Masky/Tim Head Canons And Scenarios

Masky/Tim head canons and scenarios

Head canons and scenarios for each! CW: Self-hate and swearing,

Stubborn: "Tim, oh my fucking God. Can you just admit you were wrong? You do not know where we're fucking going!" Brian yelled, slumping back against his car seat. "I do fucking know! I just made a wrong turn!" Tim retorted. "Sure," Brian muttered, rolling his hazel eyes underneath his black mask. "Quit being a stubborn asshole."

Chubby: As his eyes grazed over the parts of his body, a kind of shame washed over him. Grabbing at his tummy, a sickness fell over him, complete disgust lacing his sullen features. "Tim, your body is fine," you assured, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "It's perfect to me, okay?"

Dad bod: His arms raised, and he flexed his gained muscle. "Dad bod energy!" Brian cheered. Tim's eyes fell onto the brunette man a foot or two away. "Up yours!" Tim joked. 

Not very touchy: You extended your arms, waiting. "What?" he asked, flicking the ashes of his small cigarette onto the concrete. You moved your arms, giving him a look. "You want a hug?" Tim scoffed, taking a long drag of his nicotine stick. (Lmao idfk) "Tough luck, kid."

Bad hygiene: As Tim stared in the dusty mirror, the smell of sweat overwhelming, he peeled off his clothes, dropping them into the hamper, he stepped back into his bedroom, walking to the closet. He grabbed some clothes, slipped them on exhaustedly, and fell into bed, falling asleep as he hit the pillow.

Hairy motherfucker: Your fingers brushed along the revealed skin of his, hand being tickled. "Damn, you hairy motherfucker." you joked. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes ruefully. "You still love me."

Intimidating: Tim's figure towered over the smaller boy, casting a dark shadow over his cowardly features. "Who are you talking to?" he snapped. "I'm sorry," the boy apologized. "Who the fuck are you talking to?" he repeated. "I'm sorry, sir."

Doesn't like sugary things: "How do you want your coffee?" you asked, peeking your head from the kitchen to watch Tim's eyes flicker to yours before his answer. "Black," his eyes flicked back to the book he was reading, eyes moving slightly with every word he consumed. "Like your soul?"

Doesn't like cheesecake (y'all ruined it): "Want a slice of cheesecake?" you questioned, slipping a piece of the sugary treat onto Brian's plate. "No?" he said, yet his answer sounded almost questioning, as if he were confused by your inquiry. "What?" you replied, noticing his foreign tone. "I don't like cheesecake anymore," he said, eyes refusing to leave his distraction. "Why?" you pressed. "Brian."

Black coffee: "What can I get you to drink?" the waitress asked. "Coffee," Tim answered. The waitress' eyes turned to you, waiting. "And you?" she pressed. "I'll have (f/d)," you answered. She nodded, walking off. Returning a moment later, she placed your drinks down, sliding packets of sugar to Tim's side. "Milk?" she asked. He shook his head. "I like my coffee black; thank you, though,"

Favorite food is prob grilled cheese with tomato soup: As your eyes fluttered open, the scent of food filled your nose. Toddling into the kitchen, you watched as Tim put the last grilled cheese onto his plate. "Whatcha eatin'?" you asked. "Grilled cheese and soup," 

Basic bitch: Opening his closet, flannels, jeans, and hoodies hung. "Red flannel, red flannel, or red flannel?" you teased. "I think I'll go with the red flannel," he joked. "Good choice,"

Listens to classic rock (like AC/DC or something): Climbing into the car, Tim flicked on the radio, scowling and sighing as some hip-hop song began to play. "Hand me that CD, would you, (y/n)?" he requested. Handing him the flat piece of plastic, he took it gratefully. Inserting it, he pressed play, and AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' began to play. After a few minutes of the song playing, he sang along the entire time. "I'm on a highway to hell!"

Aero sexual: "What's your sexual preference?" you asked, glancing over at Tim, his eyes red. "None of the above,"

Needs time to himself: "Tim, can't you just tell me what's wrong?" you whined, following behind the towering man. "Nothing's wrong, (y/n), I just need some time to myself. "Are you sure?" you pressed. "I'm sure!" he slammed the door behind him, making you stop in your tracks. "God damnit, Tim."

