so here's the thing : leon s. kennedy is a light sleeper. an incredibly light sleeper, which isn't surprising-- what, given the nature of his career and everything he's ever had to endure.
oh? accidentally drop your phone on your face at an ungodly hour while he's sleeping next to you? he's awake. roll over in bed with utmost caution? he's awake.
breathe? oh, he's definitely awake.
you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand, sleep very much still heavy on your eyes. you squint when you glance at the time, suddenly very hateful of your phone's auto brightness adjustment as it blinds you. that's certainly one way to wake up, huh?
the time reads 7:09am. you've got to leave for work in about 30 minutes, which is fine. no rush, no problem. except that--
well, except that leon is laying on top of you, head on your chest, lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. it's become a habit of sorts-- the way he seeks comfort in your existence, the depth of your humanity an anchor & serenity in his life as you weave your fingers through his hair, slowly push him to the edge of slumber in peaceful means. it's reverent-- holy, you think, and had you not been working today, you think you would have been able to stay in bed with him all day.
"leon?" your voice is quiet, soft-- you wish to gently break his slumber, hand gingerly patting his back.
he doesn't wake up. you call his name again, pat him a little bit harder. he still doesn't wake. you're insistent on avoiding rude awakenings, so you try this for a few more minutes, no longer groggy and now filled with a slight determination.
7:16am. you need to get ready.
you lean your head back into the pillow, glare at the ceiling.
here's another thing : leon s. kennedy is also a liar.
heavy sleeper, my ass, you think. he tends to be clingier after returning from missions, which is entirely understandable, and you truly do not mind, but you really, really, don't want to deal with another scolding from your boss. you still entirely, listen to the sound of his breathing.
yeah. he's awake.
"leon s. kennedy. you are awake."
he holds his breath instinctively. you feel it.
"listen, pretty boy. i gotta get ready for work." your fingers run through his messy bed head. "i need you to move."
he doesn't move. doesn't even react. he keeps up the facade.
7:19am. jesus christ, leon.
you pinch the bridge of your nose, let out a sigh. you try-- keyword being try, to sit up, but suddenly he's so much heavier, and you realize that he becomes dead weight just to make this so much harder-- which says a lot, because he's already incredibly muscular, and god, you think you can win against those arms? think again.
"leon, i swear--"
"call in."
when you lie back down, a means of waving the white flag, he finally looks up at you, blue eyes gentle and exhausted. there's something so incredibly tender in the way his gaze meets yours, hand reaching for yours as if it's instinct. you're the one holding your breath now, swallowing hard when he smiles that reserved smile that only you have the pleasure of seeing.
"stay with me, please." he squeezes your hand, once, twice, three times, and somewhere in that means an i love you, and you both know this.
you can't win. you can never win against him.
7:27am. oh, whatever, it doesn't matter anymore, you think, so you set your phone aside, focus on leon instead.
he notices the conflict in your eyes, then a brief contemplation, and the quiet admittance of defeat. he feels your body relax beneath his as you squeeze his hand four times, the kindest of smiles falling on your lips.
"fine, pretty boy. guess i'm sick, huh?"
"got a cold?"
"hm? sure."
he grins-- that shy little grin that you love so much, and you pinch his cheek, the curl of your lips growing ever so slightly.
"what a shame," he murmurs, "guess i should warm you up."
"i lied. suddenly i feel fine. i'm going to work."
when your best friend shows up with a silicon mould of his dick, you think it’s one of his stupid jokes. it should be—except he’s dead serious. “for practice,” satoru says, as if that explains anything. practice for what? apparently, for the day you finally stop being a virgin and decide to date some poor bastard. because, in his words, it’s his duty as your best friend to set the bar high enough so you don’t go settling for less.
tragic, he calls it, if you ended up with someone who couldn’t measure up—when you’ve got him. well, not him, exactly. a replica of him. thick and heavy in your hands, veins carved into silicon with obscene detail. the kind of thing you’d scroll past online, laugh at for looking unrealistic, dangerous even.
and yet here you are, knees braced on the carpet, the suction base planted against the floor like some depraved monument. satoru is manspreading on the edge of your bed, sunglasses slipping down his nose so he can watch every twitch of your face. even with the copious amount of lube, it stretches you open cruelly, the blunt head popping past resistance and leaving your stomach cramping. you let out a shaky little sound before sinking even lower, the wet squelch filling the room. “holy shit,” he laughs, disbelieving and breathless, “you’re really taking it.” he crosses one leg over his lap.
you roll your hips once, tentative, and the drag of silicon veins inside you has your head tipping back, lips parting around a moan. by the time you bottom out, you’re trembling—walls fluttering around the silicone like it doesn’t know whether to take it or or force it back out. drool slicks your lip as you try not to think about the fact that it’s his cock you’re training on.
another whine bubbles up your throat as you rock your hips, proving something—you don’t know what, or to who—but the thought still sears through: i’ve lost my virginity, indirectly, to a copy of my best friend’s dick.
later, you’ll realise maybe this was his plan all along. how every guy you dated after could never measure up—literally.
