Slenderman x Reader One-shots

Cosset in A Time of Need

Work has been slow, so I started doing a bit of writing over there. I wasn't sure how much time I would have, so I figured I'd write a one-shot or two. I used a random prompt generator, and the theme was of Slenderman brushing Reader-chan's hair. And GAWD do I love someone brushing/playing with my hair. Enjoy!

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    You strained against your foe: a feral Creepypasta that had wandered too close to the Slender Mansion, daring to claim the edge of your master's territory. Typically, a single Creepypasta was hardly a threat to the nigh-infallible Slenderman, but this one was an exception. This Creepypasta was known for its ability to multiply itself at will - an asexual sort - that spanned its consciousness across each new spawn. One of them was enough of a challenge, but before Slenderman had realized the imminent danger, there were over ten spawns spread across the forest; all growing and multiplying at uncontrollable rates. Slenderman had to snuff this feral out of existance before it chose to target himself or his Proxies.
    The billow mass of flesh and appendages pressed on your arms, inching its circular maw of sandpapery teeth ever closer to your face. The stench of bacteria-riddled saliva permiated the air around your head like a cloud. You tangled with its legs, hoping to throw the creature off balance, yet it only readjusted and stamped down a hooked claw into your thigh. You gritted your teeth, determined not to give the monster atop you the satisfaction of hearing your screams, and yet your voice betrayed you. The wimpers found their way through your teeth, causing even them to open enough for the shriek of pain to escape your mouth.
    It was then that the one of many Creepypastas wrestling with your master and brethren Proxies forced a push of its weight down on your straining palms. Your elbow gave in, bending to drop on the forest floor. Despite the gap closed between your faces, the monster didn't maul you; it reveled in overpowering you, gradually pressing down to strain your forearms beyond their limits. No matter how much physical strength you trained for, it wasn't enough to prevent your radius and ulna from splintering, fracturing, and ultimately shattering at the superior being's might. If your previous cry of pain wasn't evident enough of the distress you were in, the throat-shredding noise that tore over your vocal chords surely was.
    You didn't recognize it as your own voice; you couldn't feel anything once the shock set in, seeing your forearms crumpled at each side of your peripheral vision. Tenitus built within your ears, and it seemed as though your very consciousness was separating from your body.
    You watched in a drunken stupor of neurogenic shock. The saggy-skinned Creepypasta above somehow grinning with pleasure at your torment. Then, from behind it, you watched a familiar dark figure whip toward you, coiling around the Creepypasta's torso, and ripping it from atop your wavering form - clawed toe and all. You didn't feel it tear a gaping hole in your thigh, splatters of blood trailing behind the retreating claw.
    All at once, a display of power and self-sacrifice from Slenderman unraveled before you. Several of the enemy Creepypasta's spawn gripping and climbing your master as he rose to his full height. Slenderman slung the monster in his tendril into a shortened tree limb, leaving it to writhe and bleed out. He tore the others one by one from his body, crushing them in his inky tendrils. Your master suffered intense damage to his pale flesh, yet he was long from rout.
    Someone scooped you up by your armpits, lifting you to your feet. You stumbled to remain standing, only to find yourself held by a fellow Proxy. When you felt the dim pressure of an arm lifting your lower half by the knees, you blacked out, unsure of which brother came to your aid.
   
    You eventually awoke a few hours later, laying back in the Slender Mansion infirmary. The chill of the steel table against your back never got easier to ignore. Struggling to lean up and view the aftermath of your body's damage, you found the typical scatter of stitches across your abdomen; the gash in your thigh had the longest set of stitches. Scanning over your arms, abs burning to hold you up just a bit longer, you found the appendages to be grotesquely swollen, lines of stitches down the center resembling the capital letter "I" on each one. No doubt, your arms had been flayed open to put the bones back together. Only your ancient eldritch being of a master could have done such meticulous work in such a short time.
    "Once the swelling recedes," your master's voice gently announced his presence, "I will wrap them in casts. You must be diligent in preventing any unaided movement of your arms." He approached from behind, large hands gently guiding your shoulders to lay back against the cold table. "You will be moved to your bed once it's been sterilized. For now," his hand passed over your face, closing your eyes, "rest, my Proxy."
    The short periods of time that you were awake, your Proxy brothers would visit, lucky to have sustained less severe wounds. The IV bags of antibiotics, antihistamines, and morphine wore you out quickly. Many vessels in your arms had ruptured when the bones shattered, and with the addition of the massive gash dangerously close to an artery in your thigh, you had lost a nearly lethal amount of blood. While you had no impairing damage to your jaws or teeth, Slenderman prescribed you a soft foods diet for easier digestion. The amount of drugs flowing through your system only irritated your stomach, and heavy foods would risk you vomiting in your sleep.
    It took weeks for the swelling in your arms to reduce enough for casts. You weren't sure if you were excited for them or not; in one hand, the stench of scabbing and healing flesh would be covered by the odor of plaster and gauze, but in the other hand, you knew damn well that the horrific smell would be tenfold once the cast was removed. Either way, it was progress.
    The highlight of your time in recovery was the pampering by your master. He could be cruel at times, but he seemed to spin a one-eighty when his Proxies needed him most. Slenderman would help you bathe, dress, and best of all: brush your hair. Never did you feel such tenderness from your master than when he ran the bristles through your disturbed locks. The ecstacy of relaxing muscles on your scalp had your eyes rolling back, threatening to send you into slumber. It seemed that Slenderman was fascinated by hair, and enjoyed watching the tedious process of each strand coming to a rest in near-perfect parallel with the others. Ocassionally, he would discover a split end, promptly snipping it off with a pair of scissors that he began to keep handy during his visits.
    The initial nights of being treated like a cosset were awkward; however, you had become desensitized to the embarrassment of nudity in front of your master, especially after the numerous times you had to be stripped in order to receive emergency medical treatment. If anything, it was the confusion over Slenderman's insistance to groom you each night. He wouldn't explain why; it was like pulling teeth just find out about his fascination with hair. Nonetheless, you had little-to-no complaints about the situation; you quickly savored each night of warm baths, gentle hands, and the slow, rhythmic drag of a comb through your hair.
    It was a sensation you could barely describe, simply knowing that it was the closest thing to knowing true peace within oneself. The rest of the world no longer mattered. Your brain could barely comprehend the possibility of mundane struggles within reality, far too drugged on the endorphines released with each stroke. You could feel the tender touches reverberate through your strands as Slenderman inspected the ends for splits. Something about sharing this moment, experiencing a time when someone cared enough to study even the finest details of your very being, put you at an ineffable ease. Holding up your body to sit on the soft bed was difficult enough when all it wanted was to lie back in sublime bliss; such a struggle was most likely the only reason you were able to remain awake.
    At some point within the months of this routine, Slenderman must have pried into your thoughts and detected your one request. You had shyed away from it, scared that he would refrain from brushing your hair at all if you asked to change anything. You awoke to a reclined chair of sorts - perhaps from a salon? - replacing the chair that originally went with your vanity. From then on, that was where Slenderman brushed your hair, suspending your head in the specially curved rest so that he had maximum access to all strands. He had to sit in his own chair, however, since the salon chair could only raise so far; it wasn't nearly enough for his standing height. You thanked him aloud, and echoed the gratitude within your mind as your master went to work. Just as you finally drifted back to sleep, you felt the brush of soft skin on your forehead and the faint purr of Slenderman's voice responding, "You are most welcome, my dearest Proxy."