Smokes all the fucking time: You clambered out of the bed, the smell of smoke slightly preset.  "Tim?" you muttered, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. He hummed slightly, torso pressed against the windowsill, hand and head out of the window with his other cupping his hand's elbow. "Why the fuck am I in your bed?" 

Brian forces him to drink tea 'cause it helps smokers: "Timothy, you smoke excessively. Just drink some tea," Brian said, placing the steaming cup in his friends' reach. "Fuck you, Brian," he snarled. "Well, I'm not going to let my friend die from black lungs!"

Good at math: You groaned loudly, eyes snapping shut in anger and frustration, as your hands pressed against your cheeks. "Oh my fucking God," you whined, tears pricking at your eyes, but you couldn't tell from what emotion. "What?" Tim asked. "Nothing," you lied. Eyes scanning over the paper once again, for the millionth time, perhaps, you sighed. A shadow cast over your figures, making you struggle to read the other equations. The paper lifted as Tim took the paper from your desk. "Are you kidding? The answer is negative sixty-seven,"

Hates math: "Thanks, Tim," you muttered. "No problem," he sighed. "What?" you inquired, writing down the answer. "I have to help you write out the equation, don't I?" he mumbled. Looking back down at the question once more, you concluded that the answer was yes. "Yes..." you answered. "I fucking hate math,"

Petty: "Tim, where's my slice of pie?" you asked, closing the fridge and standing to your full height. "My stomach," he replied. "Why?" you hissed. "Because you drank the last beer,"

Strongly opinionated: "Tim, oh my fucking God..." you pinched the bridge of your nose, holding your eyes closed angrily. "I'm sorry, is Brian not dirty blonde?" he hissed. "He's fucking brunette!" you yelled. "He's fucking dirty blonde!"

Hard to convince he's not right: "Tim, coffee is/isn't better than tea," you argued. "Lying asshole!" 

Bad at reading: "Tim, what's the order say?" Brian asked, glancing at his friend. "It says that we have to," he stopped, squinting his eyes. "Kill a guy names Duke Aubertine."

Needs glasses but refuses to get them: "Dude, you can't even read the fucking cover!" you teased. Tim's eyes squinted. "Fuck you,"

Anger issues: "Tim, you've got something on your shirt," you said, pointing to a spot in the center of his chest. He looked down, and you flicked his nose up. He grunted, pushing you away lightly, as he stormed off.

Okay cook: Your door creaked open, and you spun around to see the towering man in your doorway, holding a plate. "Made you some spaghetti," he said, placing the glass on your desk. "Thanks, Tim."

(NOT PROOFREAD; I'M SORRY IT'S BAD)

Main 4 + Travis porn pref

Sal • Likes dirty talk •Bondage •Listens to degrading but can't take it himself •Is really into boys being dommed

Larry •Has seen everything whether it was a joke or not •Likes the audio-heavy vids •Nasty talk •Likes compilations Ash •Girls domming boys •W/ toys •Overstimulates herself •Likes the solo stuff

Todd •Tried watching straight porn but it didn't work •POV stuff •Facial POV •Mainly gay stuff •Isn't really into porn •Only watches when Neil can't help

Travis •Started with vanilla stuff •Started with girl on girl and straight porn •Stopped getting off to that so he branched out •Watches the most stomach wrenching, kinky, unbelievable shit •Questions if he's going to heaven

Jeff t.K NSFW hc's

Knife play Smacks the ever-loving shit out of you Marks you Carves his name or initials into your thighs or back, sometimes your ass Hand jobs Will make you beg Prefers to recieve head Edge lord (two in one joke) Will not let you cum That, or he'll overstimulate Spits in you or on you Says shut like "you're such a good fucking slut for me," or "Take it, whore, I know that you can" Can and will fuck you anywhere He especially loves doing it when yall can get caught Hickeys and bite marks

Apathetic-Misplaced

Rounding the corner, you treaded further into the kitchen, urging not to wake your mother. It was hard enough to get her to sleep, let alone keep her like that. Your toe stubbed slightly against the bottom of the kitchen counter as you reached for the cabinet with the mugs.

