about.

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jester-lover · 8 months

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hello!!! Not sure if you still do requests but could I request Tim wright from marble hornets as a father figure to emo/scene kid teens <33

(I centered this request in a post-series context)

Tim as a father figure to an emo/scene kid ( PLATONIC !!! )

CWs/ mental illness, treatment of mental illness, smoking, substances, alcohol, minor violence, bittersweet fluff (not proofread)

Firstly, Tim is surprised that anyone sees him as a paternal figure to any degree. After the shock fades, he’s kinda proud of himself and the fact that he’s got it together enough for someone to see him as a parental figure.

🎞️Most of the bonding time you and Tim have is spent out in the yard of whatever place you call home, sharing pitchers of ice cold sweet tea in the humid Alabama heat.

🎞️Tim’s life experience has proved him to be a good mentor in all things related to mental health and finding good coping skills. He’ll try his best to discourage substance abuse and encourage you to make good decisions when it comes to finding friends.

🎞️He’ll teach you some valuable practical life skills as well, stuff he’s picked up over the years and over his torment with the operator. Mostly small security measures and self defense tactics.

🎞️Starts a lot of his stories with “Back in my day…” and an overdramatized sigh because he knows you get a kick out of it. He does try to sanitize some of the more serious stuff he’s seen.

🎞️More often than not, Tim enjoys whatever emo/scene music you’re into, and gives you free rein over the aux cord whenever he’s picking you up/dropping you off at school.

🎞️You can trust that he’s perceptive towards your interests, he always remembers to get you band tees and fun stuff for your birthday and any other holiday you celebrate.

🎞️Tim would never undermine your issues as ‘teen angst’ or moodiness, because if anyone can understand emotional distress, it’s him.

🎞️ Even if he smokes, he’ll advise you against it; being a responsible adult and all.

🎞️ Maybe gets a little bit teary eyed every time he sees you enjoying your life with your friends, he’s just so happy his kid is getting everything he couldn’t.

🎞️He’s definitely the dad standing around the back of hardcore shows cheering on his kid as they pummel people in the pit, sometimes he even joins in.

🎞️The fact that you’re an emo/scene kid would also make Tim nostalgic about his own college days and the emo/scene people he hung around.

🎞️If he finds out his kid is getting bullied, Tim is the type of parent to support retaliation. He doesn’t like seeing people get kicked around, and will always encourage you to speak up.

🎞️At the end of the day, I think Tim would make a great dad/father figure, and raise his scemo spawn up to be a relatively healthy and content adult with whom he spends time with and speaks to regularly. His own mistakes ceased to define him when he had you to worry about.

#reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #headcanons #tim wright x reader #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets #masky x reader #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #internet horror #tim wright

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macabrelinguine · 2 years

Note

How would Alex, Jay, and Tim (separately) feel about a s/o who loves to pamper/spoil them?

Great ask!! They deserve some love <3

Alex - Alex is the Natsuki of the Marble Hornets world. He’s sweet, obviously, but he isn’t that good at communicating. Give him a gift? Completely flustered to the point where he can’t talk. Give this man all the attention you can, and he will be a MESS. He gets flustered when you complement him, when you give him something, when you spend time with him. He’s just very in love. He’ll even do his best to spoil you and get you gifts sometimes, but he’s not very good at it

Tim - He will get so emotional. I fully believe that he will cry. This man does not get enough love. He’ll feel like he doesn’t deserve it, so make sure to talk him through it. He really does appreciate it, and he loves it, but he’ll feel about about you using your time or money to give him something. If you do it a lot he’ll get used to it, not in the sense that he’s unappreciative, used to it in the sense that he won’t cry and feel bad about it. Just keep at it.

Jay - He’s the most outwardly excited about it! Whenever you get him a gift, he scrambles to another place to try and make something for you. He’s really fond of clay, although he doesn’t have a kiln, there’s a shop near his apartment where he fires and glazes his stuff. If you spend time with him he’ll take time out of his days to do something fun with you. It’s like a little competition of make your partner happy, and you’re both winning.

