Attempting. (Various Creepypasta x Suicidal Reader

Preview Teaser

        Your eyes opened surreally for the situation at hand. No, they didn't shoot open like they should have, like eyes would open in the midst of the night during a nightmare, or if you were shaken awake by an annoying relative in the early morning hours. Your eyelids, they hazily lifted, lazily even, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. As if it made perfect sense to you that you would be woken up in the middle of the night to a blade pressed against the precious arteries in your neck. To him, in that moment you were perfect. Your bright (e/c) eyes shining like crystals, piercing the darkness he loved so dearly. Your thick eyelashes, and exquisitely, naturally tamed eye brows framed your face so well. The contours of your cheekbones were sunken beautifully. The crease and adorable wrinkles your eyelids made when they had widened enough to expose the orbs of your soul, it made him feel warmer than being caught on fire, something he could say from first hand experience. Just the right amount of a dip in color under your eyes, to express visibly how flawlessly troubled you were, how flawlessly you ignored the average and preferred hours of rest. Perfect only began to explain you in his mind.

You blinked once, twice, to clear the sleep out of your eyes. You were always rather lucid when you woke up, due to anxiety, so you were immediately able to analyze the situation at hand. What was unfolding in front of you was something you had dreamed about, quite often you may add. The leathery, pale, white as the fallen snow, skin, the petrifying charcoal black, charred eyelids, the self-inflicted, sliced cheeks, symbolizing an eternally eerie smile of ever sinister amusement, hell, even the unkempt, mop-like black hair gave it away. The person positioning himself above you, was non other than the one and only, Jeff the Killer.

Jeff the Killer? You thought to yourself. It was confusing for you to be in such a position with him. His legs were straddling your hips tightly, leaving you with little room for error, the majority of his body weight rested on his bent elbows, which were comfortably resting on your pillow, beside either side of your head. His face was nearly inches away from yours, and if not for the sharpened blade between the two of you, it was almost romantic. The orientation of the two of you made you think of lovey-dovey films, like it was something a couple would do, not a murderer and his victim to be, although it wasn't out of Jeffery's character to spice up the usual kill.

You always thought that you would come to your end at your own hands. It made you cringe to be a teen cliché, to know that all of the people in your life that had brought you to the point of wanting to kill yourself had won. You wanted more than anything to be stronger than all of it, but you could never blame yourself for being alone in all of this. It gave you peace to know that when the police would find your body, that everyone would mourn the death of your murder, not of your suicide. It calmed you even more to know that you weren't going to stop breathing not because of just the run of the mill murderer with cheesy psychopathic tendencies, that you would be dying because the Jeff the Killer decided he wanted you dead. A Creepypasta at that, the very creatures you idled most, for the very reason that was befalling you now, for the very chance that they might end your suffering.

Jeff watched the gears spin in your head. It was a righteous experience for him to watch your immaculate brain at work. All you had done was open your eyes and you had enchanted him more than he thought possible. He thought that he wanted to see you afraid, that he wanted you to beg for your life like all of his other victims, but the way you blankly looked up at him then did much, much more for him than that. He looked back at his famous knife, still resting in his hand, and wondered why he hadn't plunged it into your throat already. It was so unlike him to hesitate, and yet here this girl is with stunning (H/C) locks, making him second guess himself. The skin gently buckling underneath the razor edge of his favorite weapon, it was perfect. It was so clear, and smooth, and for a second it made him almost want to forget the knife all together, and enjoy your skin in ways that didn't involve breaking it. His pride was poking through himself, though, and his resolve from earlier that evening came to his mind.