Oddly, as you searched for your favorite one, it seemed to be gone. Having been sure you put it up with the load of dishes you'd done yesterday, you checked once again, not doubting yourself to have missed it in the dim light the early winter mornings would provide. 

Looking back down, annoyed, you saw it. Resting a foot away, sat next to the sugar and spoon, was the mug, a teabag already placed inside. This week had been stressful, you chopped the appearance simply to a simply forgotten task. 

You smiled to yourself, taking the cup in your hand and heading to the stovetop. Placing the kettle on the heating burner, you waited patiently on your phone, scrolling, disinterested in what your friends had done over the weekend. 

Your heart clenched at a certain sight; it was a picture of Nina, a girl you thought would live forever. Alas, she's gone now. Not necessarily dead but missing. So, no matter how you look at it, she's gone. 

All you truly craved was closure. 

Resting your phone face down, you hopped up as the kettle began to scream. Pulling it from the burner, you placed it on a different one, waiting a still moment before beginning to pour the boiling water into the mug. 

After you did, you slowly sipped on the scalding liquid, tossing your head back as you mentally psyched yourself up to get through the day. It wouldn't be too bad, working at a little gas station, if you weren't fifteen miles from the musty place. 

You walked slowly to your bedroom, socks scuffling against the kitchen's hardwood floor. You slipped off the flimsy night shirt you'd been wearing changing into a new bra and shirt. Not much of a shirt, really, more like a big sweater. It was (f/c) and knit tightly. Black leggings to match, you supposed.

It was winter. You were behind a counter most of your day. Who cares what you wore? 

Going back into the kitchen, deciding you'd eat before work, meaning you didn't have to come out from behind the counter and be ogled at by creeps without morals. Yeah, it was better to eat at home.

Gliding on your shoes, you tied the laces up neatly. As you headed back into the kitchen, another odd sight struck you. The sugar had been returned to its spot; the spoon was in the sink. Knitting your eyebrows together, you figured, once again, that it was just a subconscious act of yours. 

I do this every morning, so it's routine of me to put it away, you told yourself. But as the morning's occurrences replayed, your mind went, instead, to worst-case scenarios. Once again, rationality got the better of you, and your mind decided you had forgotten; done it without a second thought. 

But you didn't remember the part where you forced yourself to keep quiet for your mother's sake. 

It was early, too early, to be awake for work. I mean, you worked nights. But groceries were a necessity, and starving wasn't on your mind lately. Not yet. Grabbing your wallet and phone, you were on your way out the door. 

Clambering into the cold car, you turned on the heat, but without time to waste, you drove off. You played a few songs on your way, preferring the familiar music to the silence. As you pulled up to the Walmart, you climbed out again. 

Opening the notes app on your phone, you checked the list again, unsure of what you needed. "Milk, eggs, butter, toilet paper, shampoo." you read. Nodding to yourself, you walked inside, grabbing a rattling cart from the hoard. First, you made your way to the dairy, grabbing the milk, eggs, and butter, and placing them in the bottom of the rattly cart.

Next, you walked to the aisles with all the hygiene products. Grabbing your usual brand of shampoo and toilet paper, you made your way to the checkout. At the register, you grabbed a pack of gum. Minute but nice. 

The man in front of you quickly had his minimal number of items scanned, but he didn't tread too far, visibly distracted by something on his yellow hoodie. He was tall, with disheveled light brown hair, and pale. very pale; he looked sickly. As the cashier scanned your items, the dead look on her face not softened, she read your total. "Fifteen-eighty-two," she mumbled. Opening your wallet, you searched in fear for your card.

As your mind began to whirl and sway, a voice spoke up. You only had so much cash on you; not enough to pay the due, however. Your shaky hand brought her the ten dollars you had in cash, but she continued staring at you, waiting. "I'll cover it," the man offered. "Oh, no. You don't have to-" you assured, quickly being cut off as he handed the cashier the exact change. 

"Thank you so much, sir," you thanked. "It's human kindness," he joked. "Still, thank you." you sighed, thankful. "Keep yourself safe," he said, walking away, off into the crowd of people, many shorter than him. He headed in the opposite direction that you were going, much to your disappointment.

It would have been nice to know his name, you thought. Dawdling around the flooded store, you glanced around, bored. You thought about how pale he was. Tired of ogling at items you'll never buy, or afford, you left.