[AN: i missed writing angst lol. It gets bad at the end bc I forgot how to write angst.]
3K words.
Reblogs are appreciated!
Sitting in a coffee shop in the middle of a barely city no one bothered to remember the name of were two experienced, and very tired proxies. One was a stocky man with deep dark eyes and a tragic disposition. The other had an infectious smile with eyes that held a fire that had died in the other long, long ago. This was one of their few moments of respite from the crazy, loud obnoxious world that they both called home - a brief moment to themselves despite the Slender Man’s eternal watch.
Tim liked coffee very much. He sat near the window leaned back in his seat, slowly swirling the paper cup with a lazy smile on his lips as his partner went off in depth about things that weren’t related to the proxy lifestyle. It almost felt normal, like a whisper of his past as a college student with more pep in his step, like he was before the Operator first laid sighs on him and sank his wolfish teeth in. The liquid housed inside of Tim’s cup was dark, and deeply robust much like the man himself. It was a welcome compliment to the early spring weather.
Tim had always liked spring. It wasn’t his favorite season, no, not by a long shot, but he always felt a certain fondness for spring. He was terribly unfond of winter, and spring was the seasonal sign that everything would be okay again. He’d witnessed the horrors of mankind and even committed countless of those horrors himself, but even he found comfort in knowing things could get better. His brown eyes shifted from your enthusiastic grin as you went on vibrantly about pieces of lost media and he briefly caught his gaze on the budding tulips. Red. Yellow. He settled on the pink ones for just a moment longer, and thought they better matched his feelings for you.
You’re a vision, you really are. There’s something about seeing you like, sans covered in blood and viscera, that has him slightly weak in the knees. You’re beautiful in the light, he thinks. Soft tresses of light are filtering through the stained glass mural covering a sizable portion of the window the two of you are sitting in front of, and you’re bathed in rainbows. The color splashed gently across your face is an eggshell blue, and Tim can’t help but notice how it highlights the sparkle in your eyes.
He knows he shouldn’t feel this way about you. You’re not his Right Hand or even a Middle Child yet. You’re still, technically, his runt. They’d only gotten you a few months ago, but from the first meeting, Tim knew you’d pose a problem for him. It’s not like he wanted to get terribly involved with anyone anymore, but years of emotional isolation and he finally let himself crack at the worst possible time.
By now, you’d shifted from lost media to remembering ghost stories when you were growing up. He watched you gingerly, like you were a butterfly perched on the milkweed and he was terrified any sudden movement would cause you to flutter away all the while he sipped on his still summering cup.
“-and then, our art teacher sent my friend down to the basement. I went with her for moral support,” you giggled as you leaned forward in your seat, “y’know? That’s what friends do.”
“Ah, sure,” Tim chuckled tiredly, as he gave you another charming, worn smile.
“We had to lock up and get a few things from down there anyways. Some things neither here nor there. We got this chill down our spine as we crept down. Both of us were silent, Mask-Tim,” you quickly corrected due to the two of you being in public. “We tried to shove the feeling off and get it all over with as quick as we could. She said she’d get the art supplies and I could start locking up the other doors. That’s exactly what we did, right? Well, my friend felt that same chill down her spine, whipped around and saw BRIGHT red eyes and a sharp toothed smile grinning at her,” you explained excitedly. Your smile really was infectious, as Tim was mirroring it, and snickering softly under his breath at your wild explanation.
“Mmm, scary. Real scary, Reader,” he softly exhaled.
You took a quick sip of your own drink and nodded swiftly. “It really was, though!” You mock-chastised him. “So she screamed, and I screamed, and we both booked it upstairs. And then we got written up for it. For running.” You pulled a face at this and rolled your eyes to really hone in the extra annoyance you felt at the time.
Tim laughed again. “A ghost in a high school, so original,” your group leader teased you in a low voice before he continued sipping at his warm coffee.