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theeyoungalabastor · 1 year

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.

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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fanficgirly18 · 1 year

Text

Masky x Female Chubby Reader| Part 1

__________________

"She might just be a self conscious girl."

"You weren't watching her 24/7- you frowning prick."

"You get to watch a pretty girl's every move- oh the hassle."

"Fuck off."

You could hear two voices. Voices that caused vibrations and vibrations that caused feeling. A terrible aching came crashing upon you- similar to when you have done exercise in the past.

Your eyes shot open. Your limbs were restricted. Plastic shackles squeezed your thicc wrists and ankles cutting off your circulation, and were tied to the metal arms of a metal chair. The metal was cold. You were in some form of a interrogation room. Unlike the movies it looked like shit. The floors were covered in blood stains and vomit stains.

"Tell me why we should keep her alive."

There were two figures across this room.

Under the dim light you could see they were both wearing yellow attire. One was wearing a hoodie and a frowning mask and the other a feminine mask and jacket. You could tell from their figures they were male. The hooded one had his arms crossed his chest.

"What is she worth to us?" he asked.

"She knows where it is."

The masked one snarled. The hooded one let out a soft chuckle.

"Yeah- she also knows how to ease drop," he said aloud.

His head angled in your direction. The other mimicked that action and from beneath his pale mask his dark eyes pierced into your vulnerable form.

You then noticed the crowbar in his gloved hands. It speckled with red and looked rusty. Maybe you missed a beat in your heart or you let out a frightened sound.

Maybe you were dead silent.

He took a step forward. His movements were as continuous as water and you heard each step vibrate through the room.

He was now right before you and towered over you.

"Where's the box?" he asked. There was something in his tone that told you if you didn't answer him soon he'd lose it. Maybe you just kept looking at him, trying not to show your fear. Or maybe you tried to avert eye contact.

SLAM.

Sideways his crowbar collided under the armrests of your chair, pressing into your belly.

"Where is the fucking box?"

Maybe you screamed or maybe you stared at him wide eyed.

"She just woke up," said the other man, quickly approaching the two of you, "Give her a break- you already beat the shit out of her."

The masked guy looked back at him before looking back at you with twice the amount of fury.

"She. Knows. Where. Slender's. Box. Is."

"How can you be sure," the hooded guy said, now standing right by his side, "Besides the fact that your a know it all."

You felt the pressure of the crowbar leave your stomach and you saw it swing. You squeezed your eyes, thinking it was going to hit you but no. Instead it was aimed at the hooded guy.

"SAY THAT AGAIN."

His blow was dodged with ease. The hooded guy dodged it and laughed.

This made the masked guy angrier and caused him to swing again. He swung it so close that as it came back to his side the top nearly nicked your cheek. The frowning masked one (who was apparently snickering) had to duck, falling into a crouch. He swiftly sprang up, went around your metal chair and behind you and his gloved hands rested on your shoulders. He was using you as a shield.

The masked guy glowered at him.

You heard the hooded one's quiet chuckle and you felt his breath on your neck.

"According to Slender if she does know anything then she's useful," he said.

The fingers released your shoulders and he walked around your chair to a nearby door. A exit.

"If she doesn't...."

He turned, walking backward to the door and made a gun to the head gesture- a gesture of blowing out someone's brains.

"Get out of here," snarled the masked one, not looking back at him. You could see the rage wanting to explode from beneath his mask.

The hooded one laughed, his voice bouncing off the walls. You heard his snickers even as the door closed behind him. There was silence.

Maybe you felt like crying or you felt numb.

Would you die?

The masked man fingered his crowbar before his eyes looked at you through his mask holes.

"You need to tell me."

His stare was so intense.

Okay. Okay.

He wanted to know where a box was. Slender's box. Maybe you've heard of the Slender folktale. Or maybe you haven't. Either way this caused you to feel distressed. Where would you find a box?

Clatter.

The masked guy dropped his crowbar.

He reached and his gloved hands- rested on the sides of your arm rests, brushing your chubby arms. The masked guy leaned forward. Maybe out of instinct you tried to lean back- but you couldn't.

