REAL

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.

Jane t.K NSFW hc's

Gentle No toys Her mouth and fingers are enough, right? Will leave a trail of roses abs candles to the room Buys you lingerie Won't take off too much of her clothes because she's insecure of her burns You encouraged her and bite she lets you bite her and mark up all her burn scars She refuses to take off the wig, though Did get nails into you when she feels good Very quiet but loves your sounds Aftercare consists of cleaning you and cuddles

Masky/Tim NSFW hc's

Has a collar. Will use said collar Choking your ass as he fucks you from behind Will put his fingers in your mouth to stretch it from behind No foreplay You take his cock When he wants, when you want Didn't matter to him Anywhere, anytime, by any means Bro lives for head Give him head Praise him about how good he feels How deep he is He will fucking melt Let him cum in you He loves watching his cum drip out of you as you drool

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

Church boy-The move

TW: SELF-HARM-PILLS-DEPRESSION-MEDICATION-MENTIONS OF ADDICTION-ANGST

My father and I approached the dingy apartments. Whoever thought that neon green would be a good color to paint the windows on a rusty red brick building should have their career ended. 

Terminated. 

Abolished, even.

I'd take it that far.

A warm hand on my shoulder yanked me out of my trance as it pulled me closer. "I think this is good for us, don't you? It'll be a nice change of pace." my father asked. "Yep, sure do." I muttered in agreement, not wanting to disturb what he thought was peace. "Good to hear!" he chuckled, squeezing my shoulder before letting go and letting his hand fall to his side. 

I held my hands open in front of him and he knowingly searched his pocket before an audible "Ah ha!" was heard and then the sound of keys being placed into my hand. "Thanks, Dad. See ya in a few." I called out, sprinting up to the brown door and pushing it open. 

The smell could only be described as a 'must'. It was forced into my nose as I walked into the lobby of the apartment. I walked past silver mailboxes all huddled together on the wall and a bulletin board with flyers and papers for things I didn't bother reading. 

I looked down the brown hallway and just sighed. I noticed the elevator and started making my way over. Pressing the up button, I waited for the metal door to slide open. Once they did, I stepped in and pressed for the fourth floor. I remember that we lived in 402 because my dad recited it to me the whole ride. 

The elevator's ding shook me out of my little zone as it stopped on my floor. I stepped out as the doors slid open just enough for me to slip past, I didn't want to wait for them to fully open. Stepping out, the same smell greeted me, and I subconsciously flinched at the wretched smell. 

"Yuck..." I muttered, walking down the hall and to my door. "401...402!" I thought, pulling out my keys and fiddling with them before finding the correct one. I unlocked the door and was immediately sent into a coughing fit. After swatting away what I could, I took in the interior of our new home. 

I could only see part of the living room, basically, just the parts of the room that the light from the hallway would allow me to. Anyways, I walked in and flicked on the light. It was bigger than I'd imagined. I shut the door behind me and locked it for extra measure. 

The couch was assembled and so was the coffee table. The box with the TV sat next to it. I entered the room nearest the door. It had my dad's desk and computer along with his bed next occupying the farthest wall. 

This was my dad's room. 

I exited and walked to the next bedroom, assuming that one had to be mine. I guessed correctly because my bedframe, TV, and table were already in there. At least my bed was assembled so I'd have somewhere to sleep. 

I threw myself onto the mattress, sighing as my back hit the soft material. "Nice..." I muttered, spotting the box full of my posters. 

*Time Skip*

Dad had come up to the apartment a half hour after me. I decorated the walls with my posters, put my clothes up and put my bedsheets on, also filling my bed with covers and pillows with a very important stuffed animal. One my mother had given me when I was younger.

Gizmo was laying on my made bed, all snuggled up and cute. "Fuckin' meatball..." I muttered, rolling my eyes at the obnoxiously loud but cute purring that emanated from the ball of fur. An agitated meow replied, and I smiled again. 

Setting my alarm clock, I unbuckled my mask and sat it on the windowsill. I slid my shirt off and accidentally looked in the mirror. My heart ached as a scarred face stared back. Those baby blue eyes that always seemed to be brighter than last time...

Always...

I put on an oversized shirt and some shorts. Flicking my lamp on and turning the overhead light off, I stared at my legs and feet. On my thighs, little white lines covered them down to my knees. Those were the scars of nights when I only had myself to get through them. I had nobody to help. 

No friends.

No mother.

No father.

Just me. 

I wanted to forget but the scars made that very difficult, damn near impossible. 

I popped my eye out and sat it next to my bed in the glass of water I had collected much earlier. With a 'plop!', the glass eye was now sitting at the bottom of my cup. It always made me giggle. "Septic eye." I thought, smirking to myself.

When I was younger, my dad would call me his little Cyclops because I always destroyed the little Lego cities he and I would build. The nickname stopped after the incident. Guess my dad never thought his son would actually be a Cyclops, did he?

Guess I'm just full of surprises! 