You pouted slightly and tried your hardest to show your annoyance now directed towards him, but found it near impossible. A fit of giggles bubbled up in you for the sheer normalcy of it all, being able to have a nice warm drink and nostalgic conversation with a man who was actively teaching you how to commit murder and get away with it. Well, that and the fact the story was a little silly as well, though you thought gingerly and fondly of it all the same. You reveled in the sound of Tim’s mellowed laughter, but not for the same reasons he loved hearing yours.
As a new proxy who had come out on top through the Slender Man’s trials, you were hungry for recognition and growing your skill to please your master. Tim’s group was the first group you were placed in after surviving, and he was undoubtedly the member you felt closest to. You liked Hoodie more than enough but as the runt in the group, you found yourself more than annoyed at your group's Right Hand. Toby was there too, and so too was Kate. Neither of them were especially fond of hazing you as a runt, but they felt much more like you, or more so you felt more like them. You really liked your group so far. The few short months you’d spent with them had been wonderful. You yearned for Tim’s approval, not his affection.
But conversation like this, it’s pretty normal for you. Standard for most proxy groups these days as the Slender Man encourages platonic bonding between his proxies and even proxies and independents. You and Tim… You and Tim are different. The two of you build right off of each other like a well oiled machine, consistently complimenting the other’s prose and tone with every word spilled from the other’s lips. If you were an outsider looking in, you might even assume the two together.
Tim wanted to go onto a different anecdote, something in regards to one of Toby’s first days as his runt. He wanted to keep your attention, and in a way, didn’t want the late morning between the two of you to ever end. He knew it was foolish to think of you in such a way or even dream of something softer, but he doesn’t count his blessings. He watched you sip your drink and had just placed his own down, needing both hands to animatedly go on about how Toby could be before finding himself cut off.
It’s not really out of bounds for proxies to carry burner phones, either to communicate with other proxies who aren’t necessarily in their group, or to get in contact with independents who have business with them or are in groups with them but too far away to simply convey the information. His burner phone buzzed in his pocket, and he scowled slightly.
Tim moved in his seat a bit and fished the stupid thing out. A gut feeling said he’d have to take it, whether he wanted to or not. “Sorry, Reader,” Tim apologized as he quickly stood up to excuse himself. “Got a feeling it’s Jack,” he sighed as he started walking to the door to excuse himself and not bother any of the other patrons in the cafe. “Be right back,” he told you over his shoulder. It was immensely silly, but his heart slightly ached from being taken away from you. Every step further from you felt like a failure of his quest to be near you at all times.
“Sure thing, take your time,” you said warmly, smiling sweetly like golden honey.
Tim stood on the sidewalk and leaned on the brick of the coffee shop off to the side. He really didn’t want to be in anyone’s way. “Who is this?” Tim asked as he raised the burner phone to his ear. His voice was devoid of anything warm. It was a stark contrast to how friendly he was towards you.
“Is this how you regularly greet friends?” A low Polish-accented voice playfully asked.
Tim allowed his hard-ass facade to crack and he sighed, almost like a laugh, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before moving up to rub at the corners of his eyes. “Sorry, Jack,” he apologized. “No caller ID.”
Jack chuckled breathily. “You just want an excuse to be rude. Never mind that,” Jack verbally waved off before continuing, “So, you’re going to hate this but Jeff can’t help me today-”
“What the hell did he do now?”
Jack verbally cringed. “It… was a guitar…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tim sighed.
“Anyways, he can’t come help me today and well, you do owe me,” Jack trailed off, his voice lilting to remind Tim that he damn near had to swing by and stop by and help him for whatever he needed.
Tim hated that he owed Jack. He hated that he owed anyone, really, but Jack was a very good friend to him. He audibly rolled his eyes. “Not like I’m busy or anything,” he only slightly complained to the eyeless man that wore a slavic face.
“What? You finally seeing someone? You want me to get someone else instead-” Jack started to rattle off. Jack could claim he was cold cut and clinical to the nth degree all he wanted, but Tim knew that man was weak for gossiping about other people’s lives. Tim supposed it came with the territory of being keen on observation and the notion ‘knowledge is power’.
“No,” Tim answered a tad too quickly. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
Jack paused. His ears flicked. He heard something in his friend’s voice. Regret? Resentment? Was he bitter over something? Jack didn’t want to prod, but he knew he could poke just a bit and not get his head chewed off by the group leader. “Then what is it like?”
Tim shifted against the brick wall a bit. He watched the cars go by, and took slight solace in the birds chirping on the now beautiful spring afternoon. “I’m with someone, but I’m not like, with them.” It was a rare moment of vulnerability from Tim. He never really shared his feelings too deeply with anyone, but Jack was a bit of an exception. Outside of his group, Jack was amongst his closest confidantes.
