Ola soy dora, I saw requests open as well as the fact you do creepypasta? Say less. I'mma be honest I'm drawing blank but I saw you wanted requests, and what am I, if not a people pleaser. Now you can write for Tim, Jeff or Toby, whichever one tickles your fancy more. My idea is new proxy, or pasta in the manor - yes I'm a slender manor type, and said pasta, kinda thinks themself weak or inferior. They have bloodlust sure, but in general they're just.. Tired. Could also go, yeah they killed, but it was because it was the straw that broke the camel's back. They aren't psychotic, yet. So big insecurities, maybe they like the pasta of your choosing but don't think they're good enough for said pasta stroodle , OR(because I'm a guy, if you write for fem only, thats awesome, don't fret) they're terrified of coming out because these are pyscho's we're talking about. Morals and understanding aint exactly an appetizer for them, so that's their insecurity and fear. Your choice luv take it in whatever direction you like, hope I made sense lol. Have fun.โฅ๏ธ
Iโm pretty sure you might have forgotten about this request by now, and Iโm really sorry that you had to wait for so long. I wasnโt in a very good place for a while and had little to no motivation.
Thatโs why Iโve put a lot of effort into this now and spent a long time thinking about it. I have to be honest: this request was difficult for me to work on because I had so many ideas. I ended up writing three different versions of the story before finally deciding on this one.
I really hope you like it. If not, please donโt hesitate to let me know and give me feedback
-Masky/Tim wright x male reader-
TW: Violence, murder, abuse, homophobia, trauma, manipulation, substance use.
What Slender saw in you remained a mystery to the Proxyโs. You barely spoke, walked through the endless corridors with your gaze lowered, as if you were trying to make yourself invisible. Your eyes were almost always redโ from crying, from lack of sleep, from nights in which the past refused to let you rest. You were the newest member, a broken shadow among monsters. And even though you seemed less psychotic and far more deeply traumatized, Slender was convinced that it would not take much longer before you, too, would fall.
Where others broke quickly or lost themselves, you remained in that stateโ far too long. Fear clung to you like a cold fog, but even stronger was the self-hatred. It crept beneath your skin, settled into every movement, every breath. One could almost smell it. Day after day, you fought to preserve a tiny fragment of yourself, even though deep down you knew that this fight was hopeless.
Many in the house avoided you. Not because you were particularly terrifying. Not because they saw you as dangerous. But because you seemed weak. Fragile. And weakness was something monsters could not tolerate.
You barricaded yourself in your room, letting the world outside wither away while you internally crumbled under your own hatred. The self-disgust was so overwhelming that you avoided every mirror. No glass was allowed to carry your reflectionโ because nothing was more unbearable than looking yourself in the eyes.
With him, it seemed as though he wanted to know more. As if he were watching you, analyzing you, perhaps evenโฆ understanding you. It almost looked like interest. An illusion, of course. A cruel mistake. Because in truth, it was nothing more than an assignment. Slenderโs will.
He was meant to bind you.
He was meant to shape you.
He was meant to harden you.
They called him Masky. To the few who were close to him, he was Tim Wright.
At first, you were meaningless to Tim. Just another broken creature within Slenderโs sphere of influence. Replaceable. Insignificant. He didnโt understand why you, of all people, had been chosen. But with each week in which you quietly and unobtrusively crept deeper into his life, he began to notice things that unsettled him.
You were gentle. Too gentle for this place. And that was exactly what made you so contradictory. A ruined childhood had condemned you to carry hatred within youโ not loud, not explosive, but heavy and suffocating. Hatred toward people. Hatred toward life. And most of all: hatred toward yourself.
Tim knew that feeling. He knew what it was like to despise himself. But with you, it felt different. Deeper. As if you had never known anything else. As if your entire existence were soaked in guilt and shame. In conversations, between the lines, he could hear how deeply you were ashamed of what you wereโ and of what you had become.
You never spoke about your past. Not directly. Not clearly. But it had to have been horrific. It was certainly not normal. And Tim never doubted for a moment that it was the origin of your immense bloodlustโ that burning desire for blood that both attracted and repelled you.
You lived with that hunger.
And fought desperately against it.
When a person lives long enough among murderers and monsters, it is only a matter of time before they become one themselves.
