~Creepypasta x Reader (One shots)~ Completed

Homicidal Liu

A/N: Requests are now closed so I'll finish off the creeps in line which are : Dark Link, Slenderman and Lost Silver. I'm working on a special project soooo... I'll keep you in suspense lol. This one shot was requested by maria the killer. Enjoy!

WARNING GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AHEAD!

You blink lethargically, the lingering draughts of sleep escaping as you break the cold waking world. Your body feels stiff and achy, every movement sending dull pain singing up your spine. Your head felt as if it were filled with cotton, leaving you woozy and disoriented. Perplexed, you frown and attempt to shake the cobwebs from your memory as you gingerly sit up to absorb your surroundings...

The dull throb of fluorescent lighting met your startled gaze, throwing the world around you into grey-scale clarity. The familiar sterilized odor of anesthesia and rubbing alcohol washed over your awakening senses, the crinkle of stiff sheeting beneath you resounding at your cautious movements. The simple lumpy bed beneath you cushioned your bruised body, a railing above circling its perimeter with foam green curtains hanging from thick hooks. A privacy curtain. Alongside you, a machine loomed over you, its rectangular face blank with the lack of power - a packet of clear liquid hanging from a stand just beside it. A heart rate monitor and drip. Carefully, your mind began to arrange the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, only needing one final piece to complete this image.

Cautiously, you reach out to open the curtains, leaving your surrounding bare to your keen (e/c) gaze. Walls the hue of vivacious taupe startled your retinas, the floors tiled a dazzling white that gleamed beneath the subtle lighting. Across from you, stretched several empty beds flanked by heart monitors and a miscellany of medical instruments that earned a vague shadow of wariness from you.

You were in the local hospital.

Stunned at the revelation, you furrowed your brow in thought, trying to remember any detail pertaining to your arrival here.

Was I in accident?

The thought seemed to be the only valid explanation, but if that was the case where were the nurses, the doctors? You knew for a fact that they were always scuttling around from the day you had rushed your mother here to have her stomach pumped. There was always a soul to speak to no matter what time of day or night -and judging from the navy blue gloom lurking beyond the closed window- it was well into midnight. You shook your head, delicately slipping your legs off the side of the bed only to notice yet another oddity.
You were still in your waitressing uniform.

Surely if you had been admitted into this home of the sick, you would have been changed into the standard hospital gowns by a matron. Right?

Your brain smoked and crackled at these loose ends, overworking to sum everything up with a decent explanation. But came up empty.

Cold bumps raced up your skin, leaving your body trembling and belly churning with some perceived threat. You hadn't the foggiest idea what was happening but you knew one thing: you wanted to get the hell out.

As quietly as you could manage, you hopped to the floor and jogged over to the door of the ward -shadows dancing in the periphery of your vision to aggravate your dormant paranoia. Nervously, your eyes skittered over your shoulder, checking if you were indeed alone in this room. Only empty beds and dead machines met your anxious gaze.
No asylum worthy murderer laughing manically like your mind imagined.

I need to cut down on horror movies.

Shaking off the disturbing image, you eased open the door to peek out into the adjoining hallway. The monotonous taupe walls stretched onward in both directions, a sea of white tiles leading to what looked like a pair of elevators alongside the trademark steel doors of the E.R. and a glossy chestnut reception desk on the opposite end.

All void of human life.

This further lack of staff and patients only had the fingers of tension tightening on the nape of your neck, a headache beginning to dance the ramba on your temples. This muffled quiet, this isolation was by no means normal. Something was terribly wrong...
And there was no way in hell you were going to stick around to find out what.

Decision made, you pushed open the door fully and edged your way into the open corridoor. Your footsteps echoed on the tile an unfortunate sacrifice that left you no reason to linger at a snail's pace. You take one step towards the elevators but hesitate, every nerve in you screaming that trouble lay beyond that route. Call it a reckless assumption but frankly, you knew better than to go against your gut instinct. So, impulsively, you head towards the reception, hoping there would be some directory or indicator of what level you were on and how to find your way to the exit.