He kept looking at you. His breath managed to escape his mask and touch your face.

"Can't you take a hint, princess."

You could see his eyes were filled with irritation but also a slight nervous look.

"You need to pretend you know where that box is. Unless you want to die."

______________________

There will be a sequel.

#masky #tim wright #hoodie #creepypasta #slenderverse #creepypasta fanfic #fanfic #slenderman proxy #slenderman #fanfiction #brian thomas #canon x reader #masky x reader #masky x you #chubby reader #chubby

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creeppostss · 4 months

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this felt important but i needed you guys to know. i write ghostfrank. not only do i slip into creepypasta shit but i love dead by daylight.

i am literally begging you to come into my ask box and ask for actually anything. ghostfrank, creepypasta, x reader, whatever the fuck you want i don’t CARE just send me something please

my boyfriend is getting surgery in the morning and i’ll be needing something to distract myself, so genuinely fucking please send me things to write

my writing no - nos

not much. tbh. i really like writing everything.

scat is a no though. piss is on the table as is gore

very specific asks, i like vague questions so i can come up with stuff

more femme leaning readers (i’ll still do them!! just more hesitant :) i like AFAB ftm readers/characters though. in my mind, frank morrison is ftm <3)

any character that isn’t 18+ (ben drowned, sally, suzie (dbd) and lazari) i don’t age up characters sorry womp womp

sexual age regression (i’ll write agere! just sfw :) )

oc inserts (for now anyways) i’m always scared i’ll get the characterization of the oc wrong lmfao

anything i didn’t mention is on the table. yes, this includes (and is not limited to,) non-con / dub-con, gore, force, extremely dark situations, kidnapping, luring, hostage situations, public, shame, oshimori/piss, omegaverse, yandere, stalking, feet (even you guys can stay), humiliation and more

basically just give me gross

or not

i like fluff too

please send requests. i’m so bored. please.

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fizzlicious · 3 months

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Black Coffee - Tim Wright x Reader Chapter 2

The next day was as insignificant as all the others. You slept in late, nestled comfortably in your mountain of blankets and pillows. Living alone in your tiny apartment provided you the ease of not being woken up by a noisy roommate or family member. When you naturally woke, it was almost noon, but you were very well rested. The rain had ceased overnight, leaving a dreary sky full of waves of dark gray clouds. Deciding to be lazy, you wasted some time in your bed thinking and scrolling through your phone. You got engaged in the horrors of the world through the news, cheered yourself up with some memes, and checked on your favorite content creators. When enough time was spent, you forced yourself out of the warmth of your bed, instantly regretting your choice. You knew a hot shower would start the day off right.

After you got a warm shower and a nice breakfast of toast and your favorite fruit, you picked up a novel you had been meaning to finish and got sucked in. Before you knew it, it was about time to head to work. It was a Wednesday night, so you didn't expect it to be busy. It would be steady and consistent at best. You took the extra time you had that day to style your hair nicely, rub lotion onto your skin, and prepare a cup of coffee for the car ride. As much as you loathed your little town at times, it was insanely peaceful to drive through the wooded areas to downtown. On a gloomy day like this, the trees loomed up into the sky, dark tendrils reaching in every which way. It was an eerie type of peaceful. Your work shift started at 4:00 PM. This early into the shift, you worked alongside another server, Helen. She was an older lady who had worked there since Barty was in his 20s. Talk about a long term career for the both of them.

Helen was very nurturing and loved being a waitress. She knew everyone in town and recognized a new face as soon as they walked in. But, she was bittersweet. She was as tough as she was caring. No one undermined, talked over, or badmouthed Helen. You found out pretty fast she'll chew you the fuck out pretty fast. She hated working with new highschool employees, scorning that they had no work ethic or respect. When you first got the job out of high school, you were pretty intimidated by her demeanor. Pretty fast, she grew to like you and now you two worked in unison. When it was slow, she'd inform you of all the new gossip and share stories of what the town was like when she was your age. By 8:30 PM every night, she would clock out and head home, leaving you to close with Barty.