Tim didnโt want to admit it, but you were interesting. More than that: you were one of the most normal ones. One of the quiet ones. And above all, one of the least annoyingโ which already meant something in this house.
When Tim took you on a hunt for the very first time, he had no idea what to expect.
The others kept their distance. Hoodie didnโt spare you a single glance. Even before you left, he had bluntly told Tim that if anything went wrong, the new one would be responsibleโ and that he wouldnโt have a problem leaving you behind to die. Tim shared that opinion. And yet, something gnawed at him. A strange feeling. A sense that you wouldnโt disappoint him.
Toby, on the other hand, watched you. Again and again, his gaze slid toward you, studying your movements. He saw how much the kilometers of walking wore you downโ and how you showed none of it. No groaning. No hesitation. Then he looked forward again.
She had noticed you. Her gaze drilled into your back, cold and intense. When you felt it, a shiver ran through your bodyโ an instinctive warning. And yet you kept walking. Step by step. Without resistance.
When you finally arrived, your breath nearly caught in your throat.
Had you known where you were going, you would have rather shot yourself.
You stood in front of your parentsโ house. The place you had never wanted to see again. And yet, here you were. Masky turned toward you.
โWeโre here,โ he said calmly, almost matter-of-factly, โso you can finish what you started.โ
You swallowed. Cold sweat broke out, your hands trembling. You knew what he meant. He wanted you to kill your mother and your brother.
โIโฆ I canโt,โ you stammered. โTheyโฆ they were never really nice to me, but theyโre not like my father. I canโtโโ
Brutally, he pressed a knife against your chest. The tip pointed threateningly upward, right beneath your chin. You swallowed again.
โYou donโt belong to yourself anymore,โ he growled. โYou belong to Slender. And that means everyone directly connected to you dies. Whether you want it or not.โ
Then he shoved you lightly, almost casually, toward the house.
โIf you refuse,โ he added, โitโs our duty to kill you.โ
Fear seized you. Panicked, you searched for Timโs gaze. You couldnโt see his expression behind the white maskโ but you saw the confirming nod.
You turned toward the house. The moon stood high above it, cold and indifferent. One last glance upward. Then you went to the door. Breaking in was pointless. You knew where the spare key was.
Behind you stood Tim and Toby. They were to accompany you. To make sure you fulfilled your duty. Hoodie and Kate stayed outside to keep watch.
You unlocked the door and stepped inside slowly.
The house was warm. The fireplace was burningโ the same one you used to sit in front of to keep warm. Tim and Toby began checking the house. Tim stopped in front of old family photos. A man in his sixties. A woman about the same age. And you.
Your brother wasnโt in a single picture.
You looked at them tooโ then immediately looked away, as if you werenโt allowed to see them.
You went to your parentsโ bedroom. Only your mother still slept there. You had murdered your father half a year ago.
She lay there peacefully. Her chest rising and falling with each breath. You stepped closer and watched her. Tim and Toby stood at the doorway, waitingโ respectfully. After all, she was your mother.
But there was no hesitation in your eyes. Only hatred.
Everything came flooding back. Every insult. Every time she looked away while your father beat you. That smile, as if nothing had happened. And all the love she had reserved exclusively for your brother.
You wanted to spit on her. To scream at her. To piss on her grave.
But you didnโt want answers anymore.
You raised the knife and stabbed brutally into her throat. Her eyes flew open, pain twisting her face. In her final seconds, she stared directly into your eyes. Blood ran down the blade, raspy sounds escaped her mouth. She tried to breatheโ in vain. Her esophagus and trachea had been severed.
You raised the knife again and drove it into her head a second time.
She was dead almost instantly.
Tim stepped inside, examined your act closely, and nodded in approval. But what unsettled him was your expression. No pain. No remorse. Only calm. And something that almost looked like relief.
With light blood splatters on your body, you walked past Toby toward your brotherโs room. You didnโt want to see him. Not out of hatredโ but because you had hoped for so long that he might still see you as his brother.
And every time, you had been disappointed.
From the direction of your motherโs bedroom.
And then you remembered: the room in the basement. The โmenโs roomโ your parents had built for him. A bar. A lounge.
He had been in the basement. While you were killing your mother.
