Hihihi ヾ(＾∇＾)
Can I ask for anything with dad Tim/Masky and reclusive/shy but mischievous kid reader? (platonic ofc!!)
Ty!! :3
Hihihiii :D
This is so cute, thanks for requesting! I'm taking the liberty of assuming Tim isn't the reader's actual dad, but more of an adoptive paternal figure.
Tim
Tim is the type of person who does not let himself get attached to anyone, because he knows he'll inevitably lose that person one way or another. But when somebody does manage to worm their way into his heart, they have his utter devotion and love, and he holds them dear.
You were no exception to this rule—in fact, you may have even amplified it. Tim sees you as innocent, something precious to be protected and cherished, someone to live for. He never thought he'd have a relationship of this regard with anyone, but alas, you took him by surprise, and now he genuinely doesn't know what he'd do without you.
He's a very quiet soul, so he noticed your own timid demeanor instantly, and felt the urge to just...interact. He knew how scary this place was, especially for beginners, and wanted to ease your fears/make you more comfortable. That was the beginning of something truly special.
He isn't a huge fan of physical contact, especially nowadays, but it kinda just...comes naturally when he's around you. He'll reciprocate or at least, not move away or say anything, when you initiate touch, and sometimes he'll pat your head without being prompted, or place a hand on your shoulder or back to guide you somewhere. It's always subtle, but full of meaning.
It's because of this that he wasn't fully appalled the first time you gained a sparkle in your eye that wasn't there previously, and sprang onto him like a predator animal when you were both sitting on the couch watching a movie. He had unintentionally made a comment that provoked you, and you thought you should retaliate.
You clawed into his sides, and he attempted to reel away in bafflement, barking out a series of gravelly laughter and making a quick effort to shove you away. You relented, highly entertained by the fact your theory had just been proven true: Tim was, indeed, ticklish.
He seemed shocked, if not a little offended, and you just sat there in amusement, chortling at the revelation. Now, Tim is not usually one for mischief, but something about your characteristic levity brings something out in him, and this situation was no different.
A slow, impish smile slid across his face, and he huffed out a chuckle before reaching out and tugging you back against him so he could rake at your torso uninhibited, enjoying the way you immediately started squirming and snickering uncontrollably.
"Shouldn't dish it out if you can't take it, hm?" he teased lowly, exploring your midriff with a gentle but maddening precision that made it feel like a practiced skill when it was not. He did let up after a minute or so, not wanting to overdo it, and then ruffled your hair affectionately to make sure you were okay.
Tickling isn't exactly a common occurrence between you, but when it happens, you are normally the instigator. He won't fight back very hard to give you the illusion of control, yet will still absolutely ruin you with some very targeted pinches and rapid scratching. The only time he's the first one to attack is when you're sad or upset, and he's trying to distract you or cheer you up, and then, it's a lot lighter, pulling out airy giggles instead of full-blown cackles—not that he ever gets genuinely rough with you, not wanting to risk hurting you in some way, as you are a lot smaller and more fragile than him.
Masky
Masky is an identity created by Slenderman/the Operator solely to keep control of Tim and do the monster's dirty work. As such, he is an aggressive, volatile, violent individual who would break someone's ribs if they so much as asked him a stupid question. He isn't built to love, nurture, or care, nor did he feel the desire to. He, to be completely honest, assumed it wasn't even possible.
And then you happened. Hanging around Tim all the time, it was inevitable that he would have to put up with you, too. He was, rest assured, not pleased by that. You were a nuisance, a burden, someone he just wanted away from, even as you tried to keep your distance every time you realized Masky was present instead of Tim.
He lost his patience with you often, snapping at you, threatening you, pushing you out of his personal bubble, roughly maneuvering you elsewhere when you were in his way. He did not have time to deal with you. He was already managing over a dozen other idiots who unfortunately lived under the same work, no way did he want to add 'babysit and entertain' to his list of duties. He never actually hurt you, as there was technically no reason to, but that didn't stop him from making it clear how not-happy he was with your presence.
But...something about you gradually melted that fat iceberg around his heart. He wasn't sure what, and he didn't want to acknowledge it, but the thought of violence and outright detestation stopped crossing his mind when he looked at you, and what replaced it was something...warmer. Foreign. Protective, almost.
You, infuriatingly keen, noticed, and started getting friendlier, more touchy. He acted annoyed, but he notably stopped forcing you away as often, and actually kind of ignored whatever you were doing altogether, if you weren't being irritating but rather simply existing in his orbit.
One day, however, you were being a little turd—speaking too much, touching him too much, buzzing around him like an insect that refused to leave. It was unclear if you intended to grate on his nerves or if you were oblivious and merely felt like causing chaos, but Masky did not care. He just wanted you to shut up and let him eat his lunch in peace.
"Put a cork in it, shithead," he snapped irascibly while you jabbered on incessantly next to his ear, and you paused a moment, processing the comment, before continuing on unfazed, accustomed to his callousness by now. A tight breath exited his nose, and he shot you a glare, but didn't bother saying anything else, for he knew mere words would be ineffective.
If you were anyone else, he would have knocked you off the barstool. Picked up a glass and slammed it into your head. Busted your nose. But whatever consciousness he possessed wouldn't let him do that, so he scrutinized you. What could be done to a pest without actually hurting the pest in question? He wasn't familiar with punishment of a benign sort, but one thing did pop into his mind. Perhaps that would work.
He didn't warn you, he just acted—standing from his seat, dragging you with him, and pinning you against his brawny self with little gentleness or regard for your startled squeak. Mercilessly, he dug both sets of fingers into your ribs, holding you still as you thrashed to escape the overwhelming sensation. He had never tickled anyone in his life, so this felt weird to him, exercising all the energy he usually spent on brutality by instead using it to produce laughter, to touch someone without the intent of harming them, as well.
He was definitely vicious, trying to teach you a valuable lesson in not being annoying, but he couldn't deny that hearing you shriek and break out into hysterics was a little entertaining. He did let up eventually, watching you collapse and crawl away in giggly desperation before wordlessly returning to his food. At least now, he had a tactic to sufficiently torment you if you got on his nerves again, and he would absolutely execute it given the opportunity.