However, along your chosen path, you began to notice something disturbing... Scarlet drops began to speckle the tiles, rich in stark contrast to the sterilized white of the floor. At first, it was only a scant few -reasonably understandable considering this was a medical facility and bloody patients were rushed down this hallway. But the further you ventured, the more crimson stained the white. Spots became smears, dribbles became pools and the temperature seemed to drop to freezing. Doors leading to other wards lay ajar, as silent as death and black as pitch to hide what they held.

You very well did not want to know.

You didn't even realize you were full on sprinting until the echoing slap of your footsteps echoed in your ears like gunshots, your body moving on its own accord as it sought safety.. Your limbs screamed with the exertion, lungs burning as you skidded into the reception area and launched yourself over to the crescent shaped desk in which the slumped figure of an elderly woman in scrubs sat. Relief bloomed in your chest, overpowering your panicking mind in your body's sheer gratitude in locating another human being.

"Hello, can you help me? My name is (Y/N), I was in ward B3," the words gushed out of your lips before you could stop them, frustration peaking when the woman only remained silent, barely reacting to your words.

"Uh hello? Miss," your eyes searched instinctively for some form of identification and found it in a name tag, "Hetfield. Miss Hetfield, could you please show me the e-?" your words died on your lips, the delayed processing ability of your numb mind bringing your eyes back to the name tag.

The laminated surface reflected the hospital lighting, bearing the name Ms. Hetfield in bold for quick examination where it was pinned to her shirt. A bead of scarlet blood dewing on the surface.

Your throat walls thickened, your mouth as dry as sandpaper as bone-deep fear infiltrated your every cell. Yet denial clouded your better judgment, your hands reaching out to shake the woman's shoulder roughly.

Maybe she's asleep. She's got to be asleep.

"Miss Hetfield?," you called, your voice ringing through the tainted air as terror clogged your lungs. This can't be happening. You refused to believe this was happening. So you shook her harder. "Miss Hetfield!"

You heard the sickening snap before you leapt back as if burned by hot coal, (e/c) blurring with tears of horror at what they witness. The woman's head lolled backwards, her body splayed against the spine of the chair so her torso was now open to view. Three nauseatingly deep wounds gashed her abdomen, blood pouring out like crimson rivers to stain the material. Her eyes were as blank as paper, unseeing and horrified at whatever last image they viewed before the life supporting them ceased to exist. Worst still, the murder weapon itself was still embedded in her flesh, protruding her bloody belly as you scrambled back.

You wanted to gag on the stomach acid surging up your throat, you wanted to collapse and sob as hysteria reared into the muddled depths of your mind, you wanted to wake up from this twisted nightmare.

But you knew it no dream.

And that was when he made an appearance.

The elevator chimed, the steel doors opening efficiently to reveal a lanky man stepping out of its chamber. Even from the distance you could make out the agile sinuous grace to his build, his every movement akin to a dancer's. His hair was the hue of polished wood, falling to his shoulders in straight as rain silk. A striped black and white scarf wound around his neck, a black sweater and torn blue jeans with brown boots completing his outfit. His skin was pale, but riddled with something you couldn't quite make out. But what you did see, was the blood-stained knife he clutched in his hand.
And then his eyes settled on you, striking emerald green.
Filled with insanity.

That was all it took to send you hurtling in the opposite direction. You caught the vicious spit of a curse before the sounds of pursuit echoed behind you, the image of Miss Hetfield driving your wounded body to the brink of its capabilities. You wanted to live.

You damn well had to live.

Your eyes scanned the passage rapidly, seeking some escape, some turn towards the exit but only found ward doors. And the swift footfall grew closer. You risked a glance over your shoulder, only to release a strangled sound in your throat as you saw your pursuer pull back his arm with the blade, preparing to throw the knife like a projectile. Without thinking, you dive towards the first turn you see, an open staircase.