You ran. When you reached him, he was already calling the police. Toby kicked the phone from his hand and slammed him to the floor. Your brother looked up at youโ eyes wide with terror.
Especially when he saw you.
His expression twisted into disgust and hatred.
โYou faggot fucker!โ he screamed at you. โYou killed Mom?! I shouldโve known!โ
Only then did Tim and Toby truly realize it.
You had exactly the same face.
Your brother pushed himself up, coughing. Tobyโs hard kick still lingered in his body, his breathing ragged and strained. Toby stepped forward, ready to strike againโ but Tim stopped him. A brief movement. A clear sign.
Your brother laughed hoarsely.
โAnd who are they?โ he asked, nodding toward Tim and Toby. โYour faggot friends?โ
His grin widened, venomous.
โFather shouldโve killed you along with your bastard boyfriend back then. Then I wouldnโt have been forced to keep calling you my brother.โ
But they didnโt surprise you.
This was exactly what you had expected from him.
Your face twisted as raw fury burst out of you. You rushed at him, slammed him to the ground, and pinned him with your weight. He gasped, flailed, tried to shove you off. His fist struck your face. You staggered back, losing your balance.
He took advantage of the moment.
Your brother jumped up and ran.
You chased after him, driven by raw, uncontrollable rage.
โTHE ONLY ONE RUNNING LIKE A FAGGOT IS YOU!โ you screamed after him.
Slowly, he turned around.
His eyes were filled with hatred.
You dodged and kicked his leg brutally. A sickening crack echoed through the room as he collapsed to the left, crashing beneath the windowsill. Gasping, he braced himself, his face contorted in pain.
โYouโre a fucking mistake,โ he spat. โMom and Dad shouldโve killed you at birth. Everything wouldโve been perfect if youโd never been part of our lives.โ
This time, the words didnโt reach you anymore.
You wanted only his death.
Your gaze fell on his injured legโ broken or fractured. Then on the windowsill behind him. And finally on the open, inviting window.
The knife plunged sharply into his side. A strangled scream. Then a second stabโ into his neck. Blood sprayed. His face twisted into a mask of pain and disbelief. He saw your smile. That sick, rotting smile. Your eyesโ cold, empty, unnaturally calm.
He tried to push you away.
And you actually stepped back a few paces.
Your foot slammed into his stomach with brutal force. Your brother flew into the window. Glass shattered loudly, splintering, and then he fell from the upper floor into the garden.
You stepped to the window.
He lay there below. Motionless. The knife still stuck in his throat. His body twitched once moreโ then went still.
Hoodie and Kate had heard the glass shatter. They climbed over the fence into the garden and stopped abruptly. Hoodie froze when he saw the lifeless body. For a brief moment, he thought it was youโ that Tim had killed you for refusing.
Then he looked up at the window.
Your gaze was cold. Angry. Empty.
That body down there was your brother.
Tim and Toby also ran into the room and looked out through the shattered window. Tim nodded slowly. Toby whistled softly.
โBig mess,โ he muttered. โBut I guess that counts as the job done.โ
He looked at you. You glanced questioningly at Tim.
Kate pulled the knife from your brotherโs throat and looked up at you. Tim turned away.
โWe should go,โ he said calmly. โBefore the cops get here.โ
You left the house and disappeared back into the forest. When you were deep enough among the trees, you heard distant sirens. They didnโt matter anymore.
Three hours later, the sun rose. The shabby old mansion slowly appeared before you. Your body was exhausted. Burned out. But the adrenaline was still buried deep in your bones. It wouldnโt let you rest.
And yet there was something new inside you.
The killing had reflected your innermost self.
But it wasnโt only you who noticed this change. Everything about your presence had shifted. There was no longer so much fear in your eyes. And because Tim was the one who spent the most time with you, he noticed it first. But Slender sensed it tooโ knew what had changed deep within youโ and ordered Tim to question you about what you had felt when you took your motherโs and your brotherโs lives.
It was two oโclock at night.
The mansion lay still and dark, as if it were sleeping. Most were either out hunting or had retreated to their rooms. Only you hadnโt. You stood on the veranda, freezing, motionlessโ yet unable to go inside. The moon pushed through the dense pines and bathed your chilled figure in pale light. Your fingers were numb, especially the right hand holding a can of cheap beer.