As predicted, it was a steady paced Wednesday night. You always had at least a couple tables, mostly regulars and older folks. Helen gossiped about how the couple from the Reese family was ending their twenty year marriage after the husband had an affair with a younger woman. You wondered how Helen knew everything about everyone, but didn't dare ask. You never had much to contribute to your conversations but your ears, but today you told her about the young man you encountered last night.

"He said what? What does that even mean? Boy, you outta tell him you might be the only one working but you'll be the first to kick his ass out!" Helen scoffed, "What did you say he looked like again?" You laughed at her remark and explained in as much detail as you could. However, guy with dark brown hair and eyes, sideburns, beige jacket and jeans doesn't really pinpoint anyone for sure. You promised her if he ever came in again you'd point him out.

Sure enough, Helen was gone at 8:30 PM sharp, leaving you to run the front until 11:00 PM. Things stayed consistently steady and there was enough to keep you busy until around 9:45 PM. Then, customers slowly filtered out the doors. You stayed busy cleaning up and doing your sidework, tending to the occasional table or two. By 10:20 PM, it was entirely empty, and the waiting game for 11:00 PM began. When boredom struck, you slid to the back to swap some banter with Barty, jokingly talking smack for awhile. To your surprise, you were interrupted from the ring of the store's front bell. You exchanged an annoyed glance with Barty before heading out to tend to the customer.

To your surprise, it was the same man as last night. He was in the same beige jacket and his hair was still ruffled and messy, but he wasn't soaking wet this time. It took you a second after he sat down at the same first bar stool before you approached him.

"You here for another black coffee?" You inquired, offering a smile. He glanced at you with a serious and perplexed look, brows slightly furrowed, and hesitated before he answered. Did he always look this lost and confused?

"Uhhh yeah, actually," he said in a flat but questioning tone.

"You got it," You assured as cheerily as you could in the awkward interaction. Just like last night, you got started on another fresh pot and presented him with a hot cup of coffee. He uttered a quiet thanks and pulled it close to him. You left him to enjoy his coffee. He didn't seem like the talking type, and you weren't too interested in conversation either. You wondered if he himself would become a regular, coming in every night for the same cup of coffee. It wouldn't surprise you. There were elderly men who came in to order the same breakfast every morning, falling into the comfort of their routine. When you returned to refill his cup, you decided to ask.

"So, should I have a pot ready for you again tomorrow?" You questioned as you stopped pouring and drew the pot back.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes with his response. You felt slightly embarrassed. Did he really not get what you meant? Baffled, the two of you stared at each other for awhile before you found the right words to respond with.

"Oh, sorry? I was just asking since you got the same thing as you did yesterday," It felt odd explaining, but you weren't sure what else to say. He stared at you blankly for a second before he cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Right, right. Uh, no, I don't think so. I should get going in the morning," He clarified, "But uh, thanks. For the coffee." He tipped the cup to you, and then raised it back down. Okay, this was officially one of the weirdest encounters you've ever had with a customer.

"Yeah, of course," You were grateful to scurry back to the server station where you were hidden from his sight to replay the conversation in your head. First he seemed confused that you remembered he got a black coffee, then he seemed confused you asked if he'd come back tomorrow. Maybe you were the one being a little weird by making assumptions? By the time you shrugged it off and got the courage to head back over, he was already gone. And just like the previous night, there was seven bucks slid under the empty mug.

You considered telling Barty what had happened but you knew what his response would be. He'd gruff at you condescendingly and tell you not to worry so much about a random conversation with a random dude. If he was feeling zesty, he'd ask you why he should give a fuck. Yeah, that reassured you enough to keep it to yourself. At least Helen would get a kick out of it tomorrow. Like clockwork, you walked out with Barty and said your farewells. As you got in your car, you glanced over at the dumpster that was to the left of the backdoor in a little wooden fenced area and noticed you had left the trash bags right outside of it when it was busy. Sighing at your own incompetence, you opened your car door and headed over to dispose of the bags. If you didn't, you knew Barty would come in the morning to ripped up bags and trash scattered everywhere from raccoons. You didn't want to deal with a pissed off douchebag.