Your body freefell, instinctively tucking in elbows and knees in a foetal position as it rolled down the staircase. Every impact jarred your bones, bruising your muscles as pain erupted everywhere, the world spinning out of control. You hit the bottom hard, the air expelling from your lungs just as your arm twisted beneath you and to break your fall, and snapped.

The anguished cry blared from your lips like a siren, screaming for the excruciating agony wracking your being and tearing you apart limb from limb. Your eyes blurred, struggling to focus as a dark chuckle rolled through the enclosed space and a masculine shape loomed over you.

"You shouldn't have run, you stupid girl," he mocked, delivering a sharp kick to your side that left you choking on your own screams.

Tears streamed from your (e/c) eyes, your head pounding with the force of the impact as you lifted your gaze to study the maniac now crouching before you.
And nearly screamed again.

His face, though handsome in its strong lines and radiant eyes, was riddled with stitches. They ran down his pale skin like claw marks, marring his features as he sneered down at you, brown hair falling forward as he observed you in turn. Out of the blue, his expression changed. Morphing from a malicious sneer, to a kind and gentle smile. He reached out, tracing the bruising skin of your cheek with the rough pads of his fingers.

"Shh, don't be afraid. I'll protect you," he whispered tenderly, making you practically gape at him.

One minute he's doctor Jackal, the next he's Mr Hyde. Fuck my life he's fucking bi-polar.

You didn't realize just how true your thoughts were until his expression changed again, fury ebbing into his features as he grabbed a handful of your hair and jerked viciously to burn your scalp. His quicksilver moodswing frightening you to your deepest core as you stared up helplessly, knowing your body was too broken to fight.

"Yet you run from me when I was only trying to help you! AND YOU FALL DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!" he bellowed in your face, spittle flying from his mouth as your ears popped with the volume of his yelling.

Then the third degree flames in his emerald irises died to golden warmth and concern, his arms gently slipping under your body to lift you into his lap.

"That was quite a fall. You must of hurt yourself. Let me see," he tutted like a doting parent, taking your broken arm without permission and bending it to make you scream in agony. He smirked, the sadistic pleasure gleaming in his gaze that trickled into his tone as he held you.

"Broken. What a shame and I had so much planned for us," he sighed as if it were a true loss, leaning down to brush his lips over your brow sweetly. "Your mother put up more of a fight. I expected more from you."

Your blood ran ice cold at his words, benumbing you to all physical pain as you forced your raw throat to work.

"Why?"

A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes and you feared he might break your neck instead of answering your question, but to your surprise he only leaned down to nuzzle your neck.

"Because she was a terrible person," he answered, words vibrating against your skin as he began to nip at the flesh playfully to earn a flush of embarrassment and revulsion to your cheeks.

"They were all terrible people," he continued casually, mouth cruising up the column of your neck to taste the edge of your jaw. Pleasure and aggressive disgust warred within you like twin blades, ripping your insides to rivulets as this psychopath felt you up and crooned about killing innocent people as if it were something as simple as the weather.

"They would have corrupted you my precious little snowflake," he purred, skimming his teeth down your jaw to mouth -tugging on your plump lower lip teasingly.

"So I had to kill them. I had to protect you," he muttered rapidly, as if trying to convince himself of the truth, emerald eyes still on yours as they darkened. "And now you're mine."

Before you could draw another breath, his mouth fixed to yours hotly; a blinding frenzy of teeth, lips and tongue in an assault that left you breathless. He forced your legs apart so you straddled him, your broken arm compressed excruciatingly against his chest as his hands shaped you.

And as you stared into those rich green eyes, you saw the demon and the angel clashing in an unpredictable battle. Leaving you to deal with whatever outcome their fight reaped, completely at the mercy of this killer with dual personalities.

Funny how you felt so unsafe for most of your life. How you wished for a hero. For someone to protect you. To keep you safe.

And here he was.
But in exchange for protection, he took your freedom.
A steep price that you had no choice but to pay.
But you were safe, little snowflake.
Safe and sound in the bloody hands of a monster.
After all ,heroes are never as chivalrous as story books make them to be.
You just learned that hard way.