You smiled to yourself at the sweet interaction, not having experienced a true act of human decency in so long. Living away from everyone in the countryside could do that to someone - make you a recluse-, but you didn't really mind. 

Striding back to your car, you placed your bags of groceries, finding yourself questionably searching for the man, even without realizing it. Turning over the ignition in the car, you drove off, pulling onto the foggy road. As the road cleared, leaving you nearly alone, aside from the few cabins and cars, you noticed one thing in particular: a beat-up, blue pickup truck behind you.

Its paint chipped, revealing the rusty color beneath the facade of color. The headlights were still on, which was fair, considering the fact it was dark, still. That's winter, you thought. Heart in your throat, you sped up, only to notice how their speed was in sync with yours; they sped as you did, and slowed as you did.

As you pulled into your driveway, breaths of relief flooded out of your lungs, watching as the truck drove on, the driver you didn't see. Silently entering the home, you brought in the bags, smiling still at the man's kindness. 

After you unpacked the groceries, you went to check on your mother once again. She was fine. Now, sleep was in your mind. Falling, exhausted, into your bed, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, falling asleep. 

As your eyes flickered open, the smell of coffee greeted you. Smiling to yourself, you made your quiet way to the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Hi, Mom," you greeted. "Hey, hon," she replied, not meeting your eyes as she washed the dishes from this morning. "Hey, (y/n)?" she said again. You hummed lowly.

"Try not to use so many dishes when you make your tea, okay?" she muttered. "I only used one this morning." you denied. "Well, there are two cups in the sink, and it doesn't make sense." she replied. "Maybe you just forgot; I know you're stressed lately," she whispered. "I guess," you agreed.

"Well, it's almost time for you to get ready, and I made some coffee for you," she said. "I know," you sighed.

Sluggishly walking back to your room, you slipped on a white shirt, staying in the same undergarments as this morning, feeling it dumb to change. With a black zip-up hoodie over leggings, simple shoes, and your (h/c) (h/l) brushed. 

No makeup needed. 

You grabbed the thermos that'd been set on the counter and poured your coffee into it, adding the milk and sugar. This time, you put the sugar and spoon away. Fiddling with the lid, you finally fit it tight to the bottle, sighing deeply as you left. But not before telling your mother you loved her.

Phone, keys, thermos, wallet. That's all you needed. As you arrived, you pulled up, checking your wallet for a hair tie. Oddly, and to your horror, your card was in its usual spot. Heart in your throat, you took a hair tie out, assuming your coworker would ask for one before she went on her delivery trips. 

You were right. 

"Hey, do you have a hair tie?" she asked, pulling her ginger hair into a hold with her hand. Wordlessly, you handed it to her, walking behind the counter after tying your apron on. You leaned against the counter, waiting, as a man walked in. His hair was a deep, rich brown, falling above his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, they glanced at you, brown and tired. Bags were under them, falling into a sullen frown as you looked his face over. 

He smiled quickly, turning away as he walked the aisles of the gas station, silent, almost. He made no sound when he walked, and you wondered how such a tall, built man could be so utterly stealthy. He opened a freezer in the back, pulling out a drink. You couldn't quite see what it was until he stepped into another aisle; the aisle with chips. 

A bag rustled and he walked back to you. Placing the items on the counter, you realized that it was alcohol and some plain potato chips. "ID?" you requested. He handed you a small, plastic card. Taking it in your hand, you examined it. "What's your birthday?" you asked.

Looking closer at the ID, you realized that his name was Timothy, but his last name you didn't see, not before he answered, making you gaze back at him. He answered, holding his hand out expectantly. You handed him his ID and scanned his items. "Have a nice day, sir," you said, smiling as he walked off wordlessly. 

The bell rang as he left. 

Another hour or so passed by, and only a handful of interactions, left you alone with your thoughts, the buzzing of the lights, and the low, humming music from the store. You walked to the back of the store, grabbing a drink, water. 

Putting the money in the register, you began to drink slowly, nearly gagging and spitting up the water as a figure towered over you. "Hi, I'm sorry. You scared the life out of me!" you joked, coughing. "Oh, I'm s-sorry," they apologized. Noticeably, they had a stutter. 