Thankfully, you had brought your jacket this time, but you still wrapped your arms tightly around yourself as you walked briskly towards the last chore of the night. As you got closer, you noticed a distinct smell and almost stopped walking. The strong smell of cigarettes overwhelmed your nostrils. Who the hell was smoking over here? You peered into the fenced area where the dumpster was, but there was nothing there. No, that wasn't right. You knew you smelled it. The hazy smoke smell was burnt into your nose now. You backed out of the space and circled around the fence, and just on the other side you spotted your culprit in the dark. They were leaning against the wooden fence, staring at the treeline in front of them with their arms crossed against their chest as they smoked. Common sense told you not to approach the random stranger smoking behind your workplace in the middle of the night, but you were curious. There weren't any other businesses around. It really made no sense for someone to be loitering between the woods and a fence.

You stopped when you were about eight feet away to keep a comfortable distance. "Hey! You alright?" You called out bravely in an even tone. The person jolted slightly, and whipped around. It was the same damn black coffee guy! Now you knew something had to be up. He had to have been out here chain smoking for at least twenty minutes. You weren't sure whether you should take a step forwards or backwards. Thinking of the worst case scenario, you gripped your car keys tightly in your hand... just in case.

The man reacted first. He took one more long draw of his cigarette and turned his head to blow the smoke away. Then, he flicked it onto the asphalt and dragged his foot across it. With his hands in his jacket pockets, he closed the distance until there was only a few feet in between the two of you. You kept your defensive stance, waiting for him to speak.

"Hey, what time was I here last night?" His question, although odd, sounded genuine. You studied his face and this time, his eyes seemed dilated, he seemed paler, and you noticed him trembling slightly. You jokingly hoped he wasn't on drugs in your head.

"Uh, about 10:20? Pretty much the same time as tonight. Why?" You countered. Although you knew you were in a shady predicament, you oddly didn't feel the urge to run or create distance now that he was talking. Perhaps you were crazy, but the guy truly seemed bothered and not dangerous.

"I just.. couldn't remember exactly. Just wanted to make sure," He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you, but you knew not to push it. He drew his arms out of his pockets and folded them back against his chest.

"Yeah, that's when the rain really picked up. You must really like diner coffee to walk in the rain for it," You joked, trying to lighten the mood. He didn't seem to get it, he just deadpanned. You almost wanted to laugh at his expression.

"I walked?" He questioned in surprise, Now you really had no idea what to say. You seriously wondered if he had a head injury... or if he was on drugs.

"Yeah? I mean didn't you walk again today? There's no cars in the parking lot," You felt slightly rude for the statement, but what else were you to say?

"Look, I don't know where my car is. I've been trying to find it all day. Now I'm just looking for a hotel or something," He sounded exasperated. Shit, the guy really was in trouble. Once again at a loss for words, you frowned as you tried to think of where the nearest hotel was. You knew there were two in your town at least, but they were both miles away.

"Are you from here? I can give you directions to a hotel if maybe a friend could pick you up or something? You'd be walking all night." You suggested, although it was a bit of a silly question considering he lost his whole car. You'd recommend an uber, but you knew from experience that no one ubers in the area this late at night. With everything so spread apart, everybody had a vehicle, and there was also nowhere to go in a town like this.

He gripped his arms tightly and shook his head. "No, I've never been here before. I don't know anyone here. I don't even have my phone. It must be in my car," he sighed. You felt a pang of sympathy for this stranger. Hundreds of hours spent reading and watching true crime flew through your mind as you debated how you could help him. Should you bid him goodluck and head home to the comfort of your apartment? Or should you offer him a ride? You inhaled sharply as you made a quick decision.

