Ghostface x fem!Reader (dead by daylight)

caught between a killer and a hard place

My heart thumping loudly in my ears, I peer over the rotting balcony railing. Confirming my fears, I see the black cloak and tall figure that can only mean one thing.

He is leaning on the generator in front of the house gloatingly, and consequently blocking the one behind it.

As I look further out, I can see another, smaller figure glancing around the trunk of a tree, clearly calculating the risk of going for it.

I can feel the collective desperation, as we only have one generator left to fix, and he is standing next to the last two. The door feels so close, and if someone could draw his attention for just long enough...

Ghostface turns back to look at the front door of the house and the figure behind the tree jerks forward as if pulled by a rope. It's Claudette. I can see her feet poise to run for the generator behind the house.

Frantically, I throw my hands above my head and make slashing motions, mouthing 'no!' as obviously as I can manage. Her eyes flicker to mine for a fraction of a second, and she retreats, deflating.

This is not the first time it has come to an impasse, and it usually does not end with the sweet sensation of survival. I sigh, grateful that she heeded my warning, but as my eyes fall back down to the generator below, I freeze.

My skin prickles dangerously as I look down to see an empty lawn.

Dread filling my arms and legs, I turn around to find a white mask merely inches from my face. I yelp loudly and stumble backward, stepping helplessly toward the missing part of the balcony.

I feel my left foot fall, hitting nothing but air when a firm hand yanks me back to balanced ground.

Shocked, I look down to see a gloved hand closed around my wrist. However, as quickly as I am stunned, I understand.

He didn't want to give me the opportunity to slip away, he wants to finish it now.

I quickly run through how this plays out in my mind, unhappy with either scenario. If he kills me now, he will go right back down and guard the generators again - or worse, kill Claudette in the process.

My considerations are cut short by Ghostface grabbing me by the collarbone, spinning the two of us around, and shoving my back into the wall. Somewhere over my pounding heart and heavy breathing, I hear a generator growl to life. Ghostface studies me for a short moment and then raises his bloodied knife with a vicious finality.

"Wait!" I manage to choke out.

His arm twitches, but the knife remains frozen in the air. I am almost too shocked by the fact that he listened to think of what to say. The hesitant clunking of the generator revs my brain back online "I'll... let you take pictures of me." I say feebly.

Ghostface tilts his head and huffs out a laugh. I can feel the sarcasm on his breath before he even speaks.

"You know sweetheart, I was planning on doing that already," he says in an almost-genial tone. I startle at the sound of his voice, which I realize I have never heard. The first thing that strikes me about it is how unusually quiet it is. His leather-clad hand loosens slightly on my clavicle.

"You don't usually take pictures of live subjects- that... that could be interesting." I am grasping at straws, and he knows it. However, this apparently doesn't stop him from letting his knife fall to his side. He chuckles again.

"You seem to have an unusual will to live for someone held at knifepoint," he observes in a passive voice as if he is not the one with the knife in his hand. "How much would you say you'd do to survive?" I am puzzled by this question, but with the goal of stalling, I play along.

"...Anything?" I answer, realizing I sound more quizzical than desperate. Somehow, I can feel him grinning at me.

"Anything, you say?" He repeats. Unsure of where this is leading, I try to nod convincingly.

"How noble," his hand, loose on my shoulder, moves up my neck and caresses my right cheek. I try not to blush at this sudden and complicated gesture. Whether the flush is from fear, embarrassment, or worse, attraction, I can't be sure, but I am sure that I would not like to explore that question.

"You know, I admire that." he continues in a gentle voice. "Most people are so tired of going around and around and around..." with these words he uses one of his fingers to draw circles at the base of my throat. I realize uncomfortably that this motion delivers the answer to my previous question. "...That they just give up. I like ones with a little fight."

Now he moves in closely, too closely. I can feel his warm breath on my neck through the fabric of his mask. "Even I get tired of the monotony. Don't you?" he whispers these words into my ear, his hand tightening on me.

A shiver runs through my body, lingering on where his breath grazed me with a dull tingle. I wonder with great embarrassment if Claudette - or others - below can see or hear this interaction.

"...Yes." I say feebly, realizing that he is honestly waiting for an answer.

"Let's see how much you really want to live, little rabbit." He says, and raises his knife again. I immediately recoil, my shoulders tensing automatically, but no pain comes as he brings it down to my skin.

I look down and realize that he is wiping the blood from his knife onto my shirt, just above my heart. I raise my eyes again to his mask, feeling baffled and extremely warm.

Again, I get the peculiar sensation that he is smiling at me.