Mom! I'm Texting Serial Killers! (Creepypasta x reader)

an exchange? 🥴 (32)

Breathing in a deep sigh, you look up at your exhausted reflection; deep dark circles under your heavy eyes, soft skin turned rough and scarred, and hair greasy and unkempt. You looked like shit. Not even hot shit anymore.

You grumbled, rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you leaned into the desk, your arms just barely supporting your weight. And you've lost a lot of it.

It's been about eight months since you've been kidnapped... Again? You couldn't remember if this has happened before. But wishing you were dead at this point shows you didn't wanna be there. Again.

Zalgo hasn't killed you yet, neither has Max or that one woman with the cute name... Bertha, was it? You didn't really remember. Everything was hazy and your ADHD didn't really help.

You wanted to die though, which is sad cause it wasn't a joke anymore. Not like it used to be.

You were tired, hopeless, hungry, hazy... You didn't know what happened to the Creeps or your family, you had absolutely no connection to anyone or anything. You were locked up in a chamber room with a bed and books and a piss bowl. You only got to shower once a damn month and had to eat the same damn thing every damn day.

Waffles.

You couldn't really complain on that though, they even add whipped cream.

You sniffed, picking at your bloody and torn hangnails probably as a result of some form of trauma you've most likely experienced from this torment, but knowing you; you somehow managed to cope by drawing your favorite memes on the wall with chalk you personally begged for and The Office quotes, preferably by Micheal Scott.

"What the hell are you doing?" Maxwell questioned, clearly in a piss-poor mood. You had been practically biting your whole finger and didn't even realize it.

"Oh," you said monotonously, slipping the finger out of your mouth, "My bad homie... Didn't notice. My thoughts are kinda, y'know, uh, I don't even know. Can I have a bath now? I smell like fish food."

Max looked down at you, scoffing, "Maybe after the boss talks to you. He wants to see ya."

You stood up, genuinely shocked you were able to get out of the chamber after so long, your face lit up as you brushed off your shirt, "Oh, okay, okay. Sounds Gucci. Let's go-" you said, only for him to suddenly push you back down onto your bed, "Uh- pardon?-"

He kneeled down, all you did was look down at him stoically and watch him speak, "I know me and you hate each other, but I'm not gunna be as heartless as Zalgo is right now..."

You furrowed your brows, contemplating what it could be. Your heart started racing as a he looked firmly into your eyes.

"Your friends are waiting for you."

...

What?

Your friends?

Which friends? Which ones did he mean?

You looked confused and your mind went into a haze, you rubbed your temples as he stood up, grabbing the door knob.

"Wha- okay, slow down? Who?- I don't-"

He opened the door, and waited for you to follow. 

"What the fiddlestick is going on?- is this a prank? LIKE, bitch-"  you questioned, hesitantly walking to the door.

Max grabbed your arm and lead you out, you clumsily stumbled behind and purses your dry lips.

Opening the overly large door to Zalgos overly exquisite office, with tall, possibly 20 foot high walls, thick black curtains and a tall ass chair, Zalgo sat. Looking down at both of you with a shockingly serious face. He'd usually be insulting you or roasting his Henchman or fucking grilling something. In his damn office. He really liked BBQ chicken.