Jack’s ears perked again, and then he laughed. “How come you haven’t done anything yet?” He asked, surprised Tim was holding himself back. He was ribbing on his friend under the pretense it was a human. Humans were so insignificant in the Slender Man’s grand scheme of things. While the tall man HATED his proxies getting romantically involved with them, it was easier to fix due to the nature of simply offing them once it got too bad.
Tim’s silence made Jack’s eyeless sockets widen. “Oh, it’s a proxy. Isn’t it? Kurde, I thought you were better than that,” Jack murmured through the phone call. “Hm, I guess it makes things a hell of a lot easier in the long run. No?” He mused as if he were simply commenting on the weather.
Tim felt some part of him seize. It wasn’t… really that big of a deal, but everyone knew how Tim felt about proxies. Sure, Slender wouldn’t hate him nearly as much for fooling around with a proxy, but it was always doomed to fail. Nothing would ever allow him to live like he truly wanted to. Nothing. “No, it’s,” Tim faltered for a moment. A pregnant pause befell the two men.
“They don’t like you back, do they?”
His heart clenched again. “I’ll see you in about an hour, give or take.” He hung up, and took in a slow, deep breath to help regulate himself. He didn’t mean to be crass or hang up on his friend so suddenly, but thinking of you like that… It pained him. He slid the little burner phone back into his pocket and took in one final sharp breath of fresh air before returning inside the cafe.
He maneuvered through the tables, hoping to get back to speaking with you before he froze slightly at the situation unfolded before him. His eyes narrowed slightly. You were laughing. The man standing at your table was looking down at you and nervously rubbing at the back of his neck, with a bashful smile adorned on his face as he listened to you laugh.
God, how could you do this to him? How could you sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?
A man to a man, Tim knew that he was interested. The way he stood there, how he smiled and watched you…
“Oh my god, so what happened next?” You asked through your fit of laughter.
The man grinned again. “It was the worst audition of my life,” he said. He pulled a bored, face as he spoke, “I had to read off such great lines like ‘I’m stuck in a loop of unhappiness’ and ‘love is like four balls on the corner of the universe’-” before the two of you burst into laughter once more.
Tim hated how pleased the man looked as he spoke to you. He bit his mental bullet and took a few more steps towards his seat and flashed an untrue smile your way. “What’d I miss?” He inquired, his tone light towards you, but with something hideous buried right under the surface for the man who’d stolen your attention away.
He whipped around, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Instantly, he held his hand out to Tim. “Hey man,” he greeted, “sorry for barging in like this. Didn’t know that they had a boyfriend.” His voice was genuinely apologetic. He looked gentle. Kind eyes, and an equally gentle smile. He looked like a far cry from the proxy lifestyle. It was almost like he was a ‘what if’ to Tim’s reality. He too could have been kind in his gaze as well if the Operator wasn’t obsessed with him from a young age.
Tim shook his awaiting hand and furrowed his brows up and relaxed his expression to show he wasn’t angry. Or at least, not as upset as before. “No, it’s nothing,” he breathed out. “I’m Tim, and we aren’t together so,” he tacked on. It really did pain Tim to put it that way.
“I’m Sam,” he greeted back.
Tim could see it on his face: Sam was confused over the fact that you weren’t taken. Whatever charm you laid on him, if even unintentionally, was laid on thick. You’d hooked him.
“Tim’s my best friend,” you said. No lie in your words. As his runt, and him your group leader, he really was, as close as professional proxy standards go, your best friend. You couldn’t see it, but you made Tim wince. It’s not like he believed in the friendzone, but hearing it directly from your mouth made him feel all sorts of unpleasant. Still, he kept up his appearances for the two of you.
Sam looked between the two of you and stepped back a bit. “Don’t wanna keep interrupting the two of you then. It’s been a pleasure, Reader, and uh, Tim, but I need to head out.” Sam moved out of Tim’s way and gestured for him to finally take his seat. He only lingered at you to ask you one final thing, “would you like to talk some other time?” He began, his voice a little anxious as if he were scared you’d shoot him down like you did Tim. “I know you said your phone is broken or something but like, I can give you my email or..?”
You beamed up at him. “Give me your email,” you said with a grin. You waited patiently as Sam wrote it down on a napkin, and you eagerly awaited being able to head to the library to talk with him. Proxies not being allowed tech is difficult, but not impossible. The Slender Man made no such rule: you couldn’t go on the computers at the library or borrow them from the homes of victims to watch videos online.