You knew he would notice. And that he wouldnโt like it. But you didnโt care. He would understand. Of all the psychopaths in the house, he was the one closest to you. You thought about him often. Too often. And about how your body warmed whenever his gaze rested on you.
Because it had ruined everything.
And now you were living with the same fear again: of being rejected, of being hated. Just because you couldnโt be normal. You took a large gulp of beer and felt the alcohol slowly warming you from the inside. You liked Masky a little too much. And yet you desperately wished you could feel these emotions for women instead.
A throat clearing startled you.
You turned around. Your breath formed small clouds in the cold night air. Masky stood behind you, his worn mustard-yellow jacket zipped up to his chin. That alone emphasized how cold it truly was.
โIs that one of my beers?โ
He pointed at the half-empty can in your hand.
Caught, you hid it slightly behind your back. โSorry, Iโฆ Iโโ
โYouโre going to die if you keep standing outside in nothing but a thin jacket.โ
Your cheeks flushed. His concernโ and the casual way he scolded youโ made you embarrassed.
โI knowโฆ and Iโm sorry about the beer. I just felt like having one andโโ
He interrupted you again.
Masky sat down on the old, moss-covered bench on the terrace and patted the spot beside him. A silent invitation. You hesitated briefly, then sat down next to him. Immediately, you felt his warmth.
He lit a cigarette. The scent of nicotine and burned tobacco hung heavily in the airโ strangely comforting. You knew he noticed your glances, but he didnโt react.
Instead, he asked quietly,
โWhat was going through your mind that night?โ
You knew what he meant. The murder of your mother. Of your brother. Your gaze dropped to your fingers.
โIโฆ I donโt know if you want to hear that,โ you whispered. โI donโt even know if I want to hear it myself.โ
Masky followed your gaze. Saw the trembling you barely noticed yourself.
โYouโll tell me,โ he said calmly. โI think you have a distorted image of your pastโ and of yourself. And if you donโt talk about it, that image will never clear.โ
He looked down at his knees. Almost as if he were speaking to himself.
You sighed and smiled sadly.
โYouโll be disgusted by me,โ you said softly. โJust like everyone else. And then Iโll be confronted again with what I want dead even more than my own family.โ
โWith the fact that youโre gay?โ
Your eyes widened. Your trembling worsened. Tears welled up. He saw your fear. Your hatred toward yourself.
โItโs okay,โ he said calmly. โBeing gay is still pretty healthy and normal in a house full of serial killers and immortal beings.โ
You stared at him, completely overwhelmed.
โHowโฆ how do you know?โ
โYour brother,โ he said. โHe mentioned that he wished your father had killed not only your boyfriend, but you as well. And when he called you a faggot, it became clear to me.โ
โYouโฆ youโre not disgusted?โ
โNo. Toby and Brian arenโt either. To us, youโre still the same as before.โ
In that moment, you fell completely in love with him.
And nothing could stop those feelings.
You told him everything. About your past. About your first boyfriend, when you were seventeen and he was twenty-one. The memory brought tears to your eyes. You told him how your father had shot him in the gardenโ and never went to prison because he claimed he had thought he was an intruder.
Your father had read your diary. Had found out you were gay. From that day on, the abuse began. Your brother joined in. You used to believe he did it out of fear. To protect himself. That was why you had never truly blamed him.
But by the time you were twenty-seven, it became clear that he was just as much of a homophobic asshole as your father.
At twenty-nine, you killed your father.
Masky listened. Said nothing. Saw your trembling. Your silent tears. It showed him how human you still wereโ and yet one of them. And somehow, Tim was glad that you were one of them. Because that meant he could be close to you without having to kill you.
He pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and offered it to you.
โSmoke,โ he said calmly. โIt calms the nerves. Trust me.โ
You looked at it. Then at him.
โIโฆ I donโt usually smoke.โ
โYou donโt really have anything left to lose.โ
You put the cigarette between your lips. Masky took his burning one and lit yours with it. You inhaled the smokeโ and coughed, making him chuckle quietly. After a few drags, your body adjusted.
And you enjoyed your first cigarette.
Together with the man who had become far too important to you.
And even if Masky didnโt know it yetโ
he had found himself enjoying sitting outside with you.
And wanting your company just a little too much.