"It's fine; you're just really quiet," you laughed again, trying to keep the mood light, despite his depressing, sorry tone. You coughed again, finally looking up at him. He had soft brown hair, covering his eyes slightly. Eyes a soft, shimmery green, though still with a sharpness. Alert.

A mask covered most of his face, obscuring your view. He was thin, you could tell, despite the large beige, brown, white, and blue hoodie he wore. "Is there anything I can do for you?" perking up, he looked at you. Without words, he walked to the back of the store. Grabbing a chocolate milk, he placed it on the counter, hands clad in what you assumed to be leather. "That all?" you checked.

He nodded wordlessly, mask shifting, as if he were chewing on his cheek. Ringing him up, "A dollar and eighty-nine cents, please," you requested.

He fished out some money and planted it on the counter, and you gave him the milk. "Thank you, have a nice day!" You chirped.

He walked out with a "you, too" and nothing else; not even a thumbs up.

--

Hours passed with nothing more than interactions and nearly slamming your head into the counter as you accidentally drifted off.

Now, it was time to go home. You waited for your coworker, and left when she got there. "Bye," she shouted. Waving, you left.

-- Once you arrived home, the rooms silent, you walked to the kitchen. There was a steaming mug of coffee, a sticky note placed on its side. "Just how you like it!" With a smiling face at the end. You smirked at the gesture, taking a small sip. And, indeed, it was just how you liked it.

Honestly, you hadn't even figured that your mother paid attention while you were around her. Heading back to your room, you found that your laundry was already folded on the bed.

"That's sweet, " you thought. Hanging your clothes and putting them into the drawers, you noticed another note. "This week will be full of surprises!" It read, the same handwriting as the note on the mug.

You put the clothes away correctly, lying disc on the clear bed. Before you feel asleep, you decided a shower was needed. As you entered the bathroom, you peeled off your clothes, strong into the scalding water.

It felt good against your cold skin, though. As you reached for your soap, you realized it was small and used up. Soon, you'd have to buy more. After washing your hair and body, you clambered out, wrapping a towel around yourself.

Falling back into your bed, you didn't bother to change. It's not like you had anywhere to be; not for a while, anyway. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you fell asleep.

--

A knock at your door awoke you, making your eyes spring open and your body jolt up. "Mom?" You questioned. No answer. "Mom?" You repeated, louder than before.

Opening the door, still in your towel, your heart dropped, but your grip on the cloth didn't. Thankfully. There stood a tall man, at least six foot, dressed in a mustard colored hoodie, denim pants, and steel-toe boots.

But the worst part, you were sure, was what state down. Where his face should be, instead, a black mask with two circles. Eyes. And one upside down U. A frown.

Your words caught in your throat as you tried to choke something, anything, out. His breath was muffled against the mask, and would have been falling on top of your head if not for the cloth.

After a moment of silence, you spoke up, still so scared. "What do you want?" You choked out. Without speaking, he shoved past you, walking to the corner of your room.

He simply snatched your little collection of sticky notes, holding them up to you. Pointing at the second one you'd received, the one about the surprising week, and tapped it lightly, mask shifting slightly.

You assumed he was smiling.

Ben Drowned

(HE IS 18 IN THIS BC I NEED THINGS TO BE LEGAL)

Fucking switch Mostly bottom Whimpering motherfu- Cries when overstimmed Is into anything Toys You share them (They get cleaned) He loves when you hold his hips so hard that it leaves marks Will be crying how much he loves with you with no shame The entire house can hear him whining Says shit like "fucking please, oh-" and "I fan Ah fucking good. Don't stop please, oh, fuck. Don't stop, you feel so good," bc he's a little bitch He twitches and his eyes roll back Drools Grabs the sheets so fucking hard Aftercare consists of either you praising him and cleaning him up, or the other way around.

(NOT PROOFREAD)

REAL

nah but u should go read this story called 'solace' by bloodbanks like omllllll 10/10 thoroughly enjoyed

man the creepypasta/marble hornets x reader fics on here are lacking i need me some DARK, FUCKED UP, shit. like some jeepers creepers plot or something like joe goldberg, stalking shit. i think we all need to band together and make the most toe curling, gut wrenching, slasher fics out there.