I sighed again and took down my bushy hair from its two pigtails, allowing it to fall to my shoulders. Only for a moment, though. I quickly collected it again and threw it into a tight, messy ponytail. 

After hours of tossing and turning, my alarm beeped loudly, and I sat up. The bed was comfortable, but I didn't have time to dawdle. The school was waiting and so was my dad. I knew he'd be awake to make sure I got up before my first day. He always did on the first day. Always had to make sure.

"I can't keep doing this..." I scolded myself for another sleepless night. Grabbing my eye from the solution, I popped it into place and moved it, so it looked like a normal one. I brushed out my shoulder-length blue hair and threw it into two twin pigtails. 

I looked in my mirror and jokingly did two little finger guns, knowing I truly hated how I looked, Humor sometimes helped. 

I grabbed a black, turtlenecked sweater and some rusty-red ripped jeans, and the deep blue Converse I wore everywhere. I grabbed my prosthetic and slid it over my face. Buckling it, I made sure it wasn't lopsided and then I moved my hair, so it wasn't all mushy and gross like under the mask was. 

"Alrighty, I don't stink so..." I said, smirking. "Guess no shower since I'm already dressed!" I finished. I left my room after giving Gizmo a few loving pats and scratches. As I had said earlier, my father would be waiting for me. 

And he was.

At the table, reading his newspaper and drinking coffee that he got at the gas station. "Hey, Dad." I greeted, making my way to the fridge to grab water. "Morin' Sal!" my dad way too enthusiastically responded. "What? What's up with you?" I asked. "Nothing, just excited for your first day again. Feels like yesterday that we put you in kindergarten." he responded, smiling sweetly. 

"Dad, stop. You do this every year." I said, rolling my eyes. "I know, I know. It's just hard, seeing my young man grow up so fast." my father said, jokingly wiping underneath his eyes. "Whatever, I get it. I'm growing!" I continued. "If I'm getting so old then why am I still 5'2?" I rhetorically ask, knowing my dad is still going to answer. 

"Just genes, accept it, Sal."

"Oh god, I'm leaving. I need to get going anyways."

"See ya! And be careful!" 

"I will! Love you."

"Love you, too."

(originally posted May 13th 2023 on Wattpad)

"Church Boy." - The move - Wattpad

Apathetic-Wounded

You shook your head, disbelief flooding through you. "No." You denied. He nodded. "Yes." He retorted. He shoved past you again, leaning down once he reached you. "It's nice to see you up close, (y/n)." He muttered, exiting.

With a surge of confidence, or sheer stupidity, - likely the latter -, you grabbed his wrist. He turned around. "What do you want?" You snapped.

He laughed, but it was horrifyingly gravely and deep, and you didn't know what to make of it. With a strong grip on his wrist, him staring you down, and your face like a deer in headlights, he laughed.

Moving his hand to his pocket, he pulled something out. It was shimmery and sleek grey; there was a click sound, and the safety was off his gun. He did it skilfully, one handed. He tapped the cold barrel against the underneath of your chin.

You let go before he could say anything, though, you doubted he would've. "You're welcome. " he said. You held your breath, stepping back into your room as he left, somewhere out of sight.

There was no sound. Not the opening of closing of a door, not the jingle of keys. But after a moment, there was one: the sound of the kettle going off. You slowly entered the kitchen, skin crawling and heart thumping so violently against your ribs.

There was a mug, a foot away from the cabinet with the rest of the mugs. The sugar rested next to it. The spoon was on the sugars lid. And there was a teabag already in the cup.

The kettle continued to screech until you placed it on the other burner. Sitting against the counter top, you recalled the notes and the strangely sweet things.

Once again, there was a note. This time, it read,"Sorry for the scare!" In big, black ink. You sighed, thinking of what he could want. If he wanted money, then he was in the wrong place.

But he'd have to know that. He knew how you liked your coffee. What else could he truly want? Your mind flickered, and you needed to check on your mother. Dashing to her room, you quietly opened the door, only to find her awake, playing on her phone.

"Did you hear anything?" You asked, attempting to hide the absolute fear and panic that was sure to be lacing your voice. She shook her head, gaze returning to the screen of her phone.

You bolted out of her room, gently shutting the door, of course, and searched the rest of the house. After countless times of checking the rooms, you returned to yours, but not after making sure everything was locked.

After plopping on the bed, you shut your eyes, praying to wake up and have it all be a dream. But it wasn't, and you couldn't wake up from real life. Your phone buzzed lightly on the foot of your bed, and you picked it up, glancing at the screen.

It was a new message, but from a string of random numbers. This person wasn't in your contacts. You unlocked your phone, checking to see what it says. "Call the cops; I dare you!" It read.

Your heart sunk in your chest, a thundering headache splintering through your head. tears pricked at your eyes, streaming down your cheeks and falling onto the floor. "Fuck," you muttered. As you buried your face in the pillow, a scream shot out of your burning throat, being muffled by the soft fabric. "I can't do this," you thought.

Your mind scrambled, thoughts rushing back again and again to what they could want. But finally, it came back to the one possibility. You. They could want you.