"Okay, shit. Come on then. I can give you a quick ride."

to the next chapter

#marble hornets #creepypasta #tim wright #marble hornets x reader #tim x reader #fanfiction #creepypasta x y/n #marble hornets x you

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veaspo · 3 months

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Erm mayhaps hcs of Tim/Masky, Eyeless Jack, and Ticci Toby with a chubby/curvy s/o

Have a nice day/night :P

YEAHHHH

CREEPYPASTAS X CHUBBY S/O

TIM WRIGHT/MASKY

-loves you

-tim just loves laying on you

-you're like his partner and his pillow

-if anyone says something about you, he's ready to square up🤾‍♂️

EYELESS JACK

-loves your warmth

-will just lay with you for hours dude

-someone would have to physically tear him off of you

-if somebody says anything, they dont have insides anymore. im sorry gang😩

TICCI TOBY

-loves you

-always a stuttering mess around you

-i feel like toby would go after more chubby/curvy people

-idk, i just think he would

-if someone says anything about you, he would be a but timid but would still stand up for ya

--------

guys i almost made a grave mistake and put "TIM WRIGHT X MASKY" 😰😰

feel free to leave requests and tips!💙

#fanfic #x reader #creepypasta x reader #fanfiction #veaspo #creepypasta #tim wright #tim wright x reader #masky marble hornets #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack

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bogusboxed · 2 years

Text

“Taking The Backseat.”

I do not own “Tim Wright” and do not take credit for him.

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Grief, Lost.

You fidgeted with your hands, waiting for something to change. You waited for something beyond what was set in stone and had half a mind to leave before it could happen. You couldn’t do it, but you also didn’t have the energy for that either. You didn’t want to deal with the reality of your life. You didn’t want to see any of them leave. Not when you’d known them this long. You worked so hard to keep everyone together, but here it was falling apart in front of you. You felt weak, with nothing but your mind to comfort you. But even saying that felt ironic, given that it was the very thing betraying you. It was overflowing with the future and the realization that you'd never see each other again. You felt much smaller and more insignificant than a waterboarded cigarette. You couldn’t have that light, and you would never give it away. The backseat seemed to cage you in, as you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Even when the trees peered into your vision. All you did was watch. You sat back and watched everything unfold. And maybe that was your problem doing just that. You exhaled a shaky breath as you heard a light exhale from the driver's seat. You looked up in the rear-view mirror to only see your reflection. You could see how tense you looked. How exhausted you looked. Though it was nothing in comparison to the man driving the car. Tim. He had his hair much longer than before with the combination of his thicker facial hair. He hadn’t taken care of himself, which was apparent in everything he did. The way he talked, the way he stood, and even the way he looked at you. You looked away from the mirror to the dashboard, focusing on the dark burn marks left on the thick, dark plastic.

"Your exit should be coming up soon." Tim glanced at you ever so slightly in the mirror as you uncomfortably shifted.

You wanted to curl up into a ball. Was there anything else to be said? Was there anything else you could do? You knew deep within that this was the last time. The time last you’d be in the back of his car. The last time you’d be in the backseat of things.

"A-huh," you muttered, not bothering to raise your voice above a whisper.

You couldn’t bring yourself to. You didn’t want this to be the last time. You didn’t want to lose your friends, though that had already happened. You all vowed to lose contact with one another, and this was it. You’d already lost Jessica in a memory. Could you bear to lose Tim the same way? Could you lock him away in memory? Did you have it in you to let him be happy? Did you have it in you to not be with him to the end? In the uncomfortable silence, you kept your poker face, not letting a tear roll down your face. You were so tired. Tired of everything. Tired of the way you’d do everything you could just for it to fall apart moments later. What were you doing wrong? Did you not do enough? Were you not enough? For a brief moment, your breath was suffocated by those questions. You weren’t ready to say goodbye. You wanted to be self-fish. You wanted to go down with the burning ship.

"Fucking hell," Tim huffed under his breath for a moment focused on something.

"What?" your instinctive curiosity got the better of you, snapping you out of your previous thoughts.

"Running low on gas," he replied as he turned on his turn signal.