As Tim sat down in his seat, he watched Sam lean down and give you a hug goodbye. A hug! What the hell was that for? His pained smile was all that was keeping him together as Sam waved to the both of you before exiting the cafe. Tim hated how much lighter he felt once Sam left the vicinity, but found himself wildly uncomfortable with the idea you wanted to pursue this further.
“Sam’s cool, isn’t he?” You absentmindedly hummed.
“He’s human,” Tim said plainly. There was no more warmth, no more gentleness, or softness of what used to be from the proxy sitting across from you. “You know better than that,” he said quietly to you. His eyes refused to meet yours. Some part of him was angry for this, for all of it panning out the way it did. He hated another man was implanted in your mind and he hated he hadn’t been there to stop it earlier. Not only did you pose a risk getting in touch with a human, but you were crushing on someone that wasn’t him. Tim knew it was petty, and that he should let you figure it out for yourself but god, he hated to watch it all unfold and take root.
You pulled a small face at Tim. “Don’t be such a buzzkill,” you retorted. You’d only felt singed at the remembrance that proxies aren’t allowed to be human. Not anymore, and certainly not in the way they longed to be or once were.
A slightly awkward silence washed over the two of you. Uncomfortably quick stares were traded hastily over sips of now lukewarm coffee as he thought of how to stop this, and how to keep you… happy.
He doesn’t know why he wants to keep you happy, or what pushes him to think of you in such a manner. All he knows is that he likes you, and you now like someone else.
I'm doing some doodle commissions in this style <3
-This would be a three loving poses sheet, if you want more it would be $30USD the extra pose <3
-For this format, I would only be drawing simple; tattoos, hairstyles and specific outfits will be simplified. If you want a more detailed piece, you can look for my normal commissions here!
-You can choose three actions, but if you have a hard time deciding, you can take some inspiration for the poses from my YCH commissions here!
-Please have on mind this are simple doodles, so I will not be making many changes to the poses in the revision, this would be mostly if the bodytype is not correctly portrayed in the piece!
-If you want a more mature, lemon theme, it would be an extra $20USD
-If you have any questions, please feel free to DM me here, or to my email [email protected] <3!
Hi, first time requesting and a long time supporter/reader. I love your work, just wanted to put that out there. I was hoping to request an xreader female reader. (Only if possible and you are comfortable with it.) Where the creepy pasta crew find out they are in love with the reader and how they would act on it. It can be a headcanon of your choice. I would really love your take on it. Thanks so much!
Having Pink Feelings
[Creepypasta and MH X GN!Reader ]
[Warnings: Like, none?]
[AN: THANK YOU SM! I made it GN just bc I don't think it'll really differentiate by gender too much. I'm going to be writing for just a handful of them, and in headcanon form. I tried to write them... closer to MY canon version so they may feel a little mean?]
Reblogs are appreciated!!
Eyeless Jack
I mean, he believes in feelings sure but having a crush seems so beneath himself. Not the act of liking someone but like, having a crush. Like, the term 'crush' itself feels silly. But it's kinda like, the only way he can actually explain how he's feeling. It's not quite love, just a really strong crush.
He doesn't act too different around his crush. He might analyze you a little more, and he definitely stares more, but that's about it. He's not really going to make the first move or anything unless he feels threatened, then he might be half assed to actually do something.
But generally, in his line of work, this kind of stuff is not really... accepted? Everyone knows that independents and proxies have relationships within their own ranks and mix around but it's generally seen to always end in tragedy.
He'll just kind of admire you from a distance. He's also way more patient with you and usually tends to you first if you're a proxy and got hurt unless someone is actually dying in front of you. Even then, he's probably going to put you first.
Jeff the Killer
I... I'm not even sure he really believes in love. This gets a little nsfw but I feel a lot of his attraction is sexually speaking. But let's just say that he's actually feeling romantically for you - that's a rarity in and of itself. He doesn't know HOW to feel about it or even process it.
I feel like he cold shoulders you for a little while as he takes his time figuring everything out. It comes out of nowhere, like he suddenly hates you but nothing could be further from the truth. When he finally comes back to you, he kind of admits to himself that he DOES like you and those feelings are here to stay and can dissipate whenever they want.
So, how does that manifest?? He's much more protective of you and quick to defend you over anyone else. Jeff, when you've earned his friendship and loyalty, is amazing to a fault. But, having these kinds of feelings for you makes him seem to favor you.
He tries to make any excuse to spend alone time with you. He knows that romantic relationships, healthy ones, aren't really a thing in the life you two live in, but one can dream. He likes the downtime with you. He treats you like his safe place.