He sighed, not in the mood for such stupid problems. You slouched, letting your posture fall as you rested your head against the side of the car. You could feel your seatbelt restricting your movement as cars passed. You didn’t know how, but you felt much calmer. Perhaps it was the fact that he was speaking to you, and it felt like a different, more nostalgic time than this one. It was sad in a way. It showed how delirious you were about the current situation you were in. Why couldn’t you just believe it? It was clear that this was going to happen, but you refused it at every turn. You knew the answers to each one of these questions. You wondered if, in a different life, you and Tim would’ve stayed friends. You wondered if maybe things just hadn’t turned out this way. Maybe Jay would still be here, but, yet again, what-ifs don’t solve anything. The trees that you passed only grew thicker as you went further. Tim eventually reached a small gas station in the middle of nowhere with overwhelmingly low prices. Though in the middle of nowhere, it felt so familiar. You weren’t sure how, but this place seemed to strike a nerve. As if it knew more than you did. He got out of the car just as you did. There was no written rule that said you needed to stay inside. Even when it made little sense for you to get out. You sighed in the fresh air as you got that familiar feeling of being watched. And by the look on his face, Tim could tell that something wasn’t right. Yet, neither of you made a move to go investigate. You both stood there, letting the car fill up. You didn’t bother to run, but you also didn’t care enough to go toward it. You both were just sick of it. That buzzing sound in the back of your mind, in particular.

It was still midday, which felt like an odd time for something like this. Something as depressing as this should’ve happened in the rain or maybe at night. But, no it was in the broad daylight. You exhaled as you tried to stay away from Tim. You tried, but you still felt magnetized by and drawn toward him. He felt safe. He made everything mentally okay, even when he wasn't. He didn’t seem to care enough to comment on your closeness as he finished up his car. He made sure to take his time with it. It almost seemed as if he too was trying to deny the inevitable. The inevitable of getting back into that car. The car that would lead to each other's end. He stood there for a moment before looking toward you.

"I’m gonna go smoke," he informed you, knowing it wasn’t the best of times but still itching to feed the addiction.

You glanced at him for a moment as he left your side. You decided to follow him, which he took immediate notice of. You could consider this an invasion of his personal space, but you'd never see him again. So, what was the risk? Luckily, he didn’t say anything to you and just let it happen. You followed his anxious frame a little to the side of the gas station. Trees blocked your primary view as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette. You leaned your back against the harsh concrete wall of the station, watching the trees wade in the wind. As you heard the flick of a lighter, you could feel the cold brush against you. You could hear Tim muttering random obscurities under his breath as the number of flicks increased. You turned your head toward him as you watched him aggressively try to get his fix. Though his lighter had been worn out. You felt a smile appear on your face as he looked at you through his frustration. You could tell he processed it for a moment as a pink dusting tinted his face. He looked at you for a moment before you reached into your pocket. You felt your way to the cold metal that was your lighter. You didn’t tend to use it all that much, and you bought it because of Tim. Within one stern flick of your lighter, the flame appeared as he lit his cigarette with no problem. You wondered if this were going to be the last time you’d get to see him like this. Would this be your final memory? You didn't know if you were ready to let him go. You didn't want him to exist only in your memory. You wanted him to be with you. He seemed to take note of your tense posture.

"It’s not all bad." he exhaled smoke as you got it secondhand.

"I don’t want to lose you." you sighed, hesitating for a moment with your words.

If these were the last moments you were going to have with one another, you weren’t going to take them for granted. You were going to tell him straight away, so you wouldn’t be thinking about it every day. Just so you wouldn’t lose sleep. Just to have closure even when you didn’t want it. He stayed quiet for a moment or two before he huffed.

"I’m sorry you feel that way, but this has to happen." he tried to be the voice of reason in a situation that had your heart breaking.

"It doesn’t. You're just trying to run away from something again," you told him, knowing how he could react.

Knowing you didn't want to understand his point of view. Knowing you didn't want him to leave your side. He visibly tensed up for a moment, not expecting that. Though he seemed to understand where your stress was coming from. He knew you didn’t want to lose anyone else, and neither did he. And that was exactly why he was leaving.