Toby
He's kinda always getting into trysts with people. But, having a genuine crush where he actually wants to spend time with you and not just for sins of the flesh is kinda also rare. Toby gets crushes often, but this one is a little different.
He's probably the most likely to actually do something about it and actually try to pursue a relationship with you. So, just be prepared for that. He's probably going to sit you down somewhere and talk to you about maybe giving it a try, damn whatever Slender says, he just wants to get to know you.
Honestly it probably goes as well as you'd expect it to. He tries to be a relatively normal partner while also balancing the Slender Man's wishes for all of you. Though his crush, and his budding love always have the potential to go too far. And if you let each other in, and he finds himself genuinely falling in love with you, he'll try to up and leave Slender. If it gets this far, then one of you most certainly is going to perish.
But, if it just remains a crush? He's very quiet in those feelings, watching you from afar, soft smiles painted on his lips as he watches you move, how he loves to hear you laugh... it almost makes him wish he chose a better life.
Masky
Tragic man is tragic, more @ 10. He tries SO HARD to deny any feelings towards you. If he's your group leader, then he's on your ass and making you do more fetch work than usual as a way to get you away from him. It's almost like he doesn't want to hurt you anymore than you're hurt by being in this life.
He tries very hard to deny his feelings and swallow them down with alcohol, or pushing himself into his work, straight up getting angry but nothing works. You know him so well, and you're so kind and he can't help himself.
So, he too loves you from a distance. He tries to keep you with him on missions, or tend to your wounds when no one else can or has to tend to their own, he even vents about it to Hoodie.
Though, he too isn't going to make a move or anything. He doesn't want The Operator killing either of you for it. He becomes even more protective of you, and sometimes, if you catch him at just the right moment, you can see him smiling at you. In another life, the two of you would be happy in some quiet house not killing because some eldritch being told you to. You'd just be... together.
Hoodie
You're never going to know. Hoodie refuses to divulge in these feelings to anyone but Masky. He tells Masky he thinks he ahs a crush on you and that's about it. Hoodie is so prone to bottling things up like that, and he kind of wants to keep it his own little secret.
And it's because it reminds him of being human. He enjoys his crush because he feels more human as a result, not a proxy, not a puppet, not even that poor kid dealing with the Operator's influence in college, he just feels... young again. Happy.
He watches you more than usual, never really says anything, but he's happy. Watches, gives pointers and talks to you when appropriate, but nothing more. There is no favoritism, maybe just him being a bit more protective but that can easily be chalked up to him doing his job as a right hand.
He doesn't even really mention it to Tim all that much. Sometimes, he actually does little doodles of you, or things he associates with you. Lots of wild flowers. But, again, you're never going to know. He won't say it, won't show it, just admires you from a distance to keep you safe.
Hi, first time requesting and a long time supporter/reader. I love your work, just wanted to put that out there. I was hoping to request an xreader female reader. (Only if possible and you are comfortable with it.) Where the creepy pasta crew find out they are in love with the reader and how they would act on it. It can be a headcanon of your choice. I would really love your take on it. Thanks so much!
Having Pink Feelings
[Creepypasta and MH X GN!Reader ]
[Warnings: Like, none?]
[AN: THANK YOU SM! I made it GN just bc I don't think it'll really differentiate by gender too much. I'm going to be writing for just a handful of them, and in headcanon form. I tried to write them... closer to MY canon version so they may feel a little mean?]
Reblogs are appreciated!!
Eyeless Jack
I mean, he believes in feelings sure but having a crush seems so beneath himself. Not the act of liking someone but like, having a crush. Like, the term 'crush' itself feels silly. But it's kinda like, the only way he can actually explain how he's feeling. It's not quite love, just a really strong crush.
He doesn't act too different around his crush. He might analyze you a little more, and he definitely stares more, but that's about it. He's not really going to make the first move or anything unless he feels threatened, then he might be half assed to actually do something.
But generally, in his line of work, this kind of stuff is not really... accepted? Everyone knows that independents and proxies have relationships within their own ranks and mix around but it's generally seen to always end in tragedy.
He'll just kind of admire you from a distance. He's also way more patient with you and usually tends to you first if you're a proxy and got hurt unless someone is actually dying in front of you. Even then, he's probably going to put you first.
Jeff the Killer
I... I'm not even sure he really believes in love. This gets a little nsfw but I feel a lot of his attraction is sexually speaking. But let's just say that he's actually feeling romantically for you - that's a rarity in and of itself. He doesn't know HOW to feel about it or even process it.
I feel like he cold shoulders you for a little while as he takes his time figuring everything out. It comes out of nowhere, like he suddenly hates you but nothing could be further from the truth. When he finally comes back to you, he kind of admits to himself that he DOES like you and those feelings are here to stay and can dissipate whenever they want.
So, how does that manifest?? He's much more protective of you and quick to defend you over anyone else. Jeff, when you've earned his friendship and loyalty, is amazing to a fault. But, having these kinds of feelings for you makes him seem to favor you.
He tries to make any excuse to spend alone time with you. He knows that romantic relationships, healthy ones, aren't really a thing in the life you two live in, but one can dream. He likes the downtime with you. He treats you like his safe place.
Toby
He's kinda always getting into trysts with people. But, having a genuine crush where he actually wants to spend time with you and not just for sins of the flesh is kinda also rare. Toby gets crushes often, but this one is a little different.
He's probably the most likely to actually do something about it and actually try to pursue a relationship with you. So, just be prepared for that. He's probably going to sit you down somewhere and talk to you about maybe giving it a try, damn whatever Slender says, he just wants to get to know you.
Honestly it probably goes as well as you'd expect it to. He tries to be a relatively normal partner while also balancing the Slender Man's wishes for all of you. Though his crush, and his budding love always have the potential to go too far. And if you let each other in, and he finds himself genuinely falling in love with you, he'll try to up and leave Slender. If it gets this far, then one of you most certainly is going to perish.
But, if it just remains a crush? He's very quiet in those feelings, watching you from afar, soft smiles painted on his lips as he watches you move, how he loves to hear you laugh... it almost makes him wish he chose a better life.
Masky
Tragic man is tragic, more @ 10. He tries SO HARD to deny any feelings towards you. If he's your group leader, then he's on your ass and making you do more fetch work than usual as a way to get you away from him. It's almost like he doesn't want to hurt you anymore than you're hurt by being in this life.
He tries very hard to deny his feelings and swallow them down with alcohol, or pushing himself into his work, straight up getting angry but nothing works. You know him so well, and you're so kind and he can't help himself.
So, he too loves you from a distance. He tries to keep you with him on missions, or tend to your wounds when no one else can or has to tend to their own, he even vents about it to Hoodie.
Though, he too isn't going to make a move or anything. He doesn't want The Operator killing either of you for it. He becomes even more protective of you, and sometimes, if you catch him at just the right moment, you can see him smiling at you. In another life, the two of you would be happy in some quiet house not killing because some eldritch being told you to. You'd just be... together.
Hoodie
You're never going to know. Hoodie refuses to divulge in these feelings to anyone but Masky. He tells Masky he thinks he ahs a crush on you and that's about it. Hoodie is so prone to bottling things up like that, and he kind of wants to keep it his own little secret.
And it's because it reminds him of being human. He enjoys his crush because he feels more human as a result, not a proxy, not a puppet, not even that poor kid dealing with the Operator's influence in college, he just feels... young again. Happy.
He watches you more than usual, never really says anything, but he's happy. Watches, gives pointers and talks to you when appropriate, but nothing more. There is no favoritism, maybe just him being a bit more protective but that can easily be chalked up to him doing his job as a right hand.
He doesn't even really mention it to Tim all that much. Sometimes, he actually does little doodles of you, or things he associates with you. Lots of wild flowers. But, again, you're never going to know. He won't say it, won't show it, just admires you from a distance to keep you safe.
at 2:41 a.m., your best friend barges into your bedroom without so much as a knock, muttering obscenities and toeing off his slippers. the hallway light casts a harsh rectangle across the floor, slicing through the dark. half-awake, momentarily blinded, you squint up at him. backlit in the doorway, gojo satoru looks both ridiculous and divine—six-feet-something of of flushed annoyance, snowy white hair sticking up in chaotic tufts, framed like some petulant archangel in nothing but a pair of boxers.
“my fucking a/c just died,” he announces, tone aggrieved, as if the malfunction itself were a targeted assault on his divine entitlement.
“you can’t sweat it out for one night like the rest of us commoners, huh?”
“it’s inhumane,” he whines, already crossing the room to prod at the unit on your wall. “heat stroke kills, y’know. i read that.”
moments later, the mattress dips beneath added weight as he slots himself behind you with the ease of habit. his thigh wedges itself between yours, tactfully avoiding any overt contact with the more… compromising angles of your anatomy. technically innocent, but nowhere near far enough to qualify as pure.
“why are your thighs so hot. you ovulating?”
“why are you talking.”
he repositions himself slightly, his hips aligning too conveniently against your ass. not pressing, but not not.