"Maybe I am, but we both know what’s going to happen if we stay. We can’t fight it, and I don’t want my last memory of you to be your lifeless body." he coughed on the cigarette smoke momentarily as you huffed it.

You couldn’t care less about the nicotine entering your lungs. You could’ve said something about it, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to. There was no way you were going to tell him off about smoking now. You were in too deep. Though his answer showed just how much he cared about Jay, even when he kept making mistakes.

"It's better that we part ways knowing we're still alive than dying in front of each other. We both don’t need that kind of trauma or at least more of it." He held his cigarette lightly, almost as if to have a moment of silence for someone.

You stood there for a moment, letting the silence sink in. You hated how selfish you felt, but it was the right thing, wasn’t it? But what if he was right? Even if it went against everything. What if he was right? You sharply exhaled. You had your reasons, but you couldn’t just keep him there. You wouldn’t be able to. You wouldn’t be able to convince him, and you knew it deep down. No matter how much you tried to deny it. No matter how hard you tried to deceive yourself, this was it. And you were spending your last moments suffering. You hated the fact that you became so close to him. You hated it. It wasn’t fair, but nothing in life is. Because even knowing you’d lose the people you loved you still choose to. You choose to care even though they will ultimately hurt you more when they leave. You moved slightly closer to Tim, knowing you were going through that right now with him.

"Do you think Jay would have recorded this?" you murmured under your breath as you gazed at the trees.

He seemed caught off guard by your out-of-the-blue questions as he tilted his head slightly. He wore an unreadable expression, but not a depressing one. But one that suggested he found it funny.

"I'm not sure, but probably," he huffed, appearing to relax slightly.

You weren't sure why you were asking about something that didn't matter, but it felt right. It felt sobering to have a peaceful conversation about stupid stuff with Tim rather than sobbing about something in the future. For some reason, you didn't want to think about the future. Maybe something had snapped inside of you, or maybe you'd just given up and didn't want to hurt anymore.

"Do you think in a different reality he would’ve tried finishing that movie instead of this?" you sighed in deep thought about meaningless things.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. Hate to say it, but the actual movie was absolute garbage." Tim looked toward the trees as well, maybe sensing something.

"So, why’d you come back? Why did you try to help finish it?" you looked at him for a moment as he averted your gaze.

"For my friends. For Brian and anyone else, I lost contact with. And I hate to say it, but I missed you." he seemed nervous to admit it but decided to go with the truth.

Knowing this, it was apparent, and you should’ve seen it coming. But you just thought of it otherwise. It was kind of ironic that Tim went after you, and now he’s trying to leave you.

"Same reasons over here." you hoped he understood what you meant, and you were sure he did.

You both stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s company until a light buzz started to ring in the back of your mind. And you knew what it meant. You knew that it was over. You knew what was going to happen, but you wanted to control for once. You wanted to have a choice for once instead of everything being taken away. Even when your choices were so limited.

"I'm going to stay here," you admitted to Tim.

You weren’t going back in that car with that awkward silence. You wanted it to be a happy memory just like this one, so you opted to just call someone else. He seemed hurt by your words and also felt the urge to argue against them. But he knew what he had chosen, and he couldn’t go back.

"You take care out there," he said, looking at you making eye contact and as you looked back you were hit with a different kind of pain.

He looked like he had so much more to say to you, but chose not to. You both left it on that note, as the static only increased. He had hurried movements as he seemed to worry about you. You dismissed his looks. You remembered watching him get into that car and the way he looked at you for the final time. You remembered the empty feeling in your stomach. From when he left your side to when he left your sight. You let him go. You had to let him go because he was your favorite person and you could only manage to wish the best for him. You wished you could’ve said you went back into his car. You wished you could’ve said you didn’t find his missing poster a week from that day. Though that wouldn’t be true if you did say that. Because you didn’t do that.

You didn't get back into his car.

#tim wright x reader #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #tim wright x you #tim wright x y/n #masky x reader #masky x you #masky x y/n #tim wright oneshot #masky oneshot #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x y/n

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