“don’t be mean,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “i’m a fragile soul.”
his fingers, predictably warm, slip under your shirt without affectation. you bat at them, half-heartedly—too tired (or so you claim) to really stop him. it’s pro forma at this point. and in true ‘guy best friend’ obnoxious behaviour, satoru responds by moaning in your ear like you’ve wounded him in some erotically profound way. you elbow him in the ribs for it, get a little satisfaction out of the pained grunt he makes.
twenty minutes pass. the room has become an arctic hellscape. your toes curl in protest beneath the blankets, fully committed to the bit of not getting up to adjust the a/c. satoru, of course, only winds himself tighter around you. your limbs are tangled, and you genuinely can’t tell where he ends and you begin.
he’s hard now. fully, and completely without shame. it’s pressed right up against the curve of your ass, no attempt at subtlety. you try to ignore the distinct shape of him, thick and hard where it nestles snugly against your tailbone. you do your best to ignore it—the attempt is noble, really—right up until his thumb starts moving. circular motions under your navel, casual and thoughtless, as if he isn’t already palming around the borders of your self-control.
then his hips rock once, a shallow press that lodges his cock higher between your thighs, thick and warm through both layers of fabric. you bite the inside of your cheek and decide to do the mature thing. instead of telling him to knock it off, you clamp your thighs together, squeezing around the thickening bulge of his cock. not overt. just a silent reminder that:
a.) he’s not slick. and b.) you’re not fucking stupid.
“fuck. my dick’s hard,” he mutters, as if it’s new information.
“cry about it.”
“i will,” he says, nuzzling into the curve of your shoulder with infuriating gentleness, as if his dick isn’t pressing against your ass. “because i’m sensitive. i need to be held.”
you roll your eyes and swat behind you, catching his bicep.
“pervert.” satoru responds, predictably, by grinding against you, like he’s trying to prove a point.
“huh,” he muses, the grin perfectly audible in his voice. “something tells me you love it.”
you do. unfortunately. but you still arch back into him, partly out of spite, mostly because the heat of him is starting to corrode whatever’s left of your higher brain function. he huffs a laugh against your neck.
“mm. what’s this, little squeeze? that for me?”
“you’re hallucinating.”
“you’re grinding on me.”
“says the guy rubbing his boner on me.”
“semantics.”
you sigh—a long-suffering one—and tilt your hips back until the plush of your thighs bracket him properly. the adjustment is minor, but it lines everything up: without preamble, his hand slides down again. the flat of his palm skims your stomach, then dips lower, two slender fingers come to rest right at the edge of your panties, hovering with an almost comical hesitation. a beat passes, as if he’s trying to be polite now, of all times.
so you reach down and lace your fingers through his, and guide him. not under, but over—pressing the backs of his knuckles to the damp cotton stretched over your pussy.
he moans into the crook of your shoulder—not an act of theatrical lewdness, but the real deal. surprised. like he genuinely can’t believe you’re letting him touch you there.
like if you changed your mind, he’d probably curl up and die.
his hips buck forward, unthinking. the weight of his cock slots tighter in the seam between your thighs, thick and burning hot through both your layers.
the angle’s a bit awkward, and you can’t stop smiling.
still, it feels good.
really good.
you start to move first, nudging his cock through the slick mess you’ve made of your thighs. he gets the message fast. his hand starts working in tandem, palm grinding on your mound as his fingers stroke through the soaked fabric, catching the shape of your folds beneath.
you rock back into him while he ruts forward, a lazy little loop of drawn-out, mutual indulgence that gets sloppier the longer it goes. your skin’s hot and buzzing despite the absurd cold of the room. everything’s messy now. slick and sticky where he’s rutting into the curve of your ass, fingers wet with arousal that has long-since seeped through cotton. his palm applying pressure as if coaxing more from you is a matter of necessity.
he doesn’t last long. not like this. the tension breaks with a soft grunt and what feels like a synchronised full-body convulsions that passes through both of you as he finishes, thick spurts of release painting the inside of your thighs, messy and warm.
eventually, he softens. your thighs remain tacky, glossed in a mixture of sweat and come. his breathing evens out, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours as the tension slowly drains out of him.
by morning, satoru is feigning innocence, blinking at you through bedhead and sleep-creased cheeks. while his morning wood juts out proudly under his boxers. then, with all the sincerity of a man caught red-handed:
“must’ve been the cold,” he yawns, “you know—thermostat-induced morning wood.”
you check the unit. turns out, the temperature was six degrees below what you